Thursday, 30 April 2015

A second attempt to get the hang of this thing.

30th April 1.03pm
Ok, so my first blog post is live.  Great.  I feel almost liberated.  The only problem is that no one knows that I am writing a blog and I still don't have the guts to tell anyone or share it on Facebook.  I have, however, shared it on my 'Teaching Twitter' account where I have 41 (yes, you read that right) followers.  I also don't share my name on my Teacher Twitter as I fear that students and teachers may find me and laugh at my sheer and utter rubbishness at producing anything worth reading about.  I have my own Twitter that is private due to teacher reasons and I don't think I dare share my blog there yet.  I mean, I have actual real friends on there who I don't want to make fun of me!

I thought I would share with you a typical maternity leave day. Yesterday I had no specific plans; my daughter was at nursery and my amazing father in law (he isn't officially my father in law as my partner and I are not married - but that is for a whole other blog post.) took my boy out for a walk.  Right, I thought, 'let's blitz this shizz'.  We are fortunate enough to live in a four bed detached house.  I have to remind myself constantly of how fortunate we are at the end of every month after the mortgage has crippled both of our bank accounts.  However, with a four bedroomed house comes a lot of place to store your crap.  'I am going to be proactive and go to the tip' I thought. 

Armed with black bin bags, I waded into each room and grabbed plastic toys, wooden toys, broken toys, lamps, documents that were unopened and seven years old (God, I hope the other half doesn't need them), old Converse trainers (I later got told off for binning them), old makeup and jewellery.  Basically, anything I could put my hands on in the spare hour I had alone.  I must say that I did not venture into the garage.  Spiders lurk in there...  Now, I don't claim to know much about recycling so I shoved all my crap into bags without separating paper and plastic etc.  I do separate my plastics, paper and bottles for the bins but, I was going to the tip. Doesn't it all just get buried in some dirt?  Don't get me wrong, I care for the environment but, when you only have an hour to cram as much rubbish into the car as possible well, Leonardo Di Caprio I ain't.  Sorry.

Oh wait, I have just remembered that I Sky+ Grey's Anatomy last night and Derek is missing...
Plus, the boy has just dropped off...
Back soon.

3.27pm and I am back.  I didn't just watch Grey's.  I also played with my boy, paired some socks and changed a nappy.  I also still don't know what has happened to Derek. 

Right, where was I?  Diving into the driving seat, I realised I had seconds to spare before Grandad returned with my son.  I headed out towards the end of the street and there he was steadily pushing the pram.  Drat.  I was going to have to take all the bags back out and I would never be able to convince the other half to go to the tip after work.  However, being the fantastic father in law that he is, he waved me off to the tip and waited patiently by our door.  (He does have a key - we don't deny the parentals of that little luxury.)

Upon arrival at the tip, I was asked if I had a permit.  Of course I didn't.  Now, let me describe to you my attire.  I was wearing my black and white wool jumper; the one I once attempted to wash myself (my mum usually does my wools) and it was paired with my favourite jogging bottoms which have my netball club's name emblazoned down one leg.  Sliding down my window, I fluttered my mascaraless eyelashes and smiled with my unbrushed teeth.  I usually brush my teeth but, in my haste to de clutter, I had forgotten.  My face had also been make-up free since Sunday and yesterday was Wednesday.  In my sweetest voice I explained to him that I didn't know that I needed a pass and that I did in deed reside in the local area.  I told him that I just had house hold waste, which, in my eyes, I did and he let me through.  He even directed me to the correct bay.  Well done that man.

Commencing dump and run. 

I grabbed the first bag (all my bags had ripped) and dumped it in the skip.  All good.  I turned around to see a man scooping out my other half's Converse trainers with a rake.
'These can be recycled love,'
Oh.  My heart dropped.
'What else have you got love?  Show me your bags,'
Oh.  I grabbed the rest of the bags, the old Moses Basket, the wooden castle, the leather mirror, the lamp, the printer...
'No no no, this is all wrong.  You can't do this anymore.  You must recycle.'
He had stopped calling me love.
This is how it all then played out.  Like an episode of 90s TV gold Gladiators, I ripped through the bags and grabbed all the wooden stuff and ran over to the wood skip.  In a mad dash I separated all the paper and posted it in the paper skip.  Grabbing plastic toys, I raced over to the plastic skip dropping at least two Peppa Pig figurines.  I definitely showed my bum at that point when I went to pick up the Peppas (damn jogging bottoms but, at least the maternity leave diet appears to be going well).
Then I spotted my moment.  The man, who had stopped calling me love, was over by the paper skip.  Grabbing my final two bags from the car, I ran over to the household waste skip, threw them in and ran, without looking back, to my car.

Dump and run complete.

I returned home to find a very patient (have I already said that I love this man?) Grandad waiting by our front door. And that is what a maternity leave day is like for me. No fit mums exercise classes, no baby yoga and no baby sensory thingamajig. Just dumping shizz in a tip and running off with my dignity almost in tact. 

I felt very proud of my uber fast de clutter of the house and upon telling the other half this when he returned home from work, he said:
'Don't throw away my stuff, I needed them.'  He was referring to his Converse trainers, the ones that have been sitting in the porch for the best part of seven months.
'Throw away your own bloody stuff.'
Fair point.

It is now 5.37pm.  That's how long it has taken me to write this short blog.  My daughter returned from Grandma and Grandad's at 3.30pm and since arriving home we have played Rapunzel with sellotape, eaten Kinder chocolate, she has climbed all over me, woken her brother, needed a poo, needed the iPad to watch while having the said poo, banged every key on the computer keyboard, demanded paper for drawing and sat on my knee for a cuddle.  I have barely sat down and that right there ladies and gentlemen is the maternity leave diet I mentioned earlier.

However, the post took that long to write that we ended up going to McDonalds for tea.  Parenting skillz!

And yes, today I am still wearing the jogging bottoms.


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