At least we’ve all got somewhere to sit
In her weekly column, Maddie Grigg shares tales from her life in rural Dorset . . .
WE’RE off to Number One Daughter’s house to drop off a birthday present for her littlest one. She informs me Number One Son will be there, too.
“If you come over at about lunchtime, I’ll put out a few bits and pieces for us to eat,” she says.
This will probably mean beautiful home-made sausage rolls and brownies, so Mr Grigg and I don’t have to be asked twice.
“But we’re waiting for a delivery so you might not be able to sit down,” Number One Daughter says.
The family has ordered a new sofa and it’s expected today. The old sofa has had to be moved out to make room for the replacement.
We’re almost there when Number One Daughter rings to tell me the furniture people are running early.
The sofa will turn up in the next 10 minutes, which is about the same time as we’re due to arrive.
“Would you like us to make ourselves scarce for a bit?” I ask her.
“If you wouldn’t mind.” So we head down to Ruby and Edgar’s favourite dog-friendly beach.
In recent years, we’ve had hours of fun here, charging through the shingle and jumping the waves.
I don’t have a ball so Edgar has to make do with chasing Ruby instead.
He seems OK with that. She’s pretty happy, too.
I give Number One Daughter a call to find out how it’s all going.
“They’re just putting it all together. It’s bigger than we thought it would be.”
I remember buying two sofas from the outlet where there is always a sale on.
When they arrived, I felt like I was sitting on furniture for a giant. My feet didn’t touch the floor.
“When do you want us?” I ask my daughter.
I can hear her talking to the furniture people.
She tells me in about half an hour.
When we arrive, we make our way past the old sofa outside the back door.
“I’m recycling it,” Number One Daughter says. “It’s being picked up, but not for a couple of days.”
Inside, the kitchen table is laden with nibbles.
The littlest daughter is very excited and hopping around on a pogo stick.
The doorbell rings and it’s Number One Son and his partner, and little Rex, who is overcome with all the noise and people and promptly starts to cry.
I attempt to console him with a few soothing noises and tickles.
But I end up making it worse, so I hand him over to his mum.
“Come in and see the new sofa,” Number One Daughter says, ushering us into the living room.
It’s plush and grey, with an extended bit on one end which the middle daughter is already eyeing.
“Well, at least we’ve all got somewhere to sit now,” I say.
But just as Mr Grigg and I are about to sit down, a shriek goes up from Number One Daughter.
“No, you can’t sit down on there yet.”
“Can’t sit down? Not on your new sofa?”
“No,” she says firmly. “I’ve got to put the throws on it first.”
“You mean you have to cover it up before anyone can sit on it?”
She gives me a look that only a mother with three children of chocolate-eating age can give.
She unpacks the throws and there is then a ceremonious sitting down on the sofa by us all. It’s just as well it’s a big sofa.
And then the youngest granddaughter pipes up.
“It’s my birthday today, Granny and Grumps.”
I’d only almost forgotten why we were there in the first place.
“Let’s have something to eat first, before we unwrap the presents,” Number One Daughter says, ushering us towards the kitchen.
We say goodbye to the sofa and head off to enjoy our sausage rolls. ■