The summer has gotten off to a less than auspicious start. My plans for a week of cycling, camping, wood-walking and amateur archaeology with H9 have been stifled, thanks to an unwelcome leg injury. H9 is confined to crutches and not moving a lot for at least a few days. This means a whole lot of sitting indoors.
Sigh. It’s summer, the birds are singing, the outdoors are beckoning and I’m stuck with the kid in 75 square metres. So it’s time to gather all resources and see if I can make a nice summer week out of it.
There is not a great deal that can be done when one is on foreign soil, sans family, sans car (for a while more) and sans summer house. So I figure its time to reel in all the babysitters that can be had, buy a DVD box with something that would appeal to the both of us, stock up on books at the library, try and entice his friends to visit, bake and cook all those things there isn’t normally time to bake and cook and, for my own sanity, throw out offers of dinner to every adult I know so that I can enjoy a conversation that doesn’t involve, to even the tiniest degree, Pokémon.
Of course I can leave the kid by himself, with his mobile, for short periods, long enough to pop down the shop or to stretch my legs. But how nice it would be to live in a house where I could install the both of us in the garden, with a jug of lemonade and a book in hand, and ponder the clouds. In time, in time.
There is the option, in a few days, of moving us to a friend’s house, possibly by taxi, where they do indeed have a garden in which to slouch, and several hundred wall-metres of books. So that’s something.
However, looking on the bright side, I finally get time to do all the indoor fixing I had been planning, and clean the windows, and paint a few walls, and finish a novel or three, and sort through the clothes to be given to charity, and move all the stuff that needs to be moved down to the basement, and blog at a ferocious white heat.
And if anybody out there has any other ideas for what to do with a kid who can’t move very much, and an adult who can’t stand being inside all that much, for the love of betsy tell me now. Before I start climbing the walls.