drowned rat
Jan. 18th, 2007 09:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
llywelaI so should have called in to say I wasn't even attempting to get to the office today. Gale force winds and torrential rain? Not fun to walk through. Luckily I keep dry clothes in my desk drawer - I was soaked to the skin by the time I got here! Marvellous.
Supposed to be meeting my friend Julie after work tonight, but might have to email to see if it's a bit too wild and wet. Lovely as it always is to sit and chat over a cuppa, it won't be quite so lovely if we are both drenched. Stupid weather.
Apparently I owe my parents money for more vets fees for my girl Calico. She really is getting very frail, and probably won't be with us that much longer. She is still gorgeous, though. Whenever I'm there, she comes running to see me, and I have to sit with her on my lap the whole time I'm there. The only thing that will make her voluntarily leave my lap is if someone comes into the room eating a bit of cake - she goes and dances at their feet until they give her a bit. She loves cake. But most of all she loves having someone's nice warm lap to sleep on, preferably mine. Hopefully we won't lose her too soon.
When I was at my Mum's on Monday, she had a house full of kids. Small was there, obviously, and she had her friend Cheryse around. Cheryse lives with her grandparents - her mother, who is a drug addict, was the one who first told us Small's mother had died. And Tyra was there, too - another of the youngsters Mum used to provide childcare for via Barnardos, but one of the success stories. She still lives with her mother, who now pays Mum privately to have her before and after school while she works. So the three girls all lived in that Barnardos Mother-And-Baby Unit when they were infants, and that was the topic of conversation when I got there. Mum and I stood in the kitchen and listened in fascination as what for us is personal history that we lived through but for them is personal history that they know only as stories they've been told was re-told through the understanding of nine- and ten-year-olds. It's interesting to learn how much they each know and understand - which is rather a lot, truth be told.
Cheryse also talked about that day at the beach last summer, when we were there on our church outing and her mother - who she is not supposed to have any contact with - turned up. She didn't want to see R, she declared, but was happy to see her baby brother and sister for the 'only time in [her] life', and went on to say that R wants her to go back and live with her, but she isn't ever going to do that, because it's 'too much to go through again'. Well, she couldn't go back to live with R anyway, because there's a court order saying so.
Cheryse: "You wouldn't ever want to go and live with your other mum again, would you, Chelsea?"
Small: "She's dead!"
Cheryse: "Yes, and that's too much to go through, as well!"
They were like...ten going on about forty! If only those women knew and cared what they did to their kids.
Supposed to be meeting my friend Julie after work tonight, but might have to email to see if it's a bit too wild and wet. Lovely as it always is to sit and chat over a cuppa, it won't be quite so lovely if we are both drenched. Stupid weather.
Apparently I owe my parents money for more vets fees for my girl Calico. She really is getting very frail, and probably won't be with us that much longer. She is still gorgeous, though. Whenever I'm there, she comes running to see me, and I have to sit with her on my lap the whole time I'm there. The only thing that will make her voluntarily leave my lap is if someone comes into the room eating a bit of cake - she goes and dances at their feet until they give her a bit. She loves cake. But most of all she loves having someone's nice warm lap to sleep on, preferably mine. Hopefully we won't lose her too soon.
When I was at my Mum's on Monday, she had a house full of kids. Small was there, obviously, and she had her friend Cheryse around. Cheryse lives with her grandparents - her mother, who is a drug addict, was the one who first told us Small's mother had died. And Tyra was there, too - another of the youngsters Mum used to provide childcare for via Barnardos, but one of the success stories. She still lives with her mother, who now pays Mum privately to have her before and after school while she works. So the three girls all lived in that Barnardos Mother-And-Baby Unit when they were infants, and that was the topic of conversation when I got there. Mum and I stood in the kitchen and listened in fascination as what for us is personal history that we lived through but for them is personal history that they know only as stories they've been told was re-told through the understanding of nine- and ten-year-olds. It's interesting to learn how much they each know and understand - which is rather a lot, truth be told.
Cheryse also talked about that day at the beach last summer, when we were there on our church outing and her mother - who she is not supposed to have any contact with - turned up. She didn't want to see R, she declared, but was happy to see her baby brother and sister for the 'only time in [her] life', and went on to say that R wants her to go back and live with her, but she isn't ever going to do that, because it's 'too much to go through again'. Well, she couldn't go back to live with R anyway, because there's a court order saying so.
Cheryse: "You wouldn't ever want to go and live with your other mum again, would you, Chelsea?"
Small: "She's dead!"
Cheryse: "Yes, and that's too much to go through, as well!"
They were like...ten going on about forty! If only those women knew and cared what they did to their kids.
