Friday, 4 February 2011

Very, very unhappy ending.


Well my day proceeded as follows: up at 6.20 am for good. Although I had been nursing the sick and needy in the form of 4 children, varying different illnesses, multi-skilled nursing required, throughout the night. Tummies, ears, throats, mouths…you name it I have something for it. However, I am not the mummy who witnesses accidents happening to someone else’s kid, and without fail, always has something for it in her bag, just whips out the right gel/cream/spray to cure the injured. How annoying’s that? 'Oh yes, hang on, he’s got a bruise? No matter, look I have just the thing, Arnica!' Bloody f*ck*ng Arnica. Or 'oh, she’s fallen out the tree and broken her arm, no matter, take this splint and handy bandaging, I just so happen to have'. How can you possibly be that organised when you have kids? Or perhaps that’s it, they’re hired kids, she just picks them up from school and takes them to their real mummy, and likes to hover round schools looking like a Super-mum. That must be it.

After nearly reversing over a cat, the dog and a couple of chickens this morning, I dropped the kids off at school, those who were well enough. On the way back out I stumbled upon my worst nightmare…like someone was playing THE BIGGEST practical joke on me…four, yes FOUR cars, IDENTICAL to mine, were all parked roughly in a row. OMG, WTF..I start speaking in triples again. It is really that bad for me. Come on, it’s early; I haven’t even completed the school run yet. This is what I did. I sidled up to car one, pretending to reach down to do my laces up, which is never gonna look suspicious when I have no laces to do. I surreptitiously peer into the vehicle in question, and I am not going to fall for the they’ve stolen the car seats, and actually cleaned the car + *febreezed* in the process, trick today, oh no, car one, is not mine. Car two, drill one went pretty well, I’ll opt for the same technique, shoes, peek in, same interior furnishings, f*ck, this could be mine. Dilemma: do I attempt to get in? Oh, and in all this I know you’re thinking I could have just used the ‘bibby key thing’ but I couldn’t have actually, even I am not THAT dumb, well…my bibby thing gave up the ghost a while ago. No such simple option for me. Hence my Sherlock Holmes style manoeuvres. I realise, on closer inspection, that it is not mine. So I move to car 3, getting dangerous now, as there are parents starting to mill about and leave. Car three, thank god in heaven and the angels in the sky above, it’s mine. Mine is THE only car with the aftermath scratches all the way round, scars left by my then 3-year-old, who decided to clean the wet and dirty car with some stones. Oh yes, very, very, I'll add one more VERY in there- and please add shouting voice for effect, true story. Very, very unhappy ending. I nearly weep with relief, bundle the three remaining kids in the car, and set off to my son’s school, faster than green grass through a goose…

By the time I got back in from school drop off, I was a broken woman. Tonight, I have my son with ‘the gastro’ dun dun dun dun, my oldest daughter with tummy ache, my middle daughter with still poorly ear and other related illnesses, and my littlest, full of cold. Boo to illnesses, boo to cold weather, and boo to no library trip tomorrow. Friday is usually my favourite day, but a day with four proper ill kids at home, is not filling me with zeal. Sorry kids. But I promise I will spoil you rotten and not shout…! Wish me luck, I may never even get to post this post up…It’s serious stuff poorly kids. Have a good weekend all!

Wednesday, 2 February 2011

I commence ‘heavy-load-pissed-off-mother’ shuffle.


Ok, so my kids are not Prada'd up ever (what child except the Beckham’s ever are? I hear you all cry), but to my mind, as long as they are clean (enough) and trousers are neither trailing on the floor behind them, nor riding half way up their shins either, then I’m fine with that. There’s plenty of time for them to worry about what they are wearing and what they look like to be done in the future, so why bother too early? This is my take, I realise everyone has their own stance. This is why I sat wondering today, after having been given the third sack of clothes for my girls from an ‘I’m being ever so kind, but really, you should take the hint’ faced mummy this morning (although mornings are not my preferred time of day, Alex often mutters things like 'fish-wife, dreadful in the' and such like at me in the mornings, so she was probably just being nice to give her the benefit of the doubt). I keep being given bloody kids’ clothes. Not that I mind, it’s great, saves a fortune, they go through clothes like baboons go through bananas (do they like bananas, baboons? Or is it restricted to the every day monkey tastes?). Anyway, they go through them fast. Faster than I can cry ‘I’ve got big forearms” ok, ok, I’ll stop now.

So, clothes, I must have been looking like a confused breast-fed baby in a topless bar, because the mummy said to me that I could chuck them if I didn’t want them, with that I took the bag saying, oh no, not at all, and thank you very much. And fleeing to the nearest car that looked like mine and tried to get in. I must have been in luck, as I actually managed to enter the correct vehicle. Without trying the lock several times, cursing (that ventriloquist swearing, that no one can properly hear, and you get to say what you want only silently (it’s brilliant, you should try it)…or is that maybe just me??!) Then kicking the car out of sheer unadulterated frustration, the fish wife inside has really and truly reared it’s ugly head, and you find yourself realising that the kids have been pointing to our car for the last five minutes, the 5 minutes you have been randomly abusing some one else’s car for (this, shamefully, is a true story). Not grateful to the 4 kids in trolley, I commence ‘heavy-load-pissed-off-mother’ shuffle. I can actually fit my thumb and little finger touching, around my wrist they are so breakable, and puny and weak so try desperately, not to snap one of my wrists as I push them downhill- now you’d think down hill would be the more preferable slant for pushing a shopping trolley full of small children and shopping…but you’d be wrong. Very, very wrong. The trolley gaily slips off, slightly a kilt, and threatens to hurtle down car park and knock old lady pulling one of those old lady shopping pulley things, behind her (and whilst I'm on this point, why are they always tartan too?). In my struggle to control the trolley load, my wrist actually snaps clean in half. Ok so I totally made that bit up. But the strain is phantasmical (did I just make that word up? Dictionary has red underlined it…I shall go check out it’s spelling equivalents…), after consulting the  'word dictionary’, it does not recognise this word in any capacity, so I have decided to stick with my new made up word…here’s me going with it, the phantasmical strain of the trolley  is nearly enough to break me. Food shopping trips usually are, with the kids in the aisles, you practising your sheep dog skills, as it is like trying to herd wildebeest with a tea spoon. This is why they end up in the trolley-note to self-must think up of new punishment for kids who wander off…thus the strain of the trolley, the reduction of space for putting shopping goods in, and the squished EVERYTHING that you scrape out the bottom of the trolley from under kids’ ‘been punished for wandering off and had to stay in the trolley’ feet on arriving at the till. Whereupon you feel always obliged to apologise for the state of every food item that the till person *beeps* (hey do you think it is always swearing, the till? It’s actually going ‘oh for f**k’s sake, f**k me I’m bored, why the f**k are you buying that?’ when all we hear is ‘beep, beep, beep, beep, beep’ bit of a random thought there, but you never know, or maybe you’re pretty sure that you do know…), through the till, endlessly and painstakingly re-bagging the mangled goods.

This is my shopping world, this is why I HATE food shopping, this is why I want a goat, Alex, and some more chickens, a cow, or two, some sheep, pigs…oh, yeah, and a donkey…!!!

Tuesday, 1 February 2011

I actually managed to burn down the public street bin...


I walk towards the car after dropping the two big kids off at school this morning. I open the door and GASP! There is no car seats…someone has stolen the car seats out of my car in the short space of time it took me to take the kids into school. OMG! *looks around disillusioned* And they have cleaned it (there’s no re-masticated food on the floor, it doesn’t smell like cat wee (apropos the little cat weeing incident on my son’s leg in the car the other day)), hang on a minute, they’ve put covers on the car seats too…ok, blink. Step back, shut door, blink again, re-open car door, still determined it’s mine. Nope, still no car seats, still smells alright, and still no regurgitated bits of food on the floor. Better get out of here before the right owner of the car sees me, and chases me off for attempted car theft…I try and laugh it off, but when there is no-one else around to share the hilarity, it doesn’t quite work as well. You end up looking like you have completely lost it, and given my already extremely delicate reputation, it was probably not advisable to take on a ‘laugh out loud at your own joke’ stance here. So I prance off, trying to look like I had not just put my child in someone else’s car.

Now a few weeks ago, I chucked a bag in the bin. We’d had a barbecue, it’d been mild enough. Afterwards we went for a walk in the woods near us, when we got back we drove passed all the firemen and fire engines that the town possesses. Before I write any more, and all will reveal itself, I promise, I have to say a few things, 1) I did not do it on purpose, and 2) I am so very, very sorry, and I won’t do it again, and 3) I have not mentioned it before, as I wanted enough water to flow under the bridge before writing about it, as I have been rather paranoid that policemen, would stumble upon my page, Google translate it and come charging round before I can tell them they’ll need bigger handcuffs for my giant forearms, and put me away, so I do need to write a ‘disclaimer’ note here, and say again, that I really didn't mean to, I am really sorry, I wont do it again, and it really was not on purpose. .. But it was me. I actually managed to burn down the public street bin. Bellowing flames, men charging round trying to put it out. I watched through the curtains drawn together, in utter horror and mortification. I still can’t believe I burnt it down. We’d put water in the bag to drench the embers, and I had thought it was dead. This has been a big lesson to me; don’t burn down public bins. Well, alright, a bigger lesson, you can never, ever throw embers in the bin, as even when you think they’re out, they may not be, and you could end up burning down the public bin.

I have been looking after my daughter’s little girl for a few days. She has 3 kids, and is unwell. Her husband goes away for months at a time (this time 6 months…) as he is in the army, and she has no family here, I made her go to bed, and kidnapped her 18 month old for a few days whilst her big 2 girls are at school (well, she’s going back for nights…I have my limits!). I had a Dr’s appointment for Mitzi, another ear infection. The 3 girls, Esmie, Mitzi, and their friend, were all strapped in and wide-eyed, looking out the window of the car. I stop at a ‘payage’ (a toll bridge thingy, as you pay no car tax in France, just a few tolls if you choose to use the motorway, pretty cool), whereupon I immediately instruct the girls to shut their eyes and look away, only it was impossible to, well wouldn’t you find it impossible not to look at a bus beside you, FULL to the brim with boys mooning you and banging on the window? I was shocked and disgusted, I wrote that for my husband, I was unable to take my eyes off their mooning-bums in reality…JOKE, oh god, here we go, another ‘brink-of-divorce’ discussion…!!! To be fair, it was quite a picture. I am just thankful that my friend’s little girl can’t talk much yet…! Although I am rather worried that like I am now, she will be scarred for life, and her parents will never understand why she is screaming blue-murder every time they go near the motorway.

Sunday, 30 January 2011

music I want my kids to listen to…

 GhostWriterMummy


 ok, I promised Becky over at http://hazelandbluehandmade.blogspot.com/ that I would do this, and I have dilly dallied on the way, but I have finally got here (sorry it took so long Becky!) here we go ...

music I want my kids to listen to…

Mozart. Oh yes, good old classical music. When I was a child, able to sit on my hair, NHS glasses, knee high white socks under ankle length tartan-pleated  skirt (stunner, I hear you all cry, and you’d be right…),  I used to play the piano; Mozart often featured in my repertoires (amongst other such classics, such as Bach, chop-sticks, and that duety one: der der der dun dun der der der dun dun der did op dop der der did op dop der der dun dun dun der der der dun dun…doo di doo di doo di doo doo di doo doodoo doo doo…remember that one? No? oh well, if we ever meet, I’ll play it for you) moving rather swiftly on, Mozart, classical music, music written by musical geniuses. Music, which is our heritage. A different age ago, when computers, internet, indoor toilets (!) and Britney Spears did not exist. It’s history, it’s beautiful, it’s fascinating the narrative within each melody. It has actually been proven too, that it activates babies’ brains, and they are actually more intelligent as a result. IQ’s that surpass Eintein’s…(ok, I made that bit up).

Mozart was a musical genius, intelligent, when we are babies, how do we learn about our world? To express ourselves? To speak? To communicate? All through our comprehension of sounds… you see where I am going with this? Music is at the root of it all!

Second up….drum roll please…Reggae, in particular Bob Marley. He was a reggae prophet. His lyrics, pure poetry, full of depth and meaning. He sings about love and life and our roots. I believe wholeheartedly that art, music, the muses are there to set us free, help us express ourselves and to rid our bigoted and ignorant tendencies. I want my children to grow up loving everyone (within reason, not sure Hitler particular warrants being loved…), being able to express themselves and listen. I genuinely feel Bob Marley was a man to follow. I want my kids to be aware of the depths around them, their depths and understand their soul, of their depth inside…that it’s not at all about what shoes/clothes etc they have, it’s their inner wealth…this will be a constant battle as they grow up, I realize, they are exposed to so much contrary to this from day one. How can we talk to our kids without them thinking we’re telling them what to do? Give them music…

www.picsearch.com/pictures/celebrities/legends/bob%20marley.html



Stevie Wonder. What a dude! What a fantastic lyricist and song writer. So listenable to (well, I know I made that word up, but there is actually no word to describe that. Audible? Doesn’t have quite the same ring. I love the song: Master Blaster, Jammin. I am having a little boogie right now all by myself …and humming…


gearlog.com


As that was all getting a bit deep, I hereby add the Jackson 5, great fun, love it. It is tuneful, mellow. Fun, dancy, you can just have fun, that’s cool to do! And music is also just straight up entertainment too…

And just check out the ‘fros….! WICKED!! LOVE ‘EM!


bongocelebrity.com