It’s been a week. With two bank holidays to deal with, those of you who work for the NHS, the emergency services or in hospitality will understand.
A birthday to navigate during the start of middle kid’s SQA exam diet. Littlest kid with her imminent school trip to Paris is currently so hyper only dogs and people in space can hear her.
Biggest kid announcing she’s giving up her lease and has booked a trip to Bali and Thailand before heading home. How quickly can I google the crime stats for Bali?
It’s. Been. A. Week. May is supposed to be full of joy! It’s one of my favourite months.
My birthday. Middle kid’s birthday. Eurovision. National Donut Week AND National Biscuit Day!
We resolutely say ‘cheerio’ to winter and a confident big happy ‘hello’ to hints of summer, without being too hot for a blue skinned, wide, wee wummin like me.
The flowers are thoroughly jubilant with their presence – who doesn’t love a tulip? And peonies? Dreamy, short seasoned peonies.
Everywhere you look is green grass carpeted and the rising temperatures begin to warm the sea, as well as the soul.
Will this be the year I brave some open water swimming or let the kids persuade me onto a paddleboard? Maybe, but I’ll book a wee boat trip to err on the side of caution.
I mean, as a mum I don’t actually participate in family fun activities, I just plan them, prepare food for them and drive them home.
May typically makes promises but this year she’s being a little reluctant to show up.
The weather should be reaching the stage where all Scots begin saying phrases like: I can’t believe how nice it is. It makes such a difference doesn’t it. Careful not to get burnt. Actually, we could eat outside. It’s too hot to cook, will we just have salad and some ‘picky’ bits. Shall we go in?
Occasional bursts of overly enthusiastic ‘taps aff’ folk start emerging. In all honesty, who are they harming? Just avert your eyes.
That said, you won’t catch me in public minus a long-legged trouser but that’s for all our sakes. The valid, and genuine, worry the sheen from my legs could potentially blind passing drivers warrants putting safety first.
Himself previously announced my legs couldn’t possibly contain one single ounce of melanin. They hadn’t changed colour at all. In more than 25 years of knowing me.
Apparently my stubborn streak extends not just to my personality but also to my physical attributes too.
Fake tan not an option after years of trying to rectify horrendous attempts at non streaky applications during my university ‘going out’ years.
There are probably better products available now, a whole lifetime later, I just don’t have the patience or willingness to try them.
I should offer myself up to Fake Bake or similar. If they can streak free tan me then they can sun kiss anyone.
In the spirit of making an effort, I painted my toes. Bright red to contrast with my translucent skin. I stuck on a pair of sandals, and confidently strode out into the glorious sunshine.
Scotland soon showed me – we had hail stones all afternoon.
I should be a little more forgiving of May. I had a charming birthday. Presents mostly consist of flowers, scented candles and garden centre vouchers. All of which I loved because I am now a proper adult. I know this because I’d rather sleep than go out.
Everything hurts. Everything feels like an effort. I have a favourite mug and I’m always annoyed about something.
However, there is a theatre trip and an overnight get away booked with friends. I’ve also requested, for the first time ever, a longer break from my chemo to let me spend some time with middle kid after her exams .
May also brings the third anniversary of this weekly column. We’ve light-heartedly navigated births, deaths and marriages. Global pandemics, cancer treatment and, more seriously, the man flu.
Children have grown. Flown the nest. Come back. Flown again. A LOT has changed in just three years and I’m grateful to have seen every last bit of it. Thank you for reading my blethers, it means the world.
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