crack open the heart medication, me old ticker can't take it

Am back.  Holiday good.  Mid-winter sunshine-y.  I had not appreciated exactly how good it would feel to ignore emails for a couple of days and do a crossword in the afternoon light through the window.  Really, really good, in case you wondered.   

In related news, here is the Continued Report on Middle-Aging: P trimmed the hedges on the weekend.  I followed him around picking up the pieces and weeding the verge.  I got a sense of satisfaction from it.  MY GOD. 

We spent large chunks of the weekend with the nephews too, in pursuit of family togetherness, as my mother in law is in the country.  These boys are a hilarious delight and I had a specially good conversation with Three Year Old Nephew about babies, ancient history (i.e. last year), who has been a bad boy and where Singapore is.  One Year Old Nephew gets a thrill from car crash noises so he's easy to please. 

However, some of said weekend was spent with the nephews inside our four walls.  HEART ATTACK MATERIAL.  Between Three leaping off the retaining wall and One banging decorative coffee table items and sticking screws into his ears, I was convinced they would not leave unscathed from my death trap home.  It has never really occurred to me that I do not have a home that can be enjoyed by all ages but there you have it, we keep a whiskey decanter below waist level and we own heavy, toppleable sound equipment. 

Not only that, but even though I had just been to the supermarket I had nothing really appropriate for children to eat.  Tamarillos in the fruit bowl, sure, but those make One's mouth pucker.  Beans in the cupboard, but only seriously grain laden bread with milk products in it (Three and One have dairy issues).  No noodles, no easy sandwiches - nothing that can be prepared in under 25 minutes, in short.  Surely a sign I've grown up?  I mean, I stewed fruit for breakfasts yesterday.  My identity crisis continues.  Surely, surely, I'm about to have an about-face and realise that this domesticity is a phase, much like Three's current defiance?

Also, can we all please have a moment's reflection on how nice it is to be well?  Sadly for Three, he was feeling a little under the weather yesterday.  In good news for me, however, he saved a spew for half way home in the car, rather than on my Turkish rug.  I'm pretty sure his mother/father/grandmother did not feel as buoyed by that news as I did.

P swears we are now never having children, by the way.  It's too much stress for his old nerves to take.