Confessions of a Demented Housewife Page 8

  I left clutching a pile of literature on interactive play.

  ‘Why are you pretending to be a dog at school, Jack?’ I asked on the way home, trying to catch his eye in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Woof! Woof!’ he barked happily.

  Am very worried. What if he develops a serious psychological disorder and stops talking altogether? The only consolation is that they could make a TV movie of his life for the Living Channel.

  Spent ages flicking through the brochures that the Little Angels teacher had given me. I have decided to implement a new schedule to improve Jack’s social skills.

  Plan to Encourage Jack to Share With Other Children, Make Some Friends and Stop Pretending To Be a Dog

  Encourage him to talk about sharing and how this makes him feel.

  Ask him how it feels when others share with him.

  Ask him which is his favourite toy to share.

  Draw a picture of him sharing with a friend.

  Go to the zoo and explain how animals share food, water and shelter.

  Am confident he will be back on track in no time, although the plan does seem to involve a lot of talking and Jack is not a big fan of that.

  PS Katie and Jack have given the dog a massage with two tubes of the depilatory cream I put under the stairs. Luckily, I managed to wash it all off in time and he has just one bald patch on his head, but he’s still traumatized. He keeps looking at me with big mournful eyes, as if to say, ‘You’re a hopeless excuse for a parent.’ Have a strong feeling he wants to run away from home so have locked the back gate.

  26 October

  Spent the day attempting to transform the house into a spooky Hallowe’en cavern, complete with cauldrons, skeletons, cackling witches, etc. Roped Joe in to help. Unfortunately, most of the Hallowe’en stock was sold out in the Centre, so we had to make do with last year’s paraphernalia – which fell seriously below par when compared with Angelica’s masterpiece.

  Katie supervised the exercise with an eagle eye and a sharp tongue. ‘We need more pumpkin lights, Mummy,’ she said, surveying the front door critically. ‘I want people to be really, really scared when they see it.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to fit any more in, darling,’ I said, while Joe muttered something under his breath about unrealistic expectations and blown fuses. ‘Anyway, it would be a bit vulgar to have too many lights.’

  ‘What does “vulgar” mean, Mummy?’ Katie asked.

  ‘It means, Katie, that if you want any more lights we’ll have to remortgage the house.’ Joe tried to arrange a skeleton to dangle over the door.

  ‘Well, I like vulgar,’ Katie said. ‘It’s cool.’

  May have to explain to Katie that the environment is practically beyond repair and that we should try not to contribute to global warming any more than is absolutely necessary. Maybe I could invite Al Gore round and get him to explain it all to her.

  PS Saw clip of Cameron Diaz asking everyone to be environmentally responsible and unplug their mobile-phone chargers every night to save electricity – will have to drop that discreetly into conversation with Angelica next time I see her. Surely as the wife of a big-name celebrity she should be more ecologically friendly and abstain from such an electricity-guzzling Hallowe’en display. She has that ‘I’m Not a Plastic Bag’ carrier so I know she’s eco-aware. Maybe she just needs reminding.

  27 October

  Annoyingly, it seems that Mum and Dad are turning more Portuguese than the Portuguese themselves.

  ‘Oh, we don’t eat any of that stodge, Susie.’ Mum laughed, when I called to ask if she wanted any honest-to-goodness Irish produce brought over, like pork sausages or six-pack crisps. ‘We practically live on fresh fruit here. Your father has never had so much stamina.’

  Hung up quickly before she could go into any more detail. Have decided to sneak some Pringles and custard cream biscuits into my carry-on luggage anyway. It’s a well-known fact that too much fruit can cause painful bloating. All that fermentation in the gut can’t be healthy.

  PS Joe asked what arrangements I’ve made for the dog when we’re abroad. I didn’t admit that his existence had temporarily slipped my mind or suggest that he stay home alone for the week. Wonder if Louise would take him. It’s not as if she has anything better to do now that she’s on maternity leave. Also, she’d probably enjoy some company for a change. It must be very lonely having no one to come home to at night – even if you live in a plush townhouse with a flat-screen TV in every room.

  PPS Jack wants to dress as a Super Dog for Hallowe’en. In a collar and lead. I have looked up childhood obsessions on-line. There was some great information about how children can become unusually attached to all sorts of random items, like blankies or dinosaurs. It did not, however, mention a strange preoccupation with doglike behaviour.

  28 October

  Casually dropped hints at the school gate that we’re off to Portugal for half-term. All the other downtrodden mothers listened in envy until Angelica bounced up in her dazzling white sneakers, looking as if she’d just come back from a health spa.

  ‘Hi, you guys, I am sooooo exhausted,’ she announced, beaming at everyone. ‘I was up all night packing for our trip to LA. Sometimes I wonder if it’s really worth travelling so far for a week. But I need my fix of sun – this Irish weather sucks!’

  There was a murmur of approval as the others moved in to hear more about her fabulously glamorous lifestyle.

  ‘Are you feeling better, Angelica?’ I asked, wanting her to know that she’d been in my thoughts when she was unwell.

  ‘Better?’ She seemed confused.

  ‘Didn’t you have the flu? You looked quite sick the last time I saw you. You were hot and sweaty and…’ I trailed off because her face was blank.

  Then she smiled broadly. ‘Oh yeeees. Thanks, Susie. I’m much better now. You’re so sweet to think of me.’

  She linked arms with me and walked briskly back to her Range Rover Sport. ‘Listen, would you like to come to a charity gig with me in December? I know it’s a long way off but the tickets are like gold dust – it’s some environmental thing, you know, reducing our carbon footprints, yawn, yawn. Boring, but the gang will be there so it’ll be good fun.’

  ‘I’d love to!’ I said, my voice squeaky with excitement at the thought of sharing a top table with bona fide celebs. ‘What date?’

  ‘Um, I’m not sure. I’ll check my diary, OK? Now, I gotta run, my trainer’s waiting for me – and you know how they can be.’ She giggled.

  Then she kissed me – actually kissed me – on the cheek.

  PS Spent the morning researching the environment, greenhouse gases, etc. – have to be au fait with it if I’m going to be sitting next to real celebs at dinner: they’re always sponsoring eco-awareness campaigns. I discovered some very scary information about global warming and carbon footprints, etc. Am now a teeny bit anxious that a freak tidal wave may engulf us or that deadly giant mosquitoes could invade Ireland at any second. Also, have calculated that I have a carbon footprint of approximately three zillion and that I’m probably singlehandedly responsible for certain environmental disaster due to befall the earth. Am baffled as to why I rate so highly when I don’t have a private jet on standby and don’t manufacture CDs or anything else abominable. Perhaps using new Katie’s new hair-straighteners so much is to blame.

  29 October

  Louise called in a panic. ‘I’m getting stretchmarks, Susie!’ she howled. ‘How could this happen? I smother my skin with buckets of that bloody body moisturizer religiously every night. Religiously.’

  ‘You’ll be fine, Lou,’ I said. ‘Listen, you’ll never guess! I’m going to a charity function with Angelica. And she kissed me!’

  ‘On the lips? Gross.’ Louise was distinctly unimpressed.

  ‘Not on the lips, on the cheek. She has to look the date up in her diary but it’s some big environmental gig – loads of celebs are going! I’m sooooooooo excited.’

 
‘Great,’ she said flatly. ‘But what about my stretchmarks? I’ll never be able to wear a bikini again.’

  She broke into uncontrollable sobs and I had to spend ages trying to convince her that stretchmarks are motherhood’s badge of honour and nothing to be ashamed of. Didn’t like to tell her that they’ll soon be just one of a long list of reasons why a bikini is now completely out of the question. A jelly belly and deflated, saggy boobs mean that a dowdy suck-it-all-in one-piece swimsuit that costs an arm and a leg is now the only viable option going forward.

  30 October

  Dropped by Louise’s to inspect her new stretchmarks. After quite a lot of banging on my part she answered the door with a headset attached to her belly.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, transfixed.

  ‘Letting the baby listen to some classical music,’ she said, smiling fondly. ‘And some French, of course.’

  ‘You’re a scream, you really are.’ I guffawed, glad her sense of humour had been restored. ‘Some of those baby ideas really are crazy, aren’t they?’ I squeezed past her and made my way to the kitchen in search of the delicious designer nibbles she buys from the gourmet deli for outrageous sums of money.

  ‘Why would you think I was joking, Susie?’ She was looking at me blankly. ‘Scientific research has shown that babies in utero can hear and respond to outside stimuli.’

  I knew immediately she wasn’t kidding by the way her eyes glinted dangerously off the cafetière.

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed, worried that the gourmet latte and brioche might be withheld. ‘I did that with Katie and Jack too. That’s why they’re both so advanced now.’

  Don’t know why but she looked a bit worried when I said that.

  Anyhow, she eventually agreed to have the dog while we’re in Portugal, although I’m not sure she’s altogether happy about it.

  ‘He is house-trained, right?’ she asked, when I went through his daily routine of lying around, interspersed with cowering under the table when the children are experiencing their more active moments.

  ‘Of course he is!’ I said, relieved I hadn’t mentioned his fondness for vomiting on the stairs, then licking it up at his leisure, or his habit of weeing on the sofa now and again.

  Am sure she’ll be grateful for this learning experience – it’ll give her excellent practice in parenthood before the baby arrives: once she’s experienced the joy of unrelenting responsibility for another living being round the clock, she’ll probably change her mind about adoption. So, in a roundabout way, I’m doing her a colossal favour in dumping the dog on her. Must remember to tell her that when we get back.

  PS Mum called to say the weather has turned unseasonably cold in Portugal. ‘We can’t understand it,’ she said, sounding baffled. ‘It’s been glorious for months now.’

  Am refusing to be downhearted. Maybe she’s become so acclimatized to the heat that she thinks anything below thirty degrees is chilly.

  31 October: Hallowe’en

  Have decided that Hallowe’en is a stupid holiday that should be banned due to its pagan, devil-worshipping origins.

  Katie demanded a homemade costume this year, so I spent the entire afternoon clumsily fashioning a witch’s outfit from black crêpe paper and pumpkin stickers, even though she already has a dozen Disney character outfits that cost a small fortune in her dressing-up box, just waiting for a night on the town.

  ‘This looks really vulgar, Mummy,’ she said, delighted to use her favourite new word as I tried to pin the paper round her waist and create the over-the-top bouffant look she wanted.

  ‘That’s right, darling,’ I said, eyeing Jack, as he pranced round the kitchen in his cowboy hat and Power Rangers underpants, lunging periodically at the dog with a plastic lasso. ‘It’s perfect.’

  ‘Yes, but do I look scary? I want to be really, really scary. I want to be the scariest witch ever.’

  Spent the rest of the afternoon trying to convince Katie that I was terrified of the very sight of her while simultaneously trying to persuade Jack not to garrotte the dog.

  Then, as I was reaching the end of my rope, Joe called to say he’d be late so I had to take the children trick-or-treating myself, while the rain bucketed down and drenched us. Was forced to carry the dog as he was so frightened of the bangers and other fireworks. Limped home after an hour and attempted surreptitiously to replace all the sweets that Katie and Jack had been given with others that I’d bought. Don’t think old Mrs Kenny next door would spike any sherbet dips with arsenic, but you never know.

  PS Am raging with Joe. Suspect he faked the urgent meeting to avoid the Hallowe’en revelry on the streets. Am also furious that I missed Strictly Come Dancing because I was traipsing round in the rain – I was really looking forward to watching celebs tripping round a ballroom making complete fools of themselves. Have hidden all the Hallowe’en treats – Joe definitely doesn’t deserve any mini KitKats.

  1 November

  Spent the day packing for our trip to Portugal. Decided to ignore Mum’s warnings about downpours and intemperate conditions. She has a tendency to be over-cautious. Instead, I filled the case with all the clothes we never had a chance to wear because of the ridiculously cold Irish summer. Luckily, I was able to create a classic capsule wardrobe for myself – my stylish new M&S tie-dye multiway sarong goes with everything and is guaranteed to take me from day to night with a simple change of jewellery. Or I get my money back.

  PS Dropped dog to Louise’s. Hope he doesn’t pine for us too much. Mind you, he looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck when he saw her designer furniture.

  2 November

  Am exhausted after enduring the flight from hell. As usual, Joe fell into a semi-conscious state from which he could not be roused, snoring loudly all the way there while Katie and Jack ran amok in the cabin and I tried to hide behind the latest edition of Heat. (The exclusive revelations about Tom and Katie’s marriage were fascinating.)

  ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ the snooty air stewardess enquired, as Jack attempted for the third time to launch himself off the back of his seat and on to the lap of the passenger behind.

  I tried to look calm and unruffled while attempting to drag Jack back with one hand. ‘Not really, thank you.’ I smiled with gritted teeth, praying the plane was about to start its descent.

  ‘It’s just that the children seem to be, em, rather, em, boisterous,’ she pointed out. ‘There have been a few complaints.’

  Was instantly furious that our fellow passengers had been judging Katie and Jack’s playful antics. OK, so spraying fruit juice across the aisle at the couple in the pristine white cotton suits may have been a bit naughty, but it was done in the spirit of fun, and who wears white cotton on a flight? It’s completely impractical.

  ‘Well, perhaps you should remind people that we were all children once and that the Geneva Convention probably protects the right of children to fun and frivolity,’ I said, poking Joe’s arm so he would wake up and help me. ‘What do people expect them to do for three hours? Sudoku?’ I glared at the passenger behind, who was now cowering under a newspaper.

  ‘Maybe they’d like another drink,’ she suggested, flinching as Jack tried to lick her hand.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ I said, trying to sound confident. ‘They may be dehydrated. Who knows what damage is being done to their internal organs at this very moment?’

  The stewardess raised her eyebrows and sashayed up the aisle while Katie and Jack stuck out their tongues at her. Was quite proud of them.

  Turned out Mum hadn’t been joking about the weather. High winds whipped round the plane’s steps as we disembarked and I almost fell to my death as the children clung to my legs. Joe was manhandling our cabin luggage with some difficulty. ‘What the hell’s in here, Susie?’ he grumbled, as he dragged my holdall along.

  ‘Not much,’ I answered, struggling to keep upright against the wind. I wasn’t going to admit that I’d smuggled large quantities of Irish co
nfectionery on board. He’ll be glad of it when Mum and Dad forcefeed him organic fruit for a week.

  Eventually made it to the arrivals hall. Scanned the crowd for Mum, Dad and a huge welcome banner, but there was no sign of them. Called Mum on her mobile to find out where they were and why they weren’t waiting for us, ready to relieve us of our luggage and the children.

  ‘Sorry, darling,’ she said, sounding distracted. ‘The golf ran a little late this morning because of the wind. Why don’t you take a taxi to the resort and we’ll meet you for lunch?’

  Was forced to struggle outside with the luggage and wait, shivering, for a taxi to pick us up. Joe tried to jolly Katie and Jack along, but I was furious at my parents’ blatant disregard for my feelings. Have decided to withhold the jumbo tube of Pringles from them.

  PS Am seriously considering contacting the Civil Aviation Authority, or some such body, and demanding that airlines provide better facilities on board for children. Such as in-flight nannies and a designated play area. (Well away from adult seating, obviously.) May even write to Richard Branson and suggest it. Who knows? He may invite me to his private island for a brainstorming session with Kate Moss and pay me a vast sum of money to patent my ideas.

  3 November

  Raining. Am in despair. Only the Lindsay Lohan revelations in OK! are keeping me from losing my mind.

  Am also a bit worried about Mum and Dad. They seem to be having some difficulty speaking English and keep breaking into Portuguese. It’s most disconcerting.

  ‘Do you think they’re going senile?’ I asked Joe, as we lay in bed, huddled together for warmth as the wind howled outside.

  ‘Senile?’ He snorted. ‘That pair have the life. This is exactly where I want to be when we retire.’