Monday Monday

Yes I know it isn't actually Monday yet but it's practically peeping at me from around the corner so I thought I'd give it a mention.

Sunday has been its usual self.....crazy, manic beginning as I attempted to get four children, one husband and myself dressed in our Sunday best and to Church in a timely fashion.   For some reason, although Church starts at precisely 10am every single week (and has done for the last eighteen years), I never seem to manage to schedule enough prep time.  Frequently on Sunday mornings you can hear Chris singing in his most sarcastic tone "Saturday is a special day....a day to get ready for Sunday" - a song the children learn in Primary and which I have yet to take counsel from.  Today we arrived at precisely 10:00:40.  Under interview conditions I can safely say we wouldn't have got the job.

Part of the reason for my lateness, which incidentally was nothing related to hair or makeup as both of those get done 'dan le voiture', was trying to negotiate with Danny (our second and most entertaining offspring) why he should have to attend said chapel for spiritual edification.  According to him he knows everything there is to know about religion and feels that his week is positively ruined by the misery induced by Church and the Sabbath.  My response to him was that if going to Church on a Sunday was the worst thing that happened in his life I clearly wasn't making the rest of it miserable enough - an oversight which I shall definitely attend to at my earliest convenience.

After arriving slightly late and getting seated I then had the joy of Euan (my firstborn) informing me that in precisely 9 minutes time he was supposed to be giving a ten minute talk (from the pulpit in front of a full congregation) which he had failed to prepare.  At this point I should hold my hand up to the fact he has probably learnt this skill of procrastination from me.  His memory (or lack of it) however comes from his Dad.  Faced with such a crisis I grabbed the nearest scrap of paper and began to frantically write a few 'inspirational' words for him to share with us all. 

It all went swimmingly until, towards the end of the presentation, he looked down at the paper, then over to me, scowled, threw his hands up in the air and said (through the mike) "Mum, I can't even read this!".  Thanks Euan.

On the way home I was discussing with my youngest two (both girls) the issue of marriage.  I know they are only 6 and 3 but personally I believe when it comes to brainwashing your children you really can't start soon enough.  Anyway, I was telling them that I would prefer it if they let me select their husbands as I feel I could pick far better partners than they would choose for themselves.   On what do I base such conclusions????....well only on just about every non-arranged marriage that I have witnessed to date.   Sadly, most of us are ruled by something far lower on our anatomy than our heads.   At this point Danny interjected "Yes Charlotte, you should really avoid any man who is full of himself and has a Quill".  Truly one of Danny's more random statements.  After some investigation we realised that what he had actually meant to say was 'Quiff', referring to the hairstyle of his father when he and I dated, but I daresay any man walking around with a feather pen in his pocket may not be a safe bet either.

And on the subject of my lovely husband......the quiff has well and truly gone, as has the full of himself part.  Our relationship has, for the last few days, seemed to take a complete U turn but then our marriage always has been a little like spaghetti junction, i.e. never really clear where it's headed!  For now though things are going swimmingly.   I daresay this has more to do with me keeping my side of the marital negotiations bargain.....well, you know, what's five minutes out of each day??!!