All I want for Christmas is will power.  That’s odd because I don’t celebrate Christmas at all and I know that you can’t be given will power.  But I am hoping for it anyway.

Every night I go to bed with the clear understanding that the next day I will be “good”.  I will eat fruit and when I tire of that I will chomp on vegetables , I’ll drink tons of water and I wont even go into the same room as a chocolate bar or a bagel

Every morning I go wrong.  And then I continue to go wrong.  And when afternoon comes and I get home from work, in between preparing dinner, winding down, eating dinner and going to sleep – I eat the contents of the kitchen.

I go to  Weight Watchers and I understand the programme better than some of their “leaders” do. I know that I am eating to cover a raft of emotional stuff – I just don’t know how not to do it.
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I think I used all my will power up when I gave up smoking, and although that’s a worthy cause I wouldn’t mind a drag or two of a cigarette in return for having a day where I don’t feel awful about the food that I am literally shoving into my face.

I don’t need diet tips, and I don’t need to be told that I am an obsessive emotional eater – I know all that.  I don’t want to hear about the therapy I need to stop myself punishing myself with food and I don’t want to hear little tips like filling myself with water and leaves so that I wont want to eat.  I don’t even want to be told that I don’t need to lose weight.

I just want some will power.  Got any to share?

Before my son was born I was a corporate girl, I worked long hours, I loved my job and I had a good life.  I was comfortable in my corporate gear, my 9am –  9pm days, my life of high rises and after work drinks.

When I eventually had a baby I was happy to leave North Sydney behind, the commute across the bridge every day, the long hours and the countless powerpoint presentations. I was delighted to be living a life of nappies and breastfeeding,  toddler antics and toys.  I loved being home with Little Pencil as he grew up.  Although  I did miss the after work drinks.

I was really fortunate when Little Pencil got a little older and I started to do some work from home.  I was able to work while he slept and at night when I should have been sleeping.  Then when he went to preschool I took on more work, more hours and more adult stimulation.

But I always worked from home.  I never HAD to get out of pyjamas (although the kindy teacher would have baulked at my Garfield pyjamas at drop off time).

On occasion I had a meeting out of the house, once or twice I even had to attend a conference and for a very short period of time I worked two days a week in a job share position in a real office where pyjamas were frowned upon.  But I wasn’t fulfilled in my work, I didn’t feel like I was working, I felt like I was a mother passing time.

But now I am working full time.  I go into the office three days  and I work from home two days a week.

Yesterday was a work at home day but I attended a seminar at the Art Gallery of NSW in the afternoon.
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I drove to the gallery and as I turned down the road with the Botanical Gardens on my left and the Harbour beyond that, past the Andrew Boyd Charlton pool and the Woolloomooloo wharf on the right I forgot for a minute who I was.

I made a mental check: did I have suntan lotion? Then I remembered that I wasn’t going to need to put suntan lotion on Little Pencil as he was at school and I certainly wasn’t going to need it myself in an air conditioned auditorium.  I panicked when I remembered that the picnic blanket was not in my boot, then I realised that the rest of the seminar attendees would probably move to have me arrested if I walked in and tried to spread a picnic blanket over their heads.

It was a strange feeling walking past the park without my Little Pencil, it was weird walking through the Gallery without Little Pencil’s small hand in mine. I felt like a traitor in the park with high heels and no child.  I felt like everybody at the seminar knew that I was just a mum without my child.

But they didn’t.

They never knew I had a high bounce hand ball,  a Nintendo Gameboy and a Kinder Surprise in my bag.  They never knew I was looking at the clock to see what Little Pencil was doing as I listened to the presentations.  They never knew that I was a mother – they just saw me as a woman at work, at a seminar at the Gallery.

My mother role and my career role briefly collided in the Gallery yesterday and I came out thinking how lucky I am to have the best of both worlds.

Mr Pencil and Little Pencil have gone camping to some place that sounds like the residential address of Dr Seuss.  I have elected not to go because I do not relish the idea of giving up a night’s sleep to the great outdoors, even if the great outdoors is cordoned off by a canvas tent.  I am rather partial to walls.  And floors and ceilings, not to mention a bed with linen and soft pillows.  Oh and a bathroom with hot and cold taps and a kitchen with a fridge and coffee maker…..

So, because I like living indoors with access to provisions I was not even consulted on the preparation for camping.  Apparently indoorsy people like myself do not know how to cater for a camping trip.  And I can see why – after my husband had put aside the provisions he needed for TWO nights not including food or clothes, I breathed a a grateful sigh of relief that I was not assigned to be his Sherpa .  Believe me it was a lot of stuff to take with you when you are going away for a weekend.  I mean if you were going to work for two months and your job was to create an outdoor conference centre from, scratch and you had to provide your own supplies, and this is what you were taking, I’d get it.  But for a weekend away  ?  No.

Then I noticed a sheet of paper, covered in writing.   No white spaces remained.  This was the list Mr Pencil had made himself so that he did not forget anything.  Let’s just say that the sheet of paper was big enough that he could have used it as a tablecloth.  That seems like a lot of things to remember for a weekend away.

Mr Pencil was assigned the job of catering for two breakfasts on the trip (he is camping with lunch and dinner makers) so he took two aisles of Coles with him as well.  He also took a wardrobe full of clothes for Little Pencil in case it was cold, hot, snowed, rained, or indeed if the weather was mild.  He seemed to forget that he was going away for two days and that we have access to the Bureau of Meteorology website.

In 2013 the patent for the medication held by Pfizer lapsed, which implied that other medication organizations could make the same medication and offer it under the name Sildenafil. canada viagra online cute-n-tiny.com cipla viagra At present Angelmeds .com is one the best possible results. The dose and the course of the medicine will be provided with easy & levitra properien quick approval process, advanced merchant equipment, real time processing platform among others. viagra canada So what are you waiting for? Get enrolled yourself so you’ll be able to complete your learning and obtain the license. Hours before he was due to leave the lunch makers of the camping trip called to enquire whether Mr Pencil had space in his car for their pillows.  His face fell.  Not only did he not have enough space for their pillows – he had forgotten his own.

I reminded him that he also had to fit Little Pencil in the car.  His face fell even further.

I know that some people love camping and clearly I am not one of them but I just cannot understand why you have to take so much stuff to get away from everything.

 

I have a favourite perfume.  It is  Addict by Dior just in case you would like to surprise me with some aromatic gifts. But don’t stack up for my next birthday yet.  I am very easily influenced and am likely to change my mind if you offer me something better, or even just different.

In fact as I write this post I am forced to look at the most hideous colour nail polish you have ever seen.

I went to the Dior counter to buy said perfume and there was a gift with purchase if you bought two products.  I bloody love a gift with purchase and when the woman at the counter told me the gift was a little silver bag with a new mascara “that really really lengthens the lashes” I almost fell over her trying to get my second item and gift with purchase.

I took a look at my nails as I grabbed the gift with purchase and they were looking particularly seedy so I told her I thought my second item should be a nail polish.  The lovely Dior lady handed me a shade of nail polish and told me I would love it.  I believed her for some reason I cannot explain. Although she knows nothing about me, what I like, what I wear, what I do – I believed she knew that I would love the nail polish so I bought it.

It is awful and I hate it.  Oh and the mascara that “really really lengthens the lashes” is no different to any of my other mascaras that really don’t do anything other than colour my stumpy lashes.

The problem is I am very easily influenced when it comes to beauty products.  Which is weird because I am the biggest cynic when it comes to anything else. I regularly read the packaging on food and I laugh hysterically – for instance I have just made my husband a cup of tea – the tea is described as a green with “with the luscious flavours of strawberries and cream”.  I know that the tea will taste of tea leaves.  Nothing else.  I know that tea doesn’t taste like strawberries and cream and I know that this is a good thing.  But if someone told me that you could use the tea to shrink your pores and smooth your wrinkles – I would buy it

I believe the women who stand in the department stores spruiking their expensive potions know everything there is to know about developments in beauty science, I briefly choose to forget that they are getting paid to sell their product and they really just want to help me by giving me smooth wrinkle free skin , sleek shiny hair and perfectly long eyelashes.

And if you leave me near a magazine I am likely to go into some sort of trance by changing my mind completely every time I turn the page.
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This blind faith in the beauty industry goes against everything I know to be right.  I know they “exaggerate the truth”, I know they use lyrical language and pretty packaging to lure me in.  I know they pray on my insecurities but they look so good and they promise so much.  And what if they do work ?

I have paid ridiculous amounts for potions and lotions to make my freckles disappear .  When I enquired of my husband whether he thought it had made a difference he said he didn’t realise that I had freckles in the first place.

I have put what I can only describe as acid in a gorgeous container on my eyelashes to promote their growth.  My eyelashes are the exact same length as they started only my eyelids are sorer.

I have tried almost every lipstick known to mankind to come to the realisation that my lips are resistant to colour and any colour that I do try will last approximately 14 seconds.

I have tried  blue eyeliner, green eyeliner, black and purple eyeliner, even white and silver eyeliner.  I know that eyeliner cannot change the size or shape of my eyes but I am prepared to try.

I have tried all these things and none have worked as promised.  Yet tomorrow if I see a promise of long eyelashes and smooth skin  my faith will be renewed.

I think I may have a problem.  Do you think there is a cream for it?

Most days my little boy is a real boy.  Well actually he is always a real boy anatomically but there are times when he really acts like the stereotypical boy.  He loves wrestling, he is rather keen on standing behind doors and shooting when I walk past (okay this is not sounding so good), he has a ball attached to his foot whenever he walks outside – no, it is not some medical condition that causes him to grow a ball on his foot – he just loves to kick a ball.  He makes fart jokes, he laughs at his father’s pathetic dad jokes and he thinks girls have germs.

All very 9 year old boyish.

But then there are days, like today when he is more in touch with his sensitive side.  Today Little Pencil put aside the x-box and the gameboy. He abandoned the TV and even ignored the lego all in pursuit of the rather large fluffy toy collection that I have stashed at the top of his cupboard.  Admittedly he came to the fluffy toy collection when he was looking for something “big and soft” to wrestle, but that is just where he started.

I took down from the cupboard about 30 fluffy toys – many bears and dogs, an elephant, a tiger or two, a swan and a couple of monkeys and a very special bear and platypus.  Little Pencil lovingly placed the toys on the top bunk and then created some complicated system that the animals could use to climb to the top of the bed.  He was very gentle and caring and compassionate and kind. But I was standing at the door with my hands clenched and my breath held.

In amongst Little Pencil’s collection lie Milton and Pooky.  Milton and Pooky are my oxygen and my water although to the casual observer they look like stuffed animals – in fact a platypus and a bear..  They have been with me for a very long time and they have been with me through some extremely tough times.  Milton is matted with tears (and maybe even a bit of snot from some particularly hysterical bouts of crying) and Pooky is er, he is very well loved and he looks it.

The mild properties of nandrolone decanoate have made it valuable. valsonindia.com levitra without prescription On the other hand, premature ejaculation exists when a man is incapable of lasting, that pfizer viagra samples is ejaculation occurs earlier than intended. Uptil now there have been several cost of tadalafil myths regarding the payment procedures if this sites but with the latest technology and good technological concepts there have been secured payment gateways which you can trust. Tadalfil is another drug that is prescribed by viagra pills from canada the doctor and the ideal dose that is prescribed by many physicians to treat erectile dysfunction. I am very protective over my bear and platypus and I never let Little Pencil play with them when he was a baby.  I asked him today to be very gentle and careful with them and to treat them with respect.  Being very much in touch with his sensitive side today he agreed and put them in a place of honour on his desk to watch him play.  He spoke to them with such care and with so much kindness I almost sobbed.

When it came time to clean up I could not reach the top cupboard to stack them neatly so I asked Mr Pencil to help.  I instructed him that Milton and Pooky should lie next to each other and face forward, not be squashed and have nothing hard on top of them.  They should have room to breathe and to move and they shouldn’t be uncomfortable. He, not being in touch with his sensitive side today, looked at me like I was on drugs.  But he often looks at me like that and I knew he would take good care of “my boys”. He always has.

And now that Milton and Pooky are fast asleep at the top of the cupboard I am remembering how much comfort they offered to me and how much I needed them when I was growing up.  And really – I just want to climb up and bring them back down.

And I would if I didn’t think my dog would eat them.

 

Not long ago I was saying how young I felt.

That changed after I went to see the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards on Friday night.  In fact I now feel ancient

We arrived early to see the Orange Carpet.  I heard shrieking and immediately I thought that there had been a huge accident.  I had forgotten that young girls shriek when they see someone on a red carpet, even if the carpet is orange and even if the person is a security guard.

There was a cast of thousands lined up to see the orange carpet.  My friend and I were the eldest people there.  Including the stars and the security personne (and I am older than my friend)

The kids (and by kids I mean the hordes of people under 30 including actual kids) were shrieking and taking photos of anybody that stepped foot onto the orange carpet. I  had no idea who anyone was until the moment I saw Amanda Keller.  I almost wept with joy that I recognised somebody, even if no one else recognised her, she being a radio personality and all. In my day she was a TV person, she presented Beyond 2000.  Yes, I understand the irony in that.

The hordes of people were standing precariously balanced on tables and chairs around this brilliant orange carpet.  I, being the responsible (and um, older)  person worried a lot about the weight of these people on the tables that had clearly been built to hold only food.  I was visibly relieved when security came to tell everyone to get down and I mentally yee-hahed.  I was aghast when the crowds climbed back on as soon as he turned his back.  I was so very tempted to tell them to get down…but I was petrified nobody would listen to me.

One of the lowest points of the night came when we spotted Lincoln Lewis.  I had NO idea who he was, but he was signing autographs and posing for photos so I assumed he wasn’t an audience member. Little Pencil wanted his autograph, as you do when you are nine and everyone else is doing it.  So we fought the crowds and went to get his arm signed (we had not come very well prepared).  Little Pencil is little (hence his name) and he was being ever so polite in trying to get Lincoln’s attention.  I thought it was never going to happen so I kind of er, indicated he was there.  I cringe at the memory.  I may have been a little effusive in saying “please can you sign his arm”. And Lincoln Lewis who must be about half my age, chastised me.  And he told me to “Calm down Mum”.  I am still crimson with shame.

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I tried to point out all the awful things about standing in the mosh pit. Telling children that they would have to stand for the entire performance is not a deterrent.  Nor is telling them they would get covered in slime and be sticky, gooey and probably smelly.

Anyway the security was tight and there was no way they were getting into the slime mosh pit so they adjusted to their plight and ran down to the front of the section in which we were sitting and found themselves “better” seats.  At one point I went down to check on them.  On my way back to my seat I noticed that my friend and I were sitting slap bang in front of the entire cast of Australia’s Next Top Model.

It was around then I started to feel even older than Methusela.

And when I got bored (and tried to hide from the super models sitting behind me), I took out my phone and started checking comments on Mamamia . I felt like I had a starring role in Revenge of the Nerds, then I remembered that everyone around me was too young to remember Revenge of the Nerds.

Have you ever been anywhere that made you feel ancient?

 

Have you ever bribed your child to sit still and be quiet – I have.  In fact yesterday I spent more on iTunes than most record company moguls spend in a month.  Yes, I understand they don’t actually spend money on iTunes but you get my drift.

I think I have been paying for the ups and downs of being a very disorganised mother

Up

It’s school holidays

Down

It’s school holidays

Up

Little Pencil was going to a friend for the day and I was going to work

Down

Friend’s mum called to say they were busy in the morning

Up

I have the most flexible work arrangements in the universe so I could work from home in the morning and go in later in the day after dropping Little Pencil at his friend

Down

The friend called to say their arrangements had changed could we come in the morning.

Up

Either way was good for me
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Down

Little Pencil caught a tummy bug

Up

It was not very bad

Down

It was bad enough that he could not go to a friend’s house.  Not with my conscience clear.

Up

He could come to the office with me

So there I was at the office with a not very sick child, a lot of work to complete, an iTouch, a novel, not enough snacks and a very frayed mood.  Did I mention  that I am moving house at the end of the week?

My child is an angel, really he is.  But even angels are not so good at sitting in an office for hours on end.

And he tried so hard.  But every time I needed to move he moved with me; every time I needed to concentrate he read aloud to me; every time I needed it to be quiet he sang.  Every time I got cold he would open the door but every time I got warm he would insist on closing the door.  Every time I offered him something to eat he refused but as soon as I got involved in something else he would ask for food.  It was a nightmare and my nerves were frayed.

So I resorted to Bribery 101 and said he could download some apps for his iTouch.  I reckoned I was paying for some peace and quiet and I swatted away my feelings of being a very bad mother, a useless worker and a hideous multi tasker. I just knew that if he had “unlimited” access to downloads I would off the hook for hours.

He downloaded an app and immediately began to beg me to play monopoly on the iTouch.  He literally chased me around my own office with the screen of his iTouch glaring at me furiously.  What kind of cruel monster creates a monopoly application?

We left the office. And I remembered that I had forgotten to give him lunch.

This was the first day of holidays – today was worse.

At the risk of sounding like a caller on talk back radio (especially in light of the fact that I recently gabbed on about how young I am), I have to ask what on earth has happened to customer service.

Let me fill you in on the back story

As my reader would know I am renovating my house, well I am not renovating it per se – the builder is doing that, I am just doing the stressing.

Everything has been going along really well and apparently we should be delighted at the speed that the work is taking place – that and the fact that there have been no “surprises”.  Well no surprises until we were informed that the floorboards needed to be replaced.

Floorboards are expensive after the mark up that the resellers make and people who sell floorboards stand to make a lot of money from people who they sell to.  People like me and Mr Pencil who have to replace the floors before the builder and his ladder disappear into the huge black holes that keep appearing where the floors used to be.

So we took our bundles of cash (if a credit card is a bundle of cash) and we make for the timber flooring stores.

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Second shop we go to the man stands as we approach. I am briefly filled with joy.  We explain that we are looking for a limed American Oak, his response – “Oh do we supply that?”  Fantastic – he has NO idea.  He then spends 10 minutes telling us that he is very new on the job, doesn’t know the stock and is not sure of the difference between floating and fitted floors.  I briefly think of explaining it to him but my husband convinces me that his boss will give him that training – any month now.

Next we go to a shop with a huge showroom – well actually lots of little rooms all with different floors.  None of the lights have been switched on so you actually can’t see a thing.  The people working there clearly do not believe that they will ever attract a customer, it’s hard to get business when you avoid eye contact at all costs and then give a death stare if someone actually gets your attention.  We stumble around looking for the light switches so that we can see the product and we force someone to help us.  She knows as much about flooring as she knows about lighting – nothing.

Eventually we find a shop where someone is willing to engage with us.  We make a time for them to come to the house and quote on the job.  He walks in a shouts at me that I have terrible floors.  Er, I know this , that is why I am paying you lots and lots of money to give me new floors.  He shouts some more and shakes his head vigorously.  I ask him to just give me a recommendation and a quote – he says he refuses to do the job.  May I just say at this point that the floors are really not that bad.  Thin? Yes?  But so bad as to refuse a job? No.  I don’t think so.

Luckily Adonis, my builder (I call him Adonis – Mr Pencil calls him – actually let’s not go there), has a flooring man come out to see us.  Why he waited until we had pulled all our hair out before he shared this piece of wisdom I am not sure.  Anyway this man – we’ll call him Mick, because that is what his parents called him – walks into the house and says “Okay – let’s do limed oak, let’s do prefinished fitted boards and let’s get this job done on Saturday”.  I immediately get over Adonis and fall in love with Mick.  Fickle ? Yes But I have the coolest floorboards you can imagine and we gave this man the job without even getting a quote.

Why can’t everyone be like Mick?  How hard can it be to want to make your customers happy?

I have waited for such a long time to feel all grown up but, at 40 something (something very low), I can safely say that I don’t feel any closer to being there.

With no offence at all to my mother, she was always old.  Not old in a bad way and not even old as in she was 90 when I was born, because obviously she wasn’t, but she was always old in a mature way, she acted like a grown up. I have kept expecting that to happen to me, for me to be grown up like my mother.  In fact I can’t believe that I have a child and I make a vague attempt at running a home and holding down some semblance of a job. I actually only feel about 16.  Sadly I probably look about 56.

I remember when I was a little girl and my mother had friends over – they always seemed to sit on chairs and speak about very sombre, serious and worldly stuff.  When my friends come over I sit on the floor and I talk absolute nonsense, mainly obsessing about what I should eat and then complaining that I eat too much.

I look at teens in their school uniforms sneaking a cigarette outside the service station and I genuinely believe that I am one of them (not that I am at school or that I am a smoker but that I might be a bit of a rebellious teenager).  But I have never been included and in fact none of these people have ever made eye contact with me.  My husband says it is because they see me as an old woman.  I think they can tell that I am just not a smoker.

I like the same music as my 13 year old nephew and I am convinced that my 19 year old niece sees me as her contemporary.  She just doesn’t want me to hang with her and her friends because I am family.  It can’t possibly be because I am old and staid and boring, because I am not.
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My favourite food would have to be plain butter cake with blue icing.  No grown ups like that do they? Do they?

And then the other night I went out and some genuinely young person looked right at me and without a flicker of hesitation, she  said to her friend “Why are there so many old people here tonight?”

I remain shattered.

Seems I may really be grown up after all.  Why is it that I never felt it happen?

Yesterday I was sitting at home working, feeling stressed and a little wrung out, I thought that the best thing I could do would be to walk the dog.  Break the stress, get some fresh air and indulge Fluffy Pencil’s favourite pastime  – leaving the house.

I grabbed my iPod, my phone and the dog and set off for a brisk walk.  It was bloody freezing and I was not dressed appropriately.  But I persevered because there is nothing Fluffy Pencil loves more than a walk (other than leaving the house of course).

Half an hour of exercise and freezing cold wind on my back and I boldly and confidently approached my front door, as you do when it is your own front door.  I turned the handle.   Nothing happened.  Except of course my heart fell to the floor.  I had locked myself out of the house.

You know that blind panic that sets in when you realise that you have just done something really stupid, the same panic that forces you to try open the same locked door repeatedly with the exact same outcome?  I was deep in that panic.

I quickly thought to phone my sister who has a spare key.  Saved.  Then I remembered that she has a key for the real house – not the one we are living in.  No one has a spare key for this house*

After I had tried the door about 8 times I realised it was not going to work. So I decided to test the security of the windows.

I removed the fly screens and this feeling of accomplishment buoyed me for about 12 seconds.  I thought I had it nailed.  What I did not take into account is that once the fly screens were gone there was still the glass to get through.  I am happy to report to Little Pencil, who often sits up at night worrying about break-ins, that our windows are impenetrable.  At least impenetrable to a 41 year old mother with a dog yapping at her feet.

The panic started to rise even more so I did what any confident, self assured and together woman would do – I phoned my husband, Mr Pencil to cry.  He didn’t pick up the phone.

I took out 5 minutes of breaking and entering to explain to the woman across the road that I was not trying to break into the house I was just trying to get in.  Without a key

Then I cased the neighbour’s house.  We are living in a semi.  You cannot climb over the wall of a semi. It is an internal wall. So I called my Mr Pencil and he didn’t answer

If the problems are creeping into what you DO want and see what happens! This workout is really about saying YES to yourself, to that powerful being who is beyond the positive and cialis 20 mg the negative outcomes you perceive to be real. Any men of any age group may suffer from erectile dysfunction soft viagra tabs then you need to take proper assistance from them. It concerns relationship or martial problems, sexual performance, effects of past sexual best viagra price trauma, depression and guilt feeling. You can order your drugs for common health issues, like diabetic issues or prostate surgery. generico levitra on line overall performance is achieved due to the existence of its active component Vardenafil HCL. Fluffy Pencil was looking at me like I had forgotten where we live.  I was looking at him like I wanted to cry (actually I was crying).

So Fluffy Pencil and I walked around the block again and phoned Mr Pencil again.  He didn’t answer the phone again.

I remembered that I had left the back door open so if I could just hop over the back wall I would be home and hosed.  Well at least home.

The house behind me was locked and barred.  There was no way of breaking into that one if I could not even break into my own one.  So I phoned Mr Pencil so that he could ignore me and Fluffy Pencil licked my legs.

I decided to think positive.  I would go and sit in the park and work on my very handy iPhone. Except I only had one bar of battery and I was freezing cold.  I was even scared to keep trying to call Mr Pencil lest I use up all my battery and finally get through to him and manage to only sob before we get cut off.  But I called him anyway and he didn’t answer.

About 15 minutes had passed (that felt like 30 days) I was preparing my speech for Mr Pencil.  I was practising tone and everything.  My rant was going to be about how it was his fault (I needed some time to work on this angle) and how impossible it was to get hold of him when I needed him.  As I worked out how he would respond I heard his voice – “but there’s a spare key hidden on top of the …….”**

Of course there was.  But I could not reach it.  I went and got the huge green bin, did a quick prayer of thanks to Maria who had cleaned it with disinfectant and hauled it over to the ___**.  I climbed on the bin, knocked my knee, my head and my elbow and through my tears I spotted the key.

I opened the door, the Fluffy Pencil fell asleep and Mr Pencil called me back.

*turns out I was wrong

** I can’t tell you where it is because you may want to break in and shout at my husband for ignoring my calls