Bounce

I did not know how much lifting, stretching, twisting and bending I did until I was enforced to refrain.

 

Truly!

I had myself well-pegged as much more lazy than I apparently am, if the discomfort that I was feeling from being refrained was anything to go by.

I mean, it wasn't all doom - I did do some reading, and a bit of quality napping happened.  But whinge - oh, I am sick of my own whinging.

A week (ish) has gone by and I am just now getting to the point of thinking "ah yes, I get it" but its possible I don't just yet.

On top of that, we are currently without a Paris in the house and this is harder than I thought that it was going to be.

I have spent a little time THINKING ABOUT dipping my toes into genealogy's pond - but that gets bigger before I make a start and I leave only slightly ruffled around the edges.  I also binged (interspersed with napping) a few UK Who Do You Think You Are episodes.  One of the good things about watching such stuff about people who you actually already know nothing about is that chances are, you know as much about their history as they do.

I did also go through my photo albums and loose photos and have discovered about 3 of the last 23 years in a pile with no labels - and the other 20 are either in a box downstairs or on (hopefully) the hard drive.

I have not mopped the floors or spring cleaned the windows or sewn up a storm.  No go me!!

The child currently at camp (yes, we are pretending that this is normal and not a previously unthinkable hurdle cleared) will, however, return to find her room tidied - I know, that sort of horrible mother.  

The good news is that I can interrupt her protests with showing her a photo of the person that I was who actually tidied a whole share house when she moved into it in 1994 (?).  I can't show her a photo of the house (although it was a truly awesome house) because apparently the early 1990s were before photos were the disposable commodity that they are today.  It was across the road from The Valhalla, and awesome little cinema that always had a double feature on Sunday nights, and from The Craven, the coffee shop next door that I frequented for other cleansing purposes.

I will show her the photo and say "see, its nothing personal" and no doubt launch into the moral tale about the 26 coffee mugs but she will pay scant attention.  She is at that age - where the phone actually commandeers her waking hours.  And I know, just say no - but the moments of no are filled with the desire to go back on its a constant battle.  That being said, there are cracks appearing in the shell - there is the whole going to camp and rock-climbing and her living through the last week a little bit older.  

We were discussing parasites recently (as you do) and I mentioned how one version of her blog name had an association with such, as when I was pregnant with her I had a tag that was "Parasitic Alien Life Form" (for some reason only one post comes up with the tag these days...)

I did mention that it was also due to the Paris Accord (and not really because it was Copenhagen by the time she got around to being born and V mentioned that his view is now offers no sense of humour about environmental agreements). 

She might have listened.

 So I am off to bed now.  Again.  And being quietly proud of Paris.