En Vacances...

Well, I am heading across the channel to make sandcastles, go crabbing, avoid lots of dog turd on the pavements and eat shed loads of calorific food.

I have decided to have a long hard think about going back to my original career when I come back home. After flirting with the idea of re-training as a teacher (but deciding I don't like other peoples children very much - sorry), becoming a florist (that lasted about 40 minutes), owning a sweetshop (I would eat the profits), starting a cupcake company (I'd be up baking until midnight, instead of watching McDreamy), I have decided that perhaps what you know is maybe better than mere flirtations.

Previous career was as a freelance journalist, but I'd kinda fallen out of love with it. I couldn't take any more phone calls of, 'What we need is you to find three girls who are unlucky in love, like having sex on cars, have been abducted by aliens and got pregnant. They need to be willing to talk about it at length, have their photos taken, be very attractive and they have to be in London by tomorrow at 1pm.'
Or
'Famous singer wants you to upload all news to his/her website 24/7. You must be available at all hours, whatever country they are in.' OK. Await news. Ping goes the inbox, 'Today I have been on the road and eaten a rancid cheese and pickle sandwich. Story approved to go up, I think the fans will be really interested...' Hmm, after waiting up til midnight the hot news off the press is that a famous person has eaten a cheese sarnie. Right. The thing is uber scary pop fans are interested in this guff.

But just like sometimes you don't realise what you've got 'til it's gone, how a trial separation can make you realise what you're missing, how discovering blogging means you actually do like writing for fun again and how a loaf of bread now costs £1.34, perhaps it is time to go back...

Alf Garnett he ain't...

I feel like I have to stick up for my husband a little bit, that perhaps I have been a bit harsh and portrayed him as an Alf Garnett type. He really isn't. He has good points. Now let me just think of some for you...
* Oh yeah, he provided me with two gorgeous daughters
* He makes me laugh so much a little bit of wee almost comes out (that's natural childbirth for you)
* He is a wonderful hands on father
* He deals with most poo related things, be it baby poo, dog poo stuck on shoes, fox poo on doorstep, cat poo in the garden, he will clear it up and sort it out while I am gagging
* He is a happy drunk
* He has lots of friends who think he is wonderful
* He is very loyal
* He will let his daughters put make up on him
* He lets me hold the remote control
* He is a fantastic cook
* He is my bed warmer,no need for a hot water bottle in my bed
* He is 6ft tall
* He will do all the ironing whilst watching football
* He never really gets ill
* He will buy everyman and his dog a drink in the pub
* He doesn't seem to notice my bad breath/thick jam jar glasses and spot combo most mornings
* But most of all, he still loves me...

A few bad points
* He doesn't seem to notice when I have spent an hour getting ready.I would really like him to say how gorgeous I look. Instead, he says things like, 'Good, you're ready. Let's go.'
* He is constantly trying to cup my breasts. And it always seems to be at the most inconvenient times, such as when I'm making peanut butter sandwiches for the girls or when I'm brushing my teeth
* He doesn't feel like he's had a meal unless it involves a lot of meat
* He is very grumpy
* He lives and breathes football. He hid this well when we first met. But then it was the end of the football season so he had three months to reel me in and catch me before he went off and left me a football widow
* When he is ill, we all know about it. He hurt his thumb during football, we are on week three of, 'My thumb is so weak I can't write.'
* He turns into Kevin the teenager when he's around his parents despite being nearly 40.
* He buys everyman and his dog a drink in the pub. Doesn't he know there's a credit crunch?

The bad points could of course go on, I haven't even got onto him curling his toes, but this is supposed to be a post about how gorgeous he is...oops...

Sorry...

My husband is damn good at apologising so no matter how hard I try, I can't be cross for long.
I went to pick up lovely girl from school at lunchtime and when I came home I found;
* some gorgeous long stemmed roses already put in a vase of water
* a pink patisserie box with a large fresh slice of my favourite New York cheese cake
* a note saying 'I Love You. Sorry...'
* and the thing that made me smile the most, Arctic Monkey's 'Mardy Bum' playing on a loop on the i-pod.
There was no sign of him though, which was a relief.

I responded NOT by writing, 'Oh Darling, I forgive you' on the bottom of the note, because I am a woman afterall and deep down I can't help being a bit of a shrew.
So I wrote this;
Things I have discovered would make you happy after our row...
* Tying me to the kitchen sink (and not in a kinky way)
* Monitoring my computer usage to make sure I am not slacking from household tasks
* Sniffing the hoover when you come in to make sure it has been used
* Informing Waitrose to only serve me twice weekly MAX
* Giving me pocket money as you think I am quite clearly overspending on food for OUR children
* Getting a cattle prod to ensure I am awake, dressed and ready to serve breakfast before you leave in the morning
* And finally you must stop me from going out the four times a year that I go out so that I am present for all bath times.

He read it, laughed and said, 'Actually a cattle prod is not such a bad idea...'

Award Season

I have been given a lovely award by Working Mum On The Verge
It's my very first award and I bow down to Working Mum for awarding it to me. So very lovely! Not it's my turn to pass the award on. Here's the rules:

1.Put the logo on your blog.
2.Add a link to the person who awarded you.
3.Nominate at least seven other blogs.
4.Add links to those blogs on your blog.
5.Leave a message for your nominee on their blogs.

So here are some of my faves...
Flower Fairies and Fairy Cakes
A Mask To Hide Behind
Belgian Waffle
Auntie Gwens Diary
Frog Blog
Dulwich Mum

Enjoy!

Blue Moon...

I hate him today, I truly do.
Who would have thought that bath time could have created more hostility than the Gaza Strip?
Or maybe I should blame that Jamie Oliver, if I hadn't been watching how he makes a scrumptious looking pizza then the row wouldn't have even happened. Jamie MADE me late for helping bath time. And then it all kicked off.
I don't even want to go into detail, it's all so petty.
Basically he thinks I don't hoover enough, spend too much money at the supermarket AND he's done four bath times on his own this week. All I heard was, 'You're a rubbish mother, you are a shoddy housewife and you don't earn jack yet you spend loads..'
My shrill replies were, we are skint because he has just bought a very expensive new car, if only I had a star chart for how many bath times I had done alone it would clearly show me as the winner, (due to his football playing habit, jollies with work and training weekends) and he can stuff the bloody hoover (which, by the way, is out daily, not that he would know) up where the sun doesn't shine.

After discussing with my mother for 55 minutes every detail of the fight and how horrid the husband was being, she paused. I was waiting for a gem of good advice, some female camaraderie,or some much needed sympathy. Instead I got...
'I think it's because there is a full moon. It always sends men funny.'

Home Alone...

After having a horrendous afternoon yesterday, which involved a slimy poo on the carpet and a full blown, big tears, throw herself on the floor tantrum at the park,(where all other mums were looking at me and thinking I'm glad that's not me/what a dreadful child/she's rubbish) I was looking forward to today.

It's sports day. The husband took the afternoon off work especially.
I wish he hadn't.
From the moment he put his proper running trainers on with his shorts for the mum and dads egg and spoon race, I knew we were in trouble.
He lost the egg and spoon race. I was glad.
He came home, played with the kids for an hour and decided to try his hand at making Thai crab cakes for the first time. Weirdo.
So, whilst the kids are screaming hungry, I am trying to prepare their dinner and he is pulping bread, topless, with the moobs hanging out, happily oblivious to the chaos that surrounds him.
I have always wished he works from home.
Now I am glad he doesn't.
Roll on 8am tomorrow morning....

Today, nothing...

Today I am eating a corned beef and pickle sandwich. A very underrated sandwich filling I think.
And that's it. I have absolutely nothing going on in my life except for corned beef.
The other day I was thinking what am I going to do when the children go to school? I don't want to go back to my previous career of pandering to popstars. So I went to buy flowers.
Ooh, I could be a florist.
I went home googled floristry. Found a message board of florists where another girl had put how she loved flowers, wanted to specialise in weddings and whether the florists had any advice. Don't do it most of them said, early morning starts (I hate early mornings), hours of standing in the cold, (I don't like the cold), rubbish money, (I like good money). I stopped there. I don't want to be a florist anymore.
Later I am off to the supermarket. Perhaps there is a career idea waiting for me there? I can hardly wait...

He's Pretty Fly For A White Guy...

Just back from a wedding. It was a fabulous! I was a bridesmaid and an utter vision in cappuccino. The horrid hens redeemed themselves by all being on their best, most outrageous drunken behaviour. The bride had ditched the 'liquid only, lose two stones in an hour' diet and looked stunning in sparkles and with the best 'up do' I'd seen in years. The speeches were short, the table plans were none existent (so you could actually sit with your mates instead of spending two hours trying to make polite conversation with strangers you are never going to see again) and to top it all there was a chocolate fountain with fresh strawberries...mmmm...

There was a lull in the night and not being ones to spend money at a bar (they were flabbergasted that shots cost £3), one of the girls from Oop North revealed she'd smuggled in her own bottle of vodka. So the one shot glass got passed around the table again, and again, and again, and again, and it definitely lifted the, erm, spirits.

Pretty soon there were shouts of 'BRIDESMAID DOWN!' after one fell over the best man and a husband (not mine) was prancing around on the dancefloor in a pair of the bridesmaids golden high heeled shoes that had been abandoned under a table, but that was nothing, the most shocking moment of all was when my husband discovered he had rhythm.

Yes, that's right, after not moving from his seat at the previous fifteen weddings we've been to, when he only ever passes over the dancefloor on his way to the Gents, my other half finally had his moment.

The DJ had offered up a tenner to the best dancer. The circle was formed, some girls were shaking their 'Sex And The City' dresses around, when there was an empty circle. In my husband went like a gladiator into the lion pit. My mouth was open wider than the Channel Tunnel. But then he span around, did a pretty impressive caterpillar impression, a few fancy break dancing moves and some brilliant footwork to a screaming and whooping crowd.

We have been together for over ten years and I never knew he had it in him. Whether it was the prospect of winning ten pounds, or the fact that his inhibitions had completely gone out of the window with the fifth pint and fourth shot, who knows? And while he didn't win the tenner, (it went to a girl in a red dress who shook her boobies about), I was chuffed that my man was pretty fly for a white guy...

Disasterous Date with McDreamy

Thursdays 10pm, everyone knows where I will be.
Lying in bed, jammies on, contact lenses out, new sexy D&G glasses on, drinking chamomile tea, eating choccie bic watching McDreamy on Grey's Anatomy. That is the highlight of my week, (which shows you how exciting my life is at the moment).

My husband knows of my lust for McDreamy, even he is accepting, but a certain person in my family seems to have taken umbrage. She is 18 months old, and every Thursday without fail she starts to scream. This doesn't happen on any other night and I am starting to take it personally. We must be the only family left who doesn't have Sky Plus, so no pausing to be done here.

Last night, I let her scream, hoping my husband would come and get her to allow my date with McDreamy to continue undisturbed.

But still she screamed. Until I could no longer hear McDreamy and see whether one of the main characters was about to die. My husband was about to die if he didn't come up and deal with upset child. But still he did not come. So I VERY huffily got out of my bed, slammed the bedroom door and scooped up screaming child. She would just have to come on my date with McDreamy.

Husband finally arrives upstairs.

'YOUR daughter was screaming and I was trying to watch McDreamy!'
'I was just closing up downstairs.' (see we ARE turning into our parents)
'You could have left turning lights off until after you'd comforted her so I could have had my date with McDreamy. It's the ONLY programme I MUST watch all week!!! You know that!'
'You are ridiculous!' Off he storms. I don't have a retort to that statement because deep down, I know I am behaving like Jordan (have you seen her on her TV programme? Talk about spoilt princess - my poor husband is a bit like down trodden Peter Andre, but without the six pack).

As I bring her into my bed and she snuggles into me, I toy with her fingertips, stroke her soft face, smell her newly washed hair and place a gentle kiss on her perfect little rosebud lips, I think I am the luckiest woman alive. Who needs McDreamy?

And then this cutest little delicate girl, turns to me, smiles and breaks wind.

Shopping List

Things I asked my husband to pick up from the supermarket on the way home from work:
Milk x2
Nappies
Bread 1x white, 1x brown
Sleep x 8 hours (go on, as a treat!)
cleaning/ironing lady (should be on the aisle where the clingfilm is, get a good one not own brand)
kisses (from the husband range, not the children)
ice cream x1 large tub of haagen daaz cookies and cream
vodka - large
lemon
ice cubes
a child who sleeps through the night (return the one we have that doesn't)
a professional bum wiper (could be difficult to find, may have to ask someone)
and a large bag of patience.

What he came back with...
Milk
Nappies
Beer
and a bunch of flowers.
Well, you can't win 'em all, but the flowers were a bonus, right?