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.

Sent from my iPhone

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.
 
 

Alls well that ends well

You know when you have one of those days that had no right to turn out well but it does?

Well, I have just had one of those.

Today was far too full, far too busy, yet actually left me feeling far more positive than I deserve.

It started at 7 when a young girl with red hair arrived to take my child to nursery but didn't take the keys so the pm pick up couldn't get back in.

I drove 90minutes away to attend a training course. Returned home to a not bathed and ready for bed child because they had to shelter at a friends house because without keys they couldn't get in.

I had a glampervan pick up at 7pm that I had forgotten about and had to duck out of my course to do the insurance.

My child played in the puddles in just her crocs, well she had clothes but her feet were clad only in crocs, you know what I mean!

I got little girl to bed at 7:30 to have three of my favourite people arrive 15 minutes later for supper.

Hey ho, in a funny way I'm sad today is over.


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Just because I don't iron her pjs, it doesn't mean I don't love her

Last night I found myself basking in the glory of being a good mum.

What fantastic piece of parenting had me awarding myself this accolade?

Little girl and I took a bath together both equally saturated in anti-nit shampoo.

Surely sharing a nit comb has to be the ultimate expression of motherly love?


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The best repellant

The bio on my blog says I'm a 'love f*ckwit' and never has that been more the case than right now.

To be honest I'm getting kind of bored with the drama I seem to create for myself. I have only just realised how lonely I am.

I spun a good line about how great my life is; how I don't know how I would make room for someone else; I'm so busy changing careers I don't have time; I have a three year old no love left over for anyone else...

I wore this story very well, the armour fended off suitors a little too well. By time I realised I didn't want to wear the armour and that perhaps my stories weren't entirely true, it was too late.

Ho hum, at least I know now. I know that as happy as I can be alone it doesn't have to be at the expense of being with someone and maybe even being a family.


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At last a family resemblance

And I don't just mean the t-shirts






Thanks Nick, for proving she is my daughter!


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My baby's got blue...

EVERYTHING

The last two Sundays little girl has done her very best to become a water baby. But, with the English summer not quite fulfilling its role on both occasions I have had to remove a shivering-teeth-chattering-‘I’m not cold mummy’-protesting little girl from the water or waters edge.

Last week it was the sea and building swimming pools with her Uncle Ross (who is, it has to be said, a digging dervish); a pastime that she gave up and went to building beds – complete with a blanket with Auntie Amanda – a much warmer pursuit.













A day so pleasantly exhausting little girl pretty much passed out before I had done up the straps on her car seat.

But, and this is a celebratory ‘Woo-hoo but’, there were moments, long moments when little girl was happy to play alone while I finished chatting with my Aunt. I can see a time when I will sit serenely on a blanket reading a book while my daughter plays beautifully beside me! (Well, maybe for a ten minute period at least)

This Sunday I was probably the only mum on the world filling up a paddling pool from the kettle and the hot tap.








But when you see how much was had with her friend, running from the pool to the trampoline to warm up, it was well worth it






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Remains of the day

Tonight little girl has gone to bed with flowers painted on her face and minnie mouse balloon floating above her head.

I think she enjoyed going to the fair with daddy.




If she's anything like her mother this won't be the last time she goes to bed without removing her make up.


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N is for

In our house N is for nest or for Nick, nut I don't think it will long before it is also for 'nursing home'.

What with Little Girl's iPad dexterity I'm sure it won't be long before she starts googling them.

Why? I hear you ask.

Well, I don't think it will be too long before her mother is a burden on her. You see I am quite accident prone, be it glass or a large splinter in my foot, or a need to 'fix' my hair, I seem to spend a lot of time hobbling or 'hopping on one leg mummy'.

'I look after you mummy'
'careful mummy, it's dangerous' ( walking down the stairs)
'over here mummy, there's a car'

But the worst thing I have done so far? I fell down the stairs, cried out and little girl shut herself in the bathroom where she spent twenty minutes crying for her daddy. All my bones had gone into shock and I couldn't go back up to her.

So none of this business where the toddler saves a life by dialling 999.

When she calmed down, once she had bought me something 'cool to make the hurt better' (no, not a G&T - what kind of mum do you take me for?), I was told off.

'that was a sad choice mummy.'
'don't do it again mummy'
'it makes me sad'

Makes her sad!! It's me with the bruises.




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So, Cybermummy...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

Ok, that may be a bit dramatic but it kind of sums up the mixed emotions I have about it. I put off writing this post to let things settle.

You see I went along to catch up with bloggers I met before this mummy blogging thing really took off and to meet the tweeters whose tweets have made me cry with love, laughter and despair.

I didn't think about the 375 or so other peeps that would be there. You see ere were many times when it was all a little overwhelming and disheartening.

I didn't realise how unfriendly the blogosphere could be. I know the competition and pressure to 'perform' had threatened to stop me blogging on many occasions over the last few years, annoying because I loved blogging so much. it just seems it's not such a friendly community anymore.I was looked through on so many occasions.

Money isn't why I blog (but yes I will do the odd review and now have my first advertiser), I don't need SEO, I'm just happy with some friendly commenters, though detractors are published too. Is that such a bad thing?

But, I'm going to stop with the negative now, because a couple of days after my early departure from Cybermummy I'm feeling much more positive. The anxiety has subsided and I can enjoy the lovely lovely things.

So, the lovely lovely lovely things were the people I was so keen to see and meet, no one disappointed and I have prioritised my blog reader to just include those I love. By reducing the quantity I am less likely to hit 'mark all as read' and more likely to keep up with those I count as friends.

Oh I chatted to Sarah Brown and she pointed me to @gingerbread for single parents.












I had my hair blow dried by a man from the telly.












And did I mention the lovely lovely lovely people.

My biggest laugh came from being in an amazing line up of Old Timers for the blogger calendar.

Oh, and as much as some people turned me off, I also fell a little back in love with blogging.

And I won a prize... Not sure what it is yet as I left long before prize giving. But, I do know it's Duplo!









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Intense

Oops I mean in Tents







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Cybermumy 2011

There seems to be a lot of pre-event meeting and greeting going on and in my typical insecure-worried-about-doing-the-wrong-thing-and-being-left-out fashion I thought I would try and join in.

Now I'm not really sure what I am meant to do. Some people have discussed their outfits, some revealed more about themselves and others how they feel about cybermummy.

What can I tell you:

I'm hoping to wear an orange frock but it's a little snug today

I started my blog to revel in a pregnancy that was contentious to say the least. Mummy blogging hadn't quite reached the proportions it has today and at the time I felt part of a lovely new club.

Now I kind of feel like I've been left behind and that I am no longer part of the club, that it has outgrown me and that I don't seem to have the time to devote to it that it requires.

So, I wonder if going to cybermummy is a desire to fit in again? I don't know, I know I am excited to reconnect with the mummies I met in the early days, but I know that I am scared that I don't fit in.

Scared that the blog I so used to enjoy, the club that I joined in it's early days really has grown up and left me behind.

Oh, and even with all that angst, I'm going to have some fun.


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Things I have learnt this evening

'I spy something curtainy' means, funnily enough, 'I spy curtains'.

Even if you say your bed is a space rocket and do 'one, two, three, four five, flast (yes 'flast') off' you may find 'it's not moving mummy, oh silly me, it's a bed'

Also, houses are too big to move. And, even if they could move, they would be 'too big to go down the slide'.

Was your bedtime as educational?



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I bet you think it is mid-summer

Luckily Little Girl isn't fooled, this is how she dressed for nursery today:








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Fit or Flop

This is a sponsored post in that I was sent a lovely shiny pair of Fit Flops

So many things these days seem to be intent on pointing out how old I am; the latest thing actually being my feet.

Well, maybe not my feet, but my back. Only in that my back is beginning to dictate what I wear on my feet.

My summer footwear of choice would be the classic flip-flop, the minimal rubber styling of something like a Haivianna (do you remember a time before these when flip-flops were just flip-flops? Except in Oz of course when it’s a thong…)

Now I am a Mum who is fast approaching her forties (F*ck me when did that happen – the forties that is, I know about the birds and the bees!) I have to be aware that those minor pains are less minor and more fat ass (quite literally) pains.

Luckily for me the nice people at Cloggs have sent me a pair of Fitflops to review.

While I approach their bulk in horror I do find myself admiring the support. I am looking at these less as something to give me a bottom like the one in the picture but more to stop me having to walk like a seventy year old hunch back.

I’m sorry but the sparkles do little to mask the bulk and I do find it difficult to imagine when, based on aesthetics, these would be my style choice, but they are blooming comfy. And yes, supportive; strange as they are designed to destabilise you to make your muscles work harder. I’ll get back to you, with photos, when my arse resembles the advertising picture.

I’ve poked around the Cloggs website and I quite fancy a pair of these ones. I mean if Anna Sui can design them maybe, just maybe I can adjust my sense of style just a little.

I did say maybe…

Silent Sunday

Pass me that stick, I'd like to beat myself

I was reading Sally blog with her ten reasons she is a bad mummy, and you know I have a list of reasons I'm a bad mummy too.

My list covers things from letting Little Girl watch too much telly through to the fact that I relish my time alone a little more than I think I ought to.

And I guess that is actually the crux of the matter: it's what 'I think'.

I'm the one judging me against my own criteria. Criteria not based on any form of reality, just how I think I ought to be.

Basically, I think it boils down to the fact that I am not the mum I thought I'd be.

Oh, and I didn't realise what a chore going to the park could be.

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MY Stairway to Heaven

Restored to it's former glory




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Stairway to Heaven

The title may be a bit misleading and if you are young and were not educated in the way of music by your parents I am probably about to baffle you even further.

You see, I only wish 'that all that glitters is gold', and if I could afford to 'buy' anything right now I wouldn't be writing this post - but now I nearly gave away the punch line.

The drugs are obviously working as I am actually beginning to get things done rather than spending weeks and months just fretting and guilting about them.

Saturday afternoon I painted the front door.

The last two evenings have found me making my way up my stairs backwards, on my bottom. No, I haven't fallen over again, cheeky.I have been painting the stairs. Like Rapunzel I am now stranded in my tower, anyone wanting to rescue me would have to come through the window.

As I painted my way to bed last night little girl came out of her bedroom to watch.

Her comment: 'ooh I like the stairs mummy', went down well.

The comment 'you look like a man mummy', was a little more perplexing.

Apparently I looked like a man because I was painting. Oh my.

Believe you me, if I could afford it or if I had one to hand, I would have got a man in!





Don't lynch me, it's not that I can't do it (obviously), I just would rather not.

Perhaps I best start reading Delusions of Gender


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What do you use your baby's bottom cream for?

Over the last week I have discovered that poverty and vanity are not a good combination.

Last week I allowed my vanity to persuade me that as much as I love the colour of my hair I should hide the grey.

I did. I reached for a Nice n Easy the same colour has my hair not heading the small print that said on natural red hair you will get a lighter red result. To be honest I didn't realise my hair was that red.

The result a red so light it was luminous. Luminous orange that is. A vat of conditioner and a brown semi permanent colour later I am a rather glorious ginger. Oh yes, that IS an improvement.






Today I found a mascara languishing in a bag I hadn't used for about a year. I applied said mascara and have been weeping all day.

But, poverty can me the mother of invention. Ok, I know it is necessity but is vanity really a need? Hmm you have a point. Yes it is.

So, I when I developed what can only be described as acne on my chest do you know how I got rid of it?

I slapped Sudocrem on it every night. It worked a treat.

Apparently women are seeking out the intense moisturising charms of Waitrose's Baby Bottom Butter to slap on their faces.

What do you use your baby's bottom cream for?


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Just for a moment

Yesterday evening there was a moment, just a moment, when I felt like a successful working mum.

I'd been into The City, picked Little Girl up from nursery, gone home and made a snow man card with her. (yes, I do know it is summer but she wanted to glue cotton wool to a card in the form of a snow man - who am I to argue).

After the arts and crafts we snuggled, I read stories and by eight she was asleep and I was doing admin.

By nine I was curled up with a good book on my Kindle.

All this and I only had one gin and tonic.


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Back to the future

Surely this can't be right.

I mean 80s fashion is one thing.

But the Jelly Bag being height of fashion again?







http://m.hm.com/gb/mobilev2/home/summeraccessories__mobileSummerAccessories.nhtml?nr=5&category=-1#poster


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Too damned clever

Little girl resisting sleep, I said I needed her to sleep as I had stuff to do.

Then I said I needed her to sleep because I needed a rest.

First she pointed out that I 'cannot rest and work at the same time, silly mummy'.

And then she patted her pillow and said 'you can rest here with me mummy'.


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Who's zooming who

I know, I know I am showing my age again.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when I desperately tried to employ the distraction technique, but now it seems it is me who is being distracted.

I don't mean that little girl is trying to prevent me having a tantrum. Although, I do have a certain amount of respect for the mother in the advert who throws herself on floor in a full on kicking fit. (I can't remember what the advert is for though. Oh, yes I am a marketeers dream.)

Nope, My little Girl has begun developing an arsenal of tactics for delaying all sorts of things.

Bedtime, for example, started to be delayed by the invention of new songs:

' I have new song mummy, I just sing my new song'. These can be ditties on any topic but often feature poo.

Or, she withholds her good nights 'I didn't say good night to you mummy'.

Other distraction techniques are:

'I have a question for you mummy'
'just want to show you something mummy' - normally said as she wildly casts around for something completely not worthy of showing.

I'm not sure what it says about me, but I think she is better at this than I am.


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Only the crumbliest

I really have turned into the flakiest person I know.

I don't mean I am running whimsically through poppy fields or reclining my perfectly pale body in a bath while seductively eating a chocolate bar.

No I mean I am a crap friend.

When pregnant I'm sure everyone reads the single girls column about how rubbish her baby friends are, all bailing through lack of a sitter; we all shake our heads and vow not to be that way.

You know, there are times when little girl is poorly or refusing to go to her father's and have no choice.

But, just as often these days it is all down to me. The pressure of events in my diary feels like pain not pleasure and I just want to hide from the world and do nothing.

And I mean NOTHING. I have discovered I have an amazing capacity for this, and on days when I can do nothing I find myself not even answering the phone or replying to texts.

Sometimes on these days I do manage to connect to a virtual world via Twitter, no one expects anything from me there.

So basically, on a good day I can be a good friend, and I am always thinking of other people, I just don't manage to let them know.

If I've let you down lately, I'm sorry. It's not personal and I working on being less of a flake and more of a Marathon (snickers doesn't really work there!)


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Stepford child

There are days when I feel the need to tell people I didn't dress my child.

It's not that she dresses in clashing colours, or odd shoes (although I have let her do that once).

It's not that she wears fancy dress, or a crown or a pirate patch.

Nope it's just that if I get dressed first, little girl insists on wearing the same:







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My baby takes the early morning train

This morning little girl decided to bypass the 'but you have to go to nursery as I'm going to work' argument by announcing from the very word go, yes even while still in her bed, that she was 'going to work with mummy today'.

Inside this gave me a big smile, nearly as big as when she sings 'you are my sunshine' to me. But it also bought a little panic...

Panic one: oh no not another stressful evening or her and her daddy as he tries to take her home to his for the night.

But, the biggest panic was OMG no peaceful day in the office drinking hot coffee, talking to adults and not hearing 'mummy, mummy, mummy, mummy I talking to you' every three minutes.

In the end I spent the day buried in eye hurting spreadsheets, she played with friends and went to the park with her father.

I think I lost.


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Roll over

This evening my Handsome Cousin Paul is staying before flying back to LA.

Little girl has kindly given up her bed and is sleeping in mine.




Sounds good so far.

Until you realise she has bought ALL her 'cuggly' toys in with her




She wheeled them in in the dolly travel cot, but they couldn't stay there as the 'little babies' had to be gathered from around the house to sleep in said travel cot.






Not quite sure exactly where I am meant to sleep.

I think that pillow in the background is mine.


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