rock on! or else you'll wake up the baby...

Well - I am well aware that it is no Sunday today. The thing about the Sundays is more like, ehm, a guideline, anyway. Principles are made to be thrown overboard in the right moment... Something like that. You know where I'm coming from.

Anyway. Last week was my sister's wedding party. The fact she got married last December didn't bother any of the guests - even though she and my brother-in-law had not declared it specifically a 'wedding party'. However, before this party, which was last Friday, I had to spend some days at my mum's. I don't know exactly why, but I had promised her to visit. Now, you should know that the relationship between my mum and her children has always been... well, complicated. To say the least. To cut a long story short: my mum had some strange ideas on how to bring up children, and on top she can be quite - let's put it straight - petty and intolerant. It's not very easy dealing with her, and the fact that once you let her catch you off guard will worsen her behaviour is not helping the situation, either. About one and a half years ago she found a partner who matches her in almost every way - except that he lacks a sense of humour. I guess it is even more exhausting now.

The funny thing last week was that usually my mother and I practice a lot of small talk. She tries to pry into my private affairs; I try not to let anything show. Normally, I am not exactly a secretive person, but I am more than glad to make an exception for my mum. I hate the way she always makes everyone justify their actions and words. Like why one did this and that fifteen years ago, or where one's been when she called last week and why one didn't immediately call back. Why one 'neglects one's studies' (by the way, I don't) to do theatre (which I only do when I'm free) and other stuff (by which she means p&p arpgs, having a boyfriend, spending money on anything, etc... which is, by the way, my own fucking business and nobody else's). Why I don't clean the bathroom the way she does. Why I am of a different opinion than she is and why I won't eat her eggsalad. You get the drift. Apart from being tedious and a real pain in the arse, it also simply wears me out. Everytime I come back from her place it takes me days to just calm down and be able to relax again.

This time I had to stay three days with her. Since my father died, there's no other place to go around there, and dropping by just like that is out of question considering the sixhundred kilometres that lie between us. So, I stayed at her place for three days, and whilst being there I had to find some appropriate clothes to wear for my sister's party. Mum decided she'd accompany me on my shopping spree. Now, there's only one thing I hate more than shopping: shopping with my mum. Actually, I've grown fonder of shopping over the last few years - ocassionally I almost enjoy it. With my mum, however, it still is pure horror. Notwithstanding the fact that I am a 22-year-old student who's been able to take care of herself and her clothes for years now, she still tries to talk me into buying the stuff she likes. After five hours of listening to bad recommendations and even worse opinions on how I looked, I gave up. Yes mum, okay mum, we'll take it. So there I was: a not-so-proud owner of a violet, long corduroy skirt and a pink jacket. Lovely.

The next day I found some excuse to borrow her bike, took the skirt and jacket back to the shop, exchanged them for a cardigan and a blouse in the brightest of reds and went home - well aware of the fact that she'd sure as hell be cross with me for not wearing what she wanted me to. Much to my surprise, she wasn't. Okay, so she wasn't exactly pleased, either, but at least she respected my taste insofar as not to complain about it in my presence. Thank you, mum. I appreciate that, and this is not meant to sound sarcastic.

The party itself was okay. Lots of people I didn't know and a boyfriend who showed up in jeans. I could have slaughtered him right on the spot, but my in-law wouldn't let me.

I couldn't really enjoy the party anyway, for I was dead tired. My little nephew decided he need not sleep the whole day and thus drove us all mad with his sour mood. He's only six months old, but he already seems to be afraid of missing out on something. Whenever something seems to be going on, he refuses to go to bed. So I and my boyfriend were sent on a precarious mission: "Send the fuckin brat to sleep, whatever it may cost!" At least that was how my sister, who was on the verge of completely losing her temper anytime the child so much as made a sound, put it. Right then, we got the buggy, took the squealing baby, and off we went for the woods. My sister hinted that he only sleeps when the buggy's rocking a bit. 'Rocking a bit' turned out to be 'nearly falling over', for it wasn't until we took a very bumpy path with pebbles and stones lying everywhere that my dear nephew decided to finally fall asleep. Until then, we'd already been walking for one hour. The problem however was that he would wake up every time the rocking came to a halt, so we had to walk up and down that path for another one and a half hours. As a reward, we were greeted with a smile and a 'dadadadadaa' when he woke up. And, thanks to his sleep and our hurting legs, everyone at the party thought my sister had a very nice and well-behaved son.

The next day we discovered he'd gotten his first tooth - which probably also was why he was so fussy the day before.

Tomorrow I'll be off to Cov for a week. I am slightly exited already, and I'm looking forward to seeing Danny and the lot again. Wish me luck for the flight, if the plane's late I won't catch the last coach to Cov and be stuck in London Luton Airport.