Day two of new drugs.
Yelled at the boys.
But don’t feel sick or have any anxiety.
But still the angry mummy reigns.
Today I am 33 weeks.
Chef and I are still barely talking.
The repetitive monotony of my life is really really suffocating.
Mum came downstairs – unannounced and uninvited – to have another chat about what she’s going to do. While I was lying on the lounge making the most I could of having the house relatively to myself (Chef and big boys at putt putt golf, Jasper sleeping).
She’s going to sell in 12-18 months. This is probably the most financially stupid thing she could do. But she gets these notions in her head and there is no point trying to use reason or logic to make her see otherwise.
She should move into the downstairs and rent out the upstairs. And we will move out, rent for 2-5 years and then buy something. She started on the whole, “yes but in that time all the housing prices would go up anyway and you still wouldn’t be able to afford to buy anything”. In the end I just said curtly that that was not her concern, and that what was being decided was what she wanted and what was best for her in her retirement.
Honey soy chicken wings for dinner.