A New Home for the Guinea Pigs

Day 25 Saturday

So another exciting day at my sister’s house with G, his mum and his sister. My sister is away on Brownie pack holiday, something obviously far more important that sorting her home out with the aim of having her children return!

It's a difficult day for me, more than usual. Before getting there I tell G I'd like to finish the girls room and concentrate on the dining table area of the lounge and if possible build the hutch for the Guinea pigs to get them out the lounge.

He drops me and the smallest niece off at the house and goes to pick up his mum and sister. I do a bit more in the girls’ room, but my sister has bought more bags in so I'm now confused about what's staying and going. So I take my niece downstairs to help me clear the mountain of clothes on the dining table, which we bring out into the garden on the tarpaulin I've found. She talks constantly and I contemplate locking her in the shed, before realising there's no room in the shed to put her!! As I look round the lounge in despair I notice a half-filled bin bag by the sofa. The same bin bag I left in that exact same spot 5 days earlier when I was here on Monday! I'm fuming.

When G arrives with his family he starts moaning about the state of the hallway and under the stairs and whilst I continue with the dining area, he starts at the other end with his sister and randomly starts throwing things around and chucking stuff up my end. I'm frustrated that as usual he doesn't listen to a word I say and does completely his own thing. I appreciate the work he's doing so I keep quiet. As I sort through 5-year-old papers, magazines and bills I come across a card in an envelope with her name on it. The writing looks familiar, but I can't place it. I open it and see 'Happy Christmas Daughter across the front of the card and I open it slowly as I realise who it's from- my Dad, who died 6 years earlier. I can hear G moaning about how lazy my sister is and that strong words need to be had and it all becomes too much for me. The tears well up in my eyes and I don't want to cry in front of the little one, but I can't stop myself and head out to the garden. G's mum gives me a big hug and in a rare moment of compassion from G he tells me to keep the card to take home and put in my memories box for the sister.

I'm upset that such a valuable thing (as I see it) is mixed up with the random paper and rubbish and that for someone that wants and has so much, she treasures nothing.

where the guinea pigs used to live

G finishes his patch in the lounge and decides to build the hutch in the garden, that my sister said was in the garage. I highlight there's not actually anywhere to put it as the garden is so overgrown with weeds and I don't know if any of it will be poisonous to the Guinea pigs.  We clear the tarpaulin and the clothes on it, putting them away in the girls’ wardrobe and leaving my sisters clothes in a bag outside her room.

The hutch is massive and fills the small patio area by the back door, but at least it gets the animals out the lounge which will hopefully remove that awful smell and associated flies. Snowball and Fluffy don't seem too convinced about their new home and new found space and so hide in a corner determined not to draw attention to themselves.

After five hours we're all exhausted. I look round the garden and spot a robin on the fence. He jumps around and into the vegetation. It makes me smile, but those tears begin to form again as I remember something my friend said a few years ago: when you see a robin out of winter it means an angel is watching over you. I'm not big on superstition and angels and all that, but I remember seeing a robin on my son’s birthday (in July) who stayed around us for ages and it was earlier that year that my Dad died. I know it's silly, but I draw comfort from believing it was my Dad looking over me and letting me know he is around.