The snowdrops and daffodils are out. Spring has sprung, and I won’t accept any weather forecasts telling me otherwise.
I am not daft enough to relinquish my ‘big coat’ to the storage, I’m keeping my gloves near by for chilly dog walks and my car is full of de-icer BUT it feels like we heading towards brighter times.
The clocks go forward tomorrow and I am thrilled. No longer do I navigate the sleepless nights as the mother of toddlers.
Those years spent persuading a tenacious child with a steadfast desire to party at first light behind me, I am the parent of teenagers!
Teenagers and dogs
Teenagers and dogs. What a ginormous fool. Smug comes before an almighty fall and oversight on my part as I forgot to find out who teaches sprockers the time?
According to our dogs it’s ALWAYS the time. Time to make sure those pesky dawn chorus birds know who’s boss. Time to protect the house from a viscious leaf floating along in a gentle breeze. Time to wake the house and let us know it’s daylight.
Thanks lads, I hadn’t noticed from the depths of my curtained bedroom. Thank goodness when I do eventually get up, I’ll feel safe and protected from the ill intentioned sunbeams obviously planning to do me a damage.
And yes, those would be the sunbeams the dogs then sleep in all afternoon having clocked off for the day.
Spring brings with it nothing but good intentions. This will be the year we get the garden done (no it won’t).
This will be the year we sort out his shed (again, probably not). This will be the year we get up at 6am and walk the dogs so we’ve got 10k steps under our belt before an honest day’s work! (I doubt it).
Our initial enthusiasm is infectious. Friends are invited to join us at the house because, thanks to this impending spring clean, it will be immaculate and visitor ready (ehhhhhhhhhh, will it now?).
Cleanout time
Wardrobes are flung open with gusto, the children rolling their eyes as I demand to know ‘when was the last time you even wore this!?!’ Please no, they cry. Too late. I am full of Spring. This IS getting done.
Along with my philanthropic longings, I am also a momentarily self-professed, entrepreneurial, captain of industry, and will drag this family out of its post covid bank balance doldrums by selling everything. EVERYTHING MUST GO!
Shoes. Trainers. Hoodies. Bags. Wedding outfits? No need for these again, let’s do this. Immediately the downstairs box room, which I actually had managed to clean and organise is now Mum’s ‘Vinted’ room.
Yup, the teens are howling with laughter when I ask them if they’ve heard of an App called Vinted? Aye, only about three years ago Mum, where have you been?
Sitting on a gold mine
Why did nobody tell me?! I am sitting on a gold mine here, especially when my kids wear the exact same clothes over and over again, even though their wardrobes are groaning with content worthy of transporting them to Narnia.
Nothing is safe and I mean nothing. Poor biggest kid got hit hard. Anything she didn’t take to Oz with her was fair game and listed within the day.
I started off well. I took carefully placed photos to show items to maximum effect. I listed details with meticulous precision. Was the item new with tags or just new.
Questions, questions
Had she worn them a few times and maybe caused a slight mark. Where was this offending scuff? What length was it and what exact cleaning product had I used to try to remove it? How high was the wedge heel?
Was there an inside zip compartment or a mobile phone pocket? Was it just a handbag or was there a shoulder strap too? Did the dress have the ability to be taken from day to night depending on accessories.
I described it all. For the first 50 items at least. And then I learned. My children hysterical, the more indignant I become answering all the messages.
For sale £18. Will I take £1.20? No I will not! Bl**dy cheek! Defeated, I’ve learned my lesson and swung past the charity shop on my way to buy a Lotto ticket.
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