… in a land far far away. Oh, okay, if you insist on boring fact… Croydon.

Where was I? Oh yes. Akra Jr is 8 years old today. EIGHT YEARS OLD! I don’t feel old enough to have an eight year old son.

Anyway, he’s as had as fun a day as possible with a streaming cold and having to go to school for most of it.

Tea (at his request) was at McDonalds, with just the four of us (his party was at the weekend). He has played on his new DS games (Lego Star Wars and Lego Indiana Jones, spot a theme?) and he is actually eager to go to bed so he can try out his new reading light. A 6-speed bike is cluttering up the living room ready for a day that it does not rain.

A perfect day all round then, really.

It doesn’t appear to be my week.

First, one of our skylights started to leak during the heavy rain yesterday (we think it might have been due to some sort of grit/debris stopping the window closing properly – at least the seal seems intact – we can’t be sure until the next bout of rain) and now today my oven has given up the ghost.

An hour into cooking baked potatoes (normal temp of 180C) the kitchen got very smoky. Looked inside the oven to find the potatoes utterly incinerated and a bit behind the fan glowing red. I switched it off pretty sharpish and have flung open all windows and doors in an attempt to clear the smoke. The fan had been making a clanking noise for a while, but obviously something has gone very wrong – thermostat maybe as well as fan?

Of course it chose to break in May which is our most expensive month of the year excepting Christmas (Akra Jr’s, Li’l Bhaji’s and Akra’s birthdays in quick succession). It wouldn’t wait for time when we actually had money spare would it, oh no.

I had some time spare on Sunday morning, and thought I’d tackle one of my to do list items. I didn’t think it would take long – just needed to move the clump of daffodils that were in our old front flower bed (now been grass-seeded) to a new position around a palm tree at the side of our house.

Only I hadn’t factored in just how terrible our soil is. You see, our house is a newish build (about 10 years old, I think) and the soil appears to be a mix of pure clay and builder’s rubble. What started as a five minute job just digging out some plants, became something that more resembled an archaeological dig. I got my trusty trowel out, and started carefully digging around each clump, freeing their roots and brushing the soil away with my gloved hands, before easing each bulb out individually.

Akra came out and laughed at me. Obviously it was going to take ages – I should have been using a garden fork, it would be much quicker. I gladly offered him centre stage but he couldn’t get the prongs in more than half a centimetre deep. He went off to make lunch instead and I carried on, finally removing the last bulb before lunch was even ready. I tried not to feel too smug.

I thought there’d only be about 5 or 6 bulbs in the bed, in the end I had about 50 of varying sizes – I only lost about 4 or 5 when I got a bit too impatient and split them with my trowel. Akra was coerced volunteered to replant them and I left him to it.

Poor chap, it took him hours and he lost the will to live half way around digging the trench, so the semi-circle looks rather wonky. They’re also miles away from the tree (the tree roots prevented digging in a nice tightly hugging trunk-ring that I’d envisaged). Hopefully it’ll sort itself out and look slightly less regimented and weird in a couple of years (it will, won’t it?)

Either way, I’m not digging them up again. I’ll never think a daffodil is a pretty flower ever again.

I seem to have spent most of the day wading through treacle. I’ve been completely zoned out, exhausted and lethargic.

Normally some exercise in the afternoon would have helped rally me a little, but given that I’m not supposed to do any, I resorted to a nap instead. Which didn’t really help either.

The kids are now in bed, and technically the evening is mine to do with what I will, but I’ve mostly just sat and stared into space. Eventually told myself to get a grip and started to catch up with Twitter and RSS feeds only to find that just about everyone else seems to be having a lethargy day today as well.

Is there something in the air?!

Today so far I have:

• Found Li’l Bhaji’s milk order form that I should have handed in to school on Friday.
• Lost another important piece of paperwork that I needed to reply to today.
• Done the second worst parallel park of my life (outside the library with a police car patiently waiting behind me, oh the shame).
• Become a screaming harridan at my children for running inside for the 20th time in 10 minutes and left the door wide open AGAIN.

Still, on the plus side of the ledger, the kids haven’t killed each other yet… but there’s still a couple of weeks to go so it’s a bit early to call that a success.

A collection of random thoughts.

1. No matter how nice the weather or how energetic I feel, it really isn’t a great idea to take an hour long walk into town when I’m in the depths of a chesty cold and am asthmatic. Especially when the return journey is uphill.
2. It may be more environmentally friendly than taking the car, but walking into town really doesn’t save any money. Compare and contrast: 70p worth of petrol (ish – erring on the pessimistic side) and £1 parking costs (1 hour) on the one hand, £3.60 for coffee and pain au chocolat when you realise you’ve burned up all your energy and can’t move another step plus £1.80 for single bus fare back home again to get up That Hill [tm] on the other. And that’s not even taking into account the fact it feels more like an expedition than a quick shopping trip, with the associated temptation to spend more money while there to make it “all worth while”. Hmm.
3. There’s no way I could do that writer’s thing of taking my laptop to a coffee shop, people watching is far too much fun. Plus, I am still in Woman With A Mission mode after years of dragging small children around town – can’t relax, need to get what I need then go.
4. What a lovely meandering bus journey home! I do miss using the buses regularly, it’s so much more sociable and far less stressful than driving. If only they didn’t feel like a luxury – Worcestershire’s buses are the most expensive in the country apparently. It’s days like this you really miss London Transport. No, really.

Okay, so the usual signs are important in our household too. The daffodils are a cheery sight and I love to see more bird activity, listen to them singing. But there are some more significant annual milestones for us:

• First cutting of the lawn. This great family ritual usually involves me standing at the kitchen door, waxing lyrical about the wonderful cut grass smell and Akra moaning about yet another weekend chore that he gets to do for the next 7-8 months!
• First washing out of the year. After six months of continually tripping over the indoor airers, it’s fantastic to be able to hang stuff outside again for the half hour before it starts to rain.
• Most importantly, I’ve started to be able to reduce the time I’m using the SAD light for each morning. A whole extra five minutes spare to nag the kids into getting ready!

And you thought I had a dull life.

You know you have those weeks where every time you feel you might just possibly be catching up with where you should be, a whole new lot of tasks drop on you and you’re back where you started? That’s me that is.

Hospital appointment, writing, paid work, attempting to de-dustmite the bedroom, general household chores, a to do list that grows longer every time I look at it, various school events, people needing to speak to me RIGHT NOW, separating bickering children, and trying to keep up with exercise, the monthly scavenger hunt and my sanity in the midst of it all.

The first couple of days it was quite energising and motivating to have to fit everything in, but I think I’ve burned out somewhat now, thanks all the same.

You very almost got a “Reasons for not blogging no 576: the dog ate my homework” post, and I don’t even OWN a dog. That’s how busy I’ve been.

And I still haven’t written my 500 words of fiction for the day yet.

PSc (in full Red Dwarf tradition) stands for Pink Swimming Certificate.

Yes, tonight my eldest son, who for years hated to even get his face wet and would beg me to let him stop swimming lessons, got his 10m badge! We’re all very proud.

He can even do that clever head side-turn thing to breathe when he’s swimming – I can’t even do that!