Driving home for Christmas...

I've just reached that point in the post-packing, pre-voyage maelstrom where every item of clothing in a 4 metre radius that isn't in a suitcase is going in the washing basket.  I know I'll heartily regret this on the 29th, when we come back from Liverpool with three suitcases full of washing and everything that wasn't warm enough for the frozen North in a tottering pile in the laundry room, but right now I could not give a dog's banana.  I've spent the last 48 hours washing, ironing, folding, matching and packing clothes for 3 people (to be fair, Mat owns just enough clothes to stop him being arrested for indecency so his part is easy, but Dom more than makes up for it).  The upstairs neighbours are coming to feed Mooch while we're away, so I've had to clean to "stranger standard," an elusive state which can only exist for more than an hour in a house that none of us are in.  If it was always this sparkly round here, I'd probably spend less time in the park escaping housework under the guise of committed parenting.

It's an unfortunate fact of travel that the most important items in your luggage are those that you can't pack until only your elbow remains in the house.  This means that at no point the day before you leave can you fully clear your brain and think, "I'm DONE."  Oh no, you have to have a tiny part of your mind reserved for not forgetting things that you use right up until the LAST POSSIBLE MINUTE.  Another unfortunate and sadly ironic reality of travelling with little people is that their stuff is so much more important than anything you could ever have forgotten before.  In my previous life, leaving my GHDs at home would mean a few days of looking like I look every day when I'm not trying to impress people I haven't seen for ages.  However, if I forget the baby monitors, I've sentenced myself to a week of jumping at every sound and sleeping on a knife-edge in case I miss a cry.  

Thankfully, it being Christmas and time for family means that at some point all of this frenzied activity will become worthwhile.  I suspect that point will arrive around the time I smell proper bacon and someone opens the tin of Roses.  In the meantime, my arse has just touched a seat for the first time in two days and my Chinese has just turned up.  I'm going to lose myself in sweet and sour pork and Gone With The Wind.  Feliz Navidad!

The cutest ornament on our tree.

In which I try very hard not to kick the laptop

I recently wrote a post about having a second baby, and how it's NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.  I published it, I viewed it from Google and someone else read it too.  I've just remembered something I want to add to it and found that it's gone and the only evidence that it ever existed is a draft form that misses 90% of what I wrote.  And of course, it was my favourite post so far.

Why it has reverted to draft, I don't know.  I think Blogger and I need to have some strong words.  In the meantime, let me summarise the post just in case you're waiting with bated breath to hear why I don't want another one:

I like the one I have and I live in a two bedroom apartment.  Having a second one would mean definitely changing the latter of these things, which I don't want to do, and may have an adverse effect on the former, which I don't want to risk.  So that's that.  More to follow.

UPDATE:  I re-wrote it.  It's nowhere near as good as the last one and I know I've missed something, but it's there.  And if you read in chronological order, you already know this because you just read it. I swear, it's like Dr Who over here.