Pfffft *blows off the dust*

Pfffft *blows off the dust*

Ah, there you are, I can see you now.

As Isobel starts school next week I realised how much I have missed the little hidden hole of musings.

I've had no-one to tell about little girl's fascination with Holby and how that has meant I have had to explain about heart transplants mean taking a heart from some one who no longer needs it - 'because they are dead mummy?' - and giving to someone whose heart is broken. I'm dreading the requests I will now get when she breaks up with her first love.

Little wants me to scoot her to school. By that I mean get my substantial bottom and uncoordinated feet onto a scooter myself. Not sure what is saddest: the request or tha fact that I am considering it.






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Happy Mother's Day Mummy

I may not be there to make you breakfast in bed (I made Little Girl breakfast in bed today), but I am thinking of you.

Hello, remember me?

Hello Blog,

 

You may not remember me, but I am the Surprise Mum in your title.

 

I am the mum that loved you, that loved expressing myself on your ever waiting pages.  I used you to celebrate the triumphs of motherhood, to dispel myths and more than occasionally to weep into.

 

Where have I been lately?  The answer is no where.  You became a ‘should’ a source of shame if I looked at stats and yet another stick to beat myself with.  So, I stopped sharing my daily joys with you.  Silly, right?

 

So what have you missed?

 

Me tweeting things like this:

 

Zoe (@Surprisedzoe)
19/01/2012 08:15
I was banished from little girls boudoir this morning. Her style is all her own pic.twitter.com/fUgwm2LL

 

 

Morning conversations with my nearly four year old – oh yes she is nearly four now, how time flies.  Morning conversations that go something like this:

 

LG (little girl): Mummy, is the Isle of Wight on the same planet as Twickenham? (be careful I can hear what you are thinking!)

 

Or

 

LG: Mummy is it summer now Christmas has gone?

 

The fact the little girl seems to have become somewhat used to breakfast in bed, my bed.  Yep I love her enough to allow both crumbs and jam.

 

Me signing up to internet dating that failing miserably to answer any messages I get sent.  My prince will come, but probably not riding on an email.

 

Am I back blogging again?  Honest answer I don’t know.  This blog was once a joy and a massive source of pride and opportunity but I’m not sure where I am with it at the mo.  I have so many things I need to be writing, not just blog posts, that I never seem to write anything.  I may have even stopped writing blogposts in my head.

 

Anyway, we shall see.  Time will tell.  Time is a great healer …..

 

So watch this space.

 

 

PS.  We haven’t got the cat yet but little girl seems convinced we are getting a ‘hungry cat’.

 

PPS. No loft conversion appeared in my stocking

 

 

 

The UN has nothing on me

Oh my have the chats in my house got a hell of a lot more interesting since little girl turned 3 and 3/4.

There was the 'you are quite old mummy so someone will marry you' chat.

The conversation comparing a friend to big Karina at nursery and the use of the F word - Fat. I think I came out quite well in this conversation because, apparently, I'm not fat I'm 'just short like me mummy'.

Then there was the inevitable 'why do Charlotte's mummy and daddy live in the same house?'

Oh boy, I knew it was coming one day and I found it quite amusing that it had come that way round especially as all her friends are from 'normal' families.
My answer was that 'we are special but most children have Mummy and Daddy in the same house'. It seemed to satisfy her. So far, bullets easily dodged.

If I tell you that I could have done with full body armour for the next one I suspect you'll be able to guess what it was about.

Oh yes, two months shy of little girls fourth birthday it has started to get more tricky:

'mummy, do you have a baby in your tummy?'

Um, no darling I just had a big lunch...

'Can we go to the shops and buy a baby to put in your tummy?'

'It doesn't quite work like that. You have to make a baby (wtf was I thinking here?!)'

'Why did Erica decide to make a baby to put in her tummy?'

' Ummm Can WE make a baby mummy? Please mummy. We could call it Oliver. Not the same as Erica's Oliver but one of our very own.'

'Well, you need a mummy and a daddy in the same house to make a baby. ( not strictly true I know but .... Heeeelllllpppp)'

' Well mummy. Next time daddy comes to visit you two could make a baby. That idea mummy? That's a good plan isn't it mummy? I'm a clever clogs aren't I mummy? So can we?'








'Maybe we'll get cat darling'

He's coming to town

Dear Father Christmas,

I have checked NORAD and I know you are on your way. I just wanted to let you know that I have been a VERY VERY good girl this year. Now I know this probably puts me on the Nice List, but I can't help feeling that in a grass-is-always-greener kind of way, that those on the Naughty List are probably having a lot more fun.

I hope Rudolph does his stuff for you tonight and hopefully I'll find someone with his nose so bright to help me find my way next year.

Lots of Christmas kisses

Me x

Ps. Given the size of my daughter's Christmas presents this year I do hope you are putting a loft conversion in my stocking this year. Cheers.

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All I Want for Christmas is my Sanity

I'm feeling slightly guilty.

This was meant to be a Mental Health Carnival in the style of the lovely Carol over at Dance Without Sleeping, but I can't help feel I have let her down by not promoting hard enough and by not getting many contributions.

In fact hers is the only one, not including my introductory post.  Carol's is a great post, read it here, her Christmas Crazy is something I am indeed overly familiar with.

Like Carol I too put pressure on myself and underlying depression feeds the guilt I expressed in the opening of this post; it's all magnified by the pressure I think my of us put ourselves under to be the perfect.... (you fill in the blank). And, yes and, it enables the wonderful delights of depression to Dance like Sugar Plums in our heads.

I'm pretty sure Carol wouldn't hold this against me, but I had such high hopes...

Anyway, while I'm typing this I'm not wrapping the presents I should be wrapping and my inner Elfzilla is yelling at me to write cards.

Personally I want to tell my inner ugly sister Griselda to go f'ck herself but would that really be in the spirit of Christmas?

I'm a celebrity

This evening during the FINAL bedtime cuddle, little girl was telling me about her nursery play. A play in which she is an Elf (remember this, it is important in a few sentences time).

We discussed that Mummy was going one day and Daddy another. We sang 'Twinkle Twinkle Christmas Star'.

The Little girl told me what she has to say in the play. Yes, a speaking part no less.

Proud mummy bubbled up and infused 'my little star! You are a STAR.'

My enthusiasm was met with a

'No, mummy. I'm an ELF.'

A Picture of Festive Mental Health - an invitation

This time last year I should have merrily been skipping towards the festive season on the arm of a new beau. It was a time for celebration and falling in love.

Well, it should have been.

Instead I lost the plot. Maybe not entirely, but as close as I would ever like to come: mind-numbingly, stare-at-the-wall-for-hours close.

It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t festive. As the festivities mounted the worse I got. I was crying to my new beau, weeping on my boss in the office until I could no longer go to work (I am freelance this is not a good thing, not a good thing at all). My mum wanted to come and rescue me before the men in white coats came and carried me away.

I was functioning as a mother, just.

Yes, I was still suffering from depression. Yes, communication had broken down with little girl’s daddy to the point of his not being able to look at me let alone hold a civil conversation. And, yes a well meaning, but misguided GP (who I had only just met) then changed my prescription for anti-depressants to something newer that made me wobble further and gain weight, causing self-esteem to plummet further and the plot to slip further and further from my grasp.

I was starting a new relationship but the ground beneath me was crumbling. I was too scared of losing myself to allow myself just to be, so I pushed him away.


And then… oh yes there is more… in true festive spirit I unleashed my Elfzilla and decided to make a variety of presents for everyone. The dress I wanted to make for my Mummy became a great big rod to beat myself with, a lovely idea but when it was no longer being made with love I just had to admit that I couldn’t do it.

I actually believe it was this lovely (not) festive spirit that almost broke me. No not the dress or the myriad of other things I’d wanted to make. But rather, the expectations I placed upon myself to be a perfect Christmas fairy.

Now I’m sure I’m not alone in this.

Is this a time of year when you find yourself distracted by all that twinkles and shines or is there a Christmas elf determined to sit on your party hat?

Let’s get it all off our chests early so we can enjoy Christmas with as much sanity, joy and tinsel as possible. Join me here for the All I want for Christmas is my Sanity Carnival, inspired by and in cahoots with the lovely Carol's Mental Health Carnival, here on 12th December. Please send all post links to me by Friday 9th.


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Silent Sunday

A little mouse with clogs on

My little girl is far too clever for my good. Actually, she is a 'clever clogs', if I just refer to her as clever I am instantly corrected:

'No, mummy. I'm not clever I am clever clogs'

Nope, this isn't a Peppa pig affectation, it's my fault, it's what I normally call her. And, she beams with pride.

Little also beams when you call her pretty.

A pretty clever clogs what more can a mother be afraid of!

So, this morning, as I dressed her, I popped a t-shirt over her head and then I reached for a dress...

'Mummy, no!' she shrieked.

'you can't do that, it's nonsense mummy. Nonsense, absolute nonsense.'

You know how I persuaded her to layer the t-shirt under the dress?

I didn't.

She grabbed pink rights and said

'snap mummy. These match. This works'

I was so taken aback I forgot to put her knickers on.


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All adrift on a sea of...

 

It has to be said that in surprised terraces we have not been having a good November.

 

The house has been filled with the glorious sound of coughed up lungs and midnight vomiting.

 

Sleep has become a precious commodity and tempers are definitely fraying at the edges, well and the middle…

 

But, I am thankful that, as yet, we have not been stranded in the dark by a sea of sick. 

 

You see an odd childhood memory has come back to me lately (although I’m not always sure how reliable these are).  When I was young we lived in a two and a half bedroom terraced house where both gas and electricity were on a meter – I think it was 10ps for electricity and Gas 50ps. Our stairs went through the middle of the house two a small square landing at the top, Mummy’s bedroom was on one side and there was a small passage to my room.  Oh, and the bathroom was downstairs through the kitchen.

 

One delightful night, I was feeling poorly and I made it to my edge of the square landing where I promptly deposited the contents of my tummy.

 

The electricity has run out and my mum was stranded on the other side.

 

I don’t remember how she made it down the stairs or indeed anything that happened next. 

 

And I actually have no idea why I am telling you this story.

 

 

 

 

Silent Sunday

Just for a moment

Every now and then I get a glimpse of the mother I thought I'd be, of the romantic notions I built up around having a daughter.

Today, just for an hour I lived up to my own expectations.

This morning I took little girl to the theatre.

Richmond Theatre has always been a favourite destination of mine, they was a time I went there more often than I did to the cinema. ( remember Miss B?) It's a beautiful theatre.

We went with two of our bestest friends, Genevieve and Erica May. And, as I said. for an hour I smiled because this is how I always wanted it to be.

Oh yes, the production of The Hungry Caterpillar was amazing, but I almost wish they hadn't shown us all the tricks they used at the end.

One of the best things was 'it's a no shush production' a bit like panto!

Alls well that ends well

Well our mini sleepover ended with little guest coughing and vomiting on her father as he picked her up to take her home.

Guess I'm not the host I thought I was either.

Where's the wine...


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Tonic

I am sitting here in my pjs surrounded by Duplo and tv characters.

Snow white is on the telly and two little girls are having a pretend phone conversation about bed time.

All is well accept I have run out of tonic to go with my gin.

Oh dear, I really am not the mum I thought I'd be.


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The Gallery - T is for

Tidy

Something I really need to do!

I would love to be a tidy person, mess drives me mad but not enough to tidy, obviously.





This post is my entry for the infamous Tara's weekly gallery.

Click here to see lots more entries!



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Blogvember

I can't grow a moustache and, as much I would love to, there is no way I could manage the novel in a month. Maybe next year... The latter that is, I hope it will be a long time before the first is a possibility.

There is a thing I loved in my life, something I let become tarnished, that I didn't pay enough attention to nor notice that the love was slipping away.

I want to rekindle that love.

Re-ignite the fire.

I hearby dedicate November to my blog.

What are you going to dedicate November to!

Sent from my iPad

I'm sure there is a word for it.

Little girls grasp of language never ceases to amaze me.

Having been told the night before that Sue was coming to visit on Friday afternoon it was the first thing on her mind.

And I mean first thing. At 6:10 in the morning I was greeted with the now immortal words:

'Sue-sue is a bit like wee-wee, isn't it mummy?'

A somewhat sleepy me was instantly confused. Was this another wee -poo joke?

'mummy, Sue. Sue is like Wee. Wee'

Ah I see. Yes that is similar.

'yes mummy, except wee-wee doesn't wear sunglasses'.




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Off to school apparently

With her 'pet' lunch.

From me on a great day

My dearest darlingest Zoë

We have known each other for a very long time now, longer than perhaps we care to admit, I just wanted to take this opportunity to write you a little note.

It is now 20 years since you left home, left the island to spend a year in Oz before traipsing off to uni.

Your life is amazing and I want to point out that that is down to you and your energy. I know you feel that you are only interesting because you know such interesting people but have you ever thought that maybe they find you interesting too? Yes, yes dismiss me if you like but you have actually managed to write the words, so hold onto that thought! Life hasn’t always been easy but that’s ok. It’s all this experience that has made you who you are and allows you to see the things you see and feel all the things that you do. Yep, it’s all this that really makes you see the magic. You have felt great love and also great loss, but would the loss have been so great without the love?

You have beautiful friends and family who are only too happy to love and support you when you let them, when you don’t allow your anxiety to keep you prisoner. As you move into this new phase of life where you are finding the work that makes your heart sing, you are open to all the love that is around and yes maybe even are ready for Mr Right. ‘You gotta have a dream…’ Who knows if your dream of moving home but working in London will come true? Who knows when you will find your champion?

Enjoy the journey because you are beginning to become the person you would like your daughter to be: someone who dreams, lives without fear but secure in the knowledge that you are loved.

And maybe, just maybe you’ll be able to grow into the mother you’d like to be too.

Lots of love and happy birthday

Me xx

Ps. Now you have treated yourself to new undies you have bolstered your support no end, do not undervalue this.








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Songs to Live your Life by

I was fortunate to be tagged by the lovely Jo for this Meme and it really had me a little stumped until I had a couple of hours alone in my car with my ipod on shuffle.

now these aren't necessarily the songs that mean the most to me - songs can be so emotive.

No, these are songs with a message I love for what they say.

Firstly I was raised in a house surrounded by music and Neil was a favourite, and not just because my first ever valentine's rose came with the message "I'll always bring you flowers"



Next up, well it's an oldie brought to me by me, that does actually have a lot of memories attached.




Because you 'can't catch love with a net or a gun' (something I need to remember next time I want to hold onto a man so tight my knuckles turn white), a bit of James.



And don't we all want to be someone others feel like this about. Groove Armada - My Friend. Luckily I have many of these.




Finally as the mother of a daughter I also have to have Beautiful, twee but hey.




I wanted to add Three Little Birds; a bit of Madonna and so many more that Jo already stole!....


I'm going to tag a Non-mummy blogger because I am intrigued.

Go Gray

Ah fatty bum bum

This evening little girl was discussing the fact that poo and wee come from her bottom (high brow stuff I know).

I pointed out that wee comes from the front and poo from her back bottom ( too much toilet for you? well, I'm sorry)

'no mummy I don't have TWO bottoms!'

'I'm not a bottom-bottom'

Well, it made me laugh.

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The clouds gathered though

So camping was fab except....

My eye swelling up to elephant man proportions

Little Girl and her easily wound up epic dramas

My tonsils swelling to the point where at 2am I would happily have had a headectomy

The moments when 2 little girls decide that they won't share and can't agree on playing

Or the time when Little Girl's Daddy and I fell out about parenting.

But, you what?

I still love camping.


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Sunny Camping

Last weekend we went camping in our Campervan. (sung as if Peppa Pig)

I love camping. Well, I love camping now we have Clementine.




We went with our usual camping crew and this time Little Girl's daddy came too. This time I not only booked the site (Ashurst) but also picked our pitch; a daunting task for a camping novice to carry out on behalf of her camping Gurus.

We did good though: a pitch with the mahoosive campsite behind us and the wood unspoilt in front of us.

What's not love when these are the smiles once the tent was up?


Or this is the view from by your bed in the morning?




Or these are the games the girls can play, naming logs as Pirate ships and Dragons,




And the ponies approve of your car.




Oh and the nearby pub provides an opportunity to watch little girl and her daddy enjoy each other.




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A roll in the hay it's not.

It's August people.

It's midday.

And I am in bed in pjs and fluffy socks.

The doctor thinks I'm run down, basing this on the fact that I have tonsillitis, an eye infection and inflamed sinuses (or something like that - I'd stopped listening by then).

With three 'ituses I'm not in bed alone.

It's not, however, the most fun I have ever had in the sack.

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Getting down with the Angels

On Sunday I discovered that there is an Archangel of Housekeeping! Well, ok that isn't exactly Sariel's purpose but it's within her remit. So, in an attempt to make my kitchen cleaning a little more magical I asked for her help.

OMG, it worked. I am rubbish at housework, I lose interest easily, especially when poorly like I was on Sunday. But, this Sunday I persevered.

I even moved a radio that had been in situ for years.

The joy of this came this morning when Little Girl and I took time to boogie in the kitchen to the sounds of radio 2 this morning.

There were no:

Come-on-we-are-in-a-hurrys

Or

Look-I-have-a-train-to-catches

We had a blissful morning, finding time for scrambled egg and salmon before we left.

And I managed to catch an earlier train than I had been lately.

I tell you I'll be getting down with the angels more often.




Ok, so maybe you think this all a little we-woo but hey wouldn't it make the world a little more magical if you just believed for a minute?

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Silent Sunday

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It's a truth universally acknowledged

That finding a roof in your bed does not help the guilt and self-loathing that accompanies a hangover.




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She's leaving home

This evening Little girl told me she was going to live at Bob's.

Who's Bob? Her father.

What crime had I committed to drive my daughter away?

I wouldn't let her whale go into the tunnel.

Mean mummy! I hear you say....



We were in the bath.

The tunnel was...

well I'll leave that to your imagination


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She's not wrong you know

'Mummy, if we chop our heads off we won't be able to talk.

If we chop our legs off we won't be able to walk

That's not funny is it Mummy.'

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Ok, Camp Bestival

This time last week I was pulled over on the M3 stripping a child of vomit covered clothes for the second time in one weekend. No, I hadn't packed the seabands as little girl has never vomitted in Clementine before.

Anyway, back to Camp Bestival, the place we were on our way home from...


As I pulled little girl up the hill, under a tree and towards the Kids Garden I knew I was in a happy place. My cheeks started to ache as my smile grew.


















Little whooped with joy as the bouncy castle came into view.

Even the queue for empty cash machines yielded smile worthy moments as little girl chatted to all and sundry, deciding every now and then to tell them that 'my mummy's name is Zoe'. Why did that make us smile? They were all men and it came out as if to be an introduction at a singles night. Shame we were at a family festival and undoubtedly all the men were taken!

A free bouncy castle and smiley happy people and we were all in heaven.










Especially when we returned to the Campervan field to see our peeps had arrived.






Saturday dawned rainy and and damp. But who cares, it's a rule that on any camping trip there must be a schlep to the loo with pjs tucked in your wellies and a rain coat on top.

It felt bigger and busier. Less friendly as parents fought to provide their children with the best view of the stage, amazing the lengths peeps will go to to see the Gruffalo. Luckily we retreated and had a far more civilised if much more distant view of Mr Tumble, who I am sure had a better welcome than Elvis ever did.





















The Persil area was heaven. Peace, tranquility, tea and amusements. So glad their sponsorship drew me in. A quick digression for the sponsorship piece....

DJ and mum-of-four Jo Whiley hosts the first ‘Persil Pass on the Love Picnic’ at Camp Bestival this weekend. Mums and kids were encouraged to hold a picnic and bring newly washed soft toys for another child to love - for fun family picnic ideas and more visit www.netmums.com/persilpassonthelove


Right, later while I was interviewing Jo Whiley, oh yes I got to hob knob briefly, my child was throwing a tantrum about leaving the ballet tent. We went back the next day....













So, Jo Whiley Can I say how pleased I was to see her looking a little fatigued. The only other thing I think we have in common is that her little girl is just as attached to the bunny we were sent as little girl is, although Jo's daughter hasn't tried to name hers poo-pants.

Anyway, she endured my shambolic interview and the interruption by a smudged teary tiger faced child. What did I ask and what did I learn?

Me: what is the best piece of festival advice you have ever been given?
Jo: Not to worry about what is happening elsewhere; if you are having a good time don't worry about missing Pulp on the other stage.

Me: have you ever duplicated one of your children's favourite toys?
Jo: nope. But my 19 year old has a favourite and cried the other day when it had to be washed and no longer smelled the same. I even sprayed it with my perfume, her dad's aftershave to try and recapture the scent before she returned to college.

I also learnt that while there may be no toys duplicated, precious band t shirts are. Like the Manics one that is about to be worn by her youngest, and hopefully will survive another child's worth of washing.

Interview completed the rest if the weekend was calmer, especially after I found little's coat I had lost; a stressful thing when it looks like your weekend may be littered with rain!

The weekend then flowed with many helterskelter trips, each one leaving me thankful that my bum hadn't got stuck at any point. The two little girls did well on the swings, co operating beautifully.













Co operation wasn't a constant theme; where as squabbling was fairly common.

My favourite moments were those we we spread a blanket in the sun and allowed the girls to play and the wine to flow rather than missioning about.

























The weekend would not have worked without the lovely Sue who guarded bags and blankets and provided extra hands for child care; extra imagination for games and an extra target for bubbling.












So, a bit like Jo's advice i'd say: go; find a spot with a view and a bar; and plan mini expeditions from there. Perhaps then you can survive crowds with minimal stress.

Oh and always wear flowers in your hair.













Ps. I actually quite like the smell of the purple Persil with comfort and have duly washed George ( otherwise known as poo-pants) in it.


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Yay for Camp Bestival

I spent all day yesterday writing this post in my head and now have my iPad in front of me my mind is blank.

I'll be back


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Don't tell Germaine

I have never been one to worry about political correctness, I never felt the need to compete in a 'mans world' (funny as I am one of the few girls in my field), I am happy that I am able to carry my own bag or open doors so I can enjoy these things being done for me.

But, I am aware of need for positive role models for girls. Personally I think not presenting it as an issue means it shouldn't ever be one.

As the person my daughter most wants to dress like I know fat isn't an issue. I have never actually heard her refer to anyone as fat.

All this wonderful work seems to be going nowhere. (I say work but it wasn't really a conscious decision.)

Recently little girl has got into the habit of reading magazines on the loo (I have a Loo Read magazine rack in the bathroom). Normally, the reading material consists of Living Magazine and we laugh at the funny chairs. This week, drawn by a free lip gloss, we had Marie Claire.

The cover had the beautiful Audrey Tatou







who little girl said looked like a witch!

The back shows Kate Moss looking slightly slutty.






And it is Kate Moss she decides is beautiful!

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Sea bands (sung to the tune of 'Feelings')

To say little girl suffers from travel sickness is a tad of an understatement.  There have been many a trip to the Island that has ended with me ringing Grandma and asking her to come out with a towel to wrap a vomit soaked child in.  I think the most spectacular one was on the ferry where she managed to cover me in vomit too – nice.
 
Imagine my deep joy when we were sent some Seabands to review. I have tried everything else: not feeding her before a trip; lifting the headrest on the seat in front so she has a clearer view out of the windscreen, and trying to improve my driving.  All of this has had some success, but I welcomed the ‘magic bracelets’ as we called them.
 
They came in various colours and the pink was chosen for first review.  And I must admit the trip they were worn, the one where little girl didn’t sleep, she wasn’t sick.  
 
She did complain of feeling poorly but to be honest I think what she meant was she was bored as she kept asking if we could either ‘stop the car and get out now mummy’ or ‘are we at the ferry boat yet, mummy’.
 
I’d count that as a success but we shall see.  I think one of the issues is making sure you have them on her correctly.  On the adult bands it says make them two finger widths away from the wrist, what is that on a child? Two of her fingers? One of mine?
 
We will use them again and again in the hope that either the psychological or, if I position them right, the physical will keep us vomit free, because as we say in our house it’s all a bit ‘yucky-da’ otherwise.