Anyone who actually knows me in real life will also know that my life is insanely busy. Like, off the scale most of the time. I run a small business with my partner, doing all his accounts as well as physically working in both shops. We have four children, ranging from 8 up to 15 years old. Two dogs. Seven chickens. A bloody big house. I’m also doing my MA. The goblins have various extra-curricular activities, including orchestra and Cubs and shooting. I have a whole bunch of hobbies which I get far too little time to indulge, however spring is approaching and gardening is one of my favourite ones, so I have an (almost useable) polytunnel as well as half dozen raised vegetable beds.
So, yeah, kind of busy.
It seems that life has decided to throw another curve ball into the mix though. After a gentle, if thorough, scolding by J’s grandma – who turned 100 last year – he suggested we think about getting married. I agreed, Grandma thought it was a wonderful idea and then someone left the handbrake off on this batshit crazy idea at the top of a hill and suddenly J has booked the church for August 15th.
That’s this year. 2015. Like, six and half months away.
Excuse me whilst I step into the next room and hyperventilate for a while.
First and foremost, however, if any of you dear readers follow me on Facebook, do not, for the love of everything that is holy, mention this on there. I only really use it to talk to my MA classmates and post photographs of the goblins for my father in Canada. My mother, however, is on there a dozen times a day, and I haven’t told her yet. Because I obviously have some kind of death wish. But I can’t tell her until I know my dad can make it over from Canada, because if he can’t, I’m cancelling it.
That and she would want to organise me to within an inch of my life, and as much as I love my mother, I don’t take well to being organised. (As several of you will attest.)
So yeah, wedding.