Thursday, 26 July 2012

Why dust balls are my new friends

We are moving house. Well, we don't actually have a house to move to but we are, nonetheless, moving. Cue Mam on a mamoth packing spree and to say she's like Monica from Friends is an understatement. The mere suggestion by Dad that she just "empty the draw into the box and shut the lid" prompted a 7 min rant on how much he didn't understand the ins and outs of packing and removal, which left him, quite frankly, speechless.

Each box is labelled on all sides and twice on the lid. All items contained within the box are wrapped in bubble wrap or (and in some cases and) kitchen towel. Those items deemed 'Extremely Fragile" the thresh hold of which is anything made of a natural fibre, have had made for them a specialist cardboard divider so they sit snuggly in the box allowing space for their allocated bubble wrap, kitchen paper and towel, they are then packed with shredded paper, just in case.

She has also gone mental with Vacuum Bags...basically if it fails to meet the Fragility Thresh Hold, it gets vacuum packed...and while we have all been amazed at the bags capacity to reduced 2 double duvets and bedding to the size of a gnat, Annie has started to cry whenever the hoover is produced out of fear one of those bags has her name on it.

All this brings me to the title of this post. While Mam is rigorous to say the least in her cleaning routine (again, Monica...) the recent pack down has resulted in an inexplicable amount of dust. And I'm not just talking on the top of picture frames, it's everywhere...and seems to be gathering itself together in what I can only think is an attempt to form a carpet. What's more worrying is that Mam doesn't seem to have noticed, as the hoover is busily condensing the towel filing system to flannel size, the dust balls are billowing round the house like tumble weed but the hoover is never turned on them.

The frightening pace at which the dust has materialised and, subsequently multiplied has led me to conclude that this dust is organised. It is not your everyday, genteel, snow covering-type dust, that all of us find nestling snuggly and harmlessly on top of the skirting board, unmoved. This is dust with a purpose, a vision and and end goal, striking fear into the hearts of unsuspecting spiders and small lions alike.

And as our home becomes every more a Health and Safety nightmare - boxes piled so high, they would kill a lion if they fell, the constant worry that if I sit still long enough I might have a first hand experience of what it's like to be a supermarket packed smoked mackerel, and the disconcerting presence of over ambitious dust - my only solution is to try and befriend the dust balls, as, come the revolution, I'm not sure I want to be against them...

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

The Clothes Show

So Mu is being Dedicated at church this Sunday and my biggest question of the week has been what does one lion wear to such an event? After all I am the mane man! (credit to Dad for that one).

For those not familiar, Mam and Dad have chosen to have Mu Dedicated rather than Christened or Baptised as they want her to chose for herself whether she wants to be a Christian. In having her Dedicated, she won't be formally a Christian, or formally a member of a denomination but it will be an opportunity for us to give thanks to God for her, and for Mam and Dad to promise to teach her about Jesus as she grows up.

Thus poses the seems this is the sort of occasion which falls below a Christening/ Wedding/ Funeral type affair, but above a Slobbing-Around-On-A-Saturday-In-Your-Joggers type affair, and I'm not going to lie to you, I can only do one or the other.

Now I'm not a dedicated follower of fashion in any sense of the word - my fur is yellow and purple - but I don't want to look stupid on the photos, with Mu (and any other subsequent siblings) asking - "What was he thinking??!?!?!" Nor do I want the photo's to be brought out on a significant occasion in my own life, for all who have gathered to 'surpise' me, to laugh at. So I'm faced with but two options, do I dress-up my 'Slobbing' outfit, or dress-down my Wedding garb? With both these options still leaving the eternal conundrum of, to hat or not to hat?

Mu herself has been through several outfits - Mam being the most indecisive of dressers on an average day - and Gran only adding to the wardrobe chaos by purchasing new items to throw into the mix. It doesn't help that in light of our move to Yorkshire (that mission trip finally got legs - see earlier post on Cultural Exchange) Mam is either vacuum packing anything that stands still long enough or tossing it out completely. Dad's still reeling over the fact that he didn't answer the "When will you next wear this" thresh-hold question quick enough and lost all his pants to the Bin Man. By that I don't mean the Bin Man is now wearing his pants. All this means that Mu's options in what to wear are not unlike my own (minus the yellow/purple fur angle, and what to do with her ribbon mane)

Anyway, answers on a post-card if you care enough to assist. I'm off to try and bling up my Kappa Poppers and see if a top hat set at a jaunty angle will suffice...think Dad'll just be happy if he's not commando.

Tuesday, 10 July 2012

On A Serious Note...

Ephesians 3:20

"Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think according to the power that is at work within us, to him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus, throughout all generations, for ever and ever, Amen."

Since taking this job and watching Mu grow at the rate she does, I am drawn to thinking not only about life P.M. (Post Mu) but more increasingly about life B.M. And not as you might expect - in longing for a lie in, or not to have my ribbon mane chewed beyond any kind of style - but with the hindsight of seeing what God has done already. Although Mu will never really know it, most of us in this family had a life before we were who she see's us as. Mam was someone before she was Mam - she even had a name - Dad was someone before he was dad - and I believe people thought him cool - I was king of a fictional universe, revered by many, feared by all, and yet to Mu we will never be those people/lions, we will be who we are now always in her mind.

In many ways this is right and good and a testimony to our adaptability, slotting freely into these new roles. However there is a small part of me that wants her to see a little of who we were, not because our egos need a bit of T.L.C. now that we spend our days covered in sick and poo and having our heads mashed into banana repeatedly - but because God has done so much for us already.

I look at this verse and can hold up my paw and say He has done more than I could ask or think, I was once a very different lion, with a very different life, going a very different way. And for all my story telling of those good-old, bad-old days, I can't seem to do God's job on me justice. Seemingly I am doomed to only give Mu a poor, washed out picture of all that He has done, and therefore can do. How can I teach her about what it's like to know God, when I can only use cliches, poor metaphors and ramblings about when I was a cub?

I guess it's a good thing that He hasn't finished His job yet...

"And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on until completion at the day of Christ Jesus"
Philippians  1:6

Thursday, 5 July 2012

Getting The Most Out Of Dad's Taxes

This week has been mainly full of screams, poos and sniffles. My paws have been sucked in comfort so much, Sophie la Girafe is having to scribe on my behalf for this post - which in itself says how much my paw pads are aching, as typing with hooves is no mean feet!

Off for a lie down in a darkened room, a foot bath and a whole bar of Dairy Milk as still not quite recovered from the late night at A & E due to Mam's conviction that Mu had a serious and significant unknown illness mid week - 3 hours and a shot of Calpol later, doctors confirmed a soar throat.

Still, was worth it for moment Mam realised, in her hurry to get dressed to go to the hospital, she'd forgotten to put any pants on...