Has Anyone Seen My Weekend??

I'd really like to have it back. So, if you happen to find it lying around somewhere, please, let me know.

Saturdays are always a bit nutty. Especially in the morning. Lady Kate has a gymnastics class at 9am on the other side of town. As you may or may not know, this household does not currently have an automobile, so we are reliant on public transportation. What this means for our Saturday routine is that I have to get up at 6:30 am (if I want a shower) to get me and Kate ready for class. Normally, she hears me in the shower. This particular Saturday, she crawled into bed with Daddy and I and was sleeping like the proverbial rock. It took quite a bit of poking and prodding to get her functional.

Out the door at 7:45am to get to the top of the hill and make sure we are at the bus stop for the 7:55am bus (Kate will happily tell you that it is the S2) that will take us into St Albans. We get there early. Maybe a little too early, but I just don't trust buses. Technically, we should catch the 321 that leaves the high street at around 8:30am. Our S2 bus get us there at about 8:05am. There is a 321 that leaves at 8:15am, but that gets us to the school way too early and there is only so much you can do while waiting for the doors to open at 8:45am. There IS an S2 that gets there around 8:28am. Technically, Kate and I could get off that one and on to the 8:30am 321 and be on our merry litttle way. Like I said, I don't trust it. All it takes it for the S2 to be running a smidgen late or for the 321 to leave a smidgen too early and then we're stuck. The next 321 doesn't go until 9:15am. Too late for class.

So, we get to the center of town and do our thing for about a half an hour. It's actually nice. We stop at a news agent and get a paper and a juice. The market is just setting up for the day, so there is a scurry and bustle to the high street that normally isn't there at that hour of the morning. People chatting and yelling out to each other as they get their goods out for sale. Early morning shoppers who get there extra early to get the best produce off the fruit and veg stands.

Everyone has a kind word or a smile for Kate and she's been known to get a free clementine or satsuma just for her cuteness level. We make our way to our bus stop and I try to get her to eat something. She's notoriously bad at eating early in the morning. Her natural tendency is to eat around 9:30am, but if I don't get something in her stomach, she just can't focus and concentrate during gymnastics.

From here, the journey is uneventful. We get to gymnastics and all goes well. It's when gymnastics is over that the fun begins. The bus is supposed to get to the bus stop at 10:10am to take us from the gymnastics place back to town. So, Kate is done at 10am (usually on the nose.) We frantically struggle into shoes, socks, and coat and rush out the door and hurry to the bust stop.

Now, let me tell you about the previous weekend. We came around the corner to the bus stop at 10:05am. (The stop is maybe 10 feet from the corner.) The bus was there and getting ready to pull away. Eventhough I waved and signalled with all my might, the driver decided he didn't see us and left. Kate cried. I mentioned the buses come every half hour, right?

Well, the next bus (10:40am) didn't show up at all. The 11:10am bus was too full and didn't stop. Finally, the 11:40am bus stopped and we managed to squeeze on. An hour and a half we waited at that bus stop. If I had been in better shape (my back was still a bit sore) we would have done better to walk back to town. Well, that was last week.

Of course, this week the same thing happened. Now, I hate to waste money (since we buy a return ticket) but we had things to do and a schedule to keep. The weather was nice and I decided that we would try out this walking back to town and see how it goes. After drying the girl's tears (again) we headed off down the road. Bus drivers who make my girl cry are definately on my shit list. I'm finally understanding why my husband used to threaten to take a chainsaw to the buses when he was commuting to university.

She did just great. I thought there would be more whining since she had been up early and worked really hard at gymnastics, but there wasn't. She chatted the whole time and it really only took us about 30 minutes to get there. We got into town just as the next bus was arriving at town. So, yes... we could have waited and caught it and not lost any real time, but I just couldn't take the chance that perhaps the 10:40am would go missing again.

We had to make a quick stop at a small pharmacy that some of the people in my bible study group told me about. Jeff's cough is still hanging around and the *women in the know* told me to go to Derek's Pharmacy and ask for Derek's special black cough medicine. They swore it would do the trick. So, feeling a more than a little silly, I traipsed into Derek's with Kate in tow and went to the pharmacy counter. An elderly man stood behind the counter and greeted us warmly.

Well, if nothing else, I gave the guy a chuckle. "My husband has a nasty cough and the women from my church told me to go to Derek's pharmacy and ask for Derek's magical black cough medicine," I explained in a rush.

His eyes twinkled as he laughed. "I have some of this magical exilir right here," he said as he picked up a bottle from the shelf. "It's a fresh batch. Before I give it to you though, I must ask you a few questions."

I half expected him to ask me if I believed in the fay folk, unicorns, and the curative properties of mermaid scales. Oddly, I felt a little disappointed when he continued. "Is the cough a dry cough or a wet cough, a chesty cough."

"It's in his chest, " I answered truthfully.

"Good," he nodded as if I had correctly answered a pop quiz question. "This medicine is for a congested cough. Now, is he on any other medications? Prescription medicine?"

"No," I shook my head in the negative. "He takes nothing."

"Good," he said again. "Then you may have some of the magic, black medicine." After explaining the dosage information, he rang me up and we headed on our way once more.

Next stop was the "biscuit man." He's a man who runs a stand at the market and he sells biscuits (cookies) and crisps (chips) at a more reasonable price than the supermarket. (Plus a bunch of odds and ends like candy and jam and olive oil.) We stocked up on Kate's favorite "bear crisps" (yes, chips that are shaped like teddy bears) and her Cadbury Animal Crackers that are dipped in what else? Chocolate.

We rush off to Woolworth's next. I'm trying to get home before the poor thing runs out of steam and starts the whining routine. We need a present for her friend, Elise. Kate's been invited to her birthday party this afternoon. It's really the first non-family party that she's been invited to and she isn't very thrilled about the whole idea.

I was pretty astounded at how quickly she helped pick out a gift. I was flabbergasted really. I thought for sure that she'd be all for getting a gift as long as it was for herself. However, we had barely gotten to the toy aisle when she quickly picked out a "My Little Pony" and handed it to me. "This is for Elise," she said. Obviously, she had gotten the idea behind the whole gift giving thing. Yet, there was something not quite right about how quickly and willingly she completed this task.

She looked at me hopefully. Her expression was one that begged choirs of angels to hover nearby and forbid butter to melt. "And this squirrel is for me." My child is the queen of manipulation and being her mother, I can see how her schemes work. She had quickly chosen the "My Little Pony" in hopes that I would fail to spot the "Littlest Pet Shop" chinchilla toy and decide that would be a suitable present for her little friend. The speed in which this exhange happened led me to believe that as soon as she had laid eyes on the chinchilla, she decided that she MUST have it even if she didn't really know what it was.

Yes, being her mother I know how she works. But being her mother also means that I can choose to let her get her way every now and then. She had been a very good child all morning and even with the extra walking and the extra stops and missing the bus she hadn't complained one bit. It has been ages since I actually let her have a little something special. It wasn't going to totally kill the budget.

"You know what?" I said as I took it from her hands and looked it over. It was the strangest chinchilla I had ever seen. I could see why she called it a squirrel. "You've been such a great kid today and a big help. You can have this, but it's a chinchilla."

"Oh, yeah," she answered as if she knew it all along and had just momentarily forgotten. "It IS a chinchilla."

She helped me pick out a card (ladybird on it) and wrapping paper (cupcakes) and off we went. After making sure that I had put her new toy safely in my backpack, we skipped off to find the S2 to take us home. She didn't even glance at the little bakery where we always stop to get a cookie for her to eat after lunch. She had her chinchilla and she certainly wasn't going to push her luck.

Thankfully, the bus came rather quickly and we motored on home. She ate a quick lunch while I packed her clothes for Gran's house and Daddy wrapped the birthday present. Before we knew it, it was time to leave for the party. Elise's mom had rented out one of the halls at the church, so no transportation worries. It was within walking distance.

When we got there, I could tell that Kate was starting to feel the length of her day. As soon as we got in the front door and she heard the music from upstairs she simply collapsed in a heap on the floor. "I don't want to go to a party, Mummy," she sniffled with the hint of a whinge.

Basically, I ended up carrying her upstairs. A dead weight, sack of potatoes carry while I juggled her penguin backpack that contained her clothes and a small owl backpack that her Gran had brought back from Scotland for her which carried the chinchilla and two tigers. Now, keep in mind, when I got this invitation for the party it said VERY clearly that it was a craft party and that the kids would be doing crafts. So, imagine my surprise when the majority of the little girls were in proper party dresses. We're talking taffetta and satin. Sparkles and lace. Velvet and bows. And Kate in her pink fleece with pink pants and her hair looking like I had combed it with a blender. (Can I help it that hats do horrible things to her hair?)

Not that Kate noticed. She was too busy whimpering at my feet like I had just set her in a pit of acid. "Come on," I hissed. "Get up. Elise is here. You'll have fun." At that moment, I looked up to see one of the little girls that had been in Kate's nursery class in the fall (she has since moved up to the reception class with the January intakes). Grace is one of those absolutely adorable little girls who look more like a doll than an actual child. She has the biggest eyes I have ever seen ... well, on anyone actually. Her hair was perfectly braided in two french braids down either side of her head and she was wearing a very girly teal print dress made out of some sort of chiffon with a matching sweater over top of it.

Her little face lit up when she saw Kate from across the room. With dainty, ladylike steps she came to her and like a little fairy princess, she held out her hand as if she would lead her to some magical world where they eat nothing but fancy sweets and cakes. I'd like to say that Kate was so happy to see her "old" friend that she jumped up and took Grace by the hand and went to play. Not my child. She sobbed and buried her face into my leg. Poor Grace looked disappointed.

"Hello, Grace!" I said brightly. (Maybe a little TOO brightly.) "It's nice to see you again! How is school?"

"School is very nice. Thank you for asking," she said sweetly as she smiled at me. Whose kid has manners that are THAT impeccable??? Luckily the woman who was running the craft portion of the party announced that it was time to put on aprons (little plastic disposable ones that she provided) and get crafting. I managed to get Kate into an apron and seated at the table and soon the tears and the fears were forgotten.

She spent the next two hours using markers on a little tote bag, painting a giant toadstool to put in the garden, and making a clay pot and sticking "gems" into it. She had a great time. She managed to cover her ears and not make a fuss when they sang "Happy Birthday" to Elise and ate most of the small snacky-lunch that was provided while stuffing as many chocolate treats, cupcakes, and cookies into her tummy as she could. Before we knew it, it was 3 pm and Daddy had arrived to take Kate to Gran's.

Since he has a season ticket for the train, it is cheaper for him to take her by train to Borehamwood and then by bus to Barnet. However, today Gran was meeting them in Borehamwood and taking Kate from there. (Reports have it that even though Gran said it wouldn't be a double decker bus, it most definately was and Kate was absolutely thrilled. She loves sitting on the top deck at the front and looking out over the land.)

I returned home and from there... well, I don't know where the rest of the weekend went. I know I rousted my husband out of bed and made him go to the 9am church service with me on Sunday. (Our dear friend Liz was preaching the sermon.) And I vaguely remember nagging him for hours on end to work on the rabbit hutch that I was promised months ago. (I still have two rabbits living in my kitchen.) Oh, I made New England Clam Chowder and added a bit of other seafood to the recipe for a bit of a change.

Other than that.... I'm not sure where it all went. So, if you see any of it lying around. A bit here or a piece there. I'd love to have it back.