How to be good

Did anyone else read that book? Nick Hornby, I think. I quite liked it. And of course it was reassuring to think I wasn't/aren't as messed up as them.

Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I have no Christmas genes.

Maybe it isn't genetic. Maybe it is plain badness. But Christmas makes me shudder. Which is not at all the proper response for a mummy or a nice girl.

Anyway, I'm writing the odd effort down here to try and get myself to find a few shreds of humanity and make myself stick to things. Tonight I did a good thing. I invited my parents to our place for Christmas. I had previously had visions of camping and having a non-Christmas Christmas. Being ridiculous, I also asked my son what he would like to do for Christmas. Being five and having been brainwashed by ridiculous people who for once are not his parents, he wanted to be at home because he didn't think Father Christmas could bring presents in a tent because there is no chimney.

So they are coming and I will have to clean the house again which is no bad thing because it is getting to be a while since I did so. It will be a bad thing eventually though because I will be cleaning. Cleaning. eugggh. I even have to do some tomorrow which is not anything to do with the parents coming in six weeks, just because even I can see the problems with leaving food to grind into the carpet. Apparently the short people cannot see problems in this respect, because they are the ones who put the food there.

Am I blogging about housework? Someone better shoot me.

But I digress back to happier thoughts. The garden. The crayfish was completely gorgeous. The children had the good manners not to like it, leaving more for us people misnomerically known as adults. I am going to bury the crayfish remains in the garden and plant something on top. Surely that will yield good growth. I am not exactly sure where. The front garden could do with some more nourishment, but that part is exposed to the neighbourhood dogs who might promptly dig the shells up again. And the bokashi which has been awaiting digging in for much longer than good people leave it. The pumpkins look undernourished out the front, though the zucchini which is in a much more richly nurtured spot, is flourishing.

Good people don't get library fines. Good people don't suddenly remember, in the middle of the night, that the library sent a letter asking for the book or the money within seven days or Baycorp would be called in, a number of days ago that could be more than seven...

At least I was nice to my Mum and Dad. Which when I was younger and had to do what they said and go to confession, was one of the things I probably should have confessed to not doing/being enough. Mostly though I recall saying I wasn't nice to my brother and sister.