Dipping pennies in rola-cola

It's no secret, nor is it something peculiar to us, but we are a little strapped for cash.

OK so this isn't a great way to be but it isn't all bad.

It has provoked a further de-cluttering of the house as I scour it for things I can sell on eBay - don't stand still too long I may list you.

I'm also finally working through the drawers full of stockpiled free samples. I always thought I was keeping them for guests who may have forgotten something. But now I have no spare room and it's my skin that is becoming the pampered guest.

I shop in Iceland for frozen veg, I must say I do pack it all in a Waitrose bag and I am sure I have muttered more than once: 'Come on Isobel let's go to Waitrose now'.

I take a packed breakfast and lunch to work which obviously will have me at supermodel proportions very soon, so even I will take up less space at home.

Heartbreaking

Click here to see PD's Heartbreaking post.

So if that breaks my heart what would this do to me:

Social networkers are being urged to get involved in a new online campaign to find Madeleine McCann by spreading a video appeal around the world. The video shows pictures of Madeleine and what she would look like two years after her disappearance, aged six.

Moral Dilema

OK, so imagine this:

You get back from a lovely afternoon with friends; an afternoon in which your daughter has been so friendly, so good at sharing her toys and generally delightful.

As you unpack the pushchair you are reminded of last weeks trip to the Chemist where your daughter danced around the shop while you waited for your prescription

How are you reminded?

You find a baby sponge in the basket that you didn't pay for.

Your angel girl is a SHOPLIFTER and you are the unwitting getaway driver!

Celebrations!

I still struggle with the fact that people's lives continue when I'm not with them.

I mean if I'm not on the stage then surely the curtain is down?

Anyway, it's funny to think that as I type one of my very dearest friends is getting married. She is undoubtedly looking stunning and radiant and marrying a lovely man.

But, as the wedding is a very intimate one and as we are NCT friends and inviting us all would add 50% to the number of guests, we can only imagine what a lovely time they are having and wish them well.

CONGRATULATIONS Mine and Hugh!!!!!

All that said, we did make sure she had a good pre-wedding evening.

Firstly she had me grappling with her ample bosom in the bathroom of her lovely hotel room. No it was a last minute fling, get your minds out of the gutter please.

I was simply anointing her with nail varnish remover.

No, again this isn't some strange fetish - I was helping reduce the dodgy streaks from her spray tan. Yes, ladies (and boys) it works. This is my handy hint of the day.

Then the rest of the gang came for burgers and champagne while watching the fireworks across London from the balcony of Mine's Richmond Hill hotel room.

A fabulous evening spent with some people I now count as my dearest friends.




Mine, you are beautiful in so many ways, and our daily chats mean the world to me. May you all be happy and the deepest depths only be those you dive to. xx


Pictures taken by Leela

Hmm a little disturbing

This evening as I put the washing away I left my knicker drawer open.

Nothing new there.

Isobel was dancing around the room in one of my bras, as she does - so, nothing new there either.

Unfortunately Isobel's arms have grown a bit longer than they were and she managed to rummage at the back of the drawer and found one of mummy's 'toys' *blush*.

Then she proceeded, while wearing my bra, to use said toy as a microphone *blush deep deep beetroot red*.

Hmm, I won't disturb you posting a picture, I don't want to be judged on size!

Porcine me

No this isn't a diet post (though heaven knows it should be).

This is a completely different, but equally as sinful a post.

You see I always swore to myself that my child wouldn't constantly watch tele. She would draw, paint, cook, play, and go on the swings.

In short she would be 'stimulated'.

Unfortunately, Isobel has discovered the delights (loosest sense of the word)of Peppa Pig. Yes, the pink, eyes on one side of the head, puddle jumping, Peppa Pig. She whose whole family falls on the floor with laughter.

PD has taken to drawing characters from the show for her, he's got quite good at it.

And not only do we now have it on the sky plus - oh yes it's gone beyond the 5:30, after nursery showing - I'm ashamed to say I have it on my iPhone.

Wait it gets worse...

I have it on my iPhone and when Isobel gets up at 6:30 ish, we lie in bed and watch it.

Oh no, you haven't heard the worst of it...

I have even been known, in the interest of sane adult conversation (i.e. conversation where all parties are at the table not one adult guarding the stairs), to put on Peppa pig during a Sunday pub lunch.

Isobel does do all the other things I mentioned at the beginning of the post, but I, I mean we, have succumbed to the charms of this red dressed porcine lovely. In fact it often feels like we have 'Peppa pig until you die from it', but without the ensung bacon sarnies. Oh no, hang on a minute, that would be if she died from it.

Not only that, I am actually quite excited that at last Nick Jr is putting on new episodes.

Maybe excited is too strong a word, perhaps relieved is more appropriate.

If in doubt get your weeny boppers out

I am such a neglectful mother, I only noticed the Halloween party sign
at nursery yesterday.

No time to make a costume like last year.

Luckily, as a seasoned festival goer, Isobel owns a tutu and a pair of
weeny boppers.

What more does a girl need?

Horn

No, I'm not in lust with a gorgous lover, I haven't dusted off my sauciest undies, they are still languishing at the bottom of my drawer. (If you happen to have a spare toy boy loittering around, do feel free to send him my way.)

I haven't GOT the horn; what it really is, is that I am ON the horns of a dilema.

A schooling dilema - yes already. But no, not about actual schools. Just about nursery. I say just, but it has me perturbed.

A few months ago they wanted Isobel to move up to the next class, but I didn't want her to go without her friends.

I was assured they would move Isobel with at least one of her gang - Elif. Perfect, as Elif is 2 days younger, Elif who we have known since she was days old and Elif whose mum is one of my very dearest friends.

But now it transpires that there is only place and I have been asked to move Isobel alone. So, I hear you say, say no again.

I can't.

If I say no, they will ask Mine to let Elif go, if Mine says no it will be Charlotte who is asked to move. So ultimately one of the gang has to go it alone.

It terrifies me and I have no idea why.

Foiled or snubbed?

I used to love this weekend. In the grand scheme of things it has to
be one of the best: the clocks go back, an hours extra sleep. Yay for
that in itself, but that means a lie-in AND time to prep lunch for
friends, two of my favourite Sunday activities.

Well, that was life before my little girl. Now, I have no idea what a
lie-in is. And unfortunately babies do not come with a mass update
function like mobile phones.

Last year we really had no issue, we carried on as usual and Isobel
adjusted perfectly.

This year, I thought I'd hedge my bets, especially with the 6 am get
ups we've had lately. 5 am get up? No thank you!

So, last night Isobel and I bathed and put on our pjs. Yes, I do mean
we, Isobel was in fetching peppa pig ( post yet to come) and me in a
glorious pair of GAP checked ones.

As a treat we headed back down stairs to snuggle on the settee with
milk and In The Night Garden. So far so good.

As an extra special treat (or cunning ploy) I thought we girlies would
have an extra half an hour and watch the pretty ladies in their swirly
dressses trip the light fantastic...

At 7:10 Isobel got up from the settee and said 'bye-bye mummy, night
night' and proceeded to take herself off up the stairs to bed.

Yep, we were up at 5:30 this morning. Well, by up I mean in my bed
watching Peppa Pig on the iPhone.

Sent from my iPhone

Etiquette or no etiquette, it's still theft

The pleases and thank yous barely compensated for Isobel eating most
of the smoked salmon with our scrambled eggs this morning.

But, how could I resist the 'more pees, ta too' s that came at me from
across the table.

Hmm, a couple of truths

The fourth bottle of wine is ALWAYS a mistake.

It is worth spending a couple of extra bob on your leggings to avoid
the whole world being able to see what you had for breakfast - this I
dedicate to the lady who was rummaging around in hers as she walked in
front of me this morning.

Sent from my iPhone

Not so out of touch then

For the last year I have kind of felt a little, well maybe a lot, out of touch with the real world.

But, this morning another commuter chat showed actually how in touch I am:

1. I do Twitter - Ok it's sporadic and as I socialise less in real life I seem to be even worse at virtual socialising
2. I am on Facebook - haven't updated my staus in years but I am there.
3. I know about Etsy, Notonthehighstreet, and folksy.
4. I am wearing v. fashionable red brogues
5. Not only have I manged to read a Guardian news story in the last few weeks, I have retained enough knowledge and understanding to discuss it!.

Maybe I might be more than one dimensional after all.

Who's your Mummy

There are moments when I wish my daughter had never learnt the word 'Mummy'. Normally this is the case at it's 156th uttering in the space of 30 seconds. Or when it is 4am and it's a 'Muuuummmmmmyyyyy'; it's far easier to ignore a plain normal angry cry than the personal, heart wrenching cry aimed solely at me.

Generally I am actually quite pleased to hear myself being called Mummy.

A while ago I read somewhere that parents who start to call each other Mum and Dad will find their sex lives waining.

As PD and I are meant to be reducing that kind of activity, the fact that we seem to have slipped into the habit of refering to each other as Mum and Daddy doesn't really matter. Now I come to think of it he calls me Mum more than I him Dad, but, we won't go there.

Yes, I did think it was something I would never do, but what did I know. I promise we only do it when talking to or around Isobel, not in the pub over a pint or anything.

As this is the case, I was really surprised when Isobel knew what my name is. I mean my real name.

Happy birthday Grandma

Many happy returns grandma.

I'm sorry you are feeling poorly; I'm sorry I forgot your pink fizz
and lost your card; and in a way I'm even sorrier I put my back out
(bloomin painful and entirely impractical).

But I am very happy that my angel child ( yes,I mean angel, it always
happens that I write something about her being a madam and the next
day she reminds me that she is 99 % a star ) and I are here with you.

How we get home tomorrow is anyone's guess, but we are here and we
love it.

Lots of love xx

Sent from my iPhone

Hmmm

To say my daughter is a mummy's girl is an understatement of such epic proportions it could shift tectonic plates and change the shape of our world.

To say my daughter can be a bit of a madam is not an understatement, she is a bit, but it feels me with epic proportions of dread.

It is something I am keen to nip in the bud. Well a little bit.

The last thing I want is to raise a brat. But a little mischief is OK, in fact it is desirable.

And confidence, well that I'd like to give her in spades.

So, while I am in this frame of mind, imagine how I felt to be pulled aside by Isobel's nursery teacher to be told she had bitten, yes I said bitten, twice that day.

She wasn't the initiator but she did retaliate, and then in shock she cried. It's a bit of a double edge sword isn't it: you don't want her to bite but you want her to stand up for herself.

Now I get to bit all parents get to, I have the excuses...

She is having problem with her final molars, the way she gnaws on her own fingers is somewhat of a clue; she's only 1 1/2 how do you discipline a 1 1/2 year old; it's just a phase, all toddlers go through it.....

But really, I wanted to cry (completely out of proportion), I looked at her differently and I didn't know what to do.

I just wanted to do better for both of us, hey ho we'll get there. She'll train me soon enough.

Wordless Wednesday explained.

Rye because we were staying in Rye.

Hood because that s her Daddy's surname (Isobel has mine)

And Little Red Riding Hood - well that's pretty self explantory me thinks.

(Oh, and btw, I bought that a coat in a GAP sale for £5.99 6 months ago, gotta love the GAP sale.)

Wordless Wednesday Little Red Rye-ding Hood

Cluckless

Today Isobel and I went to visit Clare and her little Karl.

Karl is six weeks old but was three weeks early, so he is perfectly formed and little.

But you'll just have to take my word for it because I didn't take any pics (Duh?!).

Little Karl was lovely and sleepy, sleepy because he'd kept his Mum up during the night. Little Karl was lovely and cuddly and snuggly and had ickle tiny weeny hands with even littler nails.

Isobel only complained a little when I held him, and with them both closeI found it dfficult to imagine her being that little.

But you know what, as much as I loved her being a little baby, I wouldn't swap where she is now for then...

and I didn't feel broody at all.

Pretty evil?

The more Isobel's development progresses, which it is doing in leaps and bounds, the more I start to have some wicked wonderings.

Are we genetically programmed to appreciate and prefer pretty things? Who teaches us what is pretty and what isn't?

Could you tell your child that things that are ugly are actually pretty? When I teach Isobel that it's a 'pretty flower' how does she then know which people that word can apply to?

If you were hiring a nanny would you hire a pretty one so your child was surrounded by beauty or an ugly one to boost your ego?

What if you taught them the wrong names for things, how old would they be when they found out (and how much would they HATE you for it)?

Isobel is learning new words and understanding more and more each day, while most of this is imparted without effort, what if you applied yourself to teach them the wrong way?

Don't panic, I'm not using my daughter as some kind of social experiment, but one could couldn't one, if one really wanted to?

Good bye Granny

Isobel's Granny is at present boarding a big tin can to fly away back to sunnier climes, to her home (and PD's) in South Africa.

Just as she had become part of our furniture and our daily lives; just as we were getting to know her and her to know us; and just as she was getting used to the amount of walking we do here (lots) compared to in Jo'burg (none).

I must confess I was worried at first, I mean it's hard enough when you want to impress your Mother out of law, but you really don't want her instantly seeing why her son left!

But I don't think it turned out that way.

Isobel fell in love, Nanny is now included in the morning roll call.

Granny in SA, you will be missed. x

(At this point I'd like to post a picture of them drying their hair together, or playing peek-a-boo, but I'm ashamed to say I don't have one. Hopefully PD will post one soon; it is after all it is he who will miss his Mum most of all.)

It's not all bad; it's not bad at all

Sometimes a day comes along and gives you everything you could hope for. The sun shines and you get just what you need.

Yesterday was one of those days; one of those days that leaves you smiling all the way through to the next day.

I’m still smiling; I’m still feeling the love.

Thank you everyone, thank you indeed.

Birthday resolutions

Today is my birthday and I have a surprise day off.

The last year has not been my finest and far too many tears have been shed.

So, my birthday resoultion is to party more and cry less, a lot less.

Wordless Wednesday

Because I've left my phone at home.

Cold, blinkin cold Camber Seas

Camber Sands

We are away for the weekend.

Sun (a little, though not in this picture); sea (more than you would
expect, picture to come); sand (check)....

When it's not your mother-in-law because you aren't married and it's
not really an outlaw because you aren't even together anymore, how do
I refer to PD's mum?

I guess I'll leave it to Isobel who calls her Nanny.

Yep, we are an extended disfunctional family this weekend; it
functions quite well, we are having a good time.

Dear Blog

Dear Blog,

I feel that I have been neglecting you of late and I thought I'd drop you a note to apologise.

You haven't received the attention you deserve and for that I am sorry. I'm afraid my thoughts have been elsewhere for a while, and while much of I would like to have blogged about, I haven't.

But, it's OK the nice man at The Priory has given me more little white pills and once the nausea and fog that they bring with them clears I am sure I will be back to my usual bloggy self.

Indeed, we have an award ceremony to attend.

Anyway, so much to say but so little motivation right now.

Catch you later.

Me.

A little light reading

I wouldn't say Isobel's been clingy since I went away but...

I must confess to being partial to a little reading while spending time on the loo. Normally this involves Grazia or Living magazines, and at present the book Sum.

Well, I say at present.

But, most recently it's been the Gruffalo and has involved a little girl sitting on my lap at the same time.

I've heard what they say about the family that plays together...

Wordless Wednesday - Teepee Tea for Twit-twoo

Night night games

I had a good weekend on a hen do.

So good infact that, on my return to mummydom yesterday afternoon, I
invented a whole load of new games that involved me being horizontal.

Wordless Wednesday - That's what friends are for

Who is SHE?

Sunday morning I found myself being exactly the kind if Mum I never EVER want to be.

It seems that in the last three months I have developed PMTNCS - Pre-menstrual Total Nutcase Syndrome.

My anxiety levels soar beyond the unfriendly knot I carry in my stomach most days; my general fearfulness and depression deepens. I feel like I'm drowning and am overwhelmed by, well by absolutely everything.

I cope and I put one foot in front of the other. I fix a smile on my face and keep repeating in the style of an old steam train 'I know I can, I'm sure I can'.

Meanwhile I pluck up courage and cry down the phone to my Mum, because I just can't cope with feeling that way; because I feel like I am going completely and utterly insane.

Anyway, back to Sunday. Isobel was riding her trike; Isobel was wearing her blue shoes as she didn't want to wear her Converse; Isobel was refusing to put her feet on the pedals, choosing instead to drag her toes across the ground.

I could hear myself 'Pick your feet up Isobel, good girl.'

Nothing wrong there. But try hearing it over and OVER again in the space in a very short journey.

Isobel, funnily enough had enough, and I had enough, not of her but of me.

It wasn't so much the nagging, but being an ineffective nagging parent. You know the type, the type where the parent's ineffective nagging is far more annoying than the child's behaviour.

Anyway, at this point I dispatched PD and Isobel to the park while I went and wept into a cup of coffee.

The same but completely totally different.

Our babies are very, very, scarily clever people.

I know that at this point in her life Isobel is learning more things at a quicker pace than she will at any other time.

(Even more scary as I seem to unlearning things at an alarming pace too)

We don't make it easy for our babas:

First we tell them that this yellow plastic thing is a duck

Then we expect them to know that this green-brown feathered thing is also a duck



And they do it.

Then we teach them colours:

That this is blue

But so is this.

It really is abso-bloomin-amazing.



Ps. Isobel has taken to sleeping with a plastic duck. I think it is because she can say it, I understand it and therefore she gets it, rather than any early fetish on her part.