Categories: uncategorized
Date: 14 November 2004 12:39:33
I am going to have to practise not letting minor irritations set my frame of mind for the rest of the day. I used to be an incredibly patient woman. When people knew that I was a special needs teacher, they used to comment that I must have incredible patience and at one time that was true. So where's it all gone? Why am I still annoyed with the boys about the state of their bedroom, even though they made a good start at tidying it yesterday? And more to the point, why can I not shrug off my irritation with my Dad this morning, even though I know today's a difficult day for him?
The thing was, Tiddles invited Dad to join us at church this morning. It would have been fine - I'd thought myself about inviting him as otherwise it'd have been the first Remembrance Day we'd not shared.... but my only reservation was the fact that the boys both had church parade and had to be there before church started, not do our usual trick of sneaking in during the first hymn. So I impressed upon them that they must be dressed and ready promptly after swimming and I impressed the same upon my father. WE HAVE GOT TO LEAVE AT 10.10 ON THE DOT, DAD!
Not that he went swimming, I hasten to add. Oh no, he had to have a shower this morning so he'd be clean ready for his bath at the retirement home tomorrow. (Honestly, I thought I was bad cleaning up for the cleaning lady on a Thursday, but that takes the biscuit!)
He was washed and dressed and ready before we left for swimming, so I was feeling foolishly confident. We'd manage to get there on time after all. When we arrived home, the boys changed into uniform and, as a five minute "We're about to go" warning, I sent Smudgelet over to Dad's with his poppy. Smudgelet returns with the message "Grandad's just doing his washing up at the moment.... washing his milk bottles". This did not bode well. I went over to Dad's while the boys got in the car, and he was ready. Well, apart from getting his glasses and hearing aid. Oh, and emptying his bag. Ah, mustn't forget his wallet. Now, which coat should I wear, do you think? This one that I was wearing to wash the bottles and sprayed water all over? Now, should I take my walking stick? I think I will.... or perhaps not. What do you reckon? Hold on a minute, I can't get into the car until I've put my gloves on. What? Put them on in the car? No, it won't take a minute. Could you just hold this for me......
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Still, we got there just in time. The boys both looked smashing in their uniforms and were each chosen as escort to the flag. I managed to divert Dad from his determination to persuade them both to aim to go in the army.... It's funny how such a peace loving man can be so keen to see the boys holding a bayonet! It was sad, though, when Dad said how the Male Voice Choir we saw on Friday didn't look as though they'd lived through the war, and I pointed out that they were "only" in their sixties so wouldn't have been old enough. After all, Dad lied about his age when he signed up and he's now 82. With another of his close friends now seriously ill in hospital, his sense of his own mortality must be greatly heightened, and he must be overwhelmed in some ways with loss. I really must learn to be more patient.
(Excuse me while I go and yell at my boys, again, for playing instead of tidying!)