We've had a really, really good day. Up early, out and about early, dropped MrM at the station, had an utterly non-stressful supermarket visit, followed by bargain shopping and the library in the nearby village. We then spent the afternoon helping out at the school fayre (mostly) in the sunshine, spending so many 25ps on things like lucky dips, that they ended up amounting to significantly more than 25p. Then friends round for pizza and dough balls for tea.
However, bedtime was tinged with melancholy. I checked Facebook for the first time at about 8pm and was reminded of the fact that it was my junior school's 50th anniversary garden party today. Lots of my old teachers and friends were there. I really wanted to go, but it clashed with our school's fayre, and also it's a very, very long way from where we live. This sometimes leads me to one of my favourite types of feeling-sorry-for-myself meloncholia - the "where do I belong?" existential angst. I don't really have a home town. The nearest I come to it is the city where I was born, went to uni and most of my extended family still live. However, I have only lived there, in total, for 4.5 years of my life. Yes, they were formative years, but given that I am 33, they do not represent a massive proportion of my time on earth. I have lived in current home town for nearly 10, but have also lived in two other cities for nearly the same length of time. I have no family ties left in either of those, and friends have scattered all over the country. I am sure this is the modern way, and generally speaking I don't even really think about it, but tonight it made me sad. A was also upset "but I would have liked to have seen your teachers, Mummy!", which made it worse. Added to this, the way I sobbed my way through my last visit to this particular place of residence, I think it was probably for the best that we didn't go. I think anyone saying "so how are your parents?" might well have finished me off.
Another reason for the general malaise was that MrM is now away until late on Wednesday night. Although MrM going away always turns me into the most amazing housekeeper (for reasons I have not yet fathomed), it really is very lonely. We all miss him.
We read Aaaarrgghh, Spider! by Lydia Monks. A is not a fan of creepy-crawlies in the house - she loves them in their natural environment, but gets the definite heebie-jeebies when they stray. We giggled along to the story, which is about a spider who just wants to be a family pet. It is really cleverly done, and the illustrations are original and creative. However, the final picture, where the spider invites all of his friends round, proved too much for A. There were tears. There was snot. There was an increase in the general sense of unease and the world being slightly off-kilter. I might try it again in the morning. Things always, without fail, seem better in the morning.
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