Wasp season

This morning I've had to fight my way across piles of books and correspondance to reach my keyboard. It's been a funny old week. I haven't been doing much writing, hence the way the detritus of my life has begun to crowd in around my desk, like ivy wrapping itself around everything and blocking all access.

The kids were back at school this week, so the familiar routine of making packed lunches in the morning and then cycling to and from school morning and afternoon recommenced. My least favourite time of the day is between 3pm and 6pm, the time when the children are home from school and when I'm typically preoccupied with making our dinner. It's such a restless time. My son usually disappears onto his computer as soon as any homework or spellings are out of the way, and leaves me wishing that he never had a computer, and why can't he go out and play like all the other kids I see on the field behind our house...? Then I remember that he hates football, which dominates the games of the playing field kids, and anyway he prefers his own company when he gets in from school.

Meanwhile my daughter will hang around my legs as I'm chopping veggies and keep asking me if I'll go and play with her. I invariably feel a stab of irritation each time she asks, as I curse myself for not having done all the food prep sooner, before they were back from school, so I could spend some time with them when they come home.

So it's a time of day when I feel most guilty, most out of balance, most irritable, and most likely to sting.

Speaking of which I've noticed the queen wasps are back hunting out a suitable location for their nest. We've had four enormous wasps in the house over the last week, and have dealt with them with varying degrees of cruelty - from nastily spraying them with wasp killer, throwing plastic fruit at them, and squashing them, to more humanely letting them fly away through the window, or capturing them in a upturned cup and releasing them into the garden. I really don't like killing creatures as a rule, not even wasps, I think they've got as much right to life as me to be honest, but as my daughter reminded me "wasps are horrid", and I'd certainly prefer one dead wasp to a whole colony of them burrowing and scratching around inside our woodwork.

This week my son invented the sport of throwing plastic fruit at the wasp which was buzzing around in the lantern light window above our dining room. It's quite high up, so the only way to dislodge anything from it from below is to aim a carefully chosen missile at it, one that won't smash the glass on impact. Plastic food is perfect for this job, and when I asked my son why he was throwing plastic fruit at the wasp he replied that he couldn't find the plastic chicken, which is what we usually use to dissuade magpies from pecking the bugs out of the outside of the wooden window frame.

Another thing that has caused me to be irritable and more likely to sting this week is the fact that I'm off on holiday tomorrow to Turkey, without hubby and the kids. This will be the first time I've been on holiday without him since we were married. For some reason this has become a really big deal in my head, and I've been worrying about how we'll all cope. Actually I know we'll all cope very well, but the thing that has become a really big deal for me is what will the house be like when I get back? What will be all the things I'll have to do when I get home? Will anyone think that I won't want to find a pile of dirty washing that urgently needs doing as soon as I walk in? Or that I won't appreciate bringing my suitcase through the door and tripping over a My little pony tea party in the hallway? All week I've had the nagging thought - "will anyone think..."

So I'm off to pack now, and to relax into the thought that of course they'll think. They might not act, but they will think. And all will be well.