I'm writing this from the comfort of my own dining room... my messy, crowded-with-broadband-setup-periphenalia dining table. The damn wireless router still isn't working but we're back on broadband. Wouldn't you know it it was one of those tiny stupid problems (firewall related) which caused all the problems. Sheesh!

It's Wednesday night. The children are sleeping and we've just watched the season final of Judging Amy. We've been watching it since day one and while (like all shows) it has gradually, season by season, lost its sparkle, its dazzle, the charming wit and whacky writing which saw us so hooked on it all those years ago.

Jason's on the phone so I've paused the episode of Six Feet Under we're watching (we've been loaned the first four seasons on DVD and are up to episode three, season three). What a brilliant show. I have to say after the intensity of the first two seasons so far season three is a little flat so I'm fearing/hoping a little more craziness enters the lives of the poor old protoganists, because so far it's just a little too much of their day to day humdrum for my money.

Will has tested my parental werewithall again today. I just can't seem to find the right place of balance between relaxed, don't give a stuff mum and uptight, discipline-freak mum. While we had our skirmishes this afternoon, it does strangle my heart with love, pride and unbridled joy when he says to me, as we are laying in his bed tonight, "mum, I love you big big much", as he stretches his arms out as far as the can reach.

Parenting is the worst and the best.