Monday, 28 September 2009

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.

Tuesday, 22 September 2009

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.

Monday, 21 September 2009

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.

Sunday, 20 September 2009

Now you see it...

Isobel is developing her tricksy side.

She has quite literally started deliberately performing slight of hand
tricks. Ok, so Derren Brown doesn't need to worry, yet.

But...

Isobel takes her fork, shows it to you.

She carefully places it under her bum ( her high chair is her stage
for this trick).

She shows you that her hand is empty.

The audience enquires as to the whereabouts of said fork.

Da dah!

The fork is produced, waved and applause garnered.

Ok, so the magic circle aren't beating down our door, but....

if this is her at 18 months what tricksiness do I have to look forward
to!

I'm sure it will be magic!

Sent from my iPhone

Friday, 18 September 2009

Festival Friday

It feels too late and too big to write much about last weekend, but to let it pass without discussion would be unfair.

It was FAB!

Do I need to say more?

Ok, so I do.

Mostly I need to thank Grandma and Grandpa for allowing me three evenings in a row of being more than a mum, three evenings of it actually feeling odd to think that I was a mum. For three nights in a row it wasn't me who fed, bathed and night- nighted my little girl. This practically doubled the amount of times I haven't done that.

Saturday and Sunday we both festivaled and then the only tears shed when she was whisked of by Grandpa were mine!


I soon recovered enough to dance like an old school raver, bop like a princess and generally shake my bum. See my favourite surprise act of the weekend - Orkestra Del Sol - here on You tube. Loved it.

I had great fun with my friend Sue, loved my bro's handmade fancy dress costume - yes that's what the ears were in aid of - a token gesture, caught up with old friends, and generally hung out in a field.


I'm already looking forward to next year! I just have to do a bit of begging to convince my mummy to have Isobel again for me.

Say yes mummy, say yes?!

Mind you, she may be potty trained by then, so what about the portaloos?!

It's indication of how much fun we both had that I'm looking forward to next year and Isobel has asked for mandma, mampa, islaa, ayley and jack every morning since we've been home.

Pretty please can we do it again?!

(This post could also have been festival Friday, great fields of fire

Hot from the flames and heated by the collective energy. Fab, fab, fab
. Oh, I said that already.)






(Yes, I did go down the helter skelter and, no the fire brigade did not have to come to free my ample child baring hips.)

Thursday, 17 September 2009

A little more conversation

Things I said on the train today:
  • A man or a frump? I don't think I want to look like either.
  • Not that you men aren't good looking.
  • But then I don't think of you as men, I think of you as boys.
  • Yes I know you are parents, I'm a parent too, but wouldn't you rather be a boy than a man?
  • Yes, I guess it is odd when your mum has a BOYfriend.
  • Hmm, I'm not sure about 'partner', 'Beau' might be a suitable word?
  • I see your point, Beau probably wouldn't go down well in Sunderland.
  • I think I will have a Beau next.
  • Yes a co-habiting Beau does sound more serious, but is also a mouthful
  • I have had a dalliance before
  • No, I think a dalliance is slightly more than a bit of fluff, but both have their place.
  • Wellwisher is definitely more of an acquaintance.
  • Admirer I agree means it doesn't have to be reciprocated, obviously I have lots of these.
  • Yes, I could write a blogpost about it, I have , kind of before; but, I really need to write a Bestival post.
  • Yes, yes, that's a plan. I'll write this post and THEN a Bestival post.

Tuesday, 15 September 2009

PFF

Suffering from Post Festival Fatigue, will post about Bestival and other stuff very soon.

(I have discovered that it is hard to be a mum at 6 in the morning and maintain a not-just-a-mum stance beyond midnight.)

Saturday, 12 September 2009

Thursday, 10 September 2009

Bestival festival wey hey

This morning I am working at home. I'm working at home and I'm packing. Working at home, packing and then....

Going to Grandmas.

Because...

*drum roll*....

(I'm that excited)...

Isobel and I are off to Bestival!

I love going to festivals on the Isle of Wight for many, many reasons...

I can stay at my Mummy's in a proper bed with a proper shower and this is just about worth missing out on early morning festival tea and toast.

I get to catch up with my brother, actually this year I should see both brothers from both sides of my family (I'll explain one day).

I see the odd ex boyfriend and have a natter, the glory of more than a decade passing since breakup means only the good bits remain without the tension.

Now, I get to take my little girl and neither of us misses out on anything because....

*drum roll*
(I know I shouldn't have used it earlier because it's loosing it's effect by now)....

Grandma is looking after Isobel in the evening so I can stay and P A R T Y!

Thank you mummy, this means a lot to me xx

Monday, 7 September 2009

Reddit


I have just finished a Big Book and I’m feeling bereft.

It was a fabulous Big Book, Shantaram, and for just over a week it has been my almost constant companion, causing me to neglect many things, like this blog. It’s given me back ache from weighing down my handbag. I’ve neglected sleep as I have been unable to put it down.

And now it’s over, and I am lost. I turned the last page I felt a stab of fear, what will I do now, now it’s over…

This book taught me that in a knife fight I must hold my weapon dagger style not like a fencer; why we say and Bob’s your Uncle, and it isn’t because Bob IS my uncle, seriously he is, my Uncle Bob the weather man; I was reminded about Singularity and I had to look it up to remember what rebus meant.

This book is amazing, one minute it’s all about love and life and the next it’s about gouging someone’s eyes out with your finger nails. But, it is so beautifully written, it’s one of those books that makes you say ‘so true’ over and over again.

I think it’s a true story about a heroin addicted prisoner who escapes to Bombay. He had to write the book three times because it was destroyed by prison guards, which is sad because even though the book doesn’t end there, it means he was caught again.

He lives a simple life, a mafia life, a war torn life and if you read the book you will live it too. I love books set in India, it seems such a colourful culture, these books make me itch to go there.

Buy it; read it; but please don’t ask to borrow it. I’m precious about my books and will only lend my favourites if I trust you to return them in the condition you got them (normally looking pretty untouched), and not many people get on that list.

Anyone suggest another good read?

Ps. I thought it taught me about why we say Bob’s your Uncle, but Wikipedia gives a different explanation!
Pps. thanks to Mamma Po Emily at Maternal Tales for the tweeted recommendation

Saturday, 5 September 2009

Great river boat race (or a post where the title is circumstantial)

This evening at 5:30 my daughter asked to have her bath; it was a
lovely, funny, kissy bath, but it was early.

At 6:45 she was in bed asleep.

Could it have been the excitement of seeing her Daddy this morning?

Was it the fresh air as we walked, well I walked she buggied?

Or was it horse see-sawing with JP and Geneveive?

Ps. Erica-May, shame you weren't in the pic; Isobel now can point to JP
and 'veive'.

Pps. Supposedly we were in this particular park to watch The Great
Riverboat Race, hence the title - tenuous I know but I'm too busy
drooling over Dermot to come up with something better.

Friday, 4 September 2009

Something and nothing

Sometimes, like today, Isobel goes to nursery and I stay at home.

Sometimes, like to today, I'm not even going to yoga (I haven't been
for a month and it shows! But can I get my arse in that hot sweaty
room that I know I love so much? Can I billio!)

Sometimes, like today I want to do NOTHING, is that such a bad
something to want to do?

So, while I'm feeling a teensy bit guilty for abandoning my child to
the something that is nursery so that I can do nothing. I'll tell you
about the somethings we did do on the Isle of Wight.

We had a family Sunday lunch and Isobel can say the names of everyone at the table. Gama, gampa, mamy, isla (this was said as Isla came in through the door, and it certainly surprised us all) and ayley.

We saw Isobel's favourite animals: Auntie Gada and Uncle Birdie were so impressed with little girl's twit-twooing they whisked us off to seem them for real.

And then we popped over to see my BFF Miss B, my goddaughter Annabel, young master Thomas and the drill-bit toting Mark.

And the fearless something often referred to as bouncing begun:

... and ended.

Lots of something to remember on a day full of nothing.

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

A whole one and a half

So my baby you are a whole one and a half years old today. And a whole one and a half years worth of your very own person.

You don't like to leave the house without a hat, the donning of which you mastered months ago. You are fixated with shoes, ducks and twit-twoos (owls to the uninitiated).

If allowed you would happily exist on cheeeeese, peaeaeaeas, and milk.

Your communication skills are coming on leaps and bounds, not only do you understand far more than is comfy for your mother right now, you know how to make yourself understood: your noisy refusal to relinquish the spoon and fork you found in my handbag at 3:30 yesterday afternoon was not just a magpie fixation, you were hungry. Go figure mummy.

I love walking hand in hand with you, I love swinging on the swing beside you even if I do have to keep hopping off to swing you higher than your little legs can make you go (oh yes she is working on the leg action required for self-propulsion).

I love the roll-call of the people in your life you love, the list of names you can say grows longer by the day, and that you greet me in the morning with the name of the person you are missing most at that point in time.

In many ways I don't mind being beckoned to your room once a night, I choose to think of it as a way to keep in touch during the darkest hours (easy to say in the middle of the afternoon).

I even love the way you love your Daddy. You look for him, you call for him, you play with him but luckily you don't cry for him. I know he is your number two.

And I know that I am your number one and you are, most certainly, mine.