A Confused Take That Fan

Bunny Teeth

2012-01-24T17:23:00.000Z

Picking my seven year old up from school, I am reminded once again of the heartache that lie ahead.
'I was called bunny teeth three times today,' she says, not upset, more in a stating a fact kind of way.
Poor girl. She has her mother's teeth. I used to get called Monster Munch teeth, they were so big. But then I got a brace, glasses (and not cool ones, Deidre Barlow/Christopher Biggins style), and skinnier legs, so the teeth teasing was replaced by boys running up to me to put their hands around my ankles whilst running off and calling me Bony Joanie (a character from Garbage Pail Kids, all the rage in 1987, see above. That was me aged 12).
Luckily the 7 year-old thinks that bunnies and rabbits are very cute, so almost takes it as a compliment that she's being told she looks like a rabbit. She's also at the age where she does seem to be able to shrug it all off. The hormones haven't kicked in yet, or the seeking of approval from the opposite sex. In fact right now, boys are deemed rubbish. And not just by me.
Having a brace is at least three years away, so for the next three years she is just going to have to put up with being a bunny. It comes in quite handy around Easter.
And for now, at least, she still believes she's beautiful. She hasn't had that confidence knocked out of her...yet. How sad that you know it'll come. The self doubt, the feelings of ugliness that the teenage years bring are just around the corner. The 'why aren't my boobs as big as Jane Bookers?' years of torment in your room stuffing tissues down your bra. The overwhelming feeling of just wanting to be average, 'normal', not too fat, not too skinny, not too big boobs, not concave chest (yep, you guessed it, that was also what I was called) that takes up pages of your diary, along with a yearning for Gary Bell to notice you...
I keep telling her that all these boys who call her rabbit teeth will be beating her door down for a date in years to come.
She pulls a face. 'Urgh. I told you, I don't like boys.' Quite.
It pulls at the heart strings though, to know your child's being teased. I've just spent the last hour searching for large balls of cotton wool to wrap her up in. Unfortunately, Amazon are out of stock.

NB. I know boys aren't rubbish really, I'm married to a perfectly adequate one, have one as a dog and an older brother...

Get. A. Life

2012-01-10T12:23:00.002Z

'All by myself....don't wanna be...all by myself...anymore, anymore, anyyyyymooooorrrrre,' I am screeching Bridget Jones style.
So for eight years I have been desperately seeking 'Me' time.
Ever since baby number one was born, I have moaned incessantly about never having a minute to myself, never being able to go to the loo without someone walking in, bath without a child wiping my boob with a Buzz Lightyear flannel, eating a sandwich without a small finger reaching up to steal a crisp.
Well, it turns out I don't actually want 'Me' time at all.
Funny that.
Or not.
Initially, it was great, a novelty. I could come home from the school run and have a long soak in the bath without anyone interrupting, I could go shopping without having to buy an 'Animals and Me' magazine or Moshi Monsters cards, I could talk on the phone to a friend for an hour without shouting at any kids in the background or passing them the phone for them to say, 'hello'.
Like anything, (think Beyonce's baby news or Lauren and Mark from TOWIE), the novelty soon wears off.
I am lonely for the first time in 8 years. I have no bums to wipe, no one asking where I am every three minutes, no demands for drinks or food. I don't know what to do with myself. Well, actually, I do. I need to get. A. Job. or finish. The. Book. (sshhhh don't mention that. 30,000 words and not touched for months) or even Walk. The. Dog. Yes, yes, hairy mutt, but that only takes 45 minutes.
It's so quiet.
I miss them so much.
I am googling illnesses I may or may not have.
It's time.
It's time for me to Get. A. Life....

Things I have learnt this Christmas...

2012-01-01T21:01:00.002Z

Things I have learnt this Christmas...

* It doesn't have to be stressful - especially if the husband cooks on the big day and the Grandma behaves herself.

* It's really quite nice to sing Christmas Carols around the piano like you're in an old black and white movie, drinking mulled wine. altogether now...'So bring us some figgy pudding...'

* I do believe in the magic of Father Christmas. You have to believe to receive, right?

* My children have a ridiculous amount of toys. Too many. It makes me feel guilty.

* Relatives are best in short and sweet bursts.

* There is such a thing as overstaying your welcome.

* There is such a thing as too many turkey dinners.

* Sprouts are unsociable.

* Stop pouring custard on the Christmas pudding when the husband likes Brandy Cream. He finds it irritating. And certainly don't repeat the mistake the very next day.

* Never go sales shopping with your husband. It's miserable. Or is that just my husband?

* Do get someone to look after the kids, go to the local pub with the husband, order a packet of dry roasted peanuts and a couple of V&Ts. Just one hour as grown ups in a pub without any kind of J20/apple juice/Mini Cheddars/Children is totally heavenly.

* Don't eat too many mince pies/sausages wrapped in bacon/brandy cream/stilton or a relative will point out your mince pie belly and say - "Is there something you want to tell us?" There isn't. * Meet friends, go for long walks with a hairy dog, cook big pots of chilli with jacket potatoes and brownies for pudding and let the children eat buns. It's good for the soul.

* There is no shame being in your pj's on NYE at 10.30pm. Or is there?

* Read books. Especially Christmassy ones like India Knights, 'Comfort and Joy' or Ali Harris' 'Miracle on Regent Street'

* Remember that Christmas is just one day.

* Most important of all is to remember that a piece of chocolate orange solves everything, for everybody. FACT.

The Facts Of Life

2011-12-06T16:24:00.001Z

Do you worry about how you're going to handle the, 'how are babies made mummy?' conversation?
I've been dreading it.
I remember finding out, aged 7 from Catherine Miller at school.
I was horrified. That night in the bath I said to my mum, 'BUT YOU DID IT TWICE!' in disgust.

My five year old started this conversation the other morning.

'When you and daddy got married was I in your tummy?'

'No.'

'How did I get in your tummy?'

'You were made with love, a seed and an egg and you became a baby.'

... 'Did I come out of your private bits?'

'Yes.'

'Did everyone laugh?'

'No. A nurse came to help, I didn't have an audience. But some people have to have their tummies cut open to get the baby out.'

'With scissors?'

'Not with scissors. A knife.'

'I'm never having a baby. What's for breakfast?'

The facts of life at 7.50am. Done.

I Am My Mother Afterall...

2011-11-18T14:16:00.001Z

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I am my mother after all.
The final realisation hit me as I bit down into my Ryvita and light cheese spread that I can deny it no more. I am my mother.
I have become a 1978 housewife.
I ride to school on my bike with a basket on the front. Just like my Mum.
I eat two Ryvita's for lunch whilst watching Australian soaps. Just like my Mum. Only she watched The Sullivans and Sons and Daughters. I watch Neighbours and Home & Away.
I help out at my children's school listening to reading. Just like my Mum.
I tell my children to hover over public toilets. Just like my Mum.
I wipe chocolate off their faces with my own spit. Just like my Mum.
I go to coffee mornings whilst the kids are at school. Just like my Mum.
I buy all my school uniform from M&S because, 'it washes well.' Just like my Mum.
I don't like going out on Saturday nights anymore. I used to chastise my Mum for this for having no life when I was a teenager. Now I am to be found with a cup of tea (not even alcohol) on the sofa watching Strictly on a Saturday night. Just like my Mum.

God help my husband...

Words Can Hurt

2011-11-14T16:38:00.001Z

Today is the start of anti-bullying week. With the slogan ‘Stop and think – words can hurt’ this year’s campaign is focused on tackling verbal bullying. Young people at the ABA Youth Summit 2010 raised concerns about the negative use of language in schools and the wider community – expressions like ‘you’re so gay’ and words like ‘sket’ and ‘slag’. They saw this as a key indicator of bullying or a hostile environment.
My 7 year old said in the car yesterday: Everyone at school says Justin Beiber is G-U-Y.
Me: A guy?
Her: No, I mean G-A-Y
Me: Do you know what gay means?
Her: No
Me: You know how mummy and daddy love each other and we are a boy and a girl, well, sometimes girls love each other and boys love each other and that's called being gay. Justin Beiber isn't gay, he has a girlfriend.
Her: Selena Gomez
Me: Yes, they are using it in a derogatory way about him when it shouldn't be seen as an insult.
Her: How many sleeps 'til Christmas?
She'd switched off, after losing interest, when she didn't think a girl loving a girl or a boy loving a boy was that big a deal.
But it shows, how even at a young age, children are learning that words such as gay are an insult. Who do they hear it from? Older siblings? Parents? Who knows, but it's just beginning in Year 3 (aged 7-8). Depressing or what...?

Perfect Weekend Escape

2011-11-10T12:10:00.000Z

*this is a review of a place I stayed where I payed in full. It's not a freebie. I've have written about it because I really liked it. Ditto with any websites mentioned.

My husband likes surprises. I don't. They say opposites attract, which is good news for us.
For his birthday this year I decided to surprise him with a night away. I organised for my dad and step mum to come and look after the kids for a night, and then began the hunt for the perfect retreat.
I was thinking cosy log fires, lovely food, in the countryside somewhere so we could go for long walks, big beds, even bigger tubs.
I thought I'd found it. The Pig in the New Forest. Only just over an hour away from us, ponies strolling outside the door. I booked through Late Rooms, to save myself a couple of quid. Big mistake. When I called to book a meal a deux for the night we were there - the chef comes from The Ivy in London - they had no record of my booking. A frantic call to Late Rooms and I find out we are in fact double booked. So, the reservations lady at The Pig sent me a mail of all other rooms available in the area (some of them priced at £495 per night). None of them were right.
I headed to Mr & Mrs Smiths website, where I always go to find lovely hotels. They have beautiful hotels to suit most budgets. I ended up booking The Wheatsheaf Inn at Northleach, Cotswolds. It couldn't have been more perfect. Luxurious rooms at reasonable prices (£100 per night including continental brekkie), the food menu appealed, and again wasn't outrageously expensive. It didn't disappoint. We thought the service was outstanding. The way the staff spoke to each other and their guests was with the utmost respect. They couldn't do enough for us. They were friendly, and made our stay even more special. The husband loved it, and I certainly notched up a few brownie points due to the ales on tap and tasty steak he ordered for his dinner. I would highly recommend it for a night away with the other half. It has the cosy fires, massive comfy beds with Egyptian cotton bed sheets, large tubs to soak in with gorgeous products, fancy TVs (with Sky Sports) in your room, Hunter wellies to borrow and yummy food all in a beautiful Cotswold village. We loved!

Family Planning

2011-11-04T17:10:00.000Z

When I was trying for a baby, I never even thought about planning for what month they should be born. It's not 'til after they're here in this bad old world that you realise that perhaps you should have thought ahead. For example, a feature this week claimed August babies are more likely to be binge drinkers, fail their exams and be bullied. I am happy to report, to parents of August babies that my nephew, who was born in the dreaded month, is studying in 6th form and is none of the above. My mum also, absolutely fine and an August baby. Actually, maybe fine is not the right word to describe my mother...anyway, I digress. My second baby was born in November, four days after my husband's birthday, two days after Halloween, and 3 days before Bonfire Night.
I should have planned it better.
THIS WEEK HAS BEEN HELLISH!!
I took the husband away for his birthday for a night to a lovely hotel (The Wheatsheaf Inn, Northleach, Cotswolds if anyone is interested - it's lush). So for a night I had to pretend to be a fun loving wife who was up for (more than) a laugh. When all I wanted to do was climb into the king sized bed and hide under the covers until spring. I am so tired. These dark nights don't help, do they?
We got back from night away on Halloween, so then it was pumpkins to decorate, lanterns to light, big spider to stick in the window, outfits on, trick or treating, hair wash, back to school.
Up early and back to doing two packed lunches, shoes, uniform, book bags. Yada, Yada.
I had one day before little girl's birthday to get a number 5 balloon, wrap the presents, bake 30 star shaped biscuits and tie in individual bags to hand out at school (WHO STARTED THIS RIDICULOUS THING OF HANDING TREATS OUT ON BIRTHDAYS AT SCHOOL? WHOEVER IT WAS, YOU ARE OFFICIALLY ON MY SAD FACE). Husband built the birthday bike whilst I was babysitting for a neighbour. Then it was up early doors for the excitement of present opening.
That was met with, 'Is that it?' once her presents were opened.
Spoilt and Madam were the words that initially sprung to mind. Perhaps it's the 5 year olds don't have the social graces to realise they should hide their disappointment at lack of presents. I manage most years on my birthday, however in a few weeks, I may say exactly the same thing after opening mine. 'Is that it?' and see how the husband and children respond.
Then, the husband had his tooth out on little girls birthday. Why would you? Meant the birthday tea I had planned went to the dogs (quite literally). I was so glad I rushed around to buy ingredients for Fajitas. Not.
I had one day to shop for the actual official party. You know what it's like. Cocktail sausages x100, cucumber sticks, children's entertainer, paper plates, pick up the hall key...blah de blah de blah.
I have 24 hours to go before the week long party extravaganza is over.
Next time I have a baby, I'm going to have it in August.
It'll be far too busy binge drinking to notice it's their birthday and anyway, all their mates will be on holiday.

The Husband Is Driving Me Mad #298

2011-10-07T10:30:00.003+01:00

The husband's company has moved office, only the new one isn't ready to move into just yet. This means that we are both working from home at the moment. How do you think that's going for us?
A bit of background. Littlest daughter has just started big school, I'd been kind of looking forward to/dreading (depending on the mood swing that day) having time to myself.
I don't actually think I have had one day alone yet.
His 6ft frame is there at every turn, loitering, or unloading the dishwasher as I'm frantically trying to make two packed lunches.
I get the tin foil out to wrap the sandwiches in, two minutes later, when I need to use it, it's been put away again.
He goes and gets the girls dressed, one of them comes down wearing a dirty cardigan that had been missing for two weeks, only to reappear yesterday.
'She can't wear that it's dirty.'
'Why isn't it in the wash basket then?' He has a point. But I know it's dirty, and that's enough. I just know; what cardigans are dirty, what to put in the pack lunch box, why I am saving a half packet of crisps behind the bread bin. It makes perfect sense to me, not to him.
That's because he was gone by half seven in a morning and not back until half past six in the evening.
When he was in the office every day I didn't have to justify why I didn't wipe the crumbs off the surface until after I'd done the dishwasher. I mean, this just isn't a conversation you have, yet now I feel I have to justify it because he's telling me I'm a skank for not wiping the surface as soon as I've made a piece of toast.
In fact, I feel like I have to justify my every decision. What I'm having for lunch, why there's no bread in, why I'm on the computer instead of hoovering.
And this, ladies and gentleman, is what is so frightening. Is this what it's going to be like when he is no longer at the office and retired?
Whilst I am dreaming of us relaxing in sunnier climes in our twilight years, he'll be nagging me about not wiping the surfaces and I'll be nagging him about eating a half packet of crisps I'd saved for later.
I can't wait...

Not top set maths? Chill out man...

2011-10-03T17:12:00.000+01:00

I try my best not to be a pushy, competitive mum. Not to get bogged down in reading levels, swimming levels, maths sets etc (see post below in the pride I felt when my daughter spelt her name out in French Fries). I like to think I'm a bit of a hippy, always saying, 'Hey, as long as she's happy, right?' when she gives up recorder group because she'd rather play on the field, shows no interest in wanting to take up a musical instrument and gets three out of six for her spelling test, despite practicing them for four nights in a row.
My child is pretty 'average' in test terms. Obviously in my eyes, she's anything but average, she's amazing in lots of ways, frustrating in a few ways, but at school she's average. Most of my friends have children who are well above average. They come home with certificates of achievement for an excellent piece of homework, they are in stage 6 swimming classes, you know the type where they wear pj's and dive for bricks. Mine has, after a year, just about managed to hold her breath and move her arms at the same time. It doesn't matter, I shrug to myself, she's still amazing. It's true. Sometimes though, that pushy, competitive mother in me, shoves the hippy out of the way with her sharp elbows, and rears her ugly head. I always feel absolutely disgraced by myself.
But, I'm being honest here. Sometimes it hurts. Really hurts. To see other children run out with their pen licenses and she doesn't have hers, and probably won't for some time. My heart slumped when she got moved down a maths set because she needed to work at a slower pace. It sunk even more when she was so ecstatic about moving down because then she'd be with her best friend. I was so cross at myself for feeling disappointed in her. She is only 7 years old, for goodness sake.
I wonder how it must feel to have a child who is always at the top, or near the top of the class, because I don't yet know what that feels like. And most probably, I won't know, if I'm being realistic about it. I'm not prepared to put her through hours of Kumon and tutoring to get her to the top. Some children are naturally brainy and find things easy, some aren't.
Now I have two children at school, I have double the problem of quashing pushy mum in me down. As my four year old starts full time and I see the little children come out proudly with their reading books, and mine has yet to be given hers, my heart lurches again as she says, 'Let's look in my bag to see if I have a book today!' and the bag is empty, except for a rolled up tissue and a few grains of sand.
Being a parent is hard in many ways, and I think this is just one of them. Managing your expectations for your child. Trying not to push too hard, but just enough. To not feel disappointed when they aren't quite achieving what perhaps you'd love them to achieve. Most of all, it's trying to let the hippy reign, to be happy that they are happy. Peace out guys, peace out...

New shoes - New husband?

2011-09-27T14:20:00.002+01:00

Husband is just back from a 5 day freebie trip to Singapore.
Lucky him.
Not that I'm bitter.
Much.
Except when he calls me from the bar after being taken on a cultural tour of Singapore, out for lunch in China Town, dinner in some fancy pants restaurant 70 floors up (or something, I wasn't really listening, the sourness was affecting my hearing), followed by watching the Grand Prix trackside and then back at the hotel bar having cocktails.
He was slurring.
I was shouting in the mobile, 'I can't hear you!'
He replied, 'Don't get moody.'
I responded, 'Why would I be moody? I am walking the dog and two girls, I have to go home, cook dinner, teach spellings, listen to reading, bath children, iron uniform (x2), polish school shoes...'
'I'll speak to you tomorrow.' He knew where this was heading.
Luckily we made friends. The husband came home. All is well.
Except, I bought new shoes whilst he was gone (well, I deserve some sort of payment).
I put them on this morning and he asked if I was going golfing.

It's so nice to have him home *reaches for gin under the sink*

Love Letters Straight From The Heart

2011-09-26T21:48:00.000+01:00

A little note from my daughter, aged 7

'I love you so much that my hart and soil will disapear' ♥

I could melt it's so divine. I must save it to show her when she's shouting 'I HATE YOU!' at aged 13.

Misery Memoir - Chapter 1

2011-09-21T13:50:00.001+01:00

The husband walks around a bit like he's chewing a wasp most days.
He thinks he has a very hard life. Mainly because he is surrounded by women. Three of us.
Move over junior Doctors working 60 hour weeks and Brain Surgeons, you have nothing on my husbands difficult life.
The latest chapter that he could add to his misery memoir happened on Sunday. I'd bought a nice piece of topside beef, cooked to perfection we sat down, our plates piled high with home made Yorkshires, scrummy veg and our delicious beef. Only something was missing.
'Did YOU buy anymore horseradish?'
Me, 'No, didn't know we were out. Have mustard.'
You'd have thought I was suggesting smearing the dogs grainy poo on his beef.
That ruined it for him.
The wife had not bought any horseradish!
If he was a cartoon character there would have been visible steam coming out of his ears.
This, my friends is what I have to deal with on a daily basis.
Chapter 2 is already being written about the price of a pint of Guinness in the pub these days (£10 for two pints - it's criminal)
Chapter 3&4 are about the receding hairline ('But you don't understand what it's like to look like Alan Shearer').
Chapter 5 The day he reversed into a petrol pump (And the £400 excess the insurance company charged)
Chapter 6 The day he had to spend 8 hours waiting for an Easy Jet flight at Glasgow Airport (with a hangover)
Chapter 7 Deciding age 6 to support Manchester City and the misery it's caused him.

It's got to be a Times Bestseller? Non?

Gary Barlow Is Fit

2011-09-20T10:09:00.000+01:00

That is all.

As you were...

Is Wearing A Short Dress Asking For It?

2011-09-19T13:57:00.000+01:00

No, I think not, but after a night on Clapham Junction it certainly felt like it. I was invited to a wedding in London and the usual kerfuffle over what to wear began. A friend offered several of her dresses. I nearly wore a black lace number but it was short and I was doing public transport - I wasn't sure. So, I chose a longer grey dress, still above the knee but not so thigh scraping. Not only am I not a dress girl whatsoever, but I am not a SHORT dress girl - it's the knees. Too knobbly. Anyway, had a lovely time at wedding, whilst there wishing I was wearing the shorter black number instead of my old safe grey dress. Had to get the last train back alone. Arrived at Clapham Junction, sat on some cold steps and a man walks past me saying 'You look horny.' I ignored him, but he didn't leave it there, he then went on in great description saying in a very graphic, porno way what he'd like to do to me. I told him to go away, he was disgusting, I was a married mother of two (what difference this makes, I don't know). He continued to follow me down the platform admiring my arse and shouting what he'd like to shoot all over my face (do you get the picture?). I tucked in beside a group of teenage boys with their pants hanging out and a group of 'normal' looking men around my age. One of the group of men asked me if I was OK, did I need help, should he get a member of staff? Luckily the vile pervy man got on the next train (which thankfully wasn't mine) and disappeared. I arrived home feeling sad and a little afraid for other women out there, wondering what this horrible man was capable of. I know that if you have a short dress on is totally NOT asking for it, but it left me feeling so vulnerable in this little dress with so much leg showing. I just don't think I'd have felt as disempowered if I was wearing my jeans.

Over Achieving Mother

2011-09-14T16:57:00.000+01:00

Today my lovely little four year old girl made me proud. Why? Was it because she's reached stage 3 swimming. Nope, she can barely put her head under. Is it because she's on stage 4 Oxford Tree reading level? Nope, she doesn't read yet, she is four and likes playing Mummies and Daddies. Shall I tell? It's because she spelt out her own name in French Fries. Now that just shows you what an over achieving mother I am doesn't it?

All Change

2011-09-13T14:36:00.002+01:00

So, here I am once again, only now I'm not struggling with dirty nappys and dry Cheerio's caked on the highchair, now I am in an empty nest. Both children are at school. There is silence in the house. So, how is this new found freedom I have been dreaming of for the last three years? Scary is the only word I can use at the moment. I need to get my life back now. And don't I know it. If one more person asks me what I'm going to do with all this time I have on my hands I may turn violent, or simply reply, 'What on earth has it got to do with you?' I don't ask them how they spend their days at work. I don't say, 'Ooh and what are you going to do with all those lunch hours? Or trips to the water fountain? Or visits to the loo where you can lock the door!' But I am aware there are only so many hours I can clean the woodwork (yesterday's job), or refresh Twitter, or watch Holly and Philip on This Morning. Already I have taken on writing more features for magazines. I'd forgotten how stressful it all is! For an idea watch this 'You did not say the story was meant to be positive?' 'I was thinking it...' Here's to the next chapter in my life then. It doesn't feel quite as exciting as the last...

Failed Domestic Goddess

2010-07-19T12:42:00.003+01:00

I am a complete devotee to cooking programmes. I watch them all, Sophie Dahl, Jamie, Nigella, Nigel et al. Masterchef, Love it! I buy all the books which go with the programmes, and spend two days looking at the beautiful pictures, taken in beautiful kitchens, with beautiful children all smiling at this lovely home cooked food. Then I go to M&S and buy Gorgonzola burgers, frites and salad and my cooking is done.
Recently I was very kindly sent the Little Dish Favourites Cookbook by Hillary Graves. The email from the PR came through, would you be interested in looking at it? Of course, I replied, I saw Hillary on that programme on BBC 1,High Street Dreams. Fabulous. Obviously after watching that, which was all about turning family recipes into huge success at Asda, Waitrose etc, I was wondering what signature dish I could create and make a million from. But quite frankly, pasta pesto and jacket potato with tuna and sweetcorn would not make me a bean.
So, the book arrived, I made a cuppa tea, grabbed a choccie digestive and read every single recipe. Yum, I thought, oooh yes, there are even simple recipes in here that say they take take just twenty minutes and look quite easy. Very healthy too.
I closed the book and sandwiched it in on the shelf between Tana Ramsey's Real Family Food and Rachel Allen's Food At Home. I'm afraid, all good intentions have gone to pot. I'm still on my four day meal rotation with the kids. Pizza (not homemade) with houmous (not home made) carrot sticks and cucumber, jacket potato, pasta pesto (not home made pesto) with added sweetcorn, chicken and rice.
One day I will try much harder. And with books like Hillary making it so easy, I really have no more excuses.
Please tell me that I am not the only failed Nigella?

click here to buy Little Dish

World Cup Widow

2010-06-16T17:55:00.002+01:00

Bloody football.
The glorious game, so my husband believes.
The other woman so I believe, in our relationship.
If he's not playing it, he's watching it.
He's still waiting to be discovered and he's 38.
Bless him.
Monday night, Glee finale, what were my chances of watching it downstairs?
Natch, Nada, Zilch, None.
So up I went and watched it on the black and white portable. (Figure of speech, I know we don't have sky, but we aren't in black and white...)
Don't worry ladies, I have quietly got my own back.
Last nights tea? Pasta with a vegetable sauce.
Tonight's tea? Quiche.
I am enjoying the fact that my red meat and two veg guy is sitting watching football eating quiche, when really he wants a burger or steaks.
Revenge is sweet.
So what's tomorrow?
Halloumi salad?
Something with chickpeas?
What do you think?

Beauty Tip # 359

2010-06-08T15:28:00.004+01:00

Luckily beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as I am definitely getting to that age where the wrinkles are getting deeper, the heels are getting cracked and the hands are getting wizened. It's depressing. It's even more upsetting when your children keep asking you if you have a baby in your tummy. You don't. It's just the cookies, bourbon biscuits, Cornetto's and chocolate cake.
I do have one special beauty tip to share with you all...
If you sneeze directly after applying mascara you must look in the mirror before leaving the house. Don't go on the school run, stop at the supermarket chatting to several people, give flirty eyes to the handsome young man getting out of his Mercedes Benz, THEN look in the mirror to discover you have giant black blobs under each eye. It's not a good look but one that I was seen sporting of late. Eat your heart out Alice Cooper...

Sports Day

2010-05-11T11:08:00.002+01:00

It was small child's first sports day. We had high hopes. She is a 3 year old Zola Budd, I boasted on Facebook. For a second, I considered making 'Team Small Child', Tees and banners. But I didn't want the other parents to feel inferior.
We were so optimistic, due to previous form in a toddlers race at big child's school. But at her very own sports day, well, she didn't put in her best performance. In the race where she had to pick up a bean bag, put a dolly in the buggy and race around the cone, she was lacking concentration.
In the sprint, she had a false start and then didn't notice when the others ran off.
So the medal cupboard is bare, but she came home with lots of stickers (every one's a winner these days), a pink Mini Milk and a smile. Next year Zola, next year...

Apologies For The Disgrace That is Me

2010-04-16T09:46:00.002+01:00

If you tell me you are coming between 10 and 11, I will be ready for 10 at a push. Don't turn up at 9.20am or you will find me in a vest and knickers, no make up on, lion hair, breakfast all over the floor, children undressed, iron out and general chaos.
So, apologies Mr Upholsterer for the utter disgrace that is me.
I'm sorry you found it difficult to look me in the eye, due to lack of make up/wearing a vest that was practically see through and one Ugg boot, as I couldn't get the other one on quick enough. And I thank you for pretending to ignore what looked like a tiny bit of crusty dog poo on the chaise longue. I am not sure what it was, but I personally wouldn't have touched it with my human hand. It was discarded wrapped in a piece of kitchen roll as soon as you'd gone. All I can say is it had hairs in it. Sorry. Also, when you pulled the chaise out, I apologise for the layer of dust, fluff, old plastic toys and a small child's coat hanger, that it revealed.
Please don't tell the husband that the beautiful home and immaculately presented wife and children that welcome him home every evening is in fact, a charade.
Yours,
A (somewhat scruffy, wild looking, embarrassed, disgraced)
Confused Take That Fan, 30+

Nanny McPhee...I NEEEEED YOU...!

2010-03-22T14:23:00.004Z

Everyone is in for a treat when the new Nanny McPhee movie comes out next week. It is a delight for kids and adults, it has the word poo in it, a lot, which is obviously hilarious, dancing piglets, mud, bombs, flying motorbikes, beautiful English countryside, cowpats and Ewan McGregor.

But shove over Maggie Gyllenhaal, with your perfect Cath Kidston-esque dresses, beautiful hair, and gorgeous red lipstick, you quite clearly don't need a nanny.

I do!

The kids are squabbling, sulking, waking up too early, not eating enough fruit, not sleeping through the night, not doing as they are told, answering me back, getting through three sets of clothes a day, breaking expensive toys, making holes in their tights with their toe nails as they refuse to get them cut, wiping bogie's on the sofa, crying over whenever they don't get their own way...need I go on?
The husband, well, he isn't much better. He is leaving his pants on the floor, or the top of the wash basket - which is quite frankly, more frustrating than the floor. If he managed to walk from his side of the bed, to the wash basket, place the pants on top of said basket, then why not simply lift the lid and pop them in, whilst he's there? Arse! He is out playing football a lot, or watching football, he is leaving shoes by the back door, by the front door, on the stairs, at the bottom of the bed, that I trip over daily, he is leaving stinking sweaty football kit INSIDE the laundry basket, therefore making the whole lot of dirty washing smelling of B.O...Need I go on?
So, if anyone has Nanny McPhee's phone number, please supply me with it. I desperately need some magic....do you?

To see why I need the magic, click here

Tall Tails...

2010-03-11T17:59:00.008Z

Another day, another celeb sex scandal.
Tiger Woods, John Terry, Ashley Cole, even Vernon Kay was announced a sex text pest. Poor Tess.
And now, the squeaky clean Mark Owens admits to having had 'around - about' ten lovers during the time he has been with his wife. One of which has lasted as long as his relationship with his wife.
I feel so disappointed. Another man not being able to control his tail.
Is it being away from home so much, does it make them lonely and vulnerable? Is it because women throw themselves at him and after a while he finds it impossible to say no? Or is it because he just can't help himself as he is a callous love rat? Whichever, it's sad because not only is it so hurtful and disrespectful to his wife, but this is one of the press cuttings that his children will not want to read about. Who knows what goes on behind closed doors, there are lots of reasons for why these things happen. And it isn't only men that are love cheats. Plenty of women are too.
Mark Owen blames alcohol. Lame.
The husband is away on business tonight, he will be drinking whilst watching the Liverpool match at the hotel bar. Let's just hope he's
a) Not so pissed he thinks he's Tom Jones/Mark Owen/Tiger Woods
b) Not lonely and vulnerable and
c) Keeping his tail firmly tucked in his trousers...

A Positive Princess Role Model

2010-02-11T17:08:00.002Z

My daughter has just turned 6 and for her party we took a small group of her friends to the Cinema to see The Princess and the Frog.
In between toilet trips (and there were plenty), I thought the film was brilliant. Not just because the music was fab, the princess was black (a first for Disney), and I was stuffing a load of popcorn and chocolate down my neck in the dark where no one could see me, but at last a Princess who wasn't all about being saved by her Prince! The main moral of the film was that hard work is what leads to success.
Move over WAGS and girls who are lining up to sleep with a footballer to earn a quick buck, or Jordan-a-likes, who get a boob job and see it as a career move.
Here was a princess who worked three jobs to follow her dream of opening her own restaurant.
I only hope the 6 year old was paying attention, because currently her favourite thing is dancing naked in front of the mirror.
Let's just hope Stringfellows is closed down by 2022...

The Babysitter

2010-01-17T19:06:00.004Z

I should really be cleaning the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher, loading the food waste bin with our left over scraps from the Sunday Roast whilst other half is upstairs bathing the children, but I'm skiving. He knows I'm not doing my tidying as there is no clattering and banging going on, so I'd best be quick.

Last night we left our children with a babysitter for the first time. Sad, I know, considering they are 3 and 5. But usually we have only left them with family. We'd been asked out for a friends birthday meal, fed up of turning these invites down for fear of never being asked again, we agreed. I booked our next door neighbours 15-year-old daughter to babysit, dusted off an old French Connection dress, covered up the bags under the eyes, gave the eyebrows a quick trim and cleaned the house from top to bottom in preparation.

I made sure I gave the girls a stern talking to of do's and don'ts:
* you must not talk about bottoms,
* or wind,
* or burp loudly and laugh
* or ask her if her boobs have grown yet (my 5 year old daughter asked me this just before she arrived),
* or talk about daddies winky,
* or cry,
* or be naughty.

You must
* go to bed at 8pm
* do as you are told,
* be good.

I bought the baby sitter fondant fancies, crisps, squash, fruit, dips and left our number under the 'best' china 'A is for Apple' mug.

I resisted calling all night and she didn't call us. We got home ten minutes later than we said due to husband heading towards Oxford instead of London on the M40 on the way home. All because he was making a point about how big a litre of fluid was (our nights out are HILARIOUS, as you can tell). Infuriating.

We arrived home, paid her £25 (she charges £5 an hour) and asked how everything had been.
'Fine,' she replied. And off she went home with a cheery bye bye.

This morning the kids insisted they'd been OK. They had cried for mummy, and tried to go to sleep in our bed, but babysitter had shooed them out, and that was it.
Good - O. Result. Let's book her in for our next night out!

Husband then bumped into next door neighbours mum and she said,
'Well, my daughter certainly had to work hard for her money last night.'
Him being male, he smiled and didn't ask anything further. Then told me about it several hours later.
Infuriating x2.

Now, I am in a small state of panic.
Were the girls awful?
Did she go home and tell her mum how dreadful they are?
Were they naughty?
Spoilt? (both of which can sometimes be true).
They will think I am a terrible mother doing an awful job. They will be judging me. I am practically having to sit on my hands to stop me going round, knocking on their door and saying,
'What did you mean she had to earn her money? Are my kids dreadful? Worse than those at number 22?'
Who 15-year-old also babysits for, and obviously doesn't have to 'earn her money.' Of course, I find my children annoying, but I don't want anyone else to. It even bugs me if the husband complains about them or shouts at them.

Anyway, the kids are bathed, there's still mashed potato caked to the big pan, I'd best go give the horrendous kids a kiss goodnight.

Looks like I shan't be going out for some time...

Give Me Five...

2010-01-06T19:00:00.003Z

I have been tagged by both Diney and Metropolitan Mum to do my highlights of 2009.
Now, to be honest 2009 has been a bit of a nothing year, no babies born, no getting married, no moving house, just basically getting on with breathing. In and out, in and out. That's right.
I am a bit of a freak in that I don't like odd numbers and most of the good things that happen to me in my life happen in even years (except getting married, which happened in 2003 - is this a sign??).
1998 got first job on a magazine,
2002 bought first house and got engaged,
2004 first baby,
2006 second baby born and moved house,
but anyway, let's move on from my fixation with even numbers before you concede that I am total and utter fruitcake.

So back to 2009. The highlights.(I would do so much better at the lowlights, I'm a glass half empty kinda gal)

* Hubs bought me a puppy.
Who has now turned big and craps four times a day. Regardless. He is cute and funny and he lets the children pull his tail and screech in his face without batting an eyelid. He has more patience than I...

* Big girl lost her two front teeth.
Mrs Gap, as she is now known, really thought she would find her new two front teeth in her Christmas stocking. Very disappointed when she didn't. I love her dearly. Even when bits of rice slip through the gap while she's eating and land on my plate.

* Me and Hubs went away for a very glamorous wedding in Morocco. Without the children.
Morbid lady that I am, I wrote a letter to the children telling them how honoured I was to have them and how much they were loved in case we died (in a plane crash/from too much alcohol/from being with each other all weekend). We made it back in one piece. It was actually nice to be adults, drink and eat when we wanted and to sunbathe and read books - all at the same time.

* We took the girls to Disneyland Paris for Little Girls 3rd birthday.
The look on her face when she saw Woody and Buzz, Scully from Monsters Inc. (who gave her a massive cuddle making the whole crowd go Awwwww), makes for some very special family memories.
Despite the fact we are still paying it off now.
And the girls enjoyed the bunkbeds in the hotel more than meeting Minnie...

* I started a writing course.
At last, I got around to enrolling on a writing course. I am shambolic when it comes to the homework, but I am one step closer to reaching my next big dream.

Now the soppy bit. I feel very lucky and very blessed to have such a wonderful family. Despite the husband being an arse, he is my world and so are my moody little madams (they get that from me).

So, as I wipe away a tear, I will tag....
Not Enough Mud because I want to see if Frenchman makes it on there
Mom/Mumbecause she is slacking in the blogging department
Working Mum On The Verge because I am not sure she's busy enough with the size of the snowman she made on Tuesday
and
Notes From My Days as I love going over to hers and looking at pretty picture of her house and hope she does a Pretty Things of 2009 list.

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly

2010-01-01T23:24:00.009Z

Me and the husband sunning it in Barbados

Ok, so it's time for some post Christmas analysis. You ready? Let's go...

The Good
* Husband off for a whole week. Yeeeeeeeeeeehah! It was brilliant sharing childcare in our own home (rather than the usual, going on holiday, which brings with it all sorts of different stresses). We even had time to make whoppeee, in the afternoon. Like we did pre children! Whoooopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
* The husband actually liked his Christmas presents. There have been a few years of raised eyebrows due to my rubbish gifts. Ok, I admit the football shorts in children's size Medium that he couldn't get over his knees were not my finest moment, or the Rocky box set when he wanted Rambo, or a large print I had of our names written in sand on a beach in Ireland blown up massive only to reveal bits of old seaweed and scabby looking foam, making it look all manky and unromantic. Oh, or the football book that was a series of essays rather than a swanky coffee table picture book. This year, the Paul Smith gloves, Nigella Espresso cups in blue, Zara electric blue v neck jumper, Jason Manford DVD, chocolate orange, Clinique after shave balm and even the fake poo went down a treat! (Appealing to the inner child always works wonders, hence why I think toastie bags are the key to a happy marriage. Give a man a toasted sandwich, yours for life)
* Husband cooked a very impressive Christmas dinner. Yum. I thanken you hubby.
* Husband let me have lots of lie - ins....bliss! Who needs Christmas presents when you are allowed to sleep until 10am? (obviously I didn't do this on Christmas day itself, although it was tempting...)
* Because we now have a dog we went on lots of lovely walks. Fresh air. Children not squabbling. I like!

The Bad
* The dogs wind. Someone must have been feeding him under the table. I have not known a smell like it. It fills a room and stays at nose level for approximately ten minutes until you begin to wretch. Hiding the nose under the jumper is the only escape.
* The 5 year old being honest when receiving presents, 'Oh no, not more princess stuff!' or 'I already have this one' or 'This is babyish' or 'I hate blue.' She has been sent to her room daily for bad manners, sulking, a furrowed brow, answering back and the new one - stomping around like an angry teenager. Horrendous.
* The amount of chocolate in the house. Remove it immediately. I have skin like a teenagers and a muffin top that will roll over my new Zara skinny jeans in the most unattractive manner.
* Seeing all the celebs splashed over the paper holidaying in tiny bikinis in Barbados. (see pic above) Is it really necessary when it's freezing, you've eaten a whole box of Thorntons in one sitting and you're still wearing a Christmas cracker hat despite it being 9pm?

The Ugly
* The children arguing. One got given a blue barbie, one a pink. World War 3 nearly broke out. I ignored and carried on drinking hoping it would stop at some point. It did. There were tears. Mine. 'Why can't we just have a nice family Christmas!!' Mummy wailed, breath tinged with gin.
* The amount of pink plastic that I now have to find hiding places for in our already cramped house. Hmph.
* Everything I bought in the sales. Why do I buy it just because it's cheap? It doesn't fit, the colour is not right and I wouldn't have bought it full price. By the time I get around to taking it back, it'll be worth a lousy penny.
* My grandma in her late 80s discussing her sex life with my (now dead) Grandad. 'I used to sing the song, 'We're gonna make love tonight'' she confessed, whilst doing a little jiggle. At the dinner table. Wrong on every level.

So, how was it for you?

So This Is Christmas...

2009-12-03T16:37:00.002Z

Jeez, it feels like I have only just packed away the summer tops and now the shops are playing Slade. The horrors of Christmas shopping awaits, the goose (me) is getting fat and my bank balance is getting so far into the red it's just not funny anymore.
My brother didn't incite the Christmas spirit in me either. I got an email saying

What shall we get dad for Christmas?

No hello, how are you? How are the girls? Not even a hint of pleasantries. Not that I'm bothered. I only saw him on Saturday, so he pretty much knows the answers to those questions anyway. The fact is, he is nearly 40 with a wife and child and I am heading too close to 40, with a (moody) husband, two children, oh, and let's not forget the dog. So, how come we are still sharing Christmas presents for our parents like we are 9 years old?

Ridiculous.

Other news. My husband is still an arse.
He has more work Christmas do's than, erm, gosh, I can't really think, but you know, someone who has lots of Christmas do's...Coleen Rooney perhaps (how come she has been out 3 times since having a baby two weeks ago and that's how many times I have been out since having my first baby 5 years ago? Bitter? Yes, that's me.) Meanwhile I have no Christmas booze ups. That's right, not one.

So, all of you who are off out for Christmas drinkages think of bitter old me sat at home sucking a lemon, just to make my face look that little bit more sour.

Puppy Love

2009-11-24T16:58:00.003Z

I have been ultra slack in blog land. Huge apologies. Lots been going on. The lump was referred to a breast clinic so I have been in an out of mammograms and ultrasounds which has taken up a whole month of my life. But all seems fine (fingers crossed), yes, there is a lump, but it is not showing up on anything, they said it must just be part of me. Very technical explanation. Don't you think?

Also, I have started a writing course and I have homework. I was such a swot on my lesson one and got great feedback. Lesson two has been sat with me about three weeks, because....

WE HAVE A PUPPY!!

My, oh, my. I am in love. He is a boy. He is cute. He doesn't answer back. He doesn't whinge. He doesn't argue. He makes no demands of me. He gives me gorgeous cuddles. He makes cute little noises. He has big brown eyes. He has soft fur... *contented sigh*
Perhaps if anyone had told me all this I would never have had children? I jest. Kind of.
He is instead of a third child. I didn't even have to go through pregnancy. I didn't have to give up booze and soft cheese. I didn't get piles or have stitches. I didn't even have to have sex!

Ok, so now the downside. He sometimes poos in the night. Right in front of the tv. It's not good. Luckily, hubby gets up first and deals with it. He has chewed our stairs carpet, which will cost a couple of hundred to replace. His claw snapped off on his way out of the door. The vet visit cost £100. When I am out shopping, I am now not worrying if the children are OK at school, but what present (poo or wee) will be awaiting me on my return. (To date the tally is 3 poos inside and about 5 wees in two weeks.)

He is great company though. Last night, me and him stayed up to watch Jordan and her strange eyebrows on I'm A Celebrity. He sat quietly, didn't make any comments about the junk I was watching and kept me warm. The kids love him. We go for loads of walks in rain or shine (mainly rain at the moment). Lots of splashing in puddles and welly wearing. He makes me, us, really happy. I can see why dogs are used in therapy and to cheer up hospital patients. Having never had a dog before in my life I never really got it. How people could be so obsessed with their pets. I so get it now. As Donny Osmand (and S Club Juniors) once sang, 'and they called it puppy loooooooooove...'

Party Season

2009-10-11T15:28:00.004+01:00

They have been back at school, what, 6 weeks, and we have had at least one party every weekend. It's official. My daughter has a better social life than I do.
If that wasn't bad enough, the cost of weekly presents for these parties is cutting into my 'new top' fund.
I have now limited it to a £5 per party present. Measly I know, but you should see the gift tables at these things! (Top tip - M&S do great make your own Jewellery Tinkerbell kits for £5 that are perfect for girls. Boys always get Lego and a big box of Maltesers).
The last party surpassed all other parties. It was like a small wedding reception. Held in a hotel, the whole of year 1 was invited. That's sixty children. The theme was pirates and princesses. I dropped eldest daughter off, had a peek around the door, and there was a top table (assume for birthday girl and best friends), with two tables off it, decorated with pirate and fairy sprinkles and table decorations. I half expected to see a menu,
Starter
Lightly Salted Chipsticks or Curly Quavers

Mains
Egg, Cheese or Ham sandwiches,
Sausages (not on sticks anymore due to sharpness)
Cucumber and Carrots

Dessert
Barbie Birthday cake
followed by Apple juice and Haribos

Even eldest daughter looked a bit in awe of it all. I left her to the entertainment, named Mr McDooDoo and disappeared for a couple of hours, slightly miffed that our whole Sunday revolved around this do. As it was 1.30pm 'til 3.30pm there wasn't much we could do before or after the party.
At pick up, I arrived 5 minutes early and headed back to the Carlton Suite, the lights were off, the music was pumping and it was hot and sticky. It felt like a club! Only with little boys running around holding two balloons to their chest and shouting, 'Look at my boobies!' (Just think, in a few years they'll be desperate to meet a girl who will say the same thing...)

So, off she goes yet again to another party. Another day revloving around a bunch of 5 year olds. The present's wrapped, another card written (badly) and already the conversation has begun about what to do for her party in 4 months time. Any ideas? I'm thinking of leaving the country...

Lady Luck

2009-10-07T17:05:00.007+01:00

I found a lump.
In my slightly shrivelled and not touched as much as it used to be left breast.
I wasn't overly concerned.
Sure it's just hormonal, I said to myself.
It'll be fine.
So, like an ostrich I went and buried my head in the sand.
Three weeks later, I had another feel and the lump was still there.
I mentioned it again to husband who insisted I go and get it checked.
So I did.
Surely the doctor would just tell me, it's hormonal/your age/your imagination?
But she didn't.
She sent me for a referral at a breast clinic.
Oh.
I wasn't expecting that.
I left the doctors a bit shocked.
Not only because you have to use hygienic hand rub before you even touch the computer screen to arrive your appointment in case of swine flu, but because I really believed she would say, 'Come back if it hasn't gone after your period', or, 'No sorry, I can't feel a thing.' But she didn't. She said, 'Oh yes, it's there. I feel it.'

I really started to worry.
I Googled breast lumps, and worried myself even more. Mine felt a bit like a golf ball. That is bad. It didn't feel like a bit of raw carrot. This was good.
I kept chanting to myself, '90% of breast lumps are benign'.
Stay positive.
But what if I was one of the 10%?

Every magazine I looked in seemed to have a story to do with cancer or dying. Every time I turned on the TV the same.
I read my daughter a bedtime story, and in it, the main characters mother is dead. At the end, my daughter turned to me and said, 'I am scared of you dying and me not knowing how to do anything.'
Was this all a sign?

I spent nights lying awake for hours writing letters in my head for my daughters to open when I wouldn't be there for their birthdays. I silently cried into my pillow that my youngest daughter wouldn't remember me if anything happened to me now.

Finally, after ten long days, my appointment arrived.
My lump turned out to just be hormonal thickening. The only recommendations were to take Evening Primrose Oil.
I feel so very very lucky.
I feel so very very sad for the 10% who aren't so lucky.

A Novel Idea...

2009-08-18T17:30:00.000+01:00

Here's a little questionnaire from my lovely fellow blogger Nappy Valley Girl, all about writing.

Which words do you use too much in your writing?
So, though and annoying. Oh, and I use far too many, er, Hmmm, Mmm, etc etc.

Which words do you consider overused in stuff you read?
The words recession and Jordan seem to be cropping up a lot in the things I read, which hints at my kind of reading habits.

What's your favourite piece of writing by you?
Hmmm, I am quite critical of things I write and am always astounded that anyone reads them. Although this is not my funniest, it means a lot to me as it's about the first day my daughter started big school.

What blog post do you wish you'd written?
There are so many I LOVE, including Nappy Valley who passed this Meme on. Not Enough Mud and her tales of single life and dating is a blog that pulls me in every time. Many blogs have reduced me to tears. But the one I have chosen is Millennium Housewife. Her lists are funny and original. The post I have picked is about hormones and having another baby. Hilarious and touching at the same time. She also gets 40 odd comments for her blogs, so I bow down to her.

What is the strangest thing you have ever been asked to write about?
The joys of quickie sex by Arena when I had a six week old baby. It never made it to press...my first ever kill fee. Sob.

Name three favourite words...
Enlighten, Mummy, fabulous.

And three words you're not so keen on?
Pubic, discharge, moist (writing sex features has obviously haunted me!)

Do you have a writing mentor, role model or inspiration?
Helen Fielding, you have to admit Bridget Jones summed up the feeling of millions of women at exactly that time. Louisa M Alcott because Little Women was the first book I read over and over again. I wanted to be Jo. Lynn Barber writes fantastic interviews in The Observer, Shane Watson always seems to say what I'm thinking in her columns, Andrew Clover makes me laugh out loud in bed every Sunday when I read his parenting column in the Sunday Times Style magazine, he also has a great book out called Dad Rules. Judy Blume writes fantastically for teenagers. Are You There God? It's Me Margaret, was my saviour when my parents were going through a divorce and I'd started my periods. Truman Capote, his writing style is known as 'new journalism' a cross between modern journalism and literature. He wrote the wonderful Breakfast At Tiffany's and In Cold Blood. There are so many more I could list, but I fear I am boring you now...

What is your writing ambition?
Doesn't everyone want to write a novel? To be able to tell a long story, structure it correctly, use perfect grammar, be entertaining, funny and get a whopping life changing advance. We can all dream.

I am going to pass this on to Millennium Housewife, as she is pretty rubbish at these things, but you never know. My friend Mom or Mum Wars if she has time to do it when she's in Spain, and finally Not Enough Mud, if she has enough time as she is jetting off to the US in a quest to marry eternal bachelor George Clooney. Good luck girl!

Peeeed Off

2009-08-13T17:59:00.004+01:00

We went to the beach last weekend and whilst there, I kept needing the loo.
The next morning I burst into tears, over nothing. Proper sobbing. And I still needed to wee. A lot.
Hmmm, I thought. The last time I felt like this....
Oh, sh&t.
I remember. The last time I felt like this...I was up the duff/with child/bun in the oven/PREGNANT.

Uh oh.

My tummy flipped.

I headed off to Boots and purchased two pregnancy kits.
Just cheapy ones, their own brand. All the time thinking, nah, this isn't happening. I am imagining things.
I peed on the stick.
As the wee slowly absorbs up the stick, I'm thinking, 'This is so going to be negative. What a waste of money.'

A minute later.

Hello big blue cross. You appear to be telling me I'm pregnant.
Double sh*t.

Houston, we have a problem.
Or more like, husband, we have messed up.
Big time.

Now, the other times I was pregnant, we had been trying, ooh for all of two seconds, but both were much wanted babies. This time, we hadn't been trying, just being very amorous. Using our preferred method of coitus interruptus, which has worked well so far for two and a half years.
Am I mad? Am I a teenager? Do I not understand the withdrawal method is far from reliable! Why, oh, why didn't I go for the coil?
This isn't in my life plan!
OK, so secretly I kind of like the idea of three children, but husband is so firmly against it, I have resigned myself to the fact it's never going to be, got used to it and imagined my life as a working woman from September when my littlest starts pre school three mornings a week.

I felt sick.
I cried.
I wasn't sure I wanted this baby and that made me feel bad.
The others were so wanted.
What if I resented this baby because it was a mistake?
After baby number two I bled so badly for 9 weeks, the after pains were horrendous and it took two years to feel I could break wind without worrying, so bad were the piles (apologies people, too much detail).
Could my poor body cope with being turned inside out again?
Could I give three children the attention they need and deserve?
We would be poor.
We would be cramped.
I took the second test upstairs just to make sure.
I peed again.
Negative. No sign of a cross.
Hmmmmm. This has happened before. With baby number two I tested positive, negative, positive, negative and then positive again.
Next day, I buy two more tests, this time expensive ones. Test again. Negative.
OK. Feeling calmer now. Next morning I do the next one. It's negative again.
I go online. Still says if you get a positive you are very likely to be pregnant, as a false positive is so rare. I wait a few days, my period is bound to start. A week later, no sign of the decorators visiting.
I fork out for two more tests (they all seem to come in twin packs now).
STILL NEGATIVE.
Right that's it. If I was pregnant, it would definitely show up by now.
The weird thing is that by this time I am feeling sad.
I would quite like a baby. In fact, I really want to be pregnant and have a baaaaaaaaaaabbbby!!
I had talked myself into it. I was EXCITED. I was already thinking names and deciding the colour of the nursery.
Finally my period arrived. Ten days after the positive test.
It was such a weird feeling. A mixture of relief and utter sadness.

Two weeks after the event, I am being more practical. Perhaps in a year, I may try to persuade my husband to impregnate me. In the mean time, I must ask Boots for the £30 I spent on pregnancy tests back, as their test was quite clearly faulty...But for now, I am very thankful for the two gorgeous girls I already have.

Shopping Alone

2009-08-01T16:58:00.007+01:00

Today I went shopping.
Alone.
It was revolutionary.
And here is why...
* In the car I could have the music on a radio station I like at top volume without protests of, 'turn it down,' 'I don't like this music' or, 'can we have the snake is in the grass one?'
* I parked on level two, gliding straight into a space, instead of circling continuously around the parent and toddler parking bays and then I could walk down several flights of stairs because I didn't have a buggy. Did you hear that? I could walk down stairs. I haven't walked down car park stairs in a long time. I forgot, they generally smell of wee.
* I walked straight out of my car to the wee stairs without shouting 'STOOOOOOOPPPPP!' whilst yanking a little girls arm. I actually only had to look out for myself and luckily I know that in a car park there are cars, and cars can run you over if you walk in front of them.
* I could look around shops without saying/shouting, 'Put that down.', 'No, you can't have any sparkly shoes.', 'Stop hiding in the clothes rails.' 'Stop touching the clothes.' 'No we are not going up the escalator again.''Where is your little sister?' 'Don't wipe your bogey there thank you.' 'Yes, she's mine. Thank you. Sorry about that.' 'Yes, you can have some apple/mini cheddars/cookies if you just stop calling me Mummy for five minutes.'
* I managed to buy a whole outfit for a wedding from one shop. Yes, you heard me. A dress, some shoes and a vintage cardi because I had time to try them all on and get some great advice from the sales assistant, who btw, I wanted to keep with me forever more as my personal stylist. And I told her. I think she thought I don't get out much. She is right. Well, not without children anyway.
* I then managed to saunter around the farmers market without anyone pulling at me, demanding a cupcake, touching lavender, taking a bite out of a bell pepper or saying, is it time to go home now?
* I even managed to go into the supermarket without buying a princess magazine, a bag of buttons and some gingerbread men to decorate. I just got exactly what I needed, nothing more, nothing less.
* Although I could have as much time as I needed, I actually got all this done in an hour and a half at a leisurely pace, due to the fact I didn't have a buggy, two children and a miserable husband loitering along about a metre behind me.

I skipped back to the car, whistling with happiness at my brilliant and productive mornings shopping.

When I arrived home I did a little fashion parade of my purchases feeling ultra pleased with myself.

He said, 'Aren't you going to be too hot in that?'
And from the little girls, 'Why do you always buy dresses that are black?'

*POP*

That was just the sound of my bubble bursting.
Back to real world.
Ho Hum.

The Omelette Incident

2009-07-29T14:51:00.002+01:00

So, this could easily be titled Reason's Why My Husband is Annoying part 153. Yes, He did another very irritating thing the other night. He was trying to be helpful.
'Darling, you put your feet up while I make you one of my delicious omelette's.'
Brill.
Feet up, Kirstie's Homemade Homes on, cold beer in hand, bliss.
In comes my dinner/supper/tea - depends where you come from as to what you call it in England, and what class you are. As I am of northern origin, and not particularly posh, it's usually referred to as tea.
A ham, cheese and tomato omelette, small side salad with French Champagne dressing from Waitrose, and a big boule of bread straight out of the oven.
I start tucking in, within seconds, my food is gone. In the tum. Barely touched my tastebuds. I have actually finished before he sits down.
How rude?
Well, I was hungry.
I look at his plate. His omelette is massive. His salad a big hefty pile of leaves and tomatoes.
'Erm, how many eggs did you use to make your omelette?' I ask.
'3,' comes the reply.
'How many eggs did you used to make MY omelette?' I ask eyes narrowing.
'2.'

So, is he:
a) trying to tell me something - i.e I am getting fatty
b) believing as he is bigger than me, he deserves a bigger portion?
c) tight?
d) an arse?

Well, one thing is for sure, he will not be doing that again.
In our house, it is now referred to as 'the omelette incident'.

Why my husband is annoying (part 152)

2009-07-21T11:00:00.006+01:00

My husband can be really annoying.
Can yours?
I know I am also really annoying, which is why we are a good match, but sometimes he is just, well, ridiculously annoying.
Take for example the fact he occasionally goes to a supermarket near his work at lunchtime to get a sarnie. I have asked him on many occasions to phone me to tell me he's going and check if I need anything picking up. It saves the whole shenanigan of finding a parking space, unloading two children from the car, telling them to "put that down", "don't run", "stop screaming", "no you can't have a butterfly biscuit/princess magazines/curly crisps (aka Quavers)", "no, we don't need three jars of oregano thank you, put it back without dropping it", when all you need is a loaf of bread, cucumber or pint of milk. It also takes approximately one hour to get said one pint of milk.

Anyway, we all know that. But what you don't know is why my husband is annoying (part 152).

I called him at 1.30pm.
"Where are you?"
"On my way back from Waitrose," he replied.
"Erm, I think we have had this conversation approximately 527 times. Before you go to get yourself a luxury sandwich would you consider calling me, your lady wife and mother of your children to ask if we, your family need anything? Now I have to go out of my way to get a loaf of bread with two children when you were just a second ago, standing next to a great big bread mountain in the supermarket." I was sending my best evil eyes down the phone.

And this was his absolutely incredible response as to why he wouldn't help his wife...

He didn't want to have to stare at a loaf of bread on his desk all afternoon.

Er, WHAT?!?!

WHY??

Would he be tempted to eat it all in one go?
Or maybe it spoils the feng shui of his desk?
Or perhaps it blocks out the girl from accounts boobies?

I didn't find out.
I hung up.
What an arse.

Peanuts

2009-07-15T23:08:00.004+01:00

My 5 year old girl told me today that the boys at school had been talking about boobies and the "effort" word. I think she meant 'F' word. She said she didn't know what they meant but she thought it was rude. She then asked if tea was ready. So no harm done. Phew. Only a matter of time though, I'm sure.
When telling a friend this, she said her daughter, of the same age had got very cross with her and said she was going to kick her in the peanuts. I think she meant penis. Just to be clear. I said penis for the first time on my blog. Just there. How funny. Sorry, how old am I? Right now, approximately 7.
Another friend said when her boy, same age, was playing on the Wii and getting annoyed he cried out, 'Oh Ship!'

So shipping hell, it's late, I think I need to effort off to bed and show some love to my husbands peanuts.

Lessons In Great Parenting #237 and #238

2009-07-13T15:57:00.004+01:00

Don't make your children help you carry the cakes for the summer fair to school and then tell your 2 year old she isn't allowed to eat one despite the fact she has it right under her nose. You will arrive at school with two children sobbing/screaming. Other parents will look at you accusingly. They won't know that you have not allowed them buns for breakfast, they will just think you are a bad parent. This is because you not only have two crying children, but you are also late and sporting wet hair. You look a shambles and so people will think you most probably are a shambles. And all because you wanted to bring buns in for the school fair. It's just not worth it.
Lesson #240
Don't then try and pass off said buns as your own by buying plain fairy cakes from Tesco and just icing them yourself, sprinkling them with silver balls. A good 'friend' will out you on Facebook, thereby making you look very lame. Either just buy nice cakes from Waitrose still in their wrappers that people will actually want to buy or get up off your lazy bum and make them from fresh. There is no such thing as half measures when it comes to bun making for the summer fair. Deal with it.

I Kissed A Boy And I Liked It...(in my dreams)

2009-07-08T22:44:00.005+01:00

I don't know what's wrong with me at the moment but I keep having sneaky little naughty dreams.
And not about my husband.

*Shock horror. Sharp intake of breath. She actually admits dreaming about people OTHER than her husband?!*

I dreamt I kissed his best friend from University, in the lift of my old workplace.
Whilst wearing a bikini and a sarong.
I don't even own a sarong. I wouldn't ever wear a bikini to work, and I have never even fancied the bloke, so it's all wrong.
In every way.
But the thing that went on and on in this dream was my desperation to be kissed by him. I mean, that's how tame it was, there was no full blown sex or anything, just my longing for him to kiss me.
And then I woke up.
I told my husband.
He raised his eyebrows.
Two nights later and I dreamt about a boy from my old school.
Again, I was desperate to kiss him.
This is a guy who I never even slept with despite dating on and off from the age of 15 until University.
In my dream he was the 20 something boy, not the 30+ corduroy wearing man he is now. I didn't tell my husband about this dream.
Not sure he'd really appreciate me constantly dreaming about kissing other men.
So, tell me. What does it all mean?
Is it normal?
Will I be dreaming of kissing other men tonight I wonder?
I hope not.
It's all quite exhausting.

School Run Mum

2009-07-05T18:56:00.004+01:00

So, lessons in parenting #236. Don't go out for the first time on a night out with Reception mums and get exceedingly drunk. You will only be an embarrassment to both yourself and your 5 year old daughter.

I didn't even really want to go out, but I'd missed the first mums 'do' at the beginning of term. Now it's the end of term and I'm the class rep so I thought I should show my face on the organised drinkages. The plan was to only go for a couple of hours, show my face, then come home where all the neighbours were having a BBQ on a lovely sunny evening.
I did inform all the mums to get to the bar before 8, as it was 2 for 1 on cocktails showing that a) I'm cheap, b)I've been to this bar a fair few times before and c) I may enjoy an odd tipple here and there...
Obligingly they all turn up at 7,45pm, I encourage them to all get two drinks each rather than share the offer. Two Cosmopolitans slip down easily (yes, I still dream of being Carrie from Sex and The City. I need to get over it. So 1999). Waitress service to the table is dangerous. Half way through the second drink she asks so sweetly, 'Can I get you another drink?'...So in goes the order for a vodka and tonic, and another, and another.
I then have a 'Guess the age of the DJ' competition. Some start off at age 10, others, aim for 13, some say he's around 15, I am thinking a more respectable 22. I stumble over and ask him. He says, whilst guarding his equipment (no, not that equipment filthy, his DJ equipment), which he thinks I am going to pour my drink all over, 'How old do you want me to be?' Like he is some gigolo offering his services to a bored housewife. Which, to be fair sometimes I am. But I'm definitely not looking for a service. I just want to win a bet. He's 19. I scream. God, I am really getting old. He looks at me with pity in his big puppy dog eyes. I dance drunkenly. I make the mums form a dancing circle. No, not for handbags, but I drag dodgy looking blokes into the circle and ask them to perform their best moves. I whoop, I generally make an absolute idiot of myself and I don't leave until the ugly lights come on. I stagger home, missing the BBQ completely and end up hugging the big white telephone, talking to God at 5am.
To sum up. This is how to make an absolutely terrible impression with the school run mums. I shan't be running for class rep in year 1, funnily enough, and for the remaining three weeks I will be wearing my thankfully large sunglasses and avoiding all eye contact at the school gates. As I said, I'm an embarrassment. To myself and my daughter. Oh, the shame of it all...

The Holiday Argument

2009-06-22T17:41:00.005+01:00

Is it just us or do all couples have a holiday argument? I ask this because I am just back from a two week jollie avec famille dans la Riviera.
It usually happens on around day 3 but this year the argument came about day 5, which is a bit late for us.
Basically, as you and husband are not used to being around each other 24/7, you end up rubbing each other up the wrong way. And not in a teenage sexual experimentation kind of way. (If only!)
You've gone through the traumas of packing, bundling kids in car, the airport and flight or, in our case, a pretty tiresome 12 hour car journey. You really need to shout at someone and off load a bit of tension. But you are on holiday and you are trying really hard to be, well,...nice! Projecting an image of the perfect family.
By day five I had read two chick lit books. Which had pumped my brain with visions of perfect men, romance and love.
Here we were walking around in ill fitting swimwear with too much body hair on display, barely grunting at each other on a night due to exhaustion from dealing with over tired, over heated and over hungry children.
There's me secretly longing for my husband to be a leading man from one of my trashy novels who would make me go weak at the knees. Damn those chick lit books. They always make me feel like I've picked the wrong fella for 24 hours after I have read the last page.

Our holiday row began with an accusation that I was allowing the children too many treats, and then it moved on to his work, money stress, me getting a job, him being moody to perhaps we were not suited after all, should we be heading for the divorce courts? We bicker like Peter and Katie. We'll end up hating each other, and perhaps we would be happier going it alone? It moved on to him promising to not be moody, try harder, love me more, me promising to be kinder, to understand his work pressures, saying he's not so bad after all and actually telling him he's a top daddy.
So, an hour of tears, shouting and getting the last 6 months of everything that had bugged us out in the open. There was a huge sense of relief. Let the holiday commence!
For the second week, we were like honeymooners and all was right in the world. Birds were cheeping around us and hearts were flying in the air above us.
The holiday is now over, and I'm sure this feeling will probably last ooh...as long as the tan...?

Celeb Marriage Woes

2009-06-01T22:09:00.004+01:00

What on earth is going on with these 'slebs'? Katie and Peter heading straight to the divorce court before even cashing in on a few reconciliation magazine deals. Dane Bowers getting back in there while Pete's side of the bed is still warm. Ange and Brad reportedly at each others throats due to him being found 'comforting' the nanny and watching a dvd instead of minding the children (what husband hasn't done that?), Charlotte Church and Gav in Hello denying all rumours of a marriage rift (bet you a quid it'll be over within a year), Madonna flaunting her new Jesus around as if, 'Guy Who'?
I mean, if Katie and Peter are splitting up, what chance have the rest of us got? Eh?
What is weird is the general hunger for it, the fact that Katie and Peter have been in the papers DAILY since announcing the split - look there's Peter feeding ducks, oooh, there he is again outside a large house. We seem to need every detail, perhaps because they have married in front of us all, lived in front of us all (have you been watching Stateside? How moody is Katie??), now it's almost like we need to see the meltdown too.
Same with Brad and Ange, they got together on film (Mr & Mrs Smith), we felt Jen's pain when she was dumped, they shared photos of Ange breastfeeding, and now we feel we have a right to know the TRUTH. Are they just pretending? Brad, are you a compulsive shagger? Ange, are you completely and utterly barmy?
What is most sad in all of these cases are that there are children involved. And quite a lot of them in Brad and Angelina's case.
No doubt, in ten years we'll be reading their blogs/biogs/OK magazine deals about what it was like growing up the son of Katie Price/ daughter of Brad and Ange/ Adopted son of Madonna.
Divorce is never nice.
No matter if you are Joe Public or Peter Andre.
So, good luck to 'em.
May they all find a bit of peace and happiness...

No More?

2009-03-21T18:14:00.005Z

We put on some of our old home movies and there was baby girl at four months, cooing, turning over, lifting her head, desperate to crawl. She appeared at 6 months covered in apple puree gurgling with delight. I turned to my husband.
"I miss them as babies. Look at that, does it not make you want to do it all again?"
"No," he replied. "I remember how long it took to feed her. How we went on holiday and she spent the whole time eating sand. How we used to spend two hours between 7 and 9pm trying to get her to sleep whilst she was screaming. How she'd pull the grass and stuff it in her mouth. I think life is so much easier now."
"But I sound so patient and calm on the video. I sound like such a great mummy."
"Well, you're hardly going to film yourself and the kids on days when they are driving you mad are you?"
"Fair point. So, it's still a no to baby number three then?"
"Yes. It's still a no. No interest. No more girls. No room. No money. No more."
"Hmmm."
We'll see...

I'm Alive...!

2009-02-15T22:44:00.004Z

Like you care. But just to reassure Millennium Housewife that I haven't been carted off to the local loony bin, or run off with a Spanish waiter, or shaved my head and done a 'Britney'. I am alive and well.
I just needed to get on with 'real life' for a while. Do some cleaning, play with my children, give my husband some loving, wean myself off the computer, buy new clothes - and not from online. Leave the house before people started wondering if the lady at number 21 was agoraphobic. Before I started thinking I was agoraphobic...
So, how is real life?
Well the cleaning is still pissing me off enormously. I clean. An hour later, it gets dirty. I clean, ten minutes later cake crumbs squashed in everywhere. I clean, then someone goes and does a poo. That leaves marks down the side of the bowl. That's not satisfactory. Can everyone just, like, walk on air, use the loo at the pub down the road and perhaps not eat at mine anymore. Thanks.
The children - Five year old seems to be behaving like a moody teenager. I keep asking if someone has swapped her. Does anyone know where my polite sweet girl has gone? If you find her, please send her back. This one is sobbing a lot. Awful to her little sister. Cheeky. Even pulling faces behind my back. This is what happens when we send children to school at four years old. Come five, it's burnout and they're ready for a couple of weeks in The Priory. She will have to do with half term.
As for two year old, the horror of Potty Training. This is a full time job in itself. Take your eye off the ball (to go on the computer) and you could end up with a couple of 'nugs' by the sofa. Undiscovered for an hour or so until 2 year old picks them up and says, ''Ook, my poo poo Mummy'.
Weaning myself off the computer - Hmmm, so I am not obsessively blogging anymore. Instead I am twittering. I have replaced one time consuming thing, with another, slightly more pointless time consuming thing. Also, I have been doing a pop quiz. It took over my life for two days. 270 bands to name. I am up to 201. Driving me mad. But I think I have cut down my computer time. And I feel better for it. I now breathe fresh air.
Husband loving - Have been trying to invest some time in my relationship. Two friends of friends of friends have found out their husbands have been having affairs. At counselling, bad husbands have pointed out they felt unloved, children came first, wife never asked how his day was when he came in blah de blah. So, I felt I should flash husband my boobs every now and then, even let him touch them occasionally. I know! Generous old me. Oh, and ask him how he is when he gets in from work whilst presenting him with his favourite meal. Just to make sure he doesn't run off with the girl from accounts with the boob job. Also bought him Sopranos box set. It has kept him quiet and happy every night for about a month. Result. Think it's working and he's not going to run off with girl from accounts with the boob job (hmmm, not really sure she'd want him anyway...but that's not the point). Also found that being nice to him has made him nicer to me. He is still playing football on a Saturday, which means maybe I will end up running off with the postman (I think he only has 3 teeth, so not a great option but the only man I see regularly) and going to counselling and moaning about how my husband didn't pay me any attention on a Saturday...
So that's my life in a nutshell right now. How you all doing??

I Quit!

2009-01-27T17:30:00.006Z

Dear Sir,
I am handing in my notice. The working conditions are intolerable, the pay below the minimum wage, the hours are long, with no overtime and I am working well over government guidelines of a 37 hour week. No sick days are allowed or holidays. The employees I am in charge of are an unruly bunch, all of them are on final warnings. They have not improved or met their targets since the last assessment. I will not be working my notice. I have had enough and plan to walk today. If I can find a box, I will pack up my 'desk' and do one.
Yours,
A Confused Take That Fan.

The response:
The management thanks you for all your hard work and wishes you every success in the future. Leave your key and any company property behind. You may keep your mobile and company car for one week until you can make alternative arrangements.

And I am not kidding. That was his response.
He makes me laugh, so I think I might stay. I actually quite fancy the boss...
and the employees, although naughty are really rather gorgeous...

Comfort Eating...

2009-01-18T09:55:00.005Z

I found comfort in a slice of chocolate fudge cake. Not homemade, I'm afraid, just goes to show what an underachieving housewife I am. Marks and Spencers (you must try it. Only £2 and absolutely finger licking good). It was the only thing that could lift the spirit now the Christmas chocolate orange has all been gobbled up.
So, what did prompt this little tearful episode on a grey Saturday afternoon? I am ashamed to admit I was once again feeling sorry for myself that I was home alone. Husband having a fab time playing football, me pounding the streets with the buggy trying to fill the hours. Like most days.
I know I need to get a grip. People are going through much worse. In Gaza, in hospitals up and down the country, in Africa, in Celeb Big Brother... But would you be so kind as to allow me my ten minutes...
It seems I am not alone in suffering grey days. Up to 52 per cent of women reported signs of depression during their child's first year, found a poll by website Netmums.com. OK, I am on year two, so I know I should be out of this by now. But what I found most interesting was that the report noted the difference in parenthood from our mothers days.
Many of us have babies later and give up successful careers, giving up positions of authority at work to be left home alone with little daily support. We may not live near our parents and don't have the kind of neighbourhood network where you can leave the children with friends while you go to the supermarket alone, or manage to have a child free dentist appointment.
I am in that situation. I live a few hundred miles from the nearest rellies, I have lovely neighbours but feel like I couldn't possibly impose. Ditto with friends. They have their own children they are struggling with, so how could I add to that so I can have a stress free shop at Waitrose?
The husband is out of the house from 7.30am 'til 6.45pm Monday to Friday. Saturday he plays football from 12.30pm - 5pm. So I feel pretty much alone all week. I have my playgroups, I go to friends houses for coffee and cakes, I am happy all week really, I have my days filled and planned. But come Saturday, I would love a break. I would love to spend time as a family, circa 1950. I would love to see my husband. Lean on him a bit. Take some of the weight off. Oh, and he is so good when he's around.
But he LOVES his football. If he doesn't play he gets moody. The exercise rejuvenates him, makes him glow with happiness. I could ask for anything when he gets back and I would get it. Please can you feed, bath, put the children to bed? Yes sireee. Please can you give me a massage, let me watch Grey's and feed me grapes, Yes siree. Can you give up football because it makes me feel lonely? Errrr, nope, not on your nelly, you selfish cow.
IF I lived near my mum, I know I wouldn't care if he went off to footy. I would be meeting up with her for lunch, going shopping, dropping the kids off whilst I go shopping. I'd go around for tea once a week, just for a break and a natter. I'd get a little part time job and ask her if she would mind looking after the kids whilst I worked two mornings a week, she'd say no problemo. My life would be completely different.
But for now. I seek solace in fudge cake, that tastes salty from my tears. And when it is finished, I do feel a bit better. When husband walks in I sing, 'All by myself...don't wannna be all by myself...anymoreeeeee, anymoreeee, anymoooooooooooreeeeeeeeeeeeeee' Bridget Jones style. He laughs. I laugh. It'll be OK. Before I know it I will be at work looking back on this time I have had alone with my children through rose tinted glasses saying, 'Wasn't it wonderful when we would spend all day walking around the town in your buggy, making buns, drawing pictures whilst daddy was out of the way at football....'

I Am Rubbish...It's Official. (But I Do Have An Award For Being Good...)

2009-01-08T16:29:00.006Z

So, I was supposed to be going out tonight. It's like my pesky kids knew. Little girl woke at 2am demanding to come in our bed. I was too tired to protest. Later on big girl came in the bedroom and tried to climb in too. I asked husband what time it was, he replied nearly 7am, so I trekked downstairs with her to get some Shreddies before looking up at the clock and discovering the real time was the unsociable hour of 5.45am. So we climbed back up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire and I did the tiny step into her Goldilocks sized bed until she fell asleep half an hour later. Went back into our bed and husband had moved onto my side, baby girl was on his side. Both catching their zzzzs. No room for Mama. I wanted to wail with frustration and stamp my feet in protest.

Instead, I went downstairs anyway to make breakfast, packed lunch and get ready for two school runs. In a very grumpy mood. Do the kids have an inbuilt sensor that says, mummy is going out tonight, let's make her feel really grumpy and miserable so she can't enjoy it? My eldest girl hates me leaving the house, apart from to take her to school/parties/park/fun places. If I do go out she whines, 'Are you going out AGAIN!' like I am out painting the town red every night instead of once every other month. Ideally, she is the one who'd like me chained to the kitchen sink, not my husband. He relishes me going out so he can eat tins of stew meat whilst watching the Sopranos box set. In peace.

As it is, I have cancelled night out...the reasons I gave were lame...oh so lame...Tiredness, first week of school run exhaustion, skint, eyebrows out of control (again), don't like the cold and standing at train stations in freezing temperatures, oh, and my eyes sting when I close them.

I am officially RUBBISH.

Not in the eyes of Notsupermum, who I think is pretty super and she thinks I am not so rubbish. She has given me a lovely award. So thanks to you.
As required I have to include the following text:

"Blogs who receive this award are "exceedingly charming," says it's authors. This award is a fine one because it focuses not on the glory and fanfare of blogging, but in the PROXIMITY to one another through this online-world. "This blog invests and believes in the PROXIMITY--nearness in space, time and relationships. These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement! Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this clever-written text into into the body of their award."

And I have to pass this prestigious award onto 8 more bloggers. So here goes:

My favourite Auntie...who probably will never get around to uploading it but anyway, just so she knows she is loved...

39 and Counting - she is lovely and funny. A perfect combination.

Jennysmith - she has been with me for a while and I think she's fab.

Mom/Mum Wars - she is gorgeous and funny and has two cute boys. Who my girls will marry one day.

Nappy Valley - She lives where I used to live and I like hearing about her life.

Sticky Fingers - Tara is everyones friend. She is encouraging to new bloggers (and old) she is funny and she has just made the huge scary jump from full time worker to full time mum (working from home). Good luck T!

Teach My Children Well - because he is a funny fish.

And finally, Millennium Housewife because she looks like a horse. Oh, and she writes such perfect prose...funny, descriptive, surreal. I wish I could write like her...

Sprouts ARE Unsociable...

2009-01-05T14:06:00.003Z

Things I have learnt this Christmas...
* It doesn't have to be stressful - especially if the husband cooks on the big day.
* It's really quite nice to sing Christmas Carols around the piano like you're in an old black and white movie, drinking mulled wine..."So bring us some figgy pudding..."
* I do believe in the magic of Father Christmas. You have to believe to receive, right?
* My children have a ridiculous amount of toys. Too many. It makes me feel guilty.
* Relatives are best in short and sweet bursts.
* There is such a thing as overstaying your welcome.
* There is such a thing as too many turkey dinners.
* Sprouts are unsociable.
* Someone will always end up in tears on Christmas Day. Thankfully this year it wasn't me. Instead, an overwhelmed four year old.
* Never go sales shopping with your husband. It's miserable.
* Do get someone to look after the kids, go shopping with husband and spend more time having a lovely long lunch with a couple of glasses of wine, when you should be buying nappies and mince meat.
* Don't eat too many mince pies/sausages wrapped in bacon/brandy cream/stilton or your step mother will point out your mince pie belly and say - "Is there something you want to tell us?"
* Go out on New Years Eve. Especially to a wedding. Get drunk with your husband and mime along in a big circle to Auld Lang Syne. It sure beats watching Lenny Henry making a t*t of himself on Hootenanny.
* Don't let husband take too much time off work. He needs to go back before the squabbling begins.
* Don't let the last day before going back to work/school (where moods are fraught) make you forget about the wonderful, relaxing Christmas you have just had where you wanted to give your husband long deep kisses under the mistletoe.
* Remember that Christmas is just one day.
* And that a piece of chocolate orange solves everything, for everybody (except possibly nut allergy sufferers...)

The School Run

2008-12-17T11:13:00.004Z

This morning we slept in. Well, it is heading towards the end of term, and I'm currently not getting to sleep at night with these constant lists of things to do before Christmas going around and around in my mind. So I did something I thought I'd never do. I pulled on my trackie botts, my Uggs (not even real ones), put my glasses on and headed out the door to take the girls to school. Standards are slipping...next stop will it be dressing gown, slippers and a fag on, force feeding the children a peperami at the school gates for their breakfast? Hmm? (I have seen it done, no, not the dressing gown, the peperami - but at least it was not a hot one or a wideboy...)

Ooh to look as stylish as Kate Moss on her school run. But at 8.30am, managing to string a sentence together without growling is deemed a success, I just can't imagine having time to put together an on trend ensemble such as Kates. Next year, I must try harder...

So this is Christmas...

2008-12-15T21:39:00.006Z

Busy, busy.Not quite sure I like being busy. But here is why I have been busy...
Tree up and decorated. Left the four year old to decorate it (she did her level, I did the above bits that she couldn't reach) expecting to have to re-do it as soon as she went to bed, but she did a better job than I. She is quite clearly going to be some superstar creative type.
Nativity play costume got, play watched and videoed. She was an angel. She was perfect, they all were. So enthusiastic and desperate to please. It made me weep. She did three performances. When she got home she weeped. Out of tiredness. And then she whinged. Boy, did she whinge. How is she going to cope next term doing full days every day? I will cope by stashing gin under the kitchen sink and having little nips now and then so I don't lose my patience with her when she is a whinging wreck. That is my job. To be the whinging wreck. Although I feel I don't really have an excuse now my youngest is 2. OK, you can get away with saying, 'You don't know how tough it is!' when they are 12 weeks old. Not so much when they are two and four.
Presents to friends living abroad posted. For the first time EVER I made it before the deadline date. It was missing a thank you card which was found yesterday under the driving seat in the car. Sorry about that. I don't mean to be rude. I do say thank you for lovely gifts. Please buy me and my daughter a birthday present again next year.
Presents for husband bought. To be returned most probably the day after Boxing day. It bugs him that I don't get EXACTLY what he asks for. This year he wants some white converse all star trainers. I have bought him white LEATHER converse all star trainers. It could make all the difference. Other years mistakes...a book about football. He wanted one with big lovely photos, I bought one that was a series of essays about the beautiful game. His face dropped. Another year he wanted Manchester City shorts for football training. I bought kids size medium instead of adult. They didn't go up past his knees. I never did get around to sending them back...
Class Christmas cards written, and signed by eldest daughter personally. For three days I sat next to her whilst she wrote these cards with love. It's a novelty you see, she has just learnt to write. But 'To Harry, Love XXX' takes her approximately 20 minutes. There are 30 in her class. You do the maths...
Buying £200 of clothes in the sales. Today. Oops. I don't know how it happened. Boden had a sale on, so I got a jumper, a pair of jeans, which thankfully need to go back, a cute pair of trousers and ballet pumps for big girl, two tops and gold ballet pumps for baby girl, a new pair of half price Clarks boots (which I'd like myself thank you very much) for big girl, a hat, some gloves, a bag...oh shite. What have I done? Where am I going to hide them all?!
House been valued and been to view a house I like. Husband doesn't even want to move. We can't really afford it. But where there is a will there is a way...I have spent all weekend trying to persuade him. But nothing. He is not going for it. Actually, I didn't try everything(Ooh MH - Cue boobs out in a dim light whilst still wearing underwired bra, you think it could work with houses as well as babies?). Have had to call estate agent and cancel second valuation tomorrow morning. They think I am a bored housewife going to look at others peoples houses as I have nothing better to do. I think they might be right.

What have you all been doing? Don't think I haven't noticed how infrequently you're all posting of late...

Want You Back For Good?

2008-12-11T19:02:00.005Z

Robbie Williams has decided he is sick of watching UFOs, growing his hair long, playing footy in LA and singing about his Rudebox...he wants to be back in Take That. But should he be allowed?
I personally think, nah. He's too billy big time and slightly odd now.
My major gripe was that he wouldn't even meet up with the boys during their documentary 'Take That For The Record', when things weren't going so well for Mark, Gary, Jason and Howard.
Now that they are bringing out some top tunes, selling out arenas etc, Robbie wants back in. Too little, too late I say Robster. It would totally change the dynamic of this man band who have sank to the depths of Celebrity Big Brother and backpacking before making it big again.
What do you think?
I had an email from Sky News asking me to debate the very important issue of should Robbie be allowed back in the band or not but I've only just checked my mails. Do you think I have missed my 5 seconds of fame?

Christmas is a time for giving...

2008-12-05T21:07:00.003Z

As it's a time for peace and goodwill to all men, I am about to pass on this wonderful award that was given to me by Not Enough Mud. I am so happy to have discovered Mud, a single gal, playing the exciting 'am I going to fancy him or not?' dating game, going on amazing travels, throwing dinner parties, pretty much leading the life I think I'd be leading now (maybe not quite the adventurous travelling, I have always been one for comfort) if I was still living in London (she lives West, I used to live South).

So, lots of my fab 'old skool' bloggy friends have already had the award which means I am going to pass on to some new blogs I have recently discovered and enjoy.

Notes From My Days - something I have just found out about blogland is that there are little pockets of everything out there, something for everyone. Notes From My Days and her friends all discuss the beautiful things in life. Lovely ribbons and fabrics, making your home look so delish you could eat it, buying beautiful flowers that cheer you up for a week. I like it because I love beautiful things and it's a great escape. She has lots of things I covet plus she has the biggest back garden I have ever seen...

Now onto my next, it goes to lovely Laura whose blog synchronisation of us is an amazing read. I sat for two hours straight and read Laura's blog. It made me feel humble and embarrassed about what I moan about (which, let's face it, is pretty much EVERYTHING).

Feel free to pass the awards on ladies...

As we are on the Christmas theme I just want to ask you all some advice. We went to see Mother Christmas today and her reindeer (a real one), yes I know, I'm terribly progressive. But her wig was so bad I was just waiting for my four year old to point out it was just a lady dressed up. She has also seen one Santa already (spoilt, my child? I won't hear it!) and is off to see another on Sunday, how do I respond to her questions which I know will come such as, 'Why is this Santa different from the one we saw last week? Why is his beard shorter? Why is he fatter? (the last one we went to see was a very slim Santa, I like my Santa's round with rosy cheeks, looking like they have a high cholesterol level and a bit short of breath. Sorry, I just do, blame those Coca Cola ads) Anyway, answers on a postcard, or at least in the comments box please...thanks.

Groundhog day...

2008-11-29T14:38:00.006Z

Britney Spears recently described her life as like a Groundhog Day. I know how she feels. OK, so I don't know what it's like to be a millionaire trapped in my own home due to being stalked by paparazzi and not being able to trust a soul, but I know how she feels about every day feeling the same.

It was my birthday yesterday and I had lots of lovely cards from friends (one from far away made me cry) and some beautiful presents.
Husband had asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I replied, 'your time'.

Of course I love the Kurt Geiger motorbike boots, the Burts Bees body butter for my wizened old hands, the Caroline Herrera perfume and the Lionel Shriver book he bought me, such wonderful gifts, but then he left for work as always at 7.30am.
I made children's breakfast.
I got us all dressed.
I took eldest girl to school.
I went to meet friends for a cuppa in a cafe.
I spent an hour trying to entertain a two year old in a cafe without her causing much damage. She did well, she only spilt the sugar on the floor and smeared jam all over the place. Result. No having to pay for any breakages.
I went to pick daughter up from school at lunchtime.
I made lunch for us all.
I cleared up lunch and breakfast stuff.
I put little girl to bed for an hour.
I made beds, cleared away clothes, unloaded dishwasher.
I uummmmed and aahhed about how to entertain the girls for the afternoon.
We went to the schools Christmas fair.
We came home.
I made the their tea.
I cleared up their food, and tidied the kitchen.
I got the hoover out and sucked up all the crumbs.
I shook the cushions, put the toys away.
Its 6.30pm. The husband comes home from work.
The kids go wild for half an hour.
We go upstairs, we bath them, we read them a story. They are in bed.
It's 7.45pm.
I call a takeaway.
He collects it.
We eat it.
I am tired.
I take a camomile tea and the paper up to bed and watch Gavin & Stacey.
I go to sleep.
Something similar happens Monday to Friday, and now, thanks to him playing football, on a Saturday.

This morning I was allowed a post birthday lie in. Until 9am. We all get dressed and go to do the weekly shop. I usually shop without him. He is more of a handful than the kids. Husband gets annoyed if people don't walk in a straight line, or if people suddenly stop and dare look at say, the satsumas. There is a lot of muttering under the breath from him. We have to whizz around the shop in approximately 5 minutes in the style of Lewis Hamilton. He gets cross that the girls are all over the place and getting attracted by small sparkly sweets or big large cookies. He huffs and puffs and says to split up, he will be quicker on his own.
We meet at the checkout about 3 minutes later. I look in the trolley. We have fruit and veg, two packs of mince and not much else. 'What are we actually going to be eating this week? We don't even have the meat for the roast tomorrow!' I fume. It takes twice as long as we have to go back and get ingredients for proper meals to eat in the week. Then I show him a bag I was thinking of getting with my birthday money from my mum and grandma. He buys it for me.
We get back in the car. I see him muttering 'Damn' under his breath as he's about to get back in the car and I notice he is getting annoyed by a man who is reversing slowly out of a parking spot, delaying us by approximately 5 seconds.
'Well, this has been nice.' I mutter with heavy sarcasm.
'Don't start. I just bought you that bag. You are so ungrateful.' He retorts. I knew I would pay for the bag in other ways...
'You are like a divorced father trying to buy me off with expensive things to keep me quiet when all I want is YOU. When you are older, and the kids have grown up, you will probably look back on this time and say, I wish I'd spent more time with the kids. Last weekend you were away from Friday morning to Sunday afternoon on a stag do and now we are rushing back for you to go and play football. I just feel like we hardly ever see you.' I moan.
'I have to work to pay for the mortgage. And just because you don't have any hobbies you resent me for having one. I NEED my four hours of football a week, to get a release from working all week.'
Me quietly, 'When do I get a release?'
Him angrily, 'You chose to be a full time mum.'
And that's the answer I get to everything.Every time I say, I need a break, I am a bit lonely or I have had enough of doing the housework. So, how do I respond to that? I wouldn't have it any other way. I know how lucky I am to have my children and be able to spend this precious time with them. Even if the littlest has just thrown a lipstick at me in a tantrum.

Now it's Saturday afternoon, he's having a great old time playing football and I have just...
Made children's lunch
Made my lunch
Put youngest child to bed
Now I need to decide what to do for the rest of the afternoon.
Then I will cook their tea.
Then he will come home,
Then we will bath the children,
Then we will read them a story,
Then we will put them to bed,
Then we will order a takeaway,
He will go and get it,
We will eat it,
I will take a camomile tea to bed and watch the X Factor result show,
Then I will go to sleep.
Repeat to fade...

Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me...

Let's Talk About Sex...

2008-11-24T13:32:00.005Z

On the girls night out, well I say girls, I mean ladies I suppose. Oh. Now that makes me feel old. Anyway, on our night out I noticed we spent a lot of time discussing sex.
When we used to get together on boozy nights out pre-marriage the discussions would go like this...
'I wonder when he's going to ask me to marry him?'
'I wonder if he is EVER going to ask me to marry him?'
'I would ideally like a full carat...'
'I like the names Daisy and Oscar. He likes the names Kate and Harry. Is it a sign?'
We talked about weddings, babies, houses, work (note - houses and work, not housework which is what we discuss regularly now. Saddos that we are). We didn't really talk about sex, probably because we were all doing it.
In the shower before work.
In the afternoons whilst watching an old black and white movie.
On the stairs when we got in from a night out.
Over the sink whilst we were brushing our teeth.

Now, post babies, all married for three years or more we talk about supermarkets, cleaning, schools and sex. Mainly the lack of it.
We all have children under 5.
One friend has sex as often as we have a birthdays.
One friend has sex twice a week. Because she feels like she has to or her husband sulks, so she kind of sees it as getting it out of the way, in much the same way as doing the coloured wash.

So, did we leave our sex drives in the side cabinet next to the hospital bed when we went in to have our babies?

If so, we need to go back and see if we can find 'em because we want to get our Mojo back. We miss our sex drives!!

Other People's Children...

2008-11-19T16:16:00.005Z

We have just had one of eldest daughters friends from school for lunch.
She told me I looked like a toilet.
A standing up toilet.
With hair and eyebrows.
She'd been in my house approximately 4 minutes.
She informed me she didn't eat crusts.
She didn't like cucumber.
She didn't like salt and vinegar crisps because they are too spicy.(what??)
She asked for some cheese.
I gave her some cheese.
She then said she was tricking me and didn't like cheese.
I smiled sweetly.
I found alternative crisps and gave her a small handful, the amount I allow my children. She soon asked for more, I gave her more. She then asked for more. I lied. I said they'd all gone. She looked me in the eye and was silently saying, I know you are lying because I can see the pack up there. She decided to let it go. She was wise.
She told me off for eating with my mouth open. I responded by saying, well you are talking with your mouth full. I was reverting into a bit of a child myself by this point.
She also informed me my sitting room was tiny (she's right, it's a Victorian terrace. They built 'em small in the old days for warmth. Not so suitable for the noughties open plan obsession).
She said her trampoline was bigger than ours.
She said our downstairs loo was small.
I offered her a choccie bun and said I was naughty as I'd already had one.
She said that meant I was greedy.
By this time I had no responses.
There is nothing like the truth that a four year old speaks.
So to sum up, I am a greedy toilet who lives in a teeny house with an even smaller trampoline.
I didn't realise that I had to keep up with four year old Joneses.
My self confidence is in tatters.

The Old Me...

2008-11-16T23:14:00.004Z

The old me...
* wore matching underwear
* shaved her legs every day
* blow dried my long hair down every other day
* dressed in designer clothes with a mix of high street
* had my eyelashes tinted and eyebrows shaped once a month
* got my hair cut and coloured every six weeks
* moisturised my elbows
* had manicures
* went for naughty sun beds

The now me
* still wears maternity bras some days for comfort (I quickly take them off before husband comes to bed so he won't find out)
* if I ever get around to wearing matching underwear I get a 'you seeing your fancy man today?' from the husband
* buys clothes with the food shopping (ie Marks and Spencer)
* uses baby lotion as my main moisturiser
* has chipped toe nail varnish that has not been applied since summer hols, so nearly outgrown
* has a t-section every couple of months and puts off having the hair cut because I feel guilty spending husbands hard earned cash on a fancy do.
* shaves once a week, if I manage to get a bath alone, without a child dangling their fingers in or trying to wash my boobs with a sponge.

This week, I went to a pamper evening, a school event, I had a facial, a massage, a manicure, my eyebrows threaded. Then I bought I dress. Then I went out with the girls, I was asked by some other girls if I was 24?! I am 34. It was dark in there.
I danced. I drank shots. I was sick. I had fun. My littlest child is 2 and I am coming out the other side of the fog. I think I almost feel human again. OK, so the manicure is now chipped, the leg hair is growing back and a few eyebrows are already sprouting out. But it's a start...

Randoms

2008-11-10T17:39:00.005Z

I have been tagged by Nappy Valley and Tarte Tartan, two of my lovely fellow bloggers to tell some random things about myself. So, here goes...

1. I am a terrible hypochondriac. Currently I have an annoying neck ache and feel a bit dizzy. I obviously think I have a neck tumour with 6 months to live. More likely explanation, trapped nerve and need more sleep. Other ailments I have suffered from in the past - brain tumour (headache), leukemia (bruise), meningitis (heat rash), Deep Vein Thrombosis (leg ache), appendicitis (a stitch)...you get the idea...

2. My dad worked in a sweet factory. I blame him for my penchant for a piece of chocolate after every meal (including breakfast), as he used to bring home samples. For years I believed he painted smarties for a living, it was a bitter disappointment when I found out he was actually an engineer and bought in machinery to make Easter eggs.

3. My mum lives in Carol Voderman's old house.

4. I am the product of a broken home. I am not a mass murderer, drug addict or anything else that I am supposed to be coming from a single parent family.

5. I didn't breast feed my children. The shame.

6. I did give birth at home. The pain.

7. I have been told I look like Alice from the Vicar of Dibley, Dani Behr, Tori Spelling, Tess Daly, Sienna Miller and Sarah Beeney. I wish I looked like Sienna Miller, I probably look most like Alice from the Vicar of Dibley.

So to pass the baton on, I will tag Mom/Mum wars and Millennium Housewife.

I am a tortoise

2008-10-30T16:28:00.002Z

It can be the only sensible conclusion. I was a tortoise in a former life or something. The struggle with this bloomin' hour of the clocks going back, I have never felt so tired (except in pregnancy) the winter approaching, the dark nights, the cold. I wish I could climb into a box and be covered in some nice soft hay and everyone get me out again when the leaves are green, the sun is shining and America has a new president.
Alternatively, am I too young to spend winter in Benidorm?

The Mother Is Coming...

2008-10-23T19:27:00.003+01:00

...so the hard work begins:
children hair to be washed
mummy hair to be washed and dried down (she doesn't like me wearing it in a ponytail - makes me look 'drawn')
beds, all to be changed and sheets to be ironed
blinds to be dusted
cakes to be made
loos to be scrubbed
shopping to be got (from Marks and Spencer, she won't eat anything else)
carpets to be hoovered
cobwebs to be got rid of
floors to be bleached
children to float on air until she comes
husband to be moody
children to be over excited as they will receive presents
Mummy to be excited as she takes children off my hands for the whole time she is here
Best clothes to be worn by all
Dinner to be booked as she is going to babysit (hoooray! First meal out with husband since 1902 or thereabouts)
False smiles to be worn whilst stepdad talks about politics
Lots of eating to be done to avoid 'you are looking too thin' comments.

Hope she doesn't open any wardrobe doors whilst we are out, or the truth about my slovenly habits will be revealed and that image she has of me as 'managing so well', 'always have such a tidy house' will be well and truly shattered. Why do I feel like I can't be myself, warts and all in front of my own mother??

NB - not that I have any kind of wart...don't want you all imagining I am riddled...

Love Letter Straight From My Heart...

2008-10-21T17:51:00.005+01:00

Dear Blog,
I feel I have neglected you somewhat. I apologise. At the moment you must feel very much like that cobweb in the corner of my kitchen ceiling, looked at occasionally, with the thought 'I must attend to that', but left well alone for another day.
But fear not, I am back now.
I will explain why I needed some space for a while. I don't want you to get upset, or feel that you came second best. I wouldn't even describe it as a trial separation...
After having some negotiations with my old work, I have decided that now is not the time to neglect you and go off with this shinier work proposition. It may actually pay me, unlike yourself, but the writing I do there will be nothing in comparison to you. Also, that work is a bit fickle, a bit Colin Farrell, looks OK from the outside, but not willing to commit long term, and a bit of a nightmare once you get involved. It will only end in hurt.
So, I promise I won't neglect you for as long as I did last week.
Unless I go on holiday of course. Or maybe if I win the Euro millions. But I have more chance of marrying George Clooney, so don't you worry your pretty little self about that.
I promise I will continue to share all thoughts on McDreamy, buns, over growing eyebrows and annoying husband with you and other such, ahem, life changing and important things.
Now I have to go again. I have a lot of catching up to do, comments to make on other peoples blogs, and thinking of what to write next.
Always yours,
A Confused....

Perfect Housewife?

2008-10-12T11:17:00.012+01:00

It's been a busy week. I haven't even had time to blog or read other peoples blogs. And boy, have I missed you lot. But, I seem to have got myself a little old life all of a sudden.
This week I have had a flurry of social activities. I normally get a bit nauseous if I have more than two things planned a week. I like my freedom, I like spending time on my own with my children, I find talking with other mums constantly about the children and what they are eating/how they are sleeping/how often they are pooing etc great for one or two hours a week, but beyond that I begin to glaze over.
This week however, has been a strange one for me... I have felt like a proper housewife. Something I have possibly been trying to resist for some time.
Monday - Went to playgroup but my usual friend wasn't there, so I spent some lovely quality time making a teddy bear with my daughter, squishing playdoh and helping hand out the squash to the children instead of my usual standing with friend at tea counter, gossiping and moaning about how annoying our husbands have been over the weekend.
Tuesday - Tea and scones with mums from school so we could get to know each other in a gorgeous house. It was Emma Bridgewater mugs, giant tea pots of earl grey, home made scones and star biscuits, labelled baskets for toys (food, music, lego, pens, dolls, balls, etc etc.). It was amazing. I wanted this mum to come over to mine and organise my life. She had lived in the US for four years. It showed. She hosted the event so well considering not one person in the room knew each other. The new school mums were also really lovely and friendly. It was fab!
Wednesday - Soft play area with gossipy friend and her poorly girl, straight up to school, pick up big girl and take her for lunch at her new boy friends house. I had never met the mum before. Was dreading having to make small talk yet again for several hours. But she was great. We had a lovely few hours, except for being told by big girls new friend that baby girl had done a stinker of a poo in his bedroom. But what's a bit of poo between friends? In the evening met gossipy friend and went to see Mama Mia. What a daft movie. I loved it! I want to be Meryl Streep. Although not when she kisses Pierce Brosnan. Yuk.
Thursday - Beautiful sunshine, food shop, park and then dinner out with my two neighbours who have a combined age of the 95. Leave husband his favourite dinner after having made children their favourite dinner.
Friday - Walk to and from school, then walk to park, then walk to shops, then cook dinner. Get email from old work asking what my phone number is, as big boss wants to speak to me. Could this be about a job? Tummy flips. Collapse in bed, exhausted at 10pm instead of writing a blog/reading all your blogs...bad blogger...
Saturday - Clean house from top to bottom. Practice making lovely buns for Harvest Festival next week whilst baby girl sleeps. Take children out to local farm to pick strawberries, sweetcorn and apples in beautiful sunshine whilst husband plays football.
Sunday - So far, I have tossed some home made pancakes with handpicked strawberries for breakfast. My god. I don't want to blow my own trumpet or anything, but I'm feeling like I am the perfect housewife...
So just when I seem to have it covered, have finally started to give in, can make buns, cook a boingy cottage pie, chewy lasagne, fresh pancakes with handpicked fruit, I could be getting the call up from work.
So, what now?

Since You've Been Gone...

2008-10-03T17:00:00.000+01:00

Dear McDreamy,
Thursday nights are just not the same without you. I know you're kinda busy in the US with your new season of Grey's and even people in the UK with Sky get to drool over you on Living, but for little old me with my wind up TV, I have to wait a whole year before I see you again. And to be honest, since you've gone and deserted me McDreamy, I have noticed that things have gone a bit downhill around here. Life just doesn't seem the same without your smouldering looks. The weather has gone terribly cold and there are lots of grey clouds, a bit like my moods since we no longer meet up on a Thursday. My daughter who often joined me when watching you has started waking up for two hours in the night every night. I think secretly she is pining for you too. There is an awful crisis in the global economy (do you think they are missing Grey's on Five too? and that's why they haven't been looking after our money?). My husband's soccer season has restarted so I have become a football widow again. They even put a football match on in Grey's slot on Channel Five last night - the cheek of it! My cooking has gone from mediocre to officially rubbish. My husband described my cottage pie last week as 'boingy'. You wouldn't ever call my cottage pie 'boingy' would you McDreamy?
Also, I can't find my two pairs of tweezers so I bought a new pair and now they have gone missing too. My eyebrows look like Freda Kahlo.
Would you still love me even if my 'brows remained unplucked for days on end? If you've been trying to contact me, you won't be able to get through because my mobile phone died on me. I phoned customer services to get a new one, spent an hour of my life doing it, they said they would send me an email with a reference number within 24 hours. Four days later, nothing. I haven't the energy or inclination to sit through another hour long phone call, so husband's old brick phone will have to do for now. So if you want to send a text, it should get through.
Anyway I should go, food to cook, toilets to clean etc. I just wondered, do you think if I write to Channel Five and ask them to put Grey's back on, my life will return to normal?
Yours,
a confused take that fan, 30 (something)

Something to make us all feel better

2008-09-26T22:51:00.004+01:00

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...

2008-09-25T22:33:00.003+01:00

...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

2008-09-22T17:47:00.005+01:00

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

2008-09-16T22:26:00.002+01:00

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?

2008-09-15T14:15:00.005+01:00

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

2008-09-09T19:34:00.000+01:00

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'

2008-09-08T14:48:00.000+01:00

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...?

2008-09-08T14:14:00.000+01:00

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

2008-09-04T21:22:00.000+01:00

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

2008-09-02T17:49:00.000+01:00

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?

Shallow Pal

2008-08-28T15:21:00.000+01:00

Last night I went into London to meet my oldest friend, (no, not as in a 65 year old, as in I have known her since I was 9 months old).
I was fretting before I went because I don't have going out clothes anymore.
My wardrobe is full of either wedding outfits or jeans and tops. Nothing fancy in between.

After feeding the kids, cleaning the bathrooms (why I did this before I went out instead of spending precious time getting ready, I will never know), stacking the dishwasher, putting the toys away, I had a time frame of twenty minutes to get ready.

I went Topshop blue silk number with my trusty jeans and Converse pumps.
I looked a bit like an art student. I trekked into London carrying the heavy weight of my unplucked eyebrows on and off stinky Tube trains.
My friend, who I hadn't seen for about 18 months, looked amazing. Jaw droppingly, highly groomed, lost loads of weight gorgeous.
It was lovely to see her, but it did zilch for the confidence.
Today, eyes - bloodshot red, skin - grey, head - aching, food - bacon sandwich, I feel like I just want to crawl under the nearest stone and not come out until someone has sprinkled me with beauty dust.

Wedding Belles

2008-08-23T21:14:00.000+01:00

Newly married Peaches Geldof is 19 and thinking it will last forever.
I have a confession to make, I almost did a Peaches.
I was 20, in love and in Vegas.
I said, 'Let's get married.'
He said, 'I'm not drunk enough.'
My heart sunk. That wasn't romantic. We were meant to be Clarence and Alabama (have you seen True Romance?) and have a kid called Elvis.
But now, ten or more years down the line, I am so pleased he didn't walk me up the aisle in the little chapel of shattered dreams in Vegas.

When I met him, I felt like my senses had been awakened. So this is what poetry is all about? This is what everyone is talking about, this tortured feeling, this not being able to eat, this wanting him inside me every second of the day and wanting to crawl into his skin so I could be closer to him. If I could have slept with my lips attached to his breathing only his air, I would have.

We left Vegas, unmarried and carried on our road trip. By the time we got to Texas, we were almost over. I'd found out he was arranging a huge 21st birthday party. Only I wasn't invited. His ex girlfriend was. We stayed together for another six months until I walked in on him with another girl.

So, I look at Peaches and think, I'm so glad I didn't do it (especially when I see piccies of my ex on Facebook now). She will find out in her own time that at 19, you don't know it all, and what seems a good idea, well, five years later could just be plain embarrassing for all concerned (ask Britney Spears).

Of course, I hope I'm wrong. How nice it would be if Peaches and Max do grow old together and have the fairy tale marriage. I just know that it would never have worked for me and my Vegas boy, because true love isn't about feeling tortured, not eating and having sex all the time.

Love is about lots of things, like commitment, trust, getting through, sharing the ups and the downs, having children together, getting through the mundane and still trying to have sex all the time...

Team GB

2008-08-19T20:12:00.000+01:00

I love Great Britain. It's official. Team GB is where it's at and that's what I am now renaming my family after two weeks in France. I am trying my best not to moan about my hols and putting a big fake, 'yes it was lovely thanks' smile on my face. I promise I am only going to write positive things about the holiday, so here they are...
* The thunderstorms were amazing, loud, fork lighteningly good
* Shrek 2 isn't such a bad film after the eighth viewing
* Walking on a Normandy beach in heavy rain is brilliant exercise
* Eating three types of cheese every day may cause huge spots and stomach but is full of fantastic bone strengthening calcium
* My husband has a fantastic sense of direction, and we did a wonderful detour on our way there.
* Squatting over a hole in the ground is great for the thigh muscles
* I find a good walk around with a toddler between courses at a restaurant really helps my digestion
* Two star hotels that have mouldy lapshades, ripped towels and a musty smell are soooo retro
* Spending seven hours in a car with two children every few days brings you so much closer as a family
* Family rows are good for the soul

We have made a decision. No more holidays abroad until the children leave home.

En Vacances...

2008-07-30T20:29:00.000+01:00

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...

2008-07-27T21:29:00.000+01:00

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...

2008-07-24T14:24:00.000+01:00

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

2008-07-21T13:56:00.000+01:00

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...

2008-07-21T12:09:00.000+01:00

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...

2008-07-15T17:17:00.000+01:00

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...

2008-07-10T14:02:00.000+01:00

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...

2008-07-07T18:14:00.000+01:00

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

2008-07-04T08:53:00.000+01:00

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

2008-07-01T20:25:00.000+01:00

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?

Holidays From Hell...

2008-06-29T21:40:00.000+01:00

When you get back from your jollies, you usually have that period of mourning. When you are saying to each other, 'This time yesterday we were on the beach making sandcastles/drinking cocktails/laying topless' (delete as appropriate to your holiday). Followed by a dreamy look into the distance, a deep contented sigh, and then perhaps a scout in the holiday homes abroad section of the newspaper, looking for your dream property in the area you have just returned from.

Not when you have been on holiday in a group. You come back and say, 'Never again/what a waste of money/how horrendous were so and so's kids' (don't delete any, all apply).
There were warnings by several fellow bloggers who kept sending me good luck messages before I went, as if I was going off to the gallows. They knew, they'd done it, they were smiling with glee that it wasn't them going abroad with too many children under the age of five.

It has taken me two weeks to get over the holiday, I couldn't even face blogging.
I was more exhausted than after both times I gave birth. Mainly due to one family starting their day, everyday on HOLIDAY at 5am!! Surely this isn't normal for anyone other than a milkman? And why is it that kids have dog like hearing? If one child is up, they're all up. Then the tiredness creeps in, the hitting and whinging begins, the not eating due to overtiredness/weird food begins and it's a vicious circle of tired grumpy children and tired grumpy adults. Add to this a daily dose of rain, a bug going around the villa and I was entering our home address into the sat nav, wondering if it was possible and how long it would take to drive home across five countries four days early.

Due to post traumatic holiday disorder, I can say no more on the subject without suffering from horrendous flashbacks...maybe one day I will be able to talk about it fully. But not now. It's just too soon...

Killjoy Mummy

2008-06-06T17:30:00.000+01:00

I don't think my daughters friends like coming to play around here. I try to be relaxing mummy but I can't help interfering.
Like when they want to make a den. Ooh goodie! I say getting the sheets and pegs out, abut instead of leaving them to it, I want to make it my way, as I am chief den maker. By the time I've finished my mastepiece, they don't want to play dens anymore.
When they are running around on the grass chasing each other, I'm shouting, 'Ooh, don't do that or you'll get grass stains on your skirts.' Even though they are squealing with delight.
When they are doing craft stuff, they ask if they can use my cut up cards (I am the saddo that saves nice birthday cards to 'use again' as thank you cards). I begrudgingly hand them over, watching over their shoulders hoping they don't use my favourite cupcake one. Of course they do and I am sulking inside.
When we are making buns and my daughter wants to do the icing, I tell her they aren't cool enough, so that I can do them when she has gone to bed, as I want them to look nice, not all dribbly with sprinkles in all the wrong places.
When they are playing hide and seek, I won't let them hide in our bedroom and then I tell my daughter where the older girl is hiding so that she isn't looking for ages. Thus spoiling the game.
When my daughter wants to wear her new sandals for school, which are gorgeous and silver with a beautiful jewel on (totally inappropriate footwear for a four year old who likes getting dirty) I say OK, as long as she changes them before going out to play, and under no circumstances must she play in the wood chippings or mud. Or with the boys.
I must stop trying to live the perfect life, children don't like perfect. They like fun.

Be Nice...

2008-06-05T13:53:00.000+01:00

Do you think it's unreasonable to hand my husband some 'House Rules' before we go on holiday?
My house rules will be quite simple, in fact really there is just one big rule.
BE NICE.
Simple as that.
Like when we are loading the car, don't get a sweat on if I am running around checking that the iron isn't still plugged in, that the hob is turned off, and chucking some bleach down the loo.
When we are at the airport don't get cross in the queue waiting to check in.
Don't say that we have brought a ridiculous amount of luggage when you are loading it on to be weighed. It's too late to do anything about it by this point.
On the aeroplane don't get cross if it gets bumpy and I get scared. Don't tell me I have more chance of being killed by a donkey on the beach at Blackpool. I already know this. But I don't go on donkeys at Blackpool and I do go on planes.
When we land and we're in the queue for the hire car, don't get cross because it takes ages. We know it's going to take ages, again, there's nothing we can do about it. Doing deep sighs, tutting and generally giving people dirty looks doesn't make the queue go down any quicker.
On the way to the villa, don't sack me for being a terrible map reader. Oh, actually, do sack me, then I won't have to take the blame when we go down the same road in a different direction four times.
When we have arrived, you have unloaded all the luggage, set up the travel cot and finally sat down to have a large glass of wine, don't think about the fact you have to do it all again in 6 days time. Take deep breaths and remember. Be nice...

The Great Escape?

2008-06-03T22:01:00.000+01:00

We are heading off on hols for a week with a big group of friends. Sounded like a good idea when we booked it. Three couples with kids, two single blokes who wanted to spend time with the families who they barely see any more.

One of the blokes met a girl, now she is coming, so now one gooseberry.

Bloke meets Girl is sending mails to all about how he is looking forward to drinking lots of wine from lunchtime onwards, relaxing by the pool, playing cards.

No one has replied.

No one has told him he has more chance of marrying Kylie Minogue than either peace and quiet or all day drinking. Especially when the children discover he is fun to play with.

There are FIVE children under five. It is bringing me out in a cold sweat just thinking about it.

The noise, the tantrums, the 'this ham/milk/cheese/sand tastes different to the stuff at home' whinging, the over tiredness. And that's just from me.

This week is the build up to the holiday, where the fear creeps in. What on earth were we thinking? The weather forecast is rubbish, the children on a plane for goodness sake for two and a half hours (when they can't even keep still to watch a 5 minute Charlie and Lola cartoon), the ironing and washing to do before and after, the cleaning of the house from top to bottom (in case the burglars come and think it's untidy). Will it all be worth it for just one week?

Who knows, but I intend to be by the pool drinking Pinot Grigio, playing cards all day whilst Bloke meets Girl entertains the children...

Mean Girls

2008-06-02T09:10:00.000+01:00

Having just come back from a hen do with a group of school friends, I am thinking, what on earth is the problem with my husband? He is a darling compared to my female friends!

After moving south 15 years ago, I have travelled back less and less to see my school friends. As we have all slowly married, had children, got careers, some have even got divorced,there has been less time to invest on visiting bars and getting stinking drunk together. So, this hen weekend was a chance to revisit that time.

It also brought back all the memories of how horrendous it is being in a large group of female friends. Not that I don't like other girls, after all, I hang around with women all day every day, at playgroups, coffee mornings etc, but I suppose the competitive stuff is more about the children; 'Mine can count to 3 million and they are only 2 months old you know...', 'Mine never watches TV and is only interested in Beethoven', 'Mine will only eat seeds, dried fruit, organic meat and home made fish fingers, he's never even tried a chip.' The kind of stuff people can lie about and you'd never really find out. On the hen do, the girls were actually bordering on, dare I say it, being downright MEAN!

One of the hen party had lost a considerable amount of weight, two stones in one month to be exact. She'd been on this 'drink milkshake and soups as well as 4 litres of water all day everyday' diet and she looked completely different. The bigger ladies in the group just couldn't handle her success. 'Oh well, you'll put it all back on when you start eating normally,' they said. 'You just don't look like you anymore,' they sneered. They just stopped short of saying, 'Please stay being really fat so we all feel better.'

Then, it was opinions on outfits. We'd gone to the horses so the girls had decided to dress up. Fair play to them. I however, had gone for the slightly more casual look. After winning a whopping 15 in three races, one girl said, 'How come you're winning when you're wearing such a shit outfit?' The thing is, I knew I looked pretty shit, but it was harsh none the less...

Then there was the money. People holding onto their tenners tighter than a winning Lottery ticket. Insisting on going to the bar one by one instead of buying rounds, in case they lost out on a couple of quid.

At night it's not much better. We are surrounded by 18 year old glamour pusses. We look like a bunch of old ladies who should be at home watching who was going to be crowned Nancy by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Women of a certain age hunt out seats when they are out, so having found a cosy booth, we ordered some jugs of cocktails and settled down for the night. Or so I thought. Having dared to hit the dancefloor, (I knew I still had it in me somewhere) I was even rubbed up by a young bloke who was so young, he didn't even have whiskers (see, I told you I still had it in me somewhere), one of the hen party came up and shouted in my ear, 'Amy feels ill, Suzy wants to go back to the hotel, Laura wants a cup of tea and Karen wants a kebab'. It was 11.30pm. There were 5 of us getting sweaty on the dancefloor so I said, 'OK, see you later.' But oh no. If a few were going, we all had to go. So on my first night off from being a mummy in about two years, I was frog marched back to the hotel to watch everyone drink tea and eat Cadbury's fruit and nut bars. Cinderella even managed to stay out until midnight...

Next time, I'm going with the Stags...

Human Trampoline

2008-05-29T21:14:00.000+01:00

It's not the kids that I struggle with, it's the husband.

Whilst many are finding difficulties in bringing up baby, I am finding marriage the harder of the two. Pre-children, marriage was a breeze. We could please ourselves, go out whenever, either together or apart, get up whenever, read papers in bed, hell, we could even have sex in the middle of the afternoon if we fancied. There didn't seem to be as much getting cross with each other as there is now.

At the soft play area the other day my daughter was getting jumped up and down on by a little boy. She is 18 months old, he was basically using her tummy as a trampoline and he was loving every minute. The look of glee in his eyes...

This is something you notice even more when you have children, that males and females are completely different from the very beginning...

Boys like rough and tumble, they snatch, hit, are aggressive, get easily annoyed, don't share, you can see all the testosterone pumping through their veins even at the age of two, but they are open books.

Girls are sneaky, sly, manipulative, maternal, play nicely, are patient and you can bargain with them.

Not much changes into adulthood.

My husband likes a bit of rough and tumble (he calls it football), he snatches (the remote control), he's aggressive (as soon as he gets in a car), he gets easily annoyed (if I tell him to wash his hands after handling raw meat), he doesn't share (even on Christmas day...)

I am sneaky (I hide tops that I have just bought when we are skint), manipulative (I can cry when I see the argument is not going my way), maternal (I would like four, he wants to settle at two), I play nicely (I don't blatantly make up words when we play Scrabble), I'm patient (I can wait the half hour he spends doing god knows what in the shower quite happily reading magazines),you can bargain with me, ('let me have a go on the computer now and I'll make you a hot chocolate,' Yes Sireee, it's yours!)

After watching the kids playing at the soft play area I thought perhaps me and my husband should resort to the toddler way of sorting things out. Me, I could run up and tell the nearest responsible adult that he isn't listening anymore. Him, he could just use me as a human trampoline...

English Prude

2008-05-28T20:38:00.000+01:00

'Do you mind if my son Johnny is completely naked in the paddling pool?'
Now, what kind of question is that? It is a non question as he's going to go in the paddling pool naked anyway, regardless of what I say.
Really, I'd like to say, I do mind actually. I am an uptight English person who believes private parts should stay private. We share too much in this world already (er, such as blogging...).
I just don't want that view when little Johnny bends down to pick up his spade.
And what's worse is the cold water of the paddling pool makes Johnny get out and run to the side of the pool and do a little bit of wee approximately every 2 minutes or so.

Of course, I said, 'No, I don't mind.' As did the other gentleman that was asked, who was there with his children. Very shortly afterwards, we packed up our stuff and headed off to the supermarket. It wasn't the relaxing afternoon at the park I was looking forward to.

I can't help being prudish. I was not brought up in the sort of household where people walked around completely naked. Even as a child I hated getting unchanged on the beach in case my towel dropped down and revealed all. My husband is quite the opposite. One of the first times I stayed at his mum and dad's house I was quite shocked that his mum delivered him a cup of tea whilst he was in the bath. Even now, he is quite happy standing naked in front of the bedroom window whilst he looks in the wardrobe for a shirt to wear. I however nag him to cover up. What if our daughter's friend from next door was to see him? She would be scarred for life. All my school friends still remember the story of Christina whose dad who came out of the shower totally naked and said to a fellow classmate, 'Hello Chick'. All very innocent, but to eleven year old girls, it was mortifying. The friendship never recovered...

Not that I am shy in front of my husband or my own children. I do walk around the house naked, but I would never let my children run around a paddling pool naked. Not because I think the world is full of predatory paedophiles or anything like that, I just like a bit of modesty.

In my former life (when I was working and earning a living), I went on a trip with a minor pop star to Turkey. We visited a Turkish bath and me and the celeb (who was in her late teens) were the only people in the whole Turkish bath wearing our bikinis. At the time I thought, we look ridiculous. We are the ones standing out here, not all the other ladies with their worldly goods on show. The Turkish bath lady insisted I at least take my bikini top off, to which I did oblige (after all, I did go topless on the beach - pre babies of course - now they look like Christmas balloons in February I wouldn't dare). She proceeded to massage me, herself only wearing a pair of knickers. Her boobs hung so low I could feel them swinging on my back as she lent over me. Now this wasn't some kind of erotic scene, she was about 50 with several teeth missing and the knickers were a shade of grey, Elephant's Breath I think Farrow And Ball like to call it.

My daughter was bemused by little Johnny's nakedness at the paddling pool. 'He had a winky. Imagine if I had a winky? I wouldn't like it. I like being a girl. I can wear make up and pretty dresses.'
And so say all of us...!

It Only Takes A Minute Girl...

2008-05-27T13:33:00.000+01:00

I was feeling guilty for not being uber excited about the arrival of a washer/dryer. He was sulking because;

1. I'm an ungrateful cow

2. He thought he was being really thoughtful

3. I'd asked him who was going to plumb it in.

There was only one thing that was going to get him out of this mood. Sympathy sex...

Now feeling sorry or guilty is not a great beginning for sex, but hey, sex is sex right? Does it really matter that it starts out as just doing it because you want to get him out of his bad mood? Especially if it ends with the result you both wanted?

There are plenty of reasons to have sex...

1. Because you want to (to quote Billie Piper)

2. You haven't done it for so long that you're worried if you don't do it soon, he will definitely run off with the girl in accounts whose had her boobs done

3. If you do it tonight, it means you won't have to do it tomorrow night as Grey's Anatomy's on from 10-11pm and then you'll be too tired after that.

4. You have invested a whopping £8 on a lovely new bra from M&S that looks like it's actually from Agent Provocateur, and you fancy showing it off

5. You finally got around to sorting your bikini line out, so you have to do it, to prove you are still looking after your downstairs bits...see I do care...

6. You've had a dodgy tum and not eaten much in the last few days, tummy is looking flat so you're going to take the opportunity to...large gulp....do it with the lights on

7. After watching Grey's Anatomy you want to pretend that he is in fact McDreamy...mmmm

8. Having had a couple of glasses of wine you suddenly think you are in Debbie Does Dallas

9. You can tick it off your 'to do list'

10. It only takes a minute girl...

1950s Housewife

2008-05-26T21:00:00.001+01:00

Is it normal to want him to hurry back to work? It happened last bank holiday too. You see, part of it is my fault. I look forward so much to having him around for a whole extra day at the weekend. I build it up in my head how perfect our weekend is going to be as a family. It's pretty much in the same league as my daughter getting excited about a visit to Disneyland. But just like Disneyland can be a brutal let down (it rains as it's in Paris, the queues are too long, especially in a 3 year olds eyes, and the Peter Pan Pirate boats are too scary, too fast and too dark that it makes her cry), so too can a long weekend en famille.

Still bristling from the "too much time on your hands" comment (I know, I have to LET IT GO!) and still worrying what the hell I am going to do with my life (apart from bring up two well adjusted, well mannered, highly intelligent children who WILL enjoy their childhood and WON'T feel pressured by constant testing, the threat of child abduction, the draws of advertising and all other evil goings on in this world etc etc...) I am not in the best of moods. The teething child and big black clouds, not just outside but the ones hovering just above my head seem to have set in. And what made it worse? The surprise he had for me.

Ooh a surprise. How exciting. Do tell me, I hate surprises.
After forcing it out of him, after he'd said was I in to take a delivery tomorrow ('Only if you tell me what's being delivered') he finally said through a giant grin how he'd organised for me to have a new washer/dryer.

Oh.

Now, I don't want seem like a spoilt child, as I do need a washer/dryer. I have been complaining all winter about the house resembling a (not very efficient) Chinese laundry. Clothes horse always fully loaded, pants on the radiator. It's not exactly Living etc. is it?

He wasn't impressed with the 'Oh' response. I think he was anticipating more of a 'Darling, you are wonderful.' And for me to throw my arms around him and whisper exactly how much I appreciated this wonderful surprise by telling him what I would be doing tonight in the boudoir...
However, I just couldn't muster it. Instead I thought, is this what it has come to?

My surprises used to be a weekend in Barcelona, or a lovely meal at the fancy bistro around the corner, or a book that I'd been talking about for ages arriving in the post, or even a little note and a silly drawing left on the table for me to find when I first woke up. I didn't think we had the kind of marriage where a new washer/dryer moved from the 'electrical appliances that are needed' list to the gift list. Now, if Jason Orange and Lulu had become an item (it was much talked about...), I know for a fact, after five years of marriage and two children, he wouldn't have bought her a new washer/dryer as a gift.

He called me ungrateful. But I found it too hard to be gushingly grateful for an electrical appliance that would be washing and drying the whole families dirty laundry. Isn't it for all of us?
Thoughts are running through my mind that for my next birthday might I be opening a griddle pan to cook his steaks on, or a fancy steam iron to get his shirts pressed better? And it really all boils down to the fact he earns the money, and therefore, he has bought it, and therefore, it is now considered a present.

I am officially a 1950s housewife -without the shampoo and set, dry martini and cigarettes.
I am his mother.
My god, I need a job...

It all started with some home made lemonade...

2008-05-26T14:40:00.000+01:00

...some cute buns, a great home made apple crumble and the comment, "you really do have too much time on your hands." Made by my childless guests who spend most bank holidays on the lash.

Now the guest had hit on a sore point. Really sore. More sore than the time I had toothache for 3 days solid over Christmas due to an infection in my gums. Now, that really throbbed and made me feel very angry. I cried a lot and felt sorry for myself, as I downed pain killers every four hours. I'd just had a baby three weeks previously. Childbirth was nothing compared to this toothache.

This comment was worse than that toothache. Because having given up work after baby number two, about ten months ago, I am already having an identity crisis so big that not even Gok Wan would stand a chance of making me 'love myself'.

Not because I am a size 16-32 and eat a lot of cake, because I'm not. I'm actually skinnier now than I have ever been (mostly due to the disappearance of binge drinking in my life, which was always followed by a big burger and chips the next day to soak up the copious amount of vodka). But that's by the by, the reason I am having this mid life, confusion in my life is because for the first time since I was 15, I am not working and earning my own money.

I don't like it. Just like Take That didn't like it when Robbie left. They split up and they each tried to find their own way to fill the 14 hours a day that they're awake. Howard became a DJ, Mark tried to launch his solo career...but they were in this unknown area and they didn't look comfortable until they reformed and launched again.

I am in that moment of Robbie just leaving and things feeling a bit different. I just don't want to do what I did workwise before. The world is my oyster, I can start my career all over again.
I spend hours thinking about money making schemes that will not keep me away from my two girls under 4.

But I don't want to become an Avon lady, or sell children's books, or start a local magazine, or start a business selling bras for bigger ladies or do any of the other stuff that all the gorgeous ladies in Red magazine tell me has made them feel empowered and wonderful about themselves, and made them millions to boot.

This week was different, I read about a lovely lady in a Telegraph Weekend article, who lived in a pink thatched cottage, had her own hens (that she had even rescued from a battery hen farm) and started a wonderful cupcake company. I wanted her life. I bought her book hoping that this would be the answer....that I too would find fulfillment in pink icing and sugar roses...could it be that simple? We'll see...