Okay... it's not REALLY that frantic. I just REALLY enjoy alliteration. And Freaky Friday is already taken.
It's a pretty normal Friday for me, actually. The sun is playing hide and seek amongst the cloud cover. Kate's at school.
Oh, yeah... Kate. Kate is the one having the Frantic Friday of sorts. Today, she's on a class trip (field trip for the US readers) to the RAF Museum which is relatively nearby. (Click here for more information... if you're interested.)
I had been invited along, but I've been suffering for most of the week with a horrible chest cold, so thought perhaps staying home was preferable. Then she'll get back and go straight to dance class until 4:30pm at which point I'll pick her up and bring her home. Throw some dinner down her throat. It's Friday... which means pizza in Kate's book. She is then being picked up at 6:10pm for Lucy and Ben's joint birthday party at the very popular DJ's Jungle Adventure. It has the unique experience of being a pajama party! Meaning, Kate and all the other attendees will be wearing their pajamas! Kate is VERY excited by the idea of wearing her PJ's in public. Oh, to be seven again....
It's a long day for her. I expect her to be hyper-ly exhausted when she gets home.
Last night, as we were doing our good night routine, I was sitting at the side of her bed, reviewing what was coming up in the days ahead. We talked our way through Friday and the discussed a bit of Saturday. "Gran will be coming to visit on Saturday and it is Quiz Night at school," I explained. "So, Gran will be sleeping over so Daddy and I can go."
"Oh, Mum," she said as she snuggled down into her bed. "That's so wicked." Her eyes darted to my face to see if I'd have anything to say about her choice of vocabulary.
"WICKED!?" My brain set off the klaxons and went to red alert. Little men wearing brightly coloured jumpsuits began running about wildly inside my head as they tried to induce me into a similarly panicked overreaction.
Calmly, my hand reached out and brushed her hair back from her forehead. "Yeah, pretty cool, huh? Gran doesn't usually sleep over on a Saturday.
"Wicked cool, Mum. Wicked." Was it me or did a faint shadow of disappointment flicker through her eyes at failing to get a rise out of me?
I leaned over to kiss her goodnight and my sparkling seven year old returned, hugging me tightly around the neck and refusing to let go until I paid a suitable toll. (Many MANY kisses).
Which brings us to this morning. Friday morning.
We're trudging our way to school, chattering like a mischief of magpies (or if you prefer, you can use tiding, tittering, tribe, murder, gulp, or charm... I prefer mischief.)
"Shoot," I exclaim softly when we're well past the halfway point.
"What is it, Mum?" Kate asks.
"Oh, I forgot to bring Geraldine's book for her." My friend Geraldine (yes, yes... stop laughing) had lent me a book which I finished rather quickly. A lively piece of Chicklit entitled The School Run, it was just the sort of light, engaging, and entertaining read that I needed after finishing the Swedish thriller The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. (Having been a fan of the Swedish mystery drama Wallander (both the English and the Swedish (with subtitles) versions) I was familiar with the darkness of the Swedish psyche but even this plunged me into a darkness that haunted me well after I put the book down.)
"Well, Mum, you can't be expected to remember EVERYTHING."
My heart nearly stopped. Could this be true?? Could SOMEONE actually notice that I seem to organize the world on a daily basis and without my careful hand, lunches, school boxes, PE kits, and various other things would never make it with the people they are supposed to leave with? Am I actually about to be shown some appreciation by the person I least expect it from?? Let's be realistic... she has to be prompted to say "Hello" or "Good Morning" to people she knows.
And then the penny drops....
"Yes, Mum," she continues after a few moments. "As you get older your brain cells begin to die off and you aren't able to remember things as well as you could when you were young."
From heroic Super Mom with cape fluttering in the spring breeze to pitiful Alzheimer Mom who is lucky to be wearing matching socks in five seconds flat.
"Oh, and Gran told me that when you get old ... there are these squooshy bits in your back that will shrink and you'll get shorter."
I'm doomed.
