In between times

Someone kindly told me my blog was the “highlight of their Monday mornings” and I promptly rewarded them with nearly two weeks’ silence. Sorry Ruth! It’s not you, it’s me. Well, it’s holidays. Disrupting my routine and my sense of what day of the week of it, not to mention depriving me of anything to report beyond “kids: still in PJs at 12pm” and “screen time is a valid educational resource”, both of which I think we covered pretty well in lockdown, frankly. Anyway, here we are, at about exactly the halfway mark through the summer break, and the only real news or surprises have been: (1) C getting really really excited about a visit to a succulents collection, (2) M telling us that actually he quite likes walks, as long as not too long, and (3) me borking my shoulder in a Rodelbahn accident, which is sadly more inevitable than surprising. Turns out, although M isn’t allowed to ride by himself yet, it would actually be much safer for everybody if he did.

That was in Davos; it might or might not turn out to be our last visit there, since the in-laws are selling their holiday flat. I’m not really upset about that (it’ll be nice to explore other places, and for skiing in particular this flat isn’t ideal) but it’s still a bit weird to leave there without the usual feeling that anything we didn’t do this time, or that we particularly loved, we can look forward to doing next year. Anyway, we had a lovely few days and then left Armin* to presumably go make eyes at some cute young thing and regale her with tale of woe: my wife just packed up and left me! She took the kids! I’m all alone with my broken hand and SO HUNGRY! (Armin really hates to cook. Sure, restaurants exist, but where’s the fun in that.)

Next week we’re off to Center Parcs in Allgäu, because we are very middle class and middle aged and the idea of sitting around in a comfy chalet while the kids run wild in the various playgrounds without any effort from our side is really pretty great. (I say that now. Of course it won’t work out that way; kids will nag us to go do stuff with them, A will nag us all to go hiking, but for the sake of this fantasy it’s just me and my knitting on the porch, ok?) So yeah Monday posting won’t happen then either. I imagine you’ll cope somehow.

In non-holiday news, I am grumpy about yet another two job possibilities that seemed promising but didn’t get me anywhere AT ALL, which is just RUDE, screw them. Right now I’m enjoying a nice chill holiday vibe and I’m not letting myself get too bothered about any of it but this latest little downer may or may not give me fuel for my next therapy session, we’ll see. Because oh yes, I have officially started therapy, on account of all this fucking job business having messed my head up quite effectively. I don’t know how I feel about any of this. I like my therapist but I don’t so much like her methods (lots of deep breathing and saying nice things to myself and telling her what colours my feelings are, which, UGH). So I may well have to try someone else, which is a huge pain, and anyway I’m new to all this, how am I supposed to tell what’s uncomfortable because therapy just IS uncomfortable and what’s really not right for me? UGHHHHH.

And, well, that’s about it. Right now the kids are off with friends, A’s still in Davos, I have a really good excuse not to do any housework (in the form of a severely sprained shoulder) and I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to be doing right now. I can’t think of any reason I shouldn’t just knit and read all afternoon, can you?

*He’s taking time off to work on his hand exercises. Really we were just gate crashing.

No 42 of #52recipes: for A’s birthday, Nigella’s chocolate malteser cake (from Feast). Yum! I played extremely fast and loose with the ingredients and proportions, for a whole bunch of reasons I won’t bore you with, but it worked out great.

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