Strike action

Husband has finally conceded that we are living beyond our means. He sat everyone down last night and outlined a strict new budget that reflects our constrained means. Nah, just kidding. He redrew on the mortgage. Happy days! I’m taking the Sprogs for pedicures this morning to celebrate. They were supposed to be at school, but there’s a teachers’ strike. I’m far more magnanimous about such things now I’m a stay-at-home mum. I even wished Sprog 2’s teacher luck yesterday. If I’d still been working I would have been FURIOUS and cursed her as I frantically searched for someone to mind the kids. Now? Hey, no biggie. What colour polish do you want on your toes, girls? Thankfully, yesterday wasn’t a strike, so Husband and I could get our holiday packing done Sprog-less. This posed its usual challenge for me: how many pairs of shoes to take? Husband monitors this situation fairly closely, as he hasn’t forgotten the time I took a pair of cowboy boots on a backpacking holiday in Thailand. Not really a cowboy boot sort of climate. And quite heavy when not actually on your feet. I went all weak and swoony in the heat and made Husband carry them in his backpack (along with my enormous make-up bag – it was during our first flush of love). This trip I’ve narrowed my footwear essentials down to a pair of black trainers (very sensible); a pair of black Marc Jacobs jelly thongs (very last year), a pair of brown Havianas (very neutral), a pair of fluffy slippers (very warm), and a pair of silver sandals (very versatile). Which brings me back to the pedicure. Husband is a little hazy on its necessity, but I’ve explained that I’m actually cutting back by not getting an eyelash tint and brow wax as well (which are my other regular must-dos before a trip). See, I’m doing my best to economise. Really, I am.

TONIGHT’S MENU: It’s the end-of-season soccer parents’ dinner (ie parents of sprogs who play soccer on the same team) at the local Indian restaurant. I’ve no idea why the custom exists, but I’m quite looking forward to it. We’re having the banquet. I love banquets. Almost as much as I love buffets. I’ll feed the Sprogs an early dinner of sausages and mash, then deposit them at their aunty’s house for a sleepover. Nice aunty!