Domestic Blitz

With Easter swiftly approaching, I felt again that primeval urge........

.......to spring-clean.

A quick trawl around the internet will find you numerous sites advertising 'spring-cleaning checklists'. You can, if you so desire, print them off and carry them round the house, presumably in your apron pocket, ticking off items as you go.

Sadly, they're not much use to me, being full of instructions such as:

Dust coils at back of refrigerator

and

Clean filters above cooker hood

Anybody carrying out a quick casing of the joint here would realise I need a more basic list, such as:

Scrape baked-on yoghurt from plasma screen TV using a flat-bladed knife....

or

Discard and replace all rabbit-chewed items, including bedding, shoes and various soft toys....

or even

Actually ENTER teenage bedrooms with a view to cleaning, rather than standing at the door thinking 'Dear God, whatever did I do to deserve this.......'

Anyway, I've made a start. And as I sat surveying what I had accomplished lastnight, I had to admit, it didn't look half bad.

Now, I just need to find a way of keeping this lot locked out till Easter Sunday............

My legs look pretty good on this one, don't you think?

It Didn't Look That Big in the Shop....

After a ridiculously busy two weeks I felt in need of a little cheering up.

I had been eyeing a large mirror in the window of the charity shop, which, I decided, would look perfect in the loft, and, undeterred by the chest of drawers fiasco, I went in and bought it.

It took two assistants to get the mirror out of the window, and it quickly became clear that I wouldn't be able to carry it on my own.

I nipped back to get The Fixer, and we set off. The fact that we had to be rescued by Jim next-door-but-one will give you some idea of the size of the mirror.

We hauled it up to the loft between us, propped it up and took a step back.

The Fixer: God, Mum, it's MASSIVE! Why do you always have to buy the biggest thing in the shop?

Me: Do you think your father will notice it?

The Fixer: Maybe not, if he comes home REALLY REALLY drunk............and if he's been struck partially blind in the Mare and Foal this afternoon..........

In other news, we are now officially a house made up entirely of double figures.

The Noise is ten today.

Happy Birthday, Little One.

Second Sunday of Lent

Whoops! Should have posted this yesterday!

Today's first reading was the story of Abraham and Isaac.

A couple of years ago I bought The Noise 'The Jesus Storybook Bible', which, if I had my way, every single child in the world would own.

When I read her today's story from this Bible, I cried buckets. Every time I have read it since, I have cried buckets.

Why?

It's a story I've heard a thousand times. It's never made me cry before. Am I going soft in my old age?

No.

I cried because The Jesus Storybook Bible makes a connection that had never occurred to me.

It explains how Abraham and Isaac walked up the hill to the place where the sacrifice was to be made, Isaac carrying the wood for the fire on his back. It explains how Isaac did exactly as his father told him to do, without asking any questions,and without complaint.

And then, at the end of the story, it says this:

Many years later, another Son would climb another hill, carrying wood on His back.

Like Isaac, He would trust His Father, and do what His Father asked.

He wouldn't struggle or run away.

Who was He?

God's Son - His only Son.

The Son He loved.

The Lamb of God.

That's why I cried.

It's What Saturdays Were Made For

In an attempt to keep the Sundays of Lent slightly more holy than other Sundays in this house, I decided to see how much housework I could get done today, rather than spread it over the whole weekend.

I was slightly hampered by the fact that United were playing in a FA Cup quarter final, and as you know, on match days, I am not allowed to wash, dry, iron, bake cakes or go to Tesco. And if you don't know, don't ask. It's not worth it, and it will lower your assessment of my sanity considerably.

Anyway, aided and abetted by The Fixer (everybody else having suddenly remembered previous appointments, homework and promises to go and see Nana) we did manage to get through copious amounts of cleaning - including the Manchester Centre for Bacterial Excellence, otherwise known as the kitchen floor.

And since on match days I am allowed to clean the stove, everything is now sparkling clean for Sunday.

Oh, and United won 4-0 and got through to the semi-final.

Who am I to mess about with the laws of the universe?

Did anyone spot the deliberate mistake in the picture? Go on, have a closer look.

Yes, you guessed it. This picture gives the impression that the Father of This Lot helped out.

Fortunately, I managed to find one of how he really spent his afternoon.........

Roll on Sunday!

You're In The Army Now!

I got this in an e-mail and thought you'd like it:

Life in the Australian Army.....

A letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad.

(Eromanga is a small town west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland)

Dear Mum and Dad,

I am well. I hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the army is better than workin' on the farm - tell 'em to get in bloody quick smart before all the good jobs are gone!

I was a bit slow at settlin' in at first, cos you don't have to get up till 6am, but I am enjoying the lie-ins now. All you have to do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots. No bloody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no hay to stack - nothin'!! You have got to shower though - but it's not so bad, 'cos they've got hot water and even a light to see what you're doin'!!

At brekky, you get cereal, fruit and eggs, but there's no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like Mum makes.. You don't get fed again till noon, and by that time all the city boys are buggered 'cos we've been on a route march - geez, it's just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!

This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil - I keep gettin' medals for shootin' !! I dunno why, cos the bullseye's as big as a bloody possum's bum, and it don't move around and it don't fire back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows last year. All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target - you don't even load your own cartridges 'cos they come in little boxes, and you don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shootin' truck when you reload!

Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys, and I have to be real careful 'cos they break easy. Only one at a time as well - not like wrestling with Doug and Phil and Jack and Steve all at once like we do at home. Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either - it looks like I'm the best the platoon's got. I've only been beat by this one bloke from the Engineers - and he's 6 foot five and 18 stone - and as ya know, I'm only 5 foot seven and eight stone wringing wet - but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.

I can't complain about the army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets round about how bloody good it is............

Your loving daughter,

Sheila

First Sunday of Lent

Prayer of 'Letting Go'

That I may let go of grudges in order to forgive

That I may let go of past hurts so that I can be healed

That I may let go of judgments in order to accept

That I may let go of self-pity in order to be compassionate

That I may let go of greed in order to give to those in need

That I may let go of negativity in order to be positive

That I may let go of blame so that I can affirm

That I may let go of hate in order to love

That I may let go of control in order to serve