It will soon be April’s Fool Day. I am often a fool. But from this point forth, I will not:
- Steal the shoes of the daughters, forget I’m wearing them, then go and shut up the chickens.
- Be wet about shouting at the dogs when they do horrendous things. Like go on the dining table and eat the special Mothering Sunday cookie-cake, made by youngest daughter.
- Panic and agree to do stuff for people that do my head in. ESPECIALLY involving me having to drive somewhere I don’t know, and finding a parking place.
- Have heart-racey crushes on unsuitable men, and instead channel all of my flirt energy at my darling husband. Even when he’s wearing padded Lycra.
- Keep quiet about my teenagers making their packed lunches with plastic turkey slices two days out of date, because the only alternative is yacky tuna.
- Spend all our money on skiing and ponies, when our house is falling down.
- Wear enormous period pants all month round. Ditto slap ’em down sports bras.
- Keep pretending that I don’t mind not painting properly. And failing at the one and only thing I was born to do.
- Draw or paint EVERY DAY
- Be a responsible, sensible mother, and a passionate, supportive wife. And not love my dogs more than my children.
- Learn to get the right canter stride and remember my left from right, nearside to offside, and not wait for the daughters to hiss the answers at me.
Let it be known, that today is the start of it. The very start.