by Jo Middleton
‘You had a dream about a mean cake robot? That doesn’t sound fun.’ But she was asleep again already. I drew my legs up and made a nest around her.
Plans were made for Saturday night at Busy Beavers. As in we made the plans at Busy Beavers, we aren’t having our night out there, that would be a bit desperate. I’m going to make some dinner at my house so we can preload on prosecco.
Then we’ll go to a few bars, ‘hit up a club’, (pretty sure that’s the expression), clear the dance floor with our cool moves, and then I’ll quite probably meet the man of my dreams. Bob’s your uncle.
It’s a foolproof plan.
Saturday 12 May – my birthday
Pre-taxi glasses of prosecco – 5. (Too many on reflection.) Dubious dance moves performed with age-inappropriate men – probably best we don’t think about it.
Ian had offered to swap weekends so that the girls could be home on my birthday, but, quite honestly, it was kind of nice waking up on my own. I lay in bed reading and drinking tea for a little while, ate smoked salmon bagels in the bath, and generally swanned about feeling very decadent and old, but in a nice way.
At six o’clock Sierra and Lou arrived on a cloud of expensive-smelling perfume looking properly tarted-up. I’d made a big bolognese for dinner (pasta to line stomachs), Sierra had brought two bottles of prosecco and Lou had a fruit salad.
‘It’s not a family reunion BBQ,’ said Sierra, pouring her a drink. ‘Why the chuff have you brought a fruit salad?’
‘There is actually some research that shows that fructose speeds up metabolism of alcohol,’ said Lou, ‘thus reducing the impact of a hangover. Also, last weekend I bought two different types of melon because the boys said it was their very favourite food of all time and now they’re denying all knowledge of ever having been able to so much as look at a melon without crying. So just eat the melon and be grateful.’
Melon was actually pretty tasty with prosecco. Probably a very classy cocktail, in fact. Although probably normally made with melon purée rather than just putting a lump of melon in your mouth and then taking a big gulp of your drink.
Sunday 13 May
Juice. Gah! Please send juice. And bacon sandwiches. Help.
I’m definitely never drinking prosecco again.
Rolled out of bed at three in the afternoon and crawled to the bathroom. Climbed into the bath and ran the shower over me while I had a little lie down.
I don’t think I even drunk that much. I swear when I was twenty-two I used to be able to drink twice as much and then be in the pub at ten the next morning, eating poached eggs and drinking bloody Marys. Oh God! Shouldn’t have thought about poached eggs. Bleurgh.
Aside from physically feeling like death in a pair of stained pyjamas, Lou was right: the night out did really help. I think I’ve been sitting on all these feelings about Cam for so long that I’d lost perspective. The only people I’ve ever properly talked to about him are people who know him or knew us together. Telling the stories all over again to Sierra and Lou, and seeing their reaction, made me think about a lot of things in a new way. Stuff that seemed romantic or tragic at the time just sounded shitty. Perhaps I really just have grown up in the last ten years? It doesn’t often feel like it, but I guess it’s inevitable.
Managed to be dressed and sitting on the sofa when Ian brought the girls home. We used the voucher that I had stuck to the fridge to get 2-for-1 takeaway pizza and the three of us sat on the sofa together and watched Lilo & Stitch. Jess fell asleep with her head on my lap, leaving greasy cheese stains on my jeans with her sweaty hands. Flo stroked her hair.
‘She’s cute when she’s asleep, isn’t she?’ said Flo.
‘So are you,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I watch you before I go to bed and you do that cute little snuffly snore you used to do when you’re small.’
‘You watch me sleep?’ she said. ‘That’s so creepy.’ But she looked pleased.
Monday 14 May
Looked at the Mooncup for a bit. Jess came into the bathroom and looked confused.
‘What’s that, Mummy?’ she asked.
‘It’s a Mooncup,’ I said, not sure where else I could go with it right now.
‘A moo cup?’ she said. Not looking any less confused to be honest. ‘A cup for cows?’
‘No, it’s for people,’ I said.
‘A cup for people? Like a tiny wine glass?’
I said yes just because I couldn’t face explaining. That will definitely come back to bite me.
Tuesday 15 May
Renewed Mooncup efforts tonight after doing some video-based research into folding methods. Managed to get it in and it felt OK. Sat down. It did not feel OK. The video did say ‘some women may find they need to trim the stem’ but at no point did it say ‘the stem will feel like someone is operating you on a stick like some kind of grotesque, olden-days puppet.’
Wrestled it out again. Trimmed stem. Much better.
Friday 18 May
Peppermint creams to get over trauma of having to explain Mooncup to nursery staff – 5. Number of times I went up and down the stairs to Jess at bedtime because she ‘felt sick’ – 3,247,813 (felt like).
Millie asked if she could have a quick word when I arrived to pick up Jess at lunchtime. Jess was busy finishing a painting so Millie took me into the office.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,’ she said, looking like it was something to worry about, ‘only we overheard Jess saying something rather odd to Tabitha in the home corner and we thought it was worth flagging.’
I hoped it wasn’t more RuPaul’s Drag Race references. She’s started saying ‘not today, Satan’ when I tell her it’s bedtime.
‘They were making a pretend dinner together,’ explained Millie, ‘and Tabitha was setting the table. Jess told her to pick small glasses for the wine and said, “My Mummy has a special glass for small wine and she puts it in her bottom.” Obviously, we were a little concerned.’
I considered pretending to faint just to give me a minute to get over the embarrassment but then had a flashback to the performance of Snow White I starred in, aged nine. That bloody thing still haunts me. The audience openly laughed when I took a bite of the poisoned apple and swooned, knocking over a dwarf in the process. The dwarf fell into Scott Thompson, who was dressed as a tree, and Mr Lewis had to come on stage and stand him up again.
Instead, I was forced to tell her about my misjudged explanation of the Mooncup, which I don’t think went very far to reassure her, if I’m honest. I looked at my watch, remembered I don’t wear a watch, mumbled something about an optician’s appointment, and retrieved Jess as quickly as possible, my face burning.
Put the TV on for Jess when we got home and went and hid in the bathroom to get over the nursery shame. Ate quite a few of the peppermint creams I have hidden in an empty box of haemorrhoid cream for emergencies.
Saturday 19 May
Royal wedding day!
If ever there was an excuse to pop open the prosecco at eleven in the morning, then a royal wedding is it. Jess put on the crown she’d made at nursery as soon as she got up and even Flo seemed quite interested. I don’t think it hurts that the royal bride is also a Hollywood actress.
We all went over to Sierra’s house, as it basically looks like a wedding venue already, in time for all the preliminaries and to eat smoked salmon and mini cucumber sandwiches ahead of having to concentrate on important things like what the guests are wearing and trying to lip read what Harry and William are saying to each other as they wait for Meghan.
The smaller children got bored after about ten minutes – Jess seemed surprised that the whole thing wasn’t animated. I think she was expecting a Disney wedding, so finding out that it was real people and not a musical was something of a disappointment for her.
I enjoyed myself very much, though. Very lovely drinking prosecco, celebrating monarchy, eating crisps, etc., with friends.
Sunday 20 May
Period started today.
I was ready for it, though, Mooncup poised for deployment. I almost chickened out because of feeling a teeny bit queasy after wedding celebrations, but I thought about what Meghan would want me to do and I feel like she’d be rooting for the Mooncup.
Slight issue later in the day with the emptying side of things, which didn’t go quite as smoothly as putting it in. I managed to get hold of the end of it OK, with a small amount of birthing-style bearing down, but I think it’s best not to talk out loud about what happened next. Eventually managed to get myself and the Mooncup cleaned up. I think I’ll try emptying it in the shower tomorrow.
Monday 21 May
Actual animals harmed in the emptying of the Mooncup – 0 (despite appearances). Peppermint creams offered as bribes – 3.
The shower is definitely more suited to Mooncup manoeuvres although I recommend emptying it quite near the bottom of the shower to avoid splatter from any sort of height. Horrifying how water spreads things …
Flo found all of the peppermint cream wrappers in the bathroom bin and questioned me about them while Jess was outside building a nest for snails out of soggy leaves and an empty packet of Quavers. I felt like a fifteen-year-old year caught with an empty bottle of Lambrini under the bed.
I couldn’t think of a legitimate reason why the bathroom bin would be full of peppermint cream wrappers other than the truth, so I went with that. Flo seemed almost impressed with my cunning and promised not to tell Jess as long as she could share them. Made a mental note to get some Poundland sweets for the haemorrhoid box and to empty the Canesten out of its packet to make room for the Bendicks. No point wasting the good chocolates on a child, just because I’ve been caught out.
WhatsApp from Busy Beavers about a parents’ social on Wednesday evening at The Boat and Anchor. Messaged WIB to see if either of them fancied it, but both said they were at home with the kids. I don’t like Cassie or Yvonne much, obviously, but if I’m really going to become a part of Barnmouth and make more friends then maybe I need to stop being a baby and go to things like this?
I will think about it.
Tuesday 22 May
Instagram post from @simple_dorset_life of an old wooden signpost that says ‘to the sea’. Behind it you can see an overgrown pathway leading down towards the beach.
‘Sometimes you have to walk a difficult path to find the beauty at the end of a journey,’ said the caption. ‘The walk isn’t always easy, but the feel of the warm sand between your toes could be all the reward you need. #takeupthechallenge #blessed #lifeisajourney’.
I took this as a sign that I should man up and go on the playgroup social tomorrow.
Wednesday 23 May
Playgroup committee roles accidentally volunteered for – 1. Glasses of prosecco drunk in the process – 3 (very necessary).
I’ve been duped!
I was extremely brave and went to the playgroup ‘social’, after a large glass of wine at home for courage, and what was my reward?
A playgroup committee meeting!
I blame @simple_dorset_life for this, with her stupid paths and signposts and warm sand.
It started out so innocently – ‘Thanks so much for coming, Frankie! Here, have a glass of prosecco, Frankie!’ – that I was almost relaxed when Cassie stood up and did a little chink on her glass with a perfectly manicured fingernail.
‘Thanks so much, everyone, for coming,’ said Cassie, managing to look humble and superior at the same time. ‘I know it’s not easy getting away from the little ones at bedtime!’
Who actually says ‘little ones’ in normal speech? I thought it was just used in marketing materials by organic, reusable nappy companies and other people who generally want to patronise you. Oh hang on, I see now.
‘It really is lovely to see so many new faces on the playgroup committee, though.’
What? Playgroup committee?
I was there for the prosecco, no way did I sign up for a committee. I pride myself on having managed fourteen years of parenting without ever once having got myself roped into the PTA. I’ve never manned a tombola or had to co-ordinate a bake sale. How had I ended up at a playgroup committee meeting?
‘I know that our little ones enjoy being busy little beavers every Thursday,’ she went on, ‘but it takes busy grown-up beavers behind the scenes to make it happen!’
Sweet Jesus. I looked around the table at the other mums. A couple of them were looking as confused as me, but no one was brave enough to protest. The ex-Olympic sailor (Jen), made a move, almost as if to interrupt, but then thought better of it and poured another glass of prosecco instead.
‘So the first thing we need to sort out,’ Cassie continued, ‘is committee roles.’
OK, so this was the key stage. All I had to do was not put my hand up for anything and I could leave without a particular responsibility, making it easier to step down (via email) after the meeting.
‘I guess the chair is the most important role,’ said Cassie, doing her best to look coy. ‘Does anyone fancy putting themselves forward for this?’ She moved her eyes around the table, as if challenging anyone to speak up.
‘Oh, you should definitely do it,’ said Yvonne, practically drooling into her Scampi Fries. ‘You’ve done such an amazing job so far.’
‘Well,’ said Cassie, giggling coquettishly, ‘that’s ever so sweet of you, Yvonne. I do try my best! It isn’t easy when you’re dealing with two children with dairy intolerances! I wouldn’t want to monopolise the job, though, if anyone else wanted to have a go.’ The table was silent. The rest of the pub fell briefly silent too, as though everyone was being careful not to accidentally volunteer.
‘Well, if you’re all sure,’ said Cassie, ‘then I’m flattered that you all have such confidence in me! Now, how about squash and biscuits co-ordinator?’
In a manner similar to a horror film I once saw where the main character had their fingernails ripped out one by one, Cassie assigned six more roles. I sat on my hands, lips pressed together (between sips of prosecco, obviously).
‘So that just leaves the important role of Busy Beavers treasurer!’ said Cassie. She looked at me. With horror, I realised that there were only seven of us around the table. By saying nothing I appeared to have inadvertently landed myself with the most hideous role of all. How had I let this happen? Why hadn’t I put my hand up when Christmas Party Liaison Officer had come up? That’s a cushy job – once a year, with plenty of time in between to think up an excuse to get out of it. Riya looked pretty smug right about now, clutching the list Cassie had made of potential Santas.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Cassie,’ I said, looking around the rest of the group desperately. ‘My mental arithmetic is terrible, plus I have Flo starting her GCSEs, I’m really not sure I—’
‘Oh, Frankie,’ said Cassie, cutting me off before I had time to wriggle my way out of it, ‘you’re such a sweetie, playing down your talents like that! Don’t worry, though, we have every faith in you! Plus, of course, I will be just at the other end of the phone should you have any questions at all. Shall we move on to the next item? It’s plans for a summer cake sale to raise funds for a new glockenspiel.’
And so there I was, Treasurer of the Busy Beavers Playgroup. FML, as Flo would say.
Very little sympathy from WIB. ‘This is what happens when you fraternise with the enemy,’ said Sierra.
Friday 25 May
Message from Cassie today. She wants to arrange a meeting so that we can chat over the responsibilities of the Busy Beaver treasurer and she can hand over all the records for me to keep and store. I absolutely must think up a reason to get out of this. Firstly, I really do not want to do it. I cannot imagine how stressful it would be to worry that every time my phone beeped that it was a message from Cassie, questioning our spend on squash or asking for profit and loss on the sponsored toddle.
Secondly, I can’t be storing financial records. I throw away most of my bank statements because I don’t want to look at them and I don’t even shred th
em – I just tear them in half and put them at opposite ends of the recycling bin. I can’t be trusted to keep someone else’s financial information secure. I drafted a reply to her.
Hi, Cassie, I would love to meet up but I’ve been thinking a lot about the role and I just don’t think I’m at a point right now where I can take on any new responsibilities. Flo has GCSEs next year and Jess has so many commitments at the moment. I’m afraid I’m going to have to resign my post.
Lame. I’ll never get away with that one. It needs to be something more conclusive.
Saturday 26 May
Another message from Cassie. ‘I saw that you read my last message,’ she wrote, ‘so I just wanted to check that you’re OK as I didn’t hear back?’
Oh God. This is why I can’t be the treasurer. There will be no escape. I drafted a new reply.
Dear Cassie, it is with deep regret that I have to bow out of my new job as treasurer for Busy Beavers playgroup. I would have loved to have had the chance to get to know you and the other mums better through this vital role, but unfortunately my doctor has just diagnosed an RSI in both wrists and has said that it would be very dangerous for me to do any additional work that might aggravate it, e.g., filing, using a calculator, etc.
Sunday 26 May
Hey Cassie, how’s things? Sorry it has taken me so long to reply, it’s because I met a charming circus performer called Antoine and he insisted I learn the trapeze so that I could accompany him around the world on his upcoming tour! How exciting! I am sure you will understand that this means I can no longer take on the role as treasurer.