The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2280 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“I’m amazed that you didn’t tell me about the break-in at the salon,” I grumbled to my husband as we lay together in bed.

“So what could you have done—stood guard over it?”

I blushed, in reality I couldn’t have done anything except fussed over my daughters and generally got in the way. “I could have made cups of tea,” I said in a small voice which made it sound even more pathetic than I already felt.

Simon actually sat up in bed, “What d’you think you are, the Sally Army?” he asked dismissively.

“I just wanted to help,” I felt my eyes begin to fill with moisture.

“I know, but this time round, it was my turn. It wasn’t meant as a slight or anything else, I was just the person to do it this time.” He hugged me, “Tell you what...”

“What?” I sniffed trying to recall the tears which had already slipped via the tear ducts into my nose.

“If they electrocute someone with a drier, you can sort it out, okay?”

“Gee thanks,” I sniffed again.

“Are you crying?” He sat up and touched my face. “You big softy, gi’s a hug.” He held me for quite some time until my emotions returned to normal, saying loving things to me and rubbing my back.

The next morning I awoke alone as Simon had gone off to work with Sammi who felt less need to flaunt her new femaleness and wore a skirt suit instead. I fed the baby and hugged her while missing Simon. I’d fallen asleep while he hugged me and had slept much of the night in his arms, secure and loved. I was so glad I’d found him or he me, or each other. I knew he could be an idiot public schoolboy at times, but when the chips were really down, I knew he’d come through and support me, and I would him. I’d die for him, though I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to prove.

Going downstairs I put the kettle on and enjoyed my first cuppa before Daddy arrived back with Kiki, it was raining and she came in and left great muddy paw marks all over the kitchen floor. Bramble, was curled up in my lap sleeping off her breakfast and didn’t take too kindly to having a big wet nose shoved in her face. She did what any self respecting feline would do, and bopped it. The dog retreated immediately, whined and then barked at our resident psychopath, who growled back at her then legged it up the stairs, probably back to Trish’s bed. Daddy managed to call the dog back and washed her feet, offering to wash the floor as well, but I told him I’d do it later.

He made me eat some breakfast while he tucked into hard boiled eggs and bread and butter. I didn’t even know he’d boiled them before he went out. I fed the dog and cleaned up the floor with the mop. It just had time to dry before the hordes arrived demanding food and drink.

When I was a kid I always thought I could eat chocolate at any time of the day and that included breakfast cereals. I nagged my mother to get some Cocopops or whatever they were called, which she eventually did and I poured a large bowl of them and whoosh of cold milk. They were disgusting and they made me eat the whole bowl. They were kept in the pantry for a whole week before they mysteriously disappeared—apparently, the kids down the road loved them—and were held as threat if I failed to eat my cornflakes or puffed rice.

What triggered this memory? Seeing Livvie pour herself a bowl of the revolting chocolate covered cereal and sit there and eat it with a smile on her face. Mind you I found crunchy nut cornflakes were about as delicious as the stuff we took out of the cat’s litter tray, so it looks like my choice of breakfast cereal is somewhat limited and probably why I prefer toast, or better still, toast with banana on it.

Julie and Phoebe came down did themselves a slice of toast each and coffee and left telling me they’d spoken to Cindy and she seemed up for it—the salon on Friday. Cindy arrived a short time after they’d gone, her hair still damp so she’d showered, and she was full of helping at the salon in a couple of days time. She said she almost hoped Uncle Alf survived another day or two. Danni arrived wearing her new skirt and seemed very pleased with herself until she then managed to tip her fruit juice all over herself, new skirt included and shot upstairs in tears. I followed in hot pursuit to get the thing soaking as quickly as possible to avoid staining.

It took me a while to calm her down, get her washed off and redressed while I tossed her clothes in the bath and ran cold water on them, before wringing them out. I sent her down for a bowl and we got them down to the utility room and I supervised her rinsing them through in some lightly soaped water before we spun them and popped them in the tumble drier.

Cindy made a fuss of her and she ate her breakfast, the others had by now finished and Jacquie had mopped the floor to pick up the sticky mess that had been left behind from the fruit juice, and probably the footprints out to the door.

Stella arrived with her two already dressed and told us she was off to see the nursing director to arrange her updates and crèche facilities for her two monsters. Puddin’ still walked round saying, ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ One good thing, it had stopped me saying it.

About an hour after the disaster had struck Danni was ironing her skirt again and this time, she’d get to wear it a bit longer. It looked really nice on her and Cindy went to wear hers as well before they went off for a walk together in one of the drier interludes of the day.

Mima helped me change Lizzie, Livvie and Trish were trying to update some softwear that Sammi had given them, so far with little joy but it kept them busy and out of my hair, so I was able to give some time to Cate—I read to her which she absolutely loves—funny that.

Actually, Trish and Livvie read to her most days. It helps their reading skills which are good anyway and she loves it, especially things like The Very Hungry Caterpillar, which she must now know almost by heart.

David did us omelettes for lunch with salad. How is it when anyone else makes a salad it tastes so much better than when I do one? But it really did and I ate mine with gusto. Cate had a small portion and shared hers with Lizzie, who managed the egg part but I withheld the salad in case she choked on it. Meems fed the baby and loved playing with a real life Barbie.

As an only child my view of family life had been rather restrictive, with a table full of youngsters, despite the noise and even bickering, I felt much more fulfilled than I’d ever have managed with my own parents. Was this what I was born to do?