Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Our House It's Sunday Again!

I now realize just why my husband offers to cook on a Sunday. Actually he cooks most of the time but because I am at work during the week and some weekends, when I'm home, I like to cook. It's also probably got something to do with making sure that I spend sometime playing wife, mother, housekeeper, chef, nurse, chauffeur et al so that no one can accuse me of neglect!!

So there we are last Sunday once again. Actually it was Saturday evening when husband asked me what time our daughter was working the following day. It didn't really go like that. It was, "What time is your daughter working tomorrow?". I am forever amused at the 'your daughter', 'my daughter' and 'our daughter' tag that comes out of his mouth depending on what she has done or not done! I told him to which he replied:

"Seeing she doesn't start 'til twelve, you can take her and if you like, I'll cook".

I like!

Sunday morning 'my daughter' and I don't have to leave as early as she would had 'her father' been driving her! Those who read last week's 'Our House' know that my husband thinks my Chevy is a golf cart - according to 'his daughter'!

However, before 'his daughter' and I leave, there is a huffette!

Daughter: "Mummy can you measure?"
Me: "Measure?"
Daughter: "Yes, measure!". Rolls eyes to heaven.
Me: "Yes. What do you want me to measure? You?"

This is not quite so stupid as it sounds as she is to be a Maid of Honour at an upcoming wedding and I know there has been talk of dresses, flowers, seamstresses, cake, cost, venue, decor and all the other things that one has to think about when planning a wedding. I also know that she has taken a page from one of my magazines of old and is using a Valentino design on said page, for the bridesmaids' dresses.

Daughter: "Are you sure you know how to measure because you can't sew?"
Me: "You sure you want me do do this?" Clenched teeth.
Daughter: "Yes please".
Me: "Right! Bring the tape measure, paper and pen".
Daughter: "You have the tape measure".
Me: "You want me to measure you or not?".

Daughter goes for the things it takes to measure. I won't even go into the the conversation whilst the measuring is in process but there is a suggestion that perhaps she would like to stand up straight. As I write this I realize I have to add at least five inches from waist to floor as I did not allow for shoes! 'My five foot seven and a half inch daughter' will look as though she is expecting a flood if the dress is made using my figures!

I have seen the chosen material - two materials - samples have been stapled to a card. Very pretty. Beautiful colour in fact. I just couldn't keep my mouth shut, could I?

Me: "You will have to take the samples to the seamstress because I have a feeling that you'll something heavier than that chiffon".
Daughter impatiently: "That's not up to me. I'm not in charge of that".

I over-react! Yes, I definitely over-react! "Don't take that tone with me"
Daughter: "What tone? All I said was.............."
Me: "Enough"

Can't leave it there, can I? Before I know where I am, daughter is asking what has she done now, husband is laughing and is heard to say, "she hasn't taken her tablet this morning".
Daughter: "Obviously not!".
Me: "You take your daughter to work".
Husband: "Fine by me".
I can hear him and 'his daughter' giggling!

I eventually cool down, my husband tells 'his daughter' that I have been in this country too long, the dust settles and I back-track. 'My daughter' and I leave for town. It's a pleasant drive until we come to the part where I see that once again, the other side of the highway is closed for resurfacing.

Me: "Oh hell, not again!".

At least this time I have money and water. Decide after dropping off my 'my daughter' that I will drop in on 'my son' who lives 'in the West', the west being a posh part of the island. People say that I live in a posh place too. I don't. It's an over-priced area and I call it 'the reservation'. Go figure! I am not racist.

Drop daughter, drive to son's, use his computer to shoot off some work-related e mails, catch up on the last week's activities, chat with future daughter-in-law, decline lunch and make my departure in rain thinking that by now, highway will have re-opened. Wrong!

Sit in traffic just as last week although this time I don't make my own detours. I stick to the signs and stay behind the truck which is churning out the diesel fumes that will possibly kill me far more quickly than the cigarettes I used to smoke! Yes, it's hot but not quite as hot as last week. Maybe three degrees lower.

Husband has not called to see where I am, how I am, if I'm alive, if the car is drivable or if I'm stuck in traffic. I suspect he knows I'm stuck in traffic and is expecting me to come in, like last Sunday drenched as I can see in the distance that in my area, there is heavy rain.

Well not this Sunday sunshine! I am coming home, very dry, wearing all the clothes that I left in.

You want to cook on a Sunday lately because you know there are road works?? Fine! I'm coming home to eat lunch and for nothing else!

And you can go and pick up 'our daughter' tonight!


  1. Absolutely love Sunday's with Bee. With or without your tablet it is a funny blog. Good thing it wasn't a repeat of last weeks strip show. Love it, love it. Margaret

  2. Daughter: "Are you sure you know how to measure because you can't sew?"

    LOL .. how many inches? You are so funny and good hearted to have this humour ~ but then again, I suppose it's always there for the taking in retrospect, if we just allow it.

    Right now it's 6:30 a.m. and once again it sounds as though there is a light sprinkling rain outside my window on the leaves of the tree, but it's bees .. so strange .. it clicks like pitter patters of light rain .. I went outside yesterday morning to see if there was rain and ended up with bees buzzing all round my head!

    I would love just a little rain ~ being soaked from the inside out is just not the same without rain to wash it all away at least once in awhile.

    Loved your blog ~ love your life. ~ Ruthie


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