Yay for Saturday...
Continuing my New Year’s resolution to make more space for me this year, on the basis that a rested and relaxed Mama generally makes for happy boys, we went to the movies last night. It must be the third time I’ve been in a month, but my relaxing pursuits are somewhat limited in this neck of the woods. Last night I took Dada as we revelled in the wonder that is a pool of willing and able babysitters from Dada’s place of work. We don’t even have to pay them – we just light the fire, open some wine, give them access to the internet and a stash of films to watch and they’re practically paying us. Infact this morning half of them were moaning to me about not having been asked to babysit last night. We watched Seven Pounds which I was desperate to see after hearing Will Smith say he felt it was the performance of his career to date. I was completely absorbed in every single second, and totally spellbound by the story. It’s far from a perfect film, and I guessed the (predictable) big dramatic ending about 20 minutes in so that slightly spoiled the effect, but I was in heaven to feel so enthralled by a story. It’s such a departure for Will Smith – there’s no action to speak of and the only thing that carries the story is the dialogue and his performance, which was definitely mesmeric. We ripped the film to shreds on the way home and have come up with a much improved version between the two of us, which may have something to do with the extent to which we’ve got the story-telling bug.
Today looked like a wash-out for a while – a misguided effort to join in with an event at Dada’s place of work backfired a bit, and we had to negotiate our way round The Boy’s total hero worship of an older kid, which makes things a bit disruptive for us when we’re up there. He wants to run about outside doing every single thing this kid tells him to, which means his little brother wants to do the same, because he worships his brother in a similar way. And then I have kittens at the thought of my boys running about on clifftops with kids who seem to get a little bit of a weird kick out of being adored and obeyed, and then we start having to negotiate with the boy as to whether he should obey us, or the kid he worships. In all honesty I wish he was a bit more discerning in his adoration of other kids. He tends to invest himself heavily in some pretty unlikely relationships, in which the object of his admiration turns out to be a bit of a bully, or kind of ambivalent about him in return, or just a brat, and then he starts acting like them or getting IRATE about the fact that he’s not getting quite the relational experience he was after. I hope he’ll get more choosy as he gets older, and then a part of me realises that his indiscriminate sense of friendship is quite a sweet thing really, and I hope he’ll always be so gracious in his affection.
Then we went cake and 4th birthday present shopping, despite driving in 70mph gales. On the way to the car said wild wind whipped my shopping bag out of my hand and all my purchases went flying through the air, zipping about like kites, until they landed scattered all over the car park. Random strangers kept bringing me things they’d found all over the place. It was only when I was lying face down in a puddle on the ground with my arms underneath someone’s car that I realised I was very much in the wrong country to be caught tampering with the underside of someone’s car, and I wasn’t sure anyone would believe my defence that I was trying to locate my boy’s brand new socks and vests.
Tonight the fire and a film beckons, and tomorrow new friends are coming for brunch, and I’ll begin my endeavour to provide The Boy with a dinosaur birthday cake, as per his request. He also wants a Ben 10 cake, which I’ve secured and am going to send with him to school on his actual birthday, partly because he only cares about Ben 10 because some of the kids in his class are obsessed with him, so I thought he’d feel cool to bring that cake to school, and partly because it looks so hideous and un-cake-like that I’ve no intention of making anyone I actually nor or like eat it. But I know bringing cake to school on your birthday is a definite must in his eyes, because last week he pointed at twin girls from his class who we passed on the way home, as he muttered conspiratorially and in disgust “They had a birthday you know and they didn’t even bring a cake. I can’t believe it, Mum.”
