Archive for Ventage

Twitter twit!

Posted in Journal with tags on 20/04/2011 by Jen Healey

I’m late doing my blog here today thanks to my inability to make Twitter work!  Stupid flippin’ thing!  Frickin’ frickety frick!  I’m in a proper grump grrrrrrr!  I’ve spent my evening trying to set up an account for my wee little amazon bookstore, to try to improve the service for my customers, but it really doesn’t want to play.  So I’m going to walk away before I upset my laptop too!  I have many boxes of stock books to catalogue anyway, using trusty pen and paper – hurrah!  Apologies for all the !!!!!!!!

P.s.  Lotte you are in all kinds of trouble with me! 😉

Return to the playground

Posted in Journal with tags , on 09/04/2011 by Jen Healey

It is becoming clear to me that school never ends (Bowling for Soup are right), as a parent you have to return to school and of course the fickle playground.  Some days I am quite sanguine about the cliques of pretentious parents who play the ever-popular game of one-upmanship which, for the record, fucking sucks.  NOT because any child is better than mine, they most certainly could never even come close, she’s the most loving, kind, caring and sweet little girl you could ever hope to meet.  I am fiercely proud of her, you may have guessed, as is every parent of their child.  I do not, however, behave in the vulgar way I observe on a weekly basis.  For example, you may have read in an earlier blog post, that my daughter was awarded ‘Star of the Week’ recently.  Yes I was bursting with pride, but it only spilled out at home and here.  I did not loudly projectile vomit the fact all over the parents of other children at school.  That is crass and a bit pathetic. 

Today I took my children to a party at a gymnastics club in Rugby and overheard another child saying that they have another party tomorrow, held by the parents of a little girl in my daughter’s class, whose name I hear regularly.  My little girl states that this other child (who was also at today’s party), is her best friend.  I have, therefore, recently suggested to the mother that she and her daughter come round to my home for a coffee and a play-date, or I would have the child round for tea after school one day maybe.  I was met with the comment that they are busy and that would be nice maybe in the school holidays.  She stated, “That sounds really bad doesn’t it?”.  I reassured her “Not at all, I’m about to be pretty busy too, as I’m returning to work in May”.  We left it that I would pop my contact details into the reading folder of the child, via school, so they could let me know when would be a good date.  Foolishly thinking that she actually meant it.  However, after hearing that there is a party being held by this busy family and my daughter has not been invited… you can see where I’m going with this. 

Now I feel like a sad loser who is trying to be friendly with someone who is not interested.  I’m thirteen and not being chosen for the netball team all over again.  I am feeling like that a lot at the moment and it makes me want to crawl under a stone and stay there.  Am I so fundamentally unlikable?  Dull?  Abrasive?  What is it?  Do I offend?  Or, horror of horrors, don’t they like my little girl?  If not, why not?  I guess my paranoia is showing a bit today, I’m tired too.  It’s just one of those treacle days when I feel like I’m trying too hard and it’s exhausting. 

I am now presented with a dilemma on Monday at hometime, when the hyenas begin to circle on the playground.  Do I hold my head up high and keep on being sociable with these mini-groups of people, with whom I have very little in common with?  Or do I revert to type and sit on the bench at the edge of the playground and shrug on my comfy old “fuck-you” approach to it all?  The latter is preferable to me, but it probably isn’t just about me anymore.  How would that affect my daughter being included with her little classmates? 

So I’m back at school, on top of all the grown up concerns, bills, daily chores, blah blah blah and having to go to work!  Big, sweaty, brown corduroy pants, piled up in the midday sun. 


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