Thursday, 23 October 2008

The metal bird of death

I'm not generally an anxious person. I leave that to other, better qualified friends and members of family (Violet, BMF, CFO, I am thinking of you in particular). But oh, man, this I hate. Today I have to get into a winged metal box with a bunch of other Eurodrones and it is making me sweaty and headachy. The chanting in my head is going:

"I don't want to die like this! In a fiery ball of death with a bunch of lawyers! I don't want my children to grow up wearing 100% acrylic rollnecks and slacks! And eating Knacki sausages and powdered mash every night! And only reading non-fiction! And becoming engineers or mathematicians!"

It's exhausting. So in case I go down in the metal box of death in a giant mass of flaming lawyers, here are my last thoughts:

CFO: I am sorry about the last few transactions on our joint account, but they are really nice shoes, and maybe you can bury them with me. Or instead of me more likely. I cannot resist buying more felt tips every time I go to the supermarket, but I have hidden them in the cupboard so the children do not use them to draw faces on your socks. Please check that I am really dead before giving my organs to anyone, though I realise that this is unlikely to apply in the fireball of death scenario. Do not let anyone in my family make laminated mass cards cum bookmarks with unflattering photos of me on. I really love you, you are ace. When you find another woman, please ensure she is nicer to you than I am. Maybe choose someone who can cook this time? Do NOT allow the children to wear clothes chosen by your mother all the time. If in doubt, ask Violet. Eat some fruit occasionally.

Lashes - Please continue to challenge your father in lots of ways with your bizarre creativity and argumentativeness. It is good for him and you will have to do my share of screwing with his head too now. He will shout at you a lot because they do a lot of shouting in his family but he loves you so so much and all he really wants is for you to occasionally give him the odd cuddle. He loves that, I can actually see him physically relax when you are next to him. Try and remind him that he does have a sense of fun when he is not busy being sensible. Put pants on his head and make him pretend to be a koala.
You are the most beautiful, delighful, clever, hilarious child. I was rather in awe and frightened of you when you were born, in all your animal perfection and I wish I had been better able just to enjoy your wonderfulness, your tiny hairy lorry driver shoulders, your slowly unfurling lashes and your silky black hair, but I was too young and a bit mental, really. But I feel we have grown up together, and the days when I used to want to put your dinner on your head (and indeed the one shameful time when I did) are long gone, most of the time. It feels like an outrageous privilege that I get to have someone as funny and independent and confident and kind and all round amazing as part of my life - how did we make you?! You are bloody amazing. I love how we can tell each other jokes and get up to badness. I recommend prog rock step dad for bad jokes, Violet for crazy cutting and sticking projects and the Space Cadette for ridiculous surreal games. All my love darling.

Fingers - Wonderful boy. You are so deliciously eccentric and serious. Even though you are way too old for my clingy fingers and lips constantly trying to stroke and groom you, I truly cannot keep away from you, you are a total physical delight to be around and you have been ever since you were born. Even though you looked like a squinting tomato, you were my squinting tomato, and I felt a completely visceral connection with you that has never weakened - you are part of me like nothing else ever has been. Your papa thinks I am a bit casual with you, but if I am, I am casual with you like I am with my leg, or my ear. You are part of me. It's a wasted day when I can't squeeze you until your pips squeak as you gravely explain some matter of vital importance to me. Please try not to worry so much. The world is basically a benign place, and you are surrounded by people who think you are bloody fantastic. If you have to hide secret stuff, I recommend the spare bedroom on the top floor, since noone ever goes up there. If your papa tries to make you eat omelette, try putting it up your sleeves, then dumping it in the bin afterwards. Amazing parrot. Be happy. Try to eat something other than biscuits now and then.

I will look like a tit tomorrow when the plane doesn't fall out of the sky, won't I?


expateek said...

No, entirely normal sentiments, and beautifully stated.

Someday, when your children are a lot older, you will love love love to fly places .. if only to escape them.

Just kidding. (Sort of.)

Have a wonderful trip. Deathboxes in the sky are fun. Be sure to say that you're a Hindu on the pre-check-in. Then you get to eat a really nice curry, AND you get served first.

Not that I've resorted to such subterfuge when flying British Airways. Never. Not me!

Deborah said...

Oh, I feel so much the same way about my children and husband. But when I write it out, it's not nearly so pithy and amusing, and thus I fear they have no idea the depths of my insane love for them. May I have your permission to cut-and-paste this onto the anniversary card I give my husband next week? Kthanks.

justme said...

What lovely messages! However, I am expecting that by the time you read this you will have arrived, safe and sound. So you can go back to being grumpy with your loved ones if you like!
But in the extreamly unlikely event that the metal bird of death DID deliver death......your words are beautiful and true and would be fantastic for your loved ones to read. I am feeling slightly weird about crashes and such at the moment. The horrible M6 Crash over here, that killed 6 people .....the mother (and grandmother) of the dead ones is someone I know through work. Very sobering.

La Belette Rouge said...

I am sure you will survive the metal bird of easy and comfortable travel. Ask the lady who walks the spine of the beast for $6 bottles of Stoli. It will make the metal bird fly more smoothly.

Anonymous said...

You had better survive the metal bird - what will I do without your blog to make me laugh? Looking forward to hearing what happened.

Persephone said...

I guess this would not be the time to quote Passengers, one of my favourite poems by Billy Collins? Maybe when you're safely down again...

(My word verification is "cometha", which sounds like very gentle punctuation to me.)

Waffle said...

I am alive, even though Paris Colleague made me sit on her bed for an hour as she wandered aroung in a thong choosing outfits. Return flight at lunchtime. Same applies.

Belette, the lady walking the spine. Yes. Today, very much so.

livesbythewoods said...

Glad you're not in the middle of a huge fireball of doom, because that would mean we don't get to meet at the end of the month and drink gin.

Yay! Gin!

H said...

I've said it before and I'll say it again. STOP making me cry.
And,if you're going to pretend to be hindu (recommended: curry is the only food that tastes better re-heated) try to do it 24 hours before the flight so you don't cause ten people to run around like headless chickens. (Sorry- I'm feeling the recent pain of that one)

Daisy said...

Wow, this really made me tear up!! Very well put and very sweet. You're a nice family. I hope you've survived the return trip, I'm a bit worried seeing as by now there's usually 5 posts involving crafted vegetables and tortoises in my reader... let us know!!

Teena Vallerine said...

Oh you poor lamb - trusting you feel a prize tit by the time you read this - also trusting that you ensure this beautiful post is tucked safely away for the little ones to find when they are older and might not realise just how much they should appreciate their lovely mum!!

Teena Vallerine said...

PS - have you tested the dodgy advice about the omelettes? x

Waffle said...

Ok. Reports of my death have indeed been greatly exaggerated and I am a complete fuckwit. "Normal" service will resume tomorrow with false teeth. Thank you for your kind wishes on my death however.

The Spicers said...

Beautiful last words!

Mr Farty said...

Just because you survived doesn't make this post any less touching. Or "awesome", as the kids say these days. Dude.

katyboo1 said...

What Mr. Farty said from me too.

Anonymous said...

God... flying. The metal toilet tube of death. Meh.

If you really want to wind yourself up, this site is superb.

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