Roll on bed time.

It's been a long day that started with being woken by the dog from over the road. I say dog, I often think it's a little rat - if you caught it out of the corner of your eye then you'd be tempted to hit it with a shovel. It doesn't even bark, it's a howl. It sounds in pain, and at 8am this morning, if I'd gotten hold of it, it would have been.

I got up with hubby skipping down the stairs about ten minutes later. Major caffeine and meds and he seemed in an alright fettle, for a change. He'd decided that today was the day he was going to tile where the cooker stands. After about fifteen minutes of contemplating this, he realised that he wouldn't need the tile cutter or even the little dividy thingies that you put between the tiles to measure the grout. Really? I didn't mention this to you yesterday when I worked out the ratio of tiles to the space underneath the cooker? How remiss of me... (It's alright, I didn't say it out aloud, I just thought it - but my tongue was sore from biting it). "It's alright, we kept the receipt." said I. Along with the receipt for the plastic covering you got for the pipework that we didn't need (again in my head).

So we lugged the cooker out. This cooker must be confused, it's been in and out more times than a game of Hokey Cokey this week. I will say that he made a cracking job of laying the tiles, he really did. Yet he isn't the most patient of individuals because he wasn't waiting the 24 hours needed for the adhesive to dry. He did well though, it was five hours, which suprised me because I thought he'd give it three.

He then decided he'd leave the kitchen in disarray and go and cut his friend's grass, so off he went. In the meantime I managed to superglue myself to Biggey's textiles homework, to the point where I could feel the ribbon melting onto my fingers through her mood board (if she doesn't get a good grade for this I will be having words with the teacher). She's done a very good job of this - from not understanding what a mood board was before telling me she had one to do for tomorrow. Seriously - how can you send children home without telling them what their homework is? Fortunately she has a mother who studied textiles - although stepping back and letting her do it whilst thinking "noooooo - put it here, and draw that there and OH MY GOD just listen to me" had me biting my tongue again lol.

Hubby came home again (thankfully) and nabbed our neighbour to put the cooker back into position - with instructions from me that it was never, ever, ever to be moved from this position ever, ever again. I think that was sufficient, but Heaven knows, if I find it in the garden tomorrow whilst he's relaying the tiles that have moved due the adhesive not being dried correctly I think you'll find me floating down the river with concrete boots on, all of my own volition.

The neighbour is still in the kitchen, four hours later and numerous coffees to boot, and hubby still hasn't had his tea. I haven't even been able to make it, because of neighbour being here. The best of it is, when the neighbour goes home, hubby will come into the living room - where I have decamped to, and go "I didn't think he'd go, I was planning on going to bed early. What's for tea?".

The girls and I watched Dragon's Den tonight. You can't even watch Dragon's Den safely because in came a man who was doing things for Dementia. Big sigh as the girls were watching it. It was a man who set up scenes for hospitals and homes etc with decor from years back. "How does that work mummy?" Middley asked, with Littley asking "does that mean we'll have to do that here?". I explained that usually, as they know, Dementia sufferers are older than daddy, and that the decoration in their homes would have been different to what it is now, and that as their memory for now goes they usually remember things from when they were little and young, and that sitting in a room with furniture and decorations of how their home may have looked like might be comforting for them and they might feel safer. "Ahhh" was the response. "What about daddy then?" Well... because daddy is so young, there isn't as much of a change with the decorations and the technology that there would be with an older person, and if we did that for daddy then it would probably confuse him more. "Ahhhh" was the response. The next thing that was asked was "Is this man making money out of people like daddy?". Yes said I, but the lovely Peter is telling him he'll invest if he gives some of the profits to charity. "Ahhh ok" was the response.

Today's comment of the day? "I don't like the idea of him getting rich because of people like daddy - that's greedy". Out of the mouths of babes.