Something to make us all feel better

Eva Longoria is a beautiful lady with or without make up. But reassuring to know that even gorgeous gals can look just like the rest of us without their mascara on. Would you look twice if she walked past you on the school run/supermarket checkout/petrol station forecourt looking like she does on the left? OK, so you might think, ooh, cute smile. BUT if she sashayed (she looks like she would sashay not simply walk) her cute butt past you looking like the pic on the right...well...maybe you would wonder why she was so dressed up for school/Tescos/the Shell garage but then you would look in awe...

Celebrity beauty - it's all an illusion isn't it?

No use crying over spilt milk...

...except I did. And here is why:
- the milk was on my bed (not ours in this situation) and spilt all over the lovely crisp and clean bedding
- it soaked through my jeans (clean on today) onto my knickers (obviously clean on today) and onto my cardi (yep, you guessed it - clean on today)
- my husband told me to calm down
- that sentence makes me anything but calm
- and then he said 'It's no big deal' and that's because he put the beaker FULL OF MILK on the uneven bed in the first place
- plus he isn't the one who has to change the bed for the second time in two days. Who likes changing beds? Apart from nurses in the 1950s...
- he doesn't have to wash and iron the bedding, or the jeans, ditto the top and cardi
- he has a lot to answer for when it comes to the reason I was so grouchy in the first place. I was hungry. He never wants dinner when he gets in from work and prefers to eat later, at about 8.30pm. This means I go to bed full up on food and burping like a frog. That's not nice. For anyone. It annoys me. Daily.
- Add into this mix tiredness because baby girl woke up at 6.20am which is an unsociable hour for anyone but the milkman. Especially when you go to bed after midnight.
- Put a dash of annoying girl next door who had asked me to take her shopping for her mum's birthday present (I did) then invited herself for tea after spotting the homemade lasagne, then asked to have one of the cards from my birthday card stash to give to her mum (sorry, but I can be a bit tight when it comes to stuff like that) then she didn't leave until I practically forced her from the house. At bath time. I felt like I'd been bullied by a nine year old with skin thicker than a rhino.

Stir all these ingredients up and the result? Mummy crying over spilt milk.

Status Symbols

I feel like the dullest person ever to walk this planet. When I check my Facebook (yes, a previous addiction that now takes a lot less of my time than blogging) and see my "Friends" status updates it makes me feel like a big fat loser.
Dave is Djing in Ibiza this weekend followed by Bahrain, Russia and Amsterdam
Helen is on a road trip across California
Katie is meeting New Kids on the Block
Romy is on a romantic break in New York
Jessica is just back from Italy
Richard has a terrible hangover from a weekend of partying
Amanda is belly dancing
Susan is looking after monkeys in Venezuela
Jane is having a picnic on some rocks in Melbourne
Simon just watched a squirrel fall from a tree (no, but seriously, that is for real)

Every time I log on, I try and answer the question 'What are you doing now?' with something witty and interesting. I drum my fingers. But what can I type?

aconfusedtakethatfan is...

avoiding housework again - I have used that too many times.
scraping a poo off the floor - too many friends don't have kids and don't like poo
blogging - no one knows I do it
eating a cheese and pickle sandwich - well, that's nice, they'd think, but it's not djing in Bahrain is it?
wishing she was somewhere else...yes, perhaps that will do for now.

I have 140 "Friends", of which possibly 30 are real friends and the rest just people I have met along the way, hangers on some may say, but I feel as if I am hanging onto their coat tails hoping their exciting life may rub off on me. Yeah, yeah, I know having children is the best thing you can do, I love mine to bits and love my stay at home mum status. But sometimes I wish I didn't have a little window into other peoples lives like this. It reminds me of another me.

Black Box

It's not a black box in an aeroplane. Or that house music anthem 'Ride on Time' (anyone remember?). It is in fact a highly addictive little box that takes you to blogs all over the world by answering various questions like Al Pacino or Robert De Niro? Sunset or Sunrise? I was even asked Boobs or Ass. It's a brilliant marketing tool, click on the bottom to find out more. Meanwhile...enjoy...



If you have come to my place via the black box please leave your name and a brief message. It's always nice to meet new people...

When did I become so middle class?

My name is aconfusedtakethatfan and I think I am becoming stereo typically middle class. Here are the signs...

* I have become a member of the National Trust
* I bought my big girls uniform from M&S because it 'washes well'
* I really want a pair of grey fur Birkenstock this winter because they look warm and comfortable
* I have a Cath Kidston ironing board cover, teatowels and tablecloth
* I have an Emma Bridgewater teapot and matching mugs and am coveting the matching butter dish
* I like holidaying in Devon
* I now prefer the Sunday Times to the Observer because I like the Style section and magazines better
* One of the reasons I have put off moving back up north is because they don't have a Waitrose near to where I was looking
* For lunch we often have a selection of cured meats and olives
* I have started buying clothes from Monsoon
* I am on the mailing list for The White Company, Boden, Mini Boden, Toast, Able & Cole and Graham & Green
* I would like to picnic at an outdoor concert event
* I would like an expensive wicker picnic hamper to take to above event
* I have considered buying a Cath Kidston windbreaker for next holiday in Devon
* I would like to have a border terrier who I would buy a Stanley Cath Kidston dog basket and an Emma Bridgewater dog bowl, I would perhaps even tie a blue neckerchief around his collar and call him Monty
* And worst of all, I sneakily really enjoyed reading the Daily Mail on holiday...

Is there a cure? Should I be worried?

Married Ladies Secret Crush Club

My friend was telling me the other day how she has a crush on a man at work. It has got so bad that when he speaks to her she turns the shade of a sunblushed tomato. This friend is a happily married woman and felt very nervous telling me about her crush. In fact, she finished the sentence with, 'is this normal?'

'Of course!' I reassured her, and then listed three men at work that I used to fancy. I suggested we should start a Married Ladies Secret Crush Club where we could talk openly about men we thought were worthy of a long slow swoonsome sigh. Anyway, my 'aren't they just devine' sighs are dedicated to McDreamy, Christian Slater, a carpenter we had round to do some work and Gary Lineker (sorry!!). We are safe in the knowlege that nothing is ever going to happen with our crushes. But isn't it nice to know we still have blood running through the veins and we are in fact alive and breathing? Because some days, when I have been climbed upon, pawed at (by every member of the family), wiped yet more poo off a toddlers bum and stacked the dishwasher for the billionth time, I seriously wonder...

I'm 'IT'

With my new long fringe I do look a bit like Cousin It, but that's not what this post is about. I have been tagged by 39 and Counting. So, I have to answer these 7 questions and make someone else 'it'. So here goes...


1. Where Where You Ten Years Ago?
Living in Clapham. My fellow housemates were a man with one leg, a girl who was completely cuckoo and a Scottish bloke who never came out of his room and listened to Stereophonics on repeat all through the night. I was working on a teen mag.

2. What's on Your To Do List Today?
I don't do lists. I forget to look at them. But if I did have a list it would say the same thing most days:
* iron
* clean
* cook
* send out emails to get some freelance work
* make love to husband
* make children smile
* don't let children watch tv
Out of the list the only thing that will get done is the cooking. Oh, and an occasional smile from the children (only when I give them chocolate buttons)

3. What If you Were A Billionaire?
I just can't imagine not looking at price tags...I would buy a little piece of Englad by the sea, a little bit of France, have a massive party for all my friends, pay off all my friends and families debts and mortgages, get sky plus, give lots to charity and hospitals...oh I dunno, I'd hate to be a billionaire! Surely it takes the fun out of buying things?

4. Five Places You have Lived?
Cumbria, Yorkshire, Norfolk, Greater London, Surrey

5. Three Bad Habits?
Indecisive, Talk too much, Spend money I don't have.

6. Snacks You Like?
Raw carrot stick, organic nuts, wheatgrass shots...yeah yeah right, that would be the 'me' I wish I was on a daily basis...in reality, choccie biccies, crisps, flapjacks, buns and cakes. Ooh and bananas and apples.

7. Who Will You Tag?
I will tag Mom/Mum Wars, Dave and From Dawn Till Rusk

Who needs Britney...?

It's award season in blogland, and who needs Britney Spears to make it an event?
So, a big thanks to Mum/Mom Wars and From Dawn Til Rusk for giving me an I Love Your Blog award.
As usual there are bloggy rules to follow

1. Link to the giver.
2. Nominate up to seven other fab blogs and link to them.
3. Leave messages announcing their rise to greatness.

So I wanted to pass it onto Mom/Mum Wars and 39 and counting
Nappy Valley, and Auntie Gwen but as they have already been given it, I pass onto...

Working Mum On The Verge
Expat Mum
and
Tarte Tartan

Empty Nest Syndrome

You're not supposed to get empty nest syndrome until they have left home, but I think I got a taste of what it's going to feel like today. Just like a lot of other blog mamas and papas my big girl has waved Mummy dearest bye bye and gone and started big school.

Seeing her in uniform I could feel the tears building.
Walking her up to school, I was inwardly sobbing, but held myself together so as not to upset her.
Reached school, promised her if she didn't cry she could have the rabbit family from Sylvanians.
She went in and didn't look back. Damn, I didn't predict that. There goes £20.

I slowly walked home with baby girl (I say baby girl, she is actually nearly two).
Opening my front door I was not only hit with left over toast on the floor, an old nappy waiting to go to the outside bin, warm milk that had been left out, but an overwhelming silence.
My little friend was all grown up and had left me to go to school. Meanwhile I have been left to entertain the toddler on my own.
I cried.
I missed her. There's a little piece of my heart throbbing as another of my family gets on with their life, leaving me here, directionless.

Soon toddler will be starting pre school, just two mornings a week to begin with. Then I have no more excuses. I have to get some freelance work. People are already asking me, 'What are you going to do with yourself?' I've also been asking myself that daily, no make that almost hourly, for the last year. When toddler is in nursery school five mornings a week, what on earth will I do?

Tonight I have a new solution, I may have to forgive the husband, put out and get myself another baby - I'll do anything to avoid having to make a decision over my career and putting myself out there again. The prospect of going back into the 'real' world is more frightening than another child. That's for sure.

Dirty Stopout

He came in at 5am on Saturday morning. He being my husband.
Now tell me, is that the way a father of two children under the age of 5 should behave?

I was supposed to go with him but alas, no babysitter was to be found anywhere and as I'd taken my hairy eyebrows out on Wednesday, he got the nod.
I waved him off feeling very Cinderella.
I stayed in, tidied, put washing on, cleaned the floors on my hands and knees, switched the iron on, switched it off again an hour later (ironing untouched) and went to bed.

At 1am I finally drift off to sleep. No sign of husband.
I wake up again at 2am (it really bugs me that I do this when husband is out, why can't I sleep properly without him?) still a big empty space next to me.
I wake up again at 4.20am. Still no sign. I make a mistake. I call him. I shout. I am angry. I wake up baby girl with my under the breath shouting (which clearly wasn't under the breath). So, she is carried into bed with me. Husband is in a cab on his way home. He is making no sense to me on the phone.
I tell him to sleep on sofa when he gets in as he is absolutely steaming and I have a child in bed.

Half an hour later I hear the key. He stumbles upstairs. I am so angry and tired (it's now 5am) I shout at him to get on the sofa. This 'conversation' wakes up the whole house. Big girl gets in with me. I now have baby girl and big girl in bed with me, when all I really wanted was my husband.
Girls finally drift off again at 6am.

We get up at 8am. Go downstairs and they see their daddy fast asleep on the sofa in his clothes from last night. They scream 'dada' excitedly. It wakes him up. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks like a tramp who has been shopping in Abercrombie and Fitch.
I shoo him upstairs and tell him to sleep it off.

I go to park alone with kids, I take them to a toy shop and indulge them. I am angry that I am entertaining them on my own again for another day. Sometimes it can feel so lonely. I miss my husband when he's at work. I look forward to the weekends and now, here I was alone in the park watching all the other daddies play with their children.

We go home.
He is still asleep.
He didn't even notice we'd gone.
We wake him up.
His eyes are still bloodshot.
He doesn't say sorry.
He says what a wonderful time he'd had. How he sat up with his friends listening to music, chatting and catching up. Something he hasn't done for a long time.

I want him to say sorry.

He finally takes us out in the sunny afternoon and we find a wonderful fresh water stream, the girls paddle with daddy and go fishing with their crab nets, there is a cricket team playing on the green, an icecream van serving real swirly ice creams with raspberry sauce and an old pub serving over priced warm vodka and tonics.

Do I forgive him?
Am I a drama queen?
Sometimes I can't work out if I am over reacting or whether he is totally out of order.
We are talking(has she done a poo? Did she sleep at lunch? Is that baby girl crying etc.) You can't not talk when you have children. But all kissing with tongues, heaving petting and sex has been withdrawn until I forgive him. Will I last out the week?