Twittering away

No nappy nights are not going well. Last night we went through two pj trousers and two wee protection sheets. I think we need to keep a close eye on big girl daughter’s drink quotient. Trouble is she is very independent and can get almost anywhere. The other day I caught her warming up a cake in the microwave. She did it absolutely accurately and I was quite in awe, but it is not good. I need to keep an eye on her at all times, even if bonkers daughter is upstairs doing something crazy with her rock collection or dunking her Troy doll down the toilet as part of some strange experiment at the same time.

My partner has got a back problem. He tends not to do ill well. Even the slightest headache is the sign of an early tumour so I packed him off to work with the Tigger hot water bottle [he was determined to go] only for him to return a couple of hours later while I was in mid flow on the phone. As part of my work I was investigating Twitter, the new trendy thing for media professionals. A friend had told me he had a Twitter and had some followers. I checked it out. He has only Twittered once and then only to say “not a lot”. I tried some others who might be a bit more active. Richard Branson, for instance, and some Guardian person whose Twitters seemed mostly to be replies to other people and were mainly incomprehensible. I couldn’t quite see the point, but I am assured it is where it’s at. But what if you spend your entire life Twittering and never actually do anything? I am worried that I am going to be subsumed into an endless round of writing pithier and pithier lines about Twittering. Also, do you have to be truthful in a Twitter or can you invent interesting stuff that you might be doing [if you had the time and energy]? Working mums’ lives are a web of deceit – that we are awake when our eyes look open, that we are not writing that important article with a spluttering five year old hovering perilously over the delete button, that we are not taking a vital call while watching in horror as a three year old disappears up the stairs with a potty full of poo…

Yesterday was ballet for big girl daughter and this week we got to go in and watch. She was adorable, as always. She LOVES ballet. She is going to be a chick in a play. I am almost as excited as she is. Then we had a trip to the library and I found the aptly named book “Missing” on the shelf. It hadn’t been missing at all. However, I have now lost two other books. I think I hid them somewhere to stop big girl daughter putting them somewhere I would never find them. The thing is I can’t actually remember if this is really what happened or if I dreamt it and she has actually put them somewhere. Or if in fact I have hidden them somewhere where I will never find them.  I have a vague recollection of doing something which involved putting a mystery object in a strange place and thinking at the time ‘There is a strong possibility that I will never find this again’…





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