Blogger's Zoo

Ever since Isobel returned early from PD's on Saturday she has kept me on a very short rein.

In fact it's about a 5 second one, as in if I leave the room it is, at most, 5 seconds before I hear 'Mummy' followed by the patter of tiny feet as she rushes to check I have not left the building.

My hand is held firmly, just in case I decide to wander off again. You know a little like James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree.

This can be a little limiting but on Sunday afternoon it turned out to be quite enabling.

We popped along to London Zoo courtesy of SuperSavvyMe to meet other Mummy bloggers. The two hours before the meet looked something like this:

Lots of big eyes and 'oohs' from a little girl.

In the afternoon it was this somewhat larger girl (me)) who had the big eyes as she struggled to pluck up the courage to chat to anyone.

But Isobel saved the day: she got us thrust to the celeb filled middle of the group photo and thanks to her firm hand holding she led me around the room whereby I was forced to bump into people and mingle.

I really am rubbish at networking so I missed so many people, but I enjoyed all my chats with those I did speak to.

Thanks A modern Mother for organising, you are a star.

And yes, we will be going back 'to the zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow' (Well, maybe the London Aquarium is better suited to our current climate!)

Home sweet home

The lying in bit this morning was very easy, not like the saying goodbye bit.

If I was a dog, which I'm not, you would have seen my right ear, the ear nearest the door, permenantly pricked listening out for chattering come from little girls room.

It was easy to do this and doze between 6 and 8 and the the mummy guilt started. It went something like this:

This is nice... This is easy... Should I be missing isobel more... Does that mean I'm not missing her enough... Am I enjoying this too much... Does that make me a bad mummy...

Anyway, I made myself a bacon sarnie and went back to bed.

At 9:30 the phone rang. It was PD, isobel had been asking for mummy and home all morning.

20 minutes later my limpet arrived home.


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From one Daddy to another

If you were in the park this afternoon and you saw a crazy lady crying and then walking away from her beautiful child, it was me.

I wasn't supposed to have to walk away. I was supposed to drop her nursery, go to work then go out with my friend and I would have a lie-in in the morning, go to yoga and simply come back at lunchtime and there she would be.

Less painful that way. Why it's so painful I don't know, but it is.

Instead Isobel was poorly this morning, too poorly for nursery, I had to take the day off work and wonder if this evening was such a good idea.

But she slept well at lunchtime, the Park is near PD's house, so it seemed the ideal handover spot.

Her case was packed, we took it with us and went to have fun.

Isobel was so pleased to see her Daddy, we all had so much fun.

It hurt to walk away. More than I thought it would.

Now I have to put my glad rags on and go for a drink. Believe me it's just as well that I have plan. I think sitting here would kill me. Not literally of course.

Hey, ho, she will always be mummy's girl won't she?

Me and my Daddy

This is a picture of me and my Daddy. I think I am about four here and I think my parents are already divorced.

If you look in the background you can see an orange hat from my Paddington Bear that Daddy gave me. I'm not sure if this started my Paddington fixation or was because of it, but when the sign on my bedroom door read Paddington Bear's best friend is Zoe Louise, it was true - well at least the other way round.

To say Daddy and I have a distant relationship would probably be very apt. It's not my Daddy doesn't love me, I know that, it's just that it has been a long time since he was part of my daily life.

Distance itself didn't help: he worked abroad in Nigeria, lived in Yorkshire, and he had another family, even complete with it's own Zoe.

I'm not bitter about it, yes I have my issues, but I'm not harbouring any resentment towards my Daddy, it just is the way it is. (But, I would be lying if I said this isn't part of the reason I feel so bad that I haven't given my little girl a traditional family)

All that said it was really lovely to introduce him to my beautiful little girl, his first grandchild to bear his name and his chin dimple (yes me too).



And even though he said little people didn't like him, by the end of the visit she didn't want him to let her go.

Wordless Wednesay - Colouring

Isobel and her cousins love colouring at the table in Grandma's sitting room


I don't have room for a table in mine, so I bought this fab tray on eBay:

One of the most satisfying good mummy jobs

... has to be sewing mittens onto elastic.




And yes that is a mod-esq parka, fab isn't it.

Goes with the target on the roof of my mini, but she may have to wait for the Vespa.


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Mary, Mary part two

Mummy and Daddy you may not want to read this


Little girl has returned from nursery with yet another sore bum. I don't know what it is they do, I suppose I know what they don't do - change her quick enough. Anyway I'm not here to rant about that. Her poor little bum bum is so sore she didn't even want to have a bath.

As a Mummy I obviously know best and I was sure that a bath with some tea-tree oil would do her a world of good. Well her bottom anyway.

While She loves having her ducks in her bed, the one thing she loves best in her bath is her Mum.

So I stripped off and climbed in.

My lady garden is always EXTREMELY well tended, even when pregnant.

Being my own gardener of late I decided to let things grow a little to invest in some professional pruning.

It seemed my undergrowth (I haven't let it become over growth) was fascinating to Little girl. 'Oh mummy' was said more than once. She compared mine to hers; when I drew my knees up because at this point I was self-conscious (yes me), she stood up to look over my knees.

And then, she tried to wash it away!

Hmm teenage tendencies continue

Right now my daughter is in her cot, head on her precious 'lillow' and is refusing to get up.


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Wordless Wednesday - why there are Pail Pals in our music box

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So that was then

The picture below was taken this morning.

It was taken before we drove down a blowy and very wet M3.

It was taken long before we boarded the ferry.

And, way before we set sail on a VERY choppy Solent.

It was taken when I didn't even imagine that at any point in the day I would be so covered in Isobel vomit that it would even soak through to my knickers.

Hmm nice.

My teenage one-and-not-quite-three-quarter year old

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.