The More It Snows

1.  Frosty Forecast 

2.  Frosty Start

3.  Frosty Smiles

I couldn’t sleep, so left The Man in the Big Bed and padded downstairs to the Double Bed.  Eventually I dozed off, to be woken by a little figure aged 5y 3m clambering in.  Cuddles and snugs. I am so failing in my Duty To Help Him Sleep Independently. And Lordy knows what we’re going to do when his little brother aged 2y 3m is out of  his cot and on the loose at night-time. Look at Bigger Beds, I suppose.  The alarm went off upstairs and Nothing Moved. I got up. I went downstairs to the kitchen. Fished 10 snails out of the fish tank. (They wander around in the dark. When the tank light gets switched on, they make for cover at top speed. They are the fastest snails on earth. It is very Dispiriting to be Outrun By A Snail before your day has even started.) Put the kettle on. Made my packed lunch and Son 1’s tuck box.  We are Back At School.

Son 1 was a little star and got up and got ready. Son 2 has secretly been on a Career Women Make Bad Mothers course. “I don’ wan’ Mummy go work! I wan’ Mummy stay look arter me! Mummy stay ‘ere.”  I was out of the house early to try to chisel the car out of its ice block. Engine running, fans blasting, me outside chipping away at 3ins of windscreen frost while the condensation on the inside was icing over.     Son 1, wearing a splendid home-made crown atop his school uniform,  went straight over on the ice and was pretty shaken. I got him in the car and we set off, very very slowly.  It was a long, slow, bonnet to bumper procession all the way to the Big Town. At School, the children were filing in for assembly, and Son 1’s teacher, Mrs Smiley was there to meet us: “Happy New Year! You beat the weather then!”  “Bang goes the New Year’s Resolution,” I replied. There were people arriving after us. I have a rule. If we are Not Last, we are Not Late. 

Skiploads of Hassle at The Office today. Never mind, never mind.  I took The Man’s pants and pyjamas back to M and S. You remember, the ones I wrote about on Christmas Eve, saying “they’ll all be wrong, and I’ll have to take them all back.”  The boxers, £15 for 3 pairs when I bought them, are now £2 in the sale. I suppose the Savvy Shopper returns the stuff and then re-buys it after getting the full price refund.  The weather forecast got grimmer through the day. The sky got darker, and lower. At 1645 I thought “This doesn’t look good. I really had better go early and get Son 1.” Not another car at the school. Only one other child left at the Tea Club. Oh look on the Bright Side.   When he was a baby at Day Nursery he was always the last one. By a long way. I used to turn up way after closing  time, breathless, panicking, to find two Nursery Nurses with their coats on, playing with him. ”You don’t both have to stay!” I said once. “Yes we do,” they told me. “We’re not allowed to be here alone with him.”   There were ice warnings on all the roads, but we got back ok. As we got out of the car it began to snow. Son 1 almost cartwheeled with excitement: “Put your hand up if you want to make a snowman!”

That’s My Boys

1. Morning Kisses

2. Changing Tastes

3. Showing Teeth

A storm blasted through overnight and it woke Son 1 aged 5y 3m, who screamed and cried.  At first I thought he was frightened by the roar of the wind and the rain machine-gunning against the windows. Nope. ”I missed your party!”  We’d told him he could come down once, and once only. And then we’d given him the allergy medicine, to, er, help dry up his runny nose.   Son 1 came upstairs wailing, and his loud crying woke Son 2 aged 2y 3m.  I sent him downstairs with The Man and scooped up Son 2.  And got him back to sleep. One Good Thing in the bag and it wasn’t 6am.  I was wakened by warm little arms round my neck, a chubby soft cheek pressed against mine, and tiny lips giving me kiss upon kiss upon kiss.    I opened my eyes and Son 2 was looking down at me, smiling. “I waked Mummy.” A Perfect Child.  I opened the blind. There was a boat sunk in the river.  We went downstairs to The Man and Son 1. They pretended they were still asleep. Until we told them about the boat, when they sprang out of bed to rubber neck.  

At breakfast I made cheese on toast for Son 2. He cried. He wanted butter on toast, so he could pick and lick all the butter off. “Oi don’ wan’ cheese!” Son 1 does like melted cheese, and started picking globs of it off the rejected toast.  And then, while I was getting my breakfast, he came up to me at the worktop: “Mummy I eated a piece of toast.” Bugles sounded, the arena cheered. The child who, mysteriously, had always refused to eat toast: “I don’t like it,” suddenly did. And wholemeal bread too, another thing on his Not On Your Nelly list.   He polished off the rest. “It’s because we take turns,” he told me, inbetween mouthfuls. “Son 2 doesn’t eat toast any more so now I do. And when I stop, he’ll eat it again.”  Mmmm. I don’t remember that in Green Eggs And Ham. Fortunately Son 2’s boycott only last till the buttered slice arrived.

The Man wanted to go to the Marina to checkThe Boat.  I needed to go to the bank to sort some stuff. The Man took Son 1, I took Son 2. We met up near The Square and wandered back.  Son 1 didn’t want to walk, so he hopped up under the Big Pram handles, sat on the nappy bag and we pushed him home. We went to some friends’ house for Drinks And Nibbles. We sat in the kitchen drinking and talking and talking and drinking.  The boys trashed the rest of the house with various children.   Son 2 played with the Younger Daughter’s Best Christmas Present.  And the nativity scene. I got up at one point because I could hear a loudening, unrelenting chorus of “Son 1 is a baby, Son 1 is a baby.”  Son 1 on the stairs, faced by four girls, aged between sex and ten. ”Wow Son 1, you’ve got the attention of four beautiful women,” I said as I wafted by in a “I’ll rescue you if you want” move.  Son 1 had his teeth bared and his hands clawed, and a certain look in his eye, so I left him.  I checked again a few minutes later. The smallest girl said “We’re trying to get Son 1 to go into the cellar.”  My eyes narrowed. Son 1 was running around. The ten year old was at the bottom of the stairs in her party frock. “Son 1’s mad,” she said. “It runs in the family,” I said. “And fierce too,” she said.  Son 1 stood on the landing and roared down at us. Attaboy.

Fancy

1  Fancy Footwork

2  Nothing Fancy

3  French Fancies

Another day of mad rushing.  The boys stayed in their own beds overnight. Hooray.  And Ho Hum. I am sure Son 1 aged 5y 2m wakes because he’s cold, and troops upstairs.  He’s under a 3.5 tog quilt. Which he’s always kicking off.  I tucked Nanna’s Boston Trip Pirate Quilt around him last night.  Tra la la.  Son 2 aged 2y 3m called to me as I tried to tiptoe downstairs for a solitary pot of coffee. He had his breakfast, I had mine, we read stories. “Wassat?” pointing to the pile of wrapped presents on top of the dishwasher box ice cream house.  Wonder Nanny’s birthday presents. ‘Then: “Where my Son Son?” “Still in bed. I’m going to get him up in a minute.”  “I wan’ see if Son Son orl right.” Up we went. Into their bedroom toddled Son 2 in the dark: “Son Son, are you orl right?” Son 1 burrowed deeper under his quilts. Son 2, cold in his overwashed, handmedown thin flannel pyjamas climbed up and burrowed in after him. Son 1 squealed, presumably at the first contact of fat frozen foot on snug lanky leg.  

Downstairs, Son 1 carefully wrote out the birthday card. Which was a great relief. He’s been rabidly anti Wonder Nanny for the last few weeks, sitting in the back seat on the way to School telling me how much he doesn’t like her. Not going to make her a card, not going to choose a cake for her, not going to sing her Happy Birthday. I’ve tried all manner of techniques, gentle probing, careful explaining, patient listening, devoted understanding of the transference of his anger at my absences on to the substitute carer. And now I just say “Whatever.” It’s true. They do keep you young. Although I think we used to say “So?” instead. 

Wonder Nanny arrived and there was mass present unwrapping. She didn’t do any of it.  We sang Happy Birthday.  We made ourselves unspeakably late for School.  Being positive, the traffic wasn’t too bad. But his class were still all sitting down ready for assembly by the time we got in. When I picked him up this evening  I was given his school report. It took me ages to pluck up the nerve to look, in case there was a mention of Mummy’s appalling timekeeping.   We had a crisis because I’d promised Son 1 that we’d go to the supermarket to choose a cake for Wonder Nanny’s birthday tea.  But of course I got to School too late – we had to hare back to get home before her finishing time.  Son 1 cried, but was mollified by a Frosty French Fancy from some party shopping I had managed to do. ”Can I have another one with the other pattern?” he asked hopefully.  I let him. When we got home, we discovered that French Fancies are Wonder Nanny’s favourite cake ever.   She is a Goddess.  We sent her home, and I tried to get the boys to bed. Son 2 went up the stairs ahead of me, and in the dark, stubbed his toe so hard it bled. He cried. We cuddled. He noticed someone hadn’t come running. ” I wan’ Son Son kiss me feel me better.”   I’d almost got them to bed when The Man came home.

Travails

1. A Bother

2. A Blast

3. A Blow

Oh What A Night.  I was so knackered I went to bed at 10pm, which is, as you may have noticed, unheard of for me. Son 2 aged 2y 2m woke up at midnight.  He howled, and howled. ”Don’t go to him, ” I told The Man. “We’ll just teach him that if he cries for long enough he’ll get one of us.” 0015. 0030. 0045. At 1am I went in, moved Son 1 aged 5y 2m into the Double Bed next door and dosed Son 2 with Calpol and water. “Please stop making this noise. You’re keeping everyone awake. It’s naughty. Now are you going to go back in your cot?” “Yes.” “And are you going to be quiet?” “Yes.”  As soon as I left he started again.  It was past 2am before he went back to sleep - with me by his side, hand on his back. And 4am the last time I looked at the clock before I finally dozed off.   Being Positive, at least we know now not to leave him next time.  The Man thinks Son 2 just wants to sleep in a bed instead of his cot. We have agreed that removing Son 2 from his sleeping bag and high-walled cage at night would be a Bad Plan.

We were a bit late up this morning because of our tortuous night. Son 1 had already raided his two identical – one from me, one from Granny – Ben 10 Advent Calendars.  Son 2 looked with interest at the Christmassy picture on his one from Granny. We showed him how to open the door and take out the chocolate. Mad for it. Little squashy fingers instantly pinged open Door 1 in his Thomas The Tank Engine one.  And man, he didn’t understand why he couldn’t have any more.  The wails were nearly as loud as last night. I got Son 1 to school a bit late, but considering what we’d been through I thought we did ok. The Office was full on and intense. I got a lot done and the sheer grind, was as always, relieved by my colleagues who really are very funny.   

I picked Son 1up from school, brought him home and found a leaflet about head lice in his bag.  Reading to Son 2 on the Double Bed, I was longing to get them to sleep so I could finish my work and crash out.  Then, absently, I asked The Man: “You don’t think they put that leaflet in Son 1’s bag because they think he’s got lice, do you?”  Nah, he said. You checked him on Friday.  “I’ll just make sure,” I said. I slathered him in conditioner, took out my contact lenses, and nitty-grittied.  And found three or four bugs and a lot of what I think were eggs but could have been tiny bugs.  I really can’t see.  I combed and checked and checked and combed. Son 1 was going barmy. Son 2, pacing up and down and waiting for his bath, was going barmy.  I was serene but insistent. I was keeping going till I was sure there was nothing more I could do. “Get me out of this bloody bath!” sobbed Son 1. “Honestly darling. Wherever did you learn language like that?”  “From you!”  It must have been The Man.  I of course use only Bother, Blast and Blow.

I Love You Blue Kangaroo

1.  One Grey Night

2.  Frolics In The Autumn Mist

3.  Along The Cherry Lane

I have read all the books, so of course I didn’t dwell on the bed-wetting. But last night I couldn’t resist: “You have to try and have another wee because if you wet the Big Bed again I will never let you sleep there again.”  Oops. It slipped out. I woke up at 4am and  there was no Son 1 aged 5y 2m.  And I hated it. My little warm cuddly adoring teddy wasn’t there.  All kinds of things flashed round my head. One Grey Night It Happened. Jackie Paper Came No More. Son 1, lying awake in his bed downstairs, too scared to come up.  “They won’t be doing it when they’re twenty…”  I wanted to go down and get him and bring him up.  I didn’t, because I thought The Man would kill me.  And more annoyingly, he’d get off for my Contributory Negligence, with this blog providing the evidence for the defence.

I went down at 0615 and Son 1 was instantly in the kitchen doorway.  “Well done, Son 1, for staying in your bed all night.”  He chose a gold star sticker and I lifted him up to the chart on the fridge.  He has 10 squares in each line.  His gold star was his third for Staying In His Bed.  He has 6 stickers on his Eating Up  All His Breakfast line.  “Can I have a Gormiti Egg when I’ve collected all my stickers?” “Yes of course you can.”  He stared at the chart. “Can I have four breakfasts?” “If you eat your first breakfast, you can have another one.”  Son 2 aged 2y 2m came down, gorgeous, smiling, wanting to be fed Coco Pops. ”Can you watch the Wizard Of Oz with me because I’m only five and I need someone to tell me what’s happening.” asked Son 1. “I can’t watch it because I have too many jobs to do. But you can if you eat your breakfast.”  “Ow,” said Son 2. “I don’ wan’ wot Wiz Ov.  I don’ like i’”  They settled on the Aristocats.

i couldn’t let it lie.  In the car, on the way to School, I had to ask: “Did you stay in your bed last night because you were fast asleep, or did you wake up and decide you weren’t going to come and see Mummy?” “I was fast asleep,” he said.  It was dark when I picked him up, and I’d remembered the torch he’d been pestering me for.  He loved it, holding it carefully and pointing at his feet in the pitch black all the way up the Muddy Path. He slept in the car on the way back, and back in the House, Son 2 chortled as he came down the stairs. After we’d put Son 2 to bed, I read to Son 1. “I’ll just go and have another wee,” he said. “To make sure.”

Gripping

1.  Holding Up

2.  Falling Down

3.  Clinging On

Yesterday I allbut wore an evening dress to work.  Only dark tights left, nothing else would Go, so I poshed up. Loads of compliments, so that dress is now a work outfit.  It’s also a Tesco outfit, because I wore it to the Big Shop with Son 1 aged 5y 1m. Where I bought 2 boxes of 2-pairs of natural tights. I pulled out a pair this morning and they were Hold Ups.  Now.  I tried Hold Ups 20 years ago when they first came out, in the days when they stayed up only by tourniquet-ing your tubby upper thighs, and slithered straight down your leg if you wore even a whiff of body lotion.   So I did an instant calculation. 2 boxes = £7, do I have enough life to take them back = no.  And then I remembered my Student Days. When I bought stockings two pairs at a time because that way if you got a ladder you always had a Spare Leg.  Plus they were always marked down in sales.  I had drawers full of suspender belts and knew that as a Stockings Girl I had a certain quelquechose.  But these days, I have no suspender belts and no stockings, and I can’t even remember when or why I changed over.  So. In honour of the Stockings Girl, the Hold Ups stayed.

I dropped Son 1 off at School, went into The Office, and at lunchtime, went out for a run/walk along The River with a colleague.  Walk 2 mins, run 4 mins, x 5.  We did all right. Afterwards, my colleague and I walked in The Big Town for a meeting. And with every step, one of my Hold Ups slipped further down my leg.  My colleague was sympathetic, and did her best to give me cover as I tried to hoik it up every four paces. On the way back the comedy element was improved by adding a friend of hers who lives near The Office walking back with us. The friend kept trying to draw me into the conversation… I kept trying to fall back and and keep my head down so I could do surreptitious little hitches.

Son 1 fell asleep in the car on the way back, and I parked outside the house and took in all the bags without him.  “Where’s my Son 1?” asked Son 2 aged 2y 2m, thumping down the stairs. “Mummy come back work. Son 1 come back School.” He always needs to stay close as soon as I’m back, hanging on to me, crying if I try to shake him off. If I sit down he has to sit on my knee. If The Man tries to take them upstairs to give me five minutes’ peace, Son 2 always trails back down.  I quite like it now… I like his unswerving determination. Mummy will read me my books, Mummy will bath me, Mummy will dress me, Mummy will do my teeth, Mummy will sing my lullaby and put me to bed.  I went upstairs to change out of my Office clothes. Son 2 followed.  I took my Hold Ups off at last.  The one that Held Up had a big ladder in it.

My Generation

1.  Geography

2.  History

3.  Biology

I was late out of the door because we were up in the night. Son 1 aged 5y 1m was hot, thirsty, uncomfortable and wanted his Mummy.  On my way out I met a friend, the same age as me, with granddaughters aged four and 10 months.  Her 27 year old son went to Afghanistan a month ago. He’s still got five months to go.  Her daughter-in-law’s having a hard time with the News, the Remembrance coverage, and being on her own with the baby.  My friend aches for any contact from her son. And lives in constant dread.  

At lunchtime I went for a sandwich with another Mother, a few years older than me.  Acutely worried about her brilliant, but vulnerable 20 year old daughter. For the first time, I heard the story of the eldest child, who would have been 25 on Friday.  She died, from a chromosomal disorder, a few days before Christmas when she was 2.   “There’s a programme on tonight. I think the little girl has what she had.  She just looks the same.”  Because, 23 years later, you remember.  

Son 1 being at home gave me an extra half hour after The Office. I went for a Twilight Run.  Cold, damp, crisp and grey.  I’m still half-walking and half-running, but who cares.  I was out, in the kit, in the dark.  Back home Son 1 seemed much better, until just before bedtime, when his voice was shot and I could almost hear the wince in his eyes as he swallowed. We doubled up, again, on Calpol and Ibuprofen to bring his temperature down.  He had a clear mission. To get tomorrow, Mummy’s Day off, off school so we could have Adventures again like we used to.  As he wilted, The Man and I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and give him the extra day, just to make sure. And Back To School on Thursday.

Tags: Afghanistan, army, bereavement, chromosomal disorder, illness, older mothers, running, servicemen, The Office

Rouge, Jaune, Vert, Bleu

1.  Avoir Fatigue

2.  M’Aider

3.  The Couleurs King

I have been awake since 3am. Ellen MacArthur did five months on five minutes’ sleep every four hours.  Or something. I could so see her off.   I woke up, couldn’t get back to sleep, went downstairs, made a cup of tea, went back upstairs, got my Book Club book and went back down to the Double Bed for a peaceful middle-of-the-night readfest.  A little figure came padding down from the Big Bed. Wordlessly and glassy-eyed, Son 1 aged 5 plonked himself in the Double Bed.  Mrs Smiley’s voice echoed in my head: “How’s his sleeping?”  I switched off the light. “My head is still hurting.” I gave him a slug of Kalpol. He didn’t sleep; I didn’t sleep. He eyebrowed vigorously and clamped himself to me.  After a very very long time, Son 2 aged 2y 1m wailed.

After an hour at The Office, my voice had gone again.  “I’ll go home and work there,” I told a colleague. I didn’t make it. I found if I kept my head down, said nothing and drank lots of hot drinks, I could manage. I did a mad run round the shops at lunchtime.  I have… erm.. burnt Son 1’s tummy by putting neat tea tree oil on his molluscum. It’s made his eczema flare up.  I asked Teenaged Niece what she put on her eczema. “HE 45″ she said. I wasn’t going to take her word for it. I was going to ask the pharmacist. Only all pharmacists in the Big Town take their lunch between 1pm and 2pm.  “When can you guys make it?  OK.  That’s when we’ll shut up shop.”  So. HE 45 it was. And some allergy-for-children medicine.

Back late, and Son 2, the Cooler King, was shut up in his cot in a darkened room, having a raging tantrum.  ”He’s been horrible,” said The Man. ”He wouldn’t eat his tea, he wouldn’t have a bath, and I only just got his teeth done.” I got Son 2 out, and he sat on my knee, quietly panting, his head against me.  I took him into the other bedroom. Son 1 had a French lesson today, and was singing something about quelle couleurs.  The Man and I were baffled by the verse: Hoar, jaune, bleu, vert. We eventually worked out that the problem was our dodgy accents. Our rouge features the same sound as kangaroo.  Son 1’s has a throaty soft French “r” and a “g” that rolls into the “j” of “jaune.” I gave him the anti-allergy medicine. And then read the ingredients. Sugar and alcohol.  Nice.  I really want to give that to my five-year-old.

Double Dating

1.  Howlround

2.  Clash

3.  Bump

Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht. Alles schlaft. Until Son 2 aged 2 started SHOUTING FOR MUMMY. I sprang out of bed to get to him before he woke Son 1 aged 5, sleeping next to him, scooped him up and put him in the Double Bed between The Man and me.  Granny is in the Big Bed upstairs, and The Man are next to the boys. I checked the time on a clock downstairs.  4am. The little beggar.  He tossed and turned and wriggled and writhed. At 0445 I gave up and got up. On the Bright Side. I copied dates from 2009 into the 2010 calendar. I cleared out the mess in my bag. I paid a bill which had been outstanding forever. I ordered school photos. I made the lunches.

Son 2 wasn’t impressed with being left at home, Son 1 was Perfect Child. A long drive in this morning because of the rain. I dropped him off and had another Hard Day At The Office.  I have muddled up Son 1’s Parents’ Evening. I thought it was today, which I could have left early for.  It isn’t. It’s next Tuesday, and already my whole day is jam-packed.  The Man will have to go without me.  Bright side: I bought a new dress from TK Maxx.  There is an Important Office Do on Thursday night.  I took it round to the Godmother for a second opinion. She approved, and provided pashmina and handbag.

When I got home, Son 2 chortled, giggled and clung.   Both boys were excited… there were two plastic bags resting on top of the water in the Fish Tank. Granny has bought four more fish.  Son 1 has carefully considered, and named them Fluffy, Floppy, Zizzy and Sulky.  Friends for Flossy and Coupon.  An instant shoal.  They seem to be getting on ok.   In Son 1’s bag there was an apologetic note from his class teacher. We can’t have the time we asked for his Parents’ Evening appointment. She’s happy to do another day and time if it would be more convenient. Oh all right then.   As you’re unable to fit us in, we’ll re-schedule.  No, no, don’t mention it, we don’t mind at all.

A Magic Wand

1.  Spellbound

2.  The Evil Queen

3.  New Lamps For Old

And again, I couldn’t get them up.  I have decided to Be Positive and Not Take This Personally.  It is getting darker in the mornings. That is why Son 1 aged 5 and Son 2 aged 2 are struggling in the mornings. Still, it gave me time to tumble dry Son 1’s school shorts. Which he sprayed yoghurt on in the car on the way home yesterday. Bloody Frubes again. So. I was Mrs Perfect Housewife and had them cleaned, dried and ready to be when I finally tow-trucked him out of bed this morning. He tipped milk down them when he was having his breakfast.   

Mrs Perfect Housewife turned into Mother From Hell this afternoon.  I picked up Son 1, who was leaping and laughing because we were going to the Joke Shop in The Town to see if they have a magic kit.  A reward for coming home with Heavenly Photos.  Son 1 wants a magic wand.  I agreed, thinking he wanted one of the ones he sees at parties – rigid in the hands of the magician, floppy when the children hold it.  Since saying ‘yes’ it has slowly dawned on me that he thinks a magic wand is… er.. magic. Anyway. Outside The House. Heading for The Town.  “I want to ride in the Pram.” “Darling you’re five, you’re too big. And anyway, Son 2’s in the Pram.” “Wark.”  “No, you go in the Pram, then we can get to the shop before it closes.”  “Wark.”  “Oh all right, but you’ll have to wear your reins. And walk, Son 2, no, don’t stop to look at a feather. If you want to walk, then walk. Son 1, I cannot manage you in the Pram and Son 2 on the reins. Son 2 will you walk! Put the stone down!  If you don’t walk you’re getting in the Pram…”  So.  I stuffed Son 2 in the Big Pram “Wark! Wark!” He cried and  corkscrewed and twisted himself out. Everytime he got out, Son 1 got in. I put Son 2 back in. He screeched so loudly people on the other side of the street stopped talking to look over.  And so I marched us all home, with Son 1 crying and begging to be allowed to go to the Joke Shop. At home I stripped Son 2, put him in his sleeping bag (to stop him climbing) pulled the blinds down and shoved him in the cot. Gave Son 1 a vast chocolate bar to stop him crying and poured a large glass of white wine. 

Son 2 and I are also developing a battle of the wills over toilet training. He wants to give it a go. I have just bought 132 nappies in two big boxes. “Wee wee!” “Oh, do it in your nappy.”  “Want loo. Want pot pot.”  He did another poo in the loo this evening.  I wanted to lie on the bed reading books to him. He wanted to get up and wee in the potty every five minutes. I have run out of chocolate buttons. Which should slow the little beggar down a bit.  I got them to bed and then sorted out the recycling.  Two birthday teas, two birthdays and a huge party have passed since the last collection. We have generated mountains of cardboard, paper and bottles.  I have positioned our pile far down The Terrace. To make it easier for the recycling men to load it on the lorry, of course.