Redundancy, clogs and gall bladders

What a couple of weeks that’s been. A whole year’s bad luck compounded into two weeks and then the cherry on the top last week – the other half being made redundant with immediate effect after finishing the project he was on. Three weeks before Christmas. Ho Ho bloody Ho.

Really though, after the initial shock, panic, horror and mopping around imagining that I was Mrs Cratchit from The Christmas Carol (although I think even Scrooge didn’t actually sack Bob Cratchit) things have worked out, dare I say, for the best.

It means Daddy Pig is now working on island again which means we see him more and NO MORE BOAT.

Some of you may wonder why I’m so excited about NO MORE BOAT and that would probably be my readers from the UK rather than the US. I don’t think Mainers would need to be told much more than the boat has lots of single pane glass and there are actually lots of open gaps to guess how freaking cold it could get. Fantastic and breezy lovely April through October. The Winter? Not so much.

For those of you that aren’t aware how inhospitable Maine can be in the winter, I’ll set the scene a little. The other day I took the dog for her walk and it was so cold her drool froze, three of my finger nails snapped off and my phone stopped working. And it hasn’t even got properly cold yet. Properly cold last year saw temperatures of -25 with a wind chill of -30. You throw a glass of water it of the window and it freezes before it hits the ground. Or, dog poo freezes in under ten minutes. Which is handy.

Add to that the fact that the docks and walkways could be sheer ice at times and I have to say my nerve was beginning to go. Carrying a wriggly baby around on ice over water that would give you hypothermia within minutes would un-nerve most parents let alone OCD safety Mum.

So we’re somewhat happily back to a life of grueling ferry schedules and icy cold beach trips for the foreseeable.

To make ends meet now, the other half is mainly chainsawing. I have to be honest, this scares the living hell out of me. A: we don’t have life insurance, B: he can be a bit cavalier with a chainsaw, C: we don’t have life insurance, D: he insists on leaping around in clogs and no protective gear and E: we don’t have life insurance.

The upside of this is that he’s looking all buff, won’t get all porky and pale like he would have done sitting in a shed with no windows most of the week and is not such a miserable shit as he’s getting vitamin D again.

I write this in almost our third week of self imposed quarantine. After ten straight days of no sleep due to the bug from Hades I’m not chancing anything stopping us getting on a plane to the UK on Tuesday for Christmas.

We did get out for a walk with friends yesterday but when she wheeled her buggy up to mine so the boys could say “hi” I kind of snarled and got a twitchy eye so she backed off quickly. Good to cement these quirky aspects of your personality early in a friendship.

It’s funny how three weeks without much adult interaction can skew your perception on things. The other day I had an hour long panic about running out of goji berries. Then I had an hour long panic about becoming the kind of person that could have an hour long panic about a weeks dearth of a berry most people haven’t heard of.

How most of Maine doesn’t end up on hardcore medication by February will always baffle me. Last year I got stuck inside for such a long stretch I lost it around mid February and ran outside in my underwear and made snow angels. Whilst crying.

At least in the UK I’ll be stuck inside due to rain and we’ll have proper chocolate and tv for Christmas. Downton Abbey, The Queen’s Speech (it’s a speech made by our actual, REAL Queen not some crap film and while I’m at it- it irks me that people in the US think Maggie Twating Thatcher is some kind of saint based on nothing but that awful Meryl Streep film rather than see the long lasting damage she inflicted on Britian.)

And Christmas pudding, mince pies and crackers. Which I’m yet to have had in the States. Although when it comes to decoration the Yanks win hands down. And it’s done with so much more taste dare I say it. Nice little twinkly lights in handmade wreaths and arty decorations. The layer of snow helps the feel no end obviously.

So I’ve made and sent my Christmas cards (the smugness I gained from being such a domestic goddess as to make my own cards WITH A BABY) has unfortunately been overshadowed by the embarrassment of spelling the other half’s name wrong on a fair few and mixing up some of the cards and envelopes. At least this year it’ll get blamed on only getting 2-4 hours sleep a night rather than being a bit drunk. And at least people are spared the long ‘what a great friend you are’ drivel inside.

I’d better wrap this up, I can hear screaming downstairs and I can hear shouting such as “mouse”, “sick”, “GET THE BABY” and, best of all, “oh god I’ve stepped in it’s fucking gall bladder!”IMG_8112.JPG

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