So very very dead, yet happy

I have spent a disturbing amount of the last two days being chased up hill and down dale by a small army of children, which is doubly amusing because the rest of the time I was being Meeting Woman of Much Procedure. I do this most Easters, when one of my clubs has a big get-together and I indulge my twin personae of Political Girl and Fave Aunty to the Masses. But after running around in the sun, I am now on the cusp of expiring. So much so that when J disappeared to gossip with some of his friends rather than taking me home, I longed to fling myself on the ground and produce a gust of tears in the fashion favoured by some of the three year olds I have seen this weekend.

But as we were finally leaving, I was stopped by a young woman. She said 'Brammers? I just want to thank you for taking care of me when I was younger. You were great.'

I was a bit staggered, and replied, 'All I did was tell you jokes, feed you some chocolate when you were hormonal or miserable, and swatted predatory men when they circled around you when you were 16.'

'That's what I am talking about,' she said. 'There aren't enough older women who look out for young girls like that. You let me have fun and let me made some mistakes, but stopped me from making any big ones.'

We talked for a while longer, with me pointing out that she had always been sensible and capable, which was what really stopped her from making big mistakes with her life. She said that nonetheless, having an adult who treated her as someone worth paying attention to had always mattered, even though I only saw her a few times a year. She told me that's what she tries to do now, and while we were talking, a couple of the younger girls came up and organised to meet up with her later. She had taken them under her wing.

And I suddenly wondered if I wasn't a little bit maternal, after all. And all of that exhaustion I had felt after running around with the children and listening to all of their plans and tricksiness? Couldn't feel a whit.

So if you sometimes find yourself talking to smelly teenagers who are mostly sulky and grumpy, or to hyperactive seven-year-old horrors who speak in non sequiturs, and all you want is a cool shower and a stiff drink, you can at least comfort yourself with the knowledge that in all likelihood, they are actually taking some of it in, and you are having something of a good influence.

And now I need a hot bath and a long sleep.

I tried that last night in a bid to recover enough to face today. The Monster cat sat on the edge, splashing the water around my feet. Then she ran laps of the bath rim until she slipped and fell in. Surprisingly, she did not seem to mind, but had a look on her face that rather said: 'Oh wow! This water is wet and warm!' and waited patiently until I could stop laughing enough to lift her out.

Tonight I will lock the bathroom door, and hope to be more successful. Back to comment answering tomorrow -- so many comments owed, I am sorry! Sleep is simply necessary.

So very very dead, yet happy

I have spent a disturbing amount of the last two days being chased up hill and down dale by a small army of children, which is doubly amusing because the rest of the time I was being Meeting Woman of Much Procedure. I do this most Easters, when one of my clubs has a big get-together and I indulge my twin personae of Political Girl and Fave Aunty to the Masses. But after running around in the sun, I am now on the cusp of expiring. So much so that when J disappeared to gossip with some of his friends rather than taking me home, I longed to fling myself on the ground and produce a gust of tears in the fashion favoured by some of the three year olds I have seen this weekend.

But as we were finally leaving, I was stopped by a young woman. She said 'Brammers? I just want to thank you for taking care of me when I was younger. You were great.'

I was a bit staggered, and replied, 'All I did was tell you jokes, feed you some chocolate when you were hormonal or miserable, and swatted predatory men when they circled around you when you were 16.'

'That's what I am talking about,' she said. 'There aren't enough older women who look out for young girls like that. You let me have fun and let me made some mistakes, but stopped me from making any big ones.'

We talked for a while longer, with me pointing out that she had always been sensible and capable, which was what really stopped her from making big mistakes with her life. She said that nonetheless, having an adult who treated her as someone worth paying attention to had always mattered, even though I only saw her a few times a year. She told me that's what she tries to do now, and while we were talking, a couple of the younger girls came up and organised to meet up with her later. She had taken them under her wing.

And I suddenly wondered if I wasn't a little bit maternal, after all. And all of that exhaustion I had felt after running around with the children and listening to all of their plans and tricksiness? Couldn't feel a whit.

So if you sometimes find yourself talking to smelly teenagers who are mostly sulky and grumpy, or to hyperactive seven-year-old horrors who speak in non sequiturs, and all you want is a cool shower and a stiff drink, you can at least comfort yourself with the knowledge that in all likelihood, they are actually taking some of it in, and you are having something of a good influence.

And now I need a hot bath and a long sleep.

I tried that last night in a bid to recover enough to face today. The Monster cat sat on the edge, splashing the water around my feet. Then she ran laps of the bath rim until she slipped and fell in. Surprisingly, she did not seem to mind, but had a look on her face that rather said: 'Oh wow! This water is wet and warm!' and waited patiently until I could stop laughing enough to lift her out.

Tonight I will lock the bathroom door, and hope to be more successful. Back to comment answering tomorrow -- so many comments owed, I am sorry! Sleep is simply necessary.