Twenty something year old doing twenty something year old things

 How do you approach your deadlines? An easy breezy week or two in advance with plenty of time for editing, procrastination and intelligent gathering of brain waves? Or up to the wire, dotted i's, crossed T's the day of?  I always liked to think I was in the first camp, however last weeks experience has shown me that in my old age, I have slipped up. Panic writing for two job applications on two separate days occurred with caffeine and a thesaurus being the necessary survival kit. Cover letters require a degree of cunning, artifice as well as gumption. I generally have these by the bucket load and live to tell the tale. I am hopeful that my future bank account as well as adulthood will thank me. This is also my excuse for not giving you, dear readers, a blog last week. I know that you missed me.  I write this now feeling distinctly cosy--or, to satisfy the Norwegians--Hygge. I returned from child minding 90% wet and 10% human and have recently returned to a semi-normal st...

 In reverse order from yesterday, let us start with a sentence:  "I learned about being thankful a couple of years ago, from some experts--a conversation on facebook--and now I do it everyday; like in the way you're supposed to do yoga everyday but I don't, because the idea of yoga, perversely, makes me tense." I am drawn to this sentence mainly for the camaraderie I feel to the author, Caitlin Moran's, aversion to yoga. I have never been a yogi and possibly never will. I put this down to the same reason that I'm not into soup: food in my opinion should be solids and an activity should be active. If I want a meditative state, I'd probably go for a swim. I get bored easily or perhaps I'm just put off by the heavy breathing. I also like that she puts her find of 'being thankful' down to Facebook. Such beautiful irreverence--it makes me very thankful.  Another thing I am thankful for, is my child minding job. I spent a long couple of hours happily...

 THIS IS NOW....A not so bold observation perhaps, but also the theme of an art competition which I have successfully enticed child A into entering. At first she was reluctant, "I'll never win"-- as she sulkily fished around for my praise (which I lavished). I am proud to say that she conceded and we have begun work on our entry. Soon after starting she made a 360 degree recovery in attitude. She now looks at me conspiratorially while whispering  confidently into t he  Papier-mâché,  "w e're gonna win this". I should probably say to her something along the lines of "it's not about winning but taking part", but really, I've got my eye on the prize too and heartily encourage this enthusiasm. It's also a project which will see me into two days of minding without having to resort to her favourite 'X-factor' whereby, on bad days I am made to sing and, on good days, must judge and comment on her various performances in my best Essex a...

Monopoly is amazing at its ability to turn, even the most unwilling, participants into fat cat capitalists. It's almost like it's inspired by real life socioeconomic systems or something?   Child A did not want to play. She grumbled, she groaned, she feigned ignorance. She used all the tricks. Myself and Child B hustled and convinced her--by her third dice throw she was exclaiming enthusiastically "I LOVE this game" and laughing uproariously at my pitiful rent take-ins.  Much to my chagrin, I was losing. Badly.  The game shall be continued when I return tomorrow. Waiting for me is a note, beside my reducing pile of money, reminding me that 'I owe' child B two pounds. No, he will not let me off. He's a tough landlord. Perhaps Herbert Simms or the Dublin corp. might step in to help me out?  We play this game whilst using over the top British accents--funny that--and sitting cross legged on the floor. The wolves of Grafton St.  Before becoming capitalists, my...

 aljfdskfjslkajlknvaskvd;sfsdnvz;kvsz  That's from my fingers being too numb to type. Word on the street is that it will reach -8 degrees this weekend. The cycle home from work was arctic explorer level of commute. Reaching Rathgar --I can almost see the front cover now. At one stage I went clean over a patch of ice, after that I decided to take it handy and chiiiillll. Quite literally.  Minding kids today meant more excitement and rough games. I'm not able for them. Whilst preventing Child A from scoring a frisbee point by being a general pain in the a****  (squawking and monkey impressions) I was rewarded with a frisbee in the side of the head. Seeing stars and everything else in between I laughed it off. Child B, god bless him, was heavily advocating for my penalty shot but I wouldn't take it.  I'm a champ, it's true.  Despite not being the most obviously into law and order, these children are huge fans of the sitcom Brooklyn Nine-Nine set in a New York ...

 Back to work day. My work during lockdown has been, most consistently, childcare. Jobbing in the often misunderstood 'arts', the effect of Covid was for obvious reasons, pretty grim. Child minding, I am incredibly grateful for. It offers excellent job security and the craic is, as they say, mighty. Today we were playing a highly competitive game of Lollipop Brick.  Ah, you don't know this game I hear you say? Well, let me explain: it involves a basketball hoop, shed wall, rugby ball and 2-3 very loud and hyperactive kids. I am including myself in that category. One team is shooting the ball into the hoop, the other--myself and child A--shoot against the shed wall. In order to score a point, it is imperative that once the ball has hit off the shed, a member of that team touches it. This is harder than it seems especially when child B arrives like a bulldozer charging in between the hitter and the shed, intercepting that crucial 'touch back' at stunning speed and vol...