Climbers and Creepers

Hooray little girl is more of a climber then a creeper and I cannot resist an opportunity for bragging about my child being one of the well behaved and cautiously adventurous children at Kew on Sunday *breathes on, and shines knuckles on chest*.










She wasn't without guile using other children's squabbles as an excuse to squeeze down the slide ahead of them while they squabble. Ooh I guess that makes her a creeper too.





























As a perpetually tired Mum I like this ending best:










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Hmm is there anything you don't already know about me?

I have been tagged by the lovely Carol in a meme, weeks ago.

I have been challenged to tell you seven things that you don't already know about me. My life is an open blog and let's face it what you don't already know you are unlikely to really want to know.

Anyway, here I go:

1, I have only just learnt to like scrambled eggs; it took me more than thirty years to figure out that it is the smell of melting butter that kills me.

2. I will forty next year (writing it in letters rather than numbers makes me feel better about it, that's how old I am)

3. I sometimes dream that my daughter isn't mine.

4. I have a degree in Economics but am flat broke.

5. I'm training to be a trainer, in the mind sense not the physical sense.

6. I used to be so very proud of this blog

7. I like my coffee and tea weak and black, not my men.


Hmm, is that all suitably random? Hey it's the best I can do while supping a mocha. I can't think of anyone to tag who would answer, not to mention that I am so behind the whole blogosphere has probably done this already!


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Please miss...

The dog ate my homework.

Seriously I am so behind on my blogging it is about to become the shortened form of back-logging.

Do you need excuses or even care?

I could site flu, which is true.

Or tell you an elephant sat on my iPad.

But, I know the only person who cares about my lack of blogging is me!


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The little things that make us who we are

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my family for the little traits that they have passed onto my little girl.

The little things that make her who she is but also the little things that tell us where she has come from.

From my mother my daughter has inherited an over sensitive nose that can sniff out a tomato at twenty passes even if you ate it yesterday. It does mean we have many 'what's that smell mummy?' conversations. No sneaky chocolate eating gets passed her little nose.

My beloved little sister has, by only mentioning it once, given my daughter the perfect out for when I am encouraging her to eat with her mouth closed: Isobel points to her nose. Amy was a snotty child and always used a bunged up nose as an excuse to eat like a cement mixer.

Me, what have I taught my child recently?

Well, she is just learning how to eat Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Brownie Frozen Yoghurt straight from the tub.

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When I'm 64

Now, when you become a parent, there is a moment when you think 'few, at least I won't die alone, someone will care for me and miss me when I'm gone'.

Ok, so maybe there isn't really a moment but it may well cross your mind that someone will care for you when you are old and grey and can no longer die your own hair.

Well, at least you think they may pick out a not too bad nursing home in which you can rot in a puddle of your own pee.

Anyway, you think that this 'caring', the helping you dress, wiping the drool from your face etc, will happen a LONG way down the line.

What you do not expect is that every morning your not-quite-three-year old will insist on:

Not only picking out your knickers but helping you climb in them ( yes mine are big enough for a climb, though I don't quite need a rope yet);

That she will, while wearing one of your bras herself, hoist your boobies into their scaffolding, scorning any brassiere that is slightly 'scanty';

You certainly do not expect to have your under arm deodorant applied for you.


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Good mummy, bad mummy

Today we made gingerbread men:







A good mummy, domestic goddess, polish your halo kind of thing.

We even ate all our meals together at the table.

All good stuff.

But little girl should have been at a party. She forgot, and I felt to anxious about it to remind her.

Bad mummy, big mummy fail.

No tick VG, no smiley face just a big angry cross.


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Night John Boy

Now we are hardly Waltonesque in our house. Let's face it, there is only Isobel and me and I think on Walton Mountain we wouldn't even have a bedroom to ourselves.

This evening, however, I was instantly transported to those lush green hills where moonshine rules and you can build your own house from your very own trees without hiring labour outside the family.

I'm sure the doors in my house fitted once, well before I ripped all the carpets up, but now Isobel and I can chat while she is in bed and I'm on the settee. Normally this nothing more than me yelling 'go to sleep' in an obviously very soothing manner.

This evening it went more like this:

'Night Mummy'

'Night Darling'

'I not a darling. I Isobel F..... Big girl. Night Mummy'

'Night Isobel F..... big girl'

'Night Mummy F....'





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Old fool

I have always been quite a sentimental soul, keeping train tickets and theatre tickets, I have even been known to keep stones.

But, being a mum has given me a whole new raft of things to get sentimental about, that is part of the reason I start this blog really: a way to revel in my sentimentality, a way to never forget.

All that preamble is not really what this post is about, it's actually because I cannot believe the things I am sentimental about now.

Ok, so the little plastic clip that was used to clip off LG's umbilical cord is probably understandable, some may see it as yucky but let's face it is the thing that severed the last part of me from her, well physically at least.

In my collection I also have her hospital wrist band, even if it doesn't say her name because we didn't know it right away.

I'm guessing that the item in my collection that you may find the daftest is this:



Yep, a wet wipe container.

I remember going into Boots, heavily pregnant to get the glorious supposed essentials such as maternity knickers, and spying my favoured Pampers in a handy dispensing pack. So, even though I did try to do top and tailing when she was tiny, I gave up in the middle of night and this container saved my life - well my sheets anyway.

And now, it lives in the bathroom. I don't even use it.

But, I can't throw it away.

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Tangled a review or return to the blogosphere

Since Christmas I have slowly been dipping my toe back into the world of mummy blogging.

Today reminded me of what we have been missing; reminded me of all the lovely peeps you can meet and all the lovely things you can do if you put yourself out there a little bit.

I had her first cinematic experience, her first taste of Disney, we met Mickey Mouse and I saw my first 3D picture. Yes, we took up an invitation to a preview of Tangled the new Disney movie.









As in all fairy tales there was a good king and queen, a royal babe / princess, an old hag who wants to be young and a handsome rogue. From what we saw it was fabulous, funny, not quite as predictable as I have made it sound. Shrek like comedy, glorious songs and pretty, pretty long hair.









We donned our 3D specs but little girl asked to come home early, she asked so nicely I couldn't refuse.

But, all that said little girl did say something I had never heard her say before...

'when I grow up I want to be...'

Now I was expecting Penny from Fireman Sam, as she does seem to be obsessed with her...

But no, something I didn't expect from my garage owning little girl... who hates brushing her hair...

When she grows up she wants to be

Repunzel

I am shocked, but I will use it in the morning when I am doing her hair for nursery.





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Tissues Please

Yes, I'm crying again.

Bloomin' heck, what's up with her now? I hear you cry.

Actually it's a book that is making me cry: One Moment, One Morning by Sarah Rayner. I'm only half way through it, but it revolves around the people surrounding a man who dies of a heart attack on a train, and takes us through the emotions of three woman surrounding the incident, including his wife and two very young children.

The descriptions of the emotions are very real for me; I remember the feeling of seeing James after he died, of shaving him and choosing clothes for him; imaging the complete decimation that his mother and sister must be feeling while I had my own heartbreak...

But, actually while those memories are so vivid and yet so unreal, and the pain and grief still there, it is something else that is actually upsetting me most: my relationship with PD.

To say our relationship has soured with the appearance of someone new in my life would be an understatement. I seem to have hurt PD in a way he will never forgive, something I certainly didn't intend; I still love him so dearly.

He is the father of my beautiful little girl and I loved sharing her with him in our own odd little family. Now we still share her but it's not the same.

So why is this book making me cry about that?

How would we deal with the loss of the other? How we explain this to our child? Would we still pull together if anything happened to our precious girl?

It is this that is making me cry.

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Geek - who me?

Well, actually it seems so. I know I work in IT but I really am as technical as a jam jar.

As I mentioned in an earlier post I was give some geeky gifts at Christmas and I love them!

I love the iPad, I have been blogging more because I simply love the way my fingers dance on the keys as I type. Strictly has nothing on my fingers, well maybe Strictly is more sparkly.

But, I have been inseparable from my kindle. I didn't know I wanted one, in fact I didn't want one; I'd been adamant that real books were for me.

Real, tangible books who's pages I could turn; with ink I can smell and covers that look lovely on my bookcase....

How could a grey piece of plastic replace that?

Well, it has. It's more subtle than a book, less shiny than the iPad so can be surreptitiously be read while little girl plays oblivious to the fact that I am not 100% engaged in what she is doing (I know, I know bad mummy).

It's easier to fit in my handbag, I don't have to wait until the postie delivers my latest Amazon order and like a true addict I am chain-reading;
I'm now on my sixth book since Christmas and this isn't even a sponsored post.


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What happens when you're not there...

There are many joys to being a single mum, not sharing your child is both a joy and chore, sharing your child is also a joy and a chore.

No, I haven't lost my marbles; I know I wrote that twice and I mean it in two different ways.

The first, in that having someone there to share the happy moments and actually keeping all that love to yourself.

The second, well that's the sharing that means I came home tonight to a quiet house, a warm toddler free bath and had to share my fish fingers with no-one. It's the sharing that allows me to go on hot dates with a certain young man I know...

But, the second is also the sharing that has me wondering what my daughter is up to; that believes she is inevitably better behaved for daddy than for me; and wonders if she has more fun without me, especially with moments like this that I miss:










But you know what?

She loves me most of all, he misses out on more than I do and I get to have a bit of the best of both worlds.

(But I will check in her empty room on my way to bed.)

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A complete balls up?

Christmas is well and truly over.

I know this not just because I am back to work tomorrow but my sitting room seems to have grown a few feet with the removal of Christmas.

I have even wrestled christmas into the loft. And I mean wrestled.

I have a feeling I only won because Christmas left it's balls behind




(there is always something)

But, before Christmas is condemned to a distant memory I must write a little aid memoir:

Make sure that Father Christmas buys presents that are the right size. Ensure that if he sees reindeer socks hanging up that he checks whether are little girls knee high socks or grown ups ankle socks.

Also, father Christmas should be easily able to locate his snack and not have to stumble around the room trying to locate it because you, I mean HE has forgotten where it is.

Lastly, dear father Christmas you do not need to use so much paper and Sellotape, these little presents are not wrapped for show but for speedy tearing of paper and rapid present revealing.

Oh, and mummies, make sure you pack the actual stocking when you go to Grandma's for Christmas.

Hey ho Father Christmas, we forgive you it was Isobel's first stocking after all.


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Night night leg

I am typing this very quietly as I have been told that Isobel's leg is asleep.

We must leave it alone and be very quiet because it is sleeping.

Which also means it needs to carried everywhere.

Apparently it will wake up in the morning.


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Welcome 2011

Come in, put your feet up. Trifle?

We really are pleased to see you but we are feeling a little introspective and subdued.










Give us a month or six and I'm sure we will be perkier.

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A mixed bag

It is that time when everyone is summing up their year in preparation for the coming one.

To be honest 2010 has passed me by in much of a blur, often quite literally. Depression will do that.

But here are some of the things that I have done:

Bought Clementine and started Glampervan;
Started training to coach people in their personal and professional impact;
Made lots of skirts;
Started a wonderful new romance.

I suppose that makes the year worth living.

Isobel has continued to grow up so rapidly I'm scared I may miss it. She is chatty beyond belief and likes to spend her day singing. Although I am not convinced that her version of Frere Jaques this evening were really the last words I wanted to hear from her in 2010:

Frere Jaques
Dormez-vous
Poo poo head
Wee wee on his face
Glitter in his eyes.

Oh well, as much as I still fail to be firm enough to turn her into a good girl, I love her dearly, and, while I'll give the poo and wee a miss, she will always be glitter in my eye.


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So there it was a merry Christmas

And it was a very merry Christmas.

Well, if you discount the fact that each and every member of the family took it turns to head to the out of ours gp service at the hospital. I think they were under the illusion that you get loyalty points or something and that somehow the turkey may be cheaper next year, leaving more money for presents.

This certainly was the year for presents, well for me anyway. I mean I was given amazing gifts I didn't even know I wanted. I am in love with a kind,e I would have scoffed at the idea of a few days ago....

And you can see this is being typed on an iPad... Well I am supposed to share that with Isobel and actually as I am typing through a haze of finger prints I can honestly say I have shared. (the only reason I am allowed to type on it now is because she isn't here - suggestions for apps gratefully received)

There was a ring... No not that kind, don't get ahead of yourselves.

Bath stuff and champagne and chocs... I could go on but let's just say I was spoiled.

That was me, little girl?

She has a beautiful baby doll, a new pram, a garage and a fire engine. Well balanced in terms of gender related gifts I feel - oh and very like pink, hooray!

As any beautiful little girl (notice I didn't use the word good) would expect, she had boxfulls of presents.

Thank you to everyone who has made our Christmas so special, especially the hand bell ringers and yes that includes you bell no. 8.

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Spot the new decorations

Many of my decorations I have had for years but I feel there will be something new every year now.

Mummy Christmas Fail

It so nearly could have been a failure on a catastrophic level.

The magic of Christmas - 'poof' gone in a puff of pantomime smoke.

I say nearly.

There have been a few small fails, like the handmade stocking from last year being visible around the house all year until December when in vanished without a trace. Perhaps it was snaffled by an elf.









But the big one, the one that would have been an absolute disaster; the one that would have meant broken hearts and shattered dreams quicker than you could drop a bauble?

Well that starts with a post I didn't write.

Isobel watches a lot more telly than would probably be approved off, for me as she plays and sings and dances and is happy I really do not care. Another Mummy fail is that all her favourite programmes are on commercial channels sprinkled rather liberally with adverts; adverts Isobel also ways viewed as an annoying interruption to her schedule.

Until the end of November.

In November Isobel graduated to being impressionable and from somewhere she finally got the idea that all these things were available. Just in time for Christmas no less.

Ignoring this sudden exploration of ALL that is available, I blithly went ahead and bought little girl's Christmas presents.

Now, thanks to the wonders of Peppa Pig one of these I have got spot on.

The other, yes she has only asked for two things, is nothing like the gift I bought.

Isobel has not deviated from her desire. Santa popped into nursery yesterday, leaving his Reindeer on the roof of course, but he only gave Isobel a book.

Little girl return home excited by the visit, but along with Reindeer on the roof her top comment was the lack of the gift she really wanted.

A BIG MUMMY FAIL - my daughter's first proper gift request was not to be granted.

So, I did what all good mother's would. Went to the toy shop at 9am and using the very lasy of my pennies (really, i'm not joking here,) bought the appropriate gift (well my version of her choice - i.e. wooden not plastic).

and I bought a Santa sack for £1 in Poundland to replace the AWOL one.

Mummy Christmas success

Hooray! At last a simple proof of my practical nature and a hint of good mumminess:










Yes I ordered a sledge before the snow arrived!

Much easier than a pushchair and a definite way to win friends!

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The only way to travel

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Hello my old friend

Dear Blog,

I feel I have been neglecting you of late, taking it for granted that you will always be there for me to return to should the mood strike.

Well, it does strike but somehow I don't get to you. For example there are many things I didn't tell you:

Like that when I sprained my ankle recently, Isobel had me getting down with the kids, it wasn't just hopping I had to do; according to Isobel is more a case of 'Hip-hop mummy, hip-hop' or 'come on mummy hip'. Probably for the only time in my life I was hip!

The there are the many ways Isobel will beckon me from her boudoir. One evening it escalated to Mummy, mummy, mummy ... to the tune of We will, we will rock you (I cannot write it without the we will, we will ...)

And then there is Isobel's first Christmas play but maybe I can build up to a whole post about that.

Here's to the festive season, to eating to much, drinking WAY too much and loving lots.

Lots of love,

as always

your absentee blogger

Take on me, take me on

At four o'clock this morning I had a bit of an 'aha' moment.

Nope Morton Harket didn't appear at the foot of my bed, I always preferred Pal anyway...

It was simply this:

It's ok to be happy, it's very much allowed even for me.


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As snug as a....

Ladybird?






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The Princess and the Pea

Ok so Isobel isn’t a princess: ‘ I not a princess mummy, I Isobel F******’

And there isn’t a pea under mattress but I do seem to have been unable to tempt her away from her cot and into her ‘big girls bed’. Her ‘I not a baby mummy’ has been met with ‘so why do you sleep in a bay’s cot’ but this, it seems is just logic and we all know how easily dismissed logic can be.

I bought her a beautiful Iron day bed, picturing her lounging on it as she gets older.








I bought grobag bed linen so I could zip her in all cosy, hopefully replicating the snuggliness of her sleeping bags.

We have read stories on this bed every night since May; she has even volunteered to sleep in it, only to appear at the door five minutes later asking for her cot.

On the last visit to Grandma’s Isobel slept in a big girls bed; at Daddy’s he took down the travel cot and seemingly had no trouble tempting her into her bed.

Me, I thought I’d do that child centred laissez faire parenting thing of believing that maybe Isobel could choose for herself, when she was ready…

The cot came down yesterday evening.

Isobel was coaxed to sleep in her big girls bed by an attentive mummy answering all spurious requests that my ‘not a princess’ issued from upstairs…

The result?

Isobel slept in my bed with me.






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Heartbroken

No, my new romance hasn't yet been short lived, but it seems to be the last straw for another relationship in my life.

PD and I may have broken up two years ago, but our lives have been very much entangled as we have supported each other emotionally and financially he has more than just contributed to his daughter, he has afforded me flexibility.

So maybe I shouldn't even have looked for another guy, maybe I should I have ensured I was fully independent first, but I just didn't think like that.

And now the timing of this breath of fresh air and hope and happiness in my life, seems to have overnight blown away any semblance of a friendship with PD.

And that makes me sad, very sad.

My timing couldn't have been worse, and I can't help feeling perhaps I should wait until both PD and I are in a better place.

And that too would make me sad, very sad.


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Moving on?

As a single mum I think the most difficult thing I have had to do is dating.

I use 'have had to' very loosely because obviously I could quite simply stay single and fill my life with my daughter and girls nights out - actually that has served me pretty well.

Girlfriends urged me to sign up to Internet dating sites to meet men and probably most importantly get over PD.

Well Internet dating didn't really go to well, my heart wasn't in it and I never bothered to go on any dates - far too scary!

But as luck would have it, someone I already knew turned into a prospect, a surprising one, one I kind of fought because it seemed unlikely.

Now actually going on dates is relatively easy; PD has Isobel fairly regularly so great. Plenty of lead up, frock pondering and anticipation time.

But it's other things that are tricky.

When do you introduce new man to little girl, we are pretty much a package?

Overnight stays, I'm the kind of girl who runs out at 5am at the best of times, let alone when I have a daughter returning home at any minute.

When is it serious enough to tell PD; let's face it, it his little girl who will spending time with someone else.

How do I maintain the precious family dynamic that PD and I have battled to create?

When is the right time for that overnight stay to be allowed even though there is a possibility of three in a bed - not in a kinky way!

And most importantly, how do I not only prevent my heart from being broken but keep Isobel's intact too?

So far, for all this angst it seems to be worth it. I'm definitely smiling.


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OMG

Actually the title of this post is somewhat understated, it should read:

OH MY F*ING GOD!

You remember the little chap in Aint Half Hot Mum who used to shake his head going 'Goodness Gracious Me' well to fully appreciate the enormity of what I am describing he would have shaken his head so much it would have fallen off.

Isobel has just had the biggest tantrum I have ever seen, there is no scale big enough to measure it on.

She has just screamed for about 20 minutes.

Yes I do know that that is not good for health. Don't you think I would have stopped her if I could, well short of giving in of course.

What was it over? She wanted to go to bed in my bed; not her cot, not her big-girls-bed (a whole other post) but my bed.

I did everything: I walked away, I reasoned with her (yes I know but you have to try), I held her, I gave her space...

When she was ready I cuddled her and while she sobbed I talked about Friday in the way she had to me earlier:

Friday, Isobel will go to nursery and have her cornflakes. She'll play with her friends and have lunch. But, she won't have a sleep at nursery; mummy will come and pick her up and drive her in the car. Isobel will sleep in the car. Then we will go on the ferryboat and do some colouring. Then we will drive some more to go to Grandma's house and Grandma will give us a cuddle. Grandpa will come home from work and Jack will be on his bed. We will give Hayley her birthday present....

' *sob* I will have a bath *sob* at Grandmas while mummy has a shower *sob*'

And so ended the biggest tantrum n the world. Now she is in her cot reading Charlie Cook to her dinosaur.

I, on the other hand, am drinking a very nice, single malt in a measure that is directly proportional the size of the tantrum.

The family that hops together stays together

In the last 24 hours my daughter has:

Made me 'hop like a bunny' on the Platform at Richmond station;

Smile cheesily in a cafe (maybe it wasn't just Isobel who made me smile there);

And lay in bed with me as we coughed in harmony.

Well actually it went like this:

Me: Oh dear you have caught my cough

Isobel: No, mummy. I have my cough, you have your cough.

Isobel: Isobel's cough is LIKE mummy's cough.

Is it any wonder I find my self often having to be the baby while Isobel plays mummy.

Pinch and a punch

It's the first of November, October is over already - just in case you hadn't noticed.

October was quite a good month for me; it was a month for reconnected with peeps, for getting back in the swing of the social thing.

I have seen friends I hadn't seen for over a year; friends who have even published a book I didn't even know about, and this is someone I count amongst my dearest! Peeps have got married, pregnant and I have just been out of the loop. Too busy being a fruit loop I guess.

I'd stopped hosting lunches, stopped answering my phone and have even got out of the habit of answering emails (which reminds me I must reply as soon as I post this).

This month I have definitely been socially active and believe me, once I get past the anxiety, it feels good.

Let's face it any month that starts with a girly child free outing with my bestest friend has to be good.

Especially when it even ends with a hot date...

Happy Halloween

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Baba

'I not a baby mummy; I a big girl.'

Most of the time I do agree.








But, for just a few minutes after bathtime, she still is. Don't you agree?








(ok she will always be a baby to me)

Sorry

Sorry is a really small word and one that can be tossed around, often without thought, as a quick fix.

Recently, as I've mentioned before, Isobel has been a bit of a pickle and she has started apologising for her behaviour.

I often hear 'sorry mummy'.

Now, I know I should be pleased that she apologises and, that it is quite valid that I feel a little disappointed that it has been necessary (disappointed in both her and in me).


The thing is it actually gives me the fear. Maybe I feel like I am always apologising for being me; perhaps I remember that feeling if knowing that I have disappointed someone who I just want to love me; or maybe it's because I want Isobel to know my unconditional love.

Or maybe I do just want her to be good.






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My little ray of sunshine

This morning I was greeted by a grumpy little girl who could see no good in anything.

In fact I was even driven to ask 'what do you like today?'

The response to which was 'Daddy'.

So I pointed out the joyous news that she would see daddy this evening after nursery. But, even that wasn't quite good enough.

First it was 'Daddy come to our house, no go to daddy's house mummy please?'

When that was agreed, a new plan was contrived: 'we go cafe, westraunt, mummy daddy and mummy too. Please mummy. Okay. Okay mummy please?'

Now I didn't even know that she knew the word restaurant!

So we rung PD, who started his commute to the sound of his daughter requesting to dine out.

Luckily Isobel's idea of a restaurant is Pizza Express.










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Mummy calling Starship Enterprise

Every mother has moments when she wishes the ground would swallow her or better still that Scotty would beam her child up.

Every mother of a two year old has these moments twice as often.

Today I hosted, what used to be a regular, lunch. We had big news to celebrate: an engagement, a marriage and a baby on the way and I only had two couples as guests.

It was an opportunity for catching up and also a perfect time for one of those proud mummy moments when other people meet your angel mini-me and congratulate you on being such a fab parent that you have created a perfectly lovely little girl.

Well that was the plan.

Isobel had other ideas. She had just come back from PDs and she had only had half-hour nap and I had woken her up and she's two, and......

I can make excuses but she smacked little Sam on the Trampoline; she threw a ball at him when he was taking a turn on her bike, smacked him for .... I can't remember, my mind has blanked it out.

In the end Isobel was very eager for Sam to go home and he was equally pleased to have her hand him his shoes and dummy and wave bye bye. Actually they were so pleased to say good bye they kissed.

Our house

Has two floors: down-downstairs and up-downstairs.

And our garden has a big top:







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Mothers and daughters

Today is my Mummy's birthday. Isobel has been excited about Grandma's birthday, she has made a card and has so far resisted posting it as she wants to give it to her.

The relationship between a Mother and daughter has to be one of the most difficult in the world. I am incredibly close to my Mum but it's not always easy.

Maybe mothers and daughter's are too alike; they always know which buttons to press and often without meaning to can hurt the deepest.

I can talk to my Mummy about anything, I can run away home when life gets too much and I know she feels my hurt. I think we are even beginning to dress alike (she is copying me I hasten to add)

Happy Birthday Mummy, I love you...

But, I'm scared witless about having a daughter myself!

Out of the mouth of my babe

On Saturday my daughter called me a 'slag'.

Now I'm the first to admit that, in my past, I have had my slutty moments but I would never be described as a slag!

I (like to) think it was a slip of the tongue as PD was trying to teach her that term of affection he uses for me and his mum: old bag....

But I really can't fathom how she got to slag!


Oh, as I typed that I can: it's yet another one of PDs pet names for me.

(I promise he doesn't mean it, he is just misguided and sometimes it's wishful thinking in his part!)


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Birthday resolution

I believe birthday resolutions should always involve a positive action, not be something you will no longer do but something you will.

So, this year I resolve to believe a little more.

I will believe in myself, in love and in happy ever afters.

Birthday Boxing Day

Today is the day after my birthday and I should be up and at 'em, putting my best foot forward and brimming with positive resolutions for the next year.

But, my feet ache, my head is throbbing, my ears are ringing, my mouth feels like a badgers bottom (not that I have ever licked one -honest),and my diet red ambulance is in the fridge downstairs which is too far away.






Yes, I had a great night!

And I am giving thanks that I do not have a two year old bouncing on my head.

I'll make resolutions after my shower when my drinkers self loathing fades.

Things my daughter has said to me this week

Waking up time mummy. Stretch. Come on Mummy stretch.


Zabracadabra make mummy's hands dispear; zabra mummy's hands better again.
Zabrabcabra make Mummy's face dispear; ooh not like that mummy.
zabra mummy pretty again; Oh.


(me: have you played nicely today?) No, I fight Emily.


I don't like that dress mummy, nooo mummy. *points to dress I'M wearing*


So looking forward to her being a teenager - not

The End

Yes, yes I know that sounds awfully dramatic, but I do like a bit of drama.

It's just that this last weekend has had me thinking a lot about ends while trying to focus on the continuings.

Sunday was the fifth anniversary of the loss of my beloved James, an end that could not be more definite, the curtain call from which there is no encore. A lesson that love cannot conquer cancer but that it can allow you to hold on to memories, sad and happy, memories that show you have lived.

I was home for the weekend to celebrate (in advance) my birthday and to ensure I had enough love to wrap myself in when the worst of the memories come flooding back. There is always a lot of love when surround by my family, long may that continue.

Then on Monday I was literally stopped in my tracks by a sign that something else has come to an end. I drove down the lane to 5 High, my true north, to find the gates closed and padlocked. Indeed I didn't park in the yard as I always have. No-one lives there any more.

More memories: memories of the old wooden gates that were there when a studio formed a bridge over the top; the small yale locked door you unlocked to go in and open the big wooden gates; falling down the drain when standing behind someone unlocking the little door, my poetry book still tells the tale - I was clutching it at the time; catching the bumper of my Renault on the wooden gates as I reversed up the lane with Grandad yelling 'left-hand down' etc. - directions that never helped but served to fluster, he was a navigator and I can't tell left from right....

I guess the memories continue even when a part of a life ends.

Dear Darwin

What biological imperative does whinging and whining satisfy?

Because surely it must act contrary to a toddlers survival instinct.



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Things we have learnt this summer

Isobel has learnt that chilli makes her 'tongue feel funny'

She learnt to catch at the begining of the summer and you have never seen anyone smile so wide.

Isobel has also discovered that 'RossandAmanda' is actually one person called Ross and another called Amanda, not two people both with the name 'RossandAmanda'.

She knows all the words to 'Brown Bear, Brown Bear' but we have also learnt that there are two different editions.

Little girl can pierce her own drink carton and open her own yoghurt.

She is an expert at balancing.

What have I learnt?

That my daughter will always amaze an delight me...

except with her learning of the phrase 'I don't like...'; a phrase I never knew could be repeated and applied so often in the space of ten minutes. Funnily enough she has yet to say 'I don't like chocolate'.

My true north

Some people think the magnetic north is located somewhere near the north pole; it's not true. Well, not for me anyway.

My true north lies at 5 High.

A month ago we scattered my Grandfather's ashes off the end of the pier, he took two sisters with him (in ash form obviously!), so he will not be short of 'head leaders'.

A few weeks ago my Aunt rang and asked if there was anything from the house I wanted as Grandma is not going to live there any more, so these are the things I would like:

I would like the outside shower full of sand after we have all come back from the beach;

the sound of feet swinging on the black box outside the loo while we all queue to spend a penny before going out;

telling stories of Maggie the witch who lives through the hatch in the loo;

Grandma and Grandad's bed scaled with the help of a chair as we all pile in;

the fairies that danced in the fire while we toasted crumpets;

the twin beds that Katy and I slept in - my blankets remaining beautifully tucked in after I slept like a 'princess' and watching Katy struggle to remake hers the next morning.

Wardrobes full of cousins as we play sardines at Christmas.

The poster grandma would put on my bedroom door at Christmas when I was little;

the claw foot bath ...

I could go on about the summers I worked with Grandparents; my Grandma meeting me off the bus for a weekend with them..

but actually as I have typed this I have realised that many of my 5 high memories are also memories of my cousins, and all the summers we spent together, and I guess we still all have each other and the Hut.

It's time...

to hang up my flip flops; summer is over.

There is a slight chill in the air which means if I do not hurry there will be no time left to write down the posts that have been percolating in my head in the sunshine.

It's time to get back to two things I love but am out of the habit of: blogging and yoga!








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Step away from the sewing machine

My mother has told me she is 'sick of seeing bloomin skirts' , she didn't say bloomin but I am being polite. She also mentioned that I may be addicted to sewing at the mo, if that is the case then Backstitch.co.uk should cut me off, wonderful 'dealer' that they are.

It was this book that suddenly started me off again, 'Lovely Things to Make For Girls of Slender Means' by Eithne Farry. I just saw it by the till at Foyles, it called to me and I bought it. In fact both my skirts were made from this book.



Then I found the Grosgrain Blog and her 'Frock by Friday' - hence the blue dress.

Sewing has given me far more satisfaction that I remembered. I like the feeling of having made something, and yes being complimented on it makes it more so. (Just as well no one looks too closely, I'm not a great and accurate seamstress.)

It's not just that, it is kind of meditative, it stops me ruminating, stress and generally being anxious.Let's face it, it has meant I done' have too much time to fret about PD being out of work; or how I will juggle being a mum with maintaining a job, retraining for a new career and if I will be able to afford to follow that career let alone manage to logistics of getting across London whilst doing nursery drop of and pick up, once I have trained; or how we scattered Grandad's ashes off the pier so he really is gone; should I get a boob job; whether or not Glampervan we will be the success we need it to be because we love Clementine so much; should I get a boob job; blah blah blah.....

And it doesn't leave my hands free to blog or to tweet.

The fact that it let's me have pretty and original outfits is a bonus too!

One last picture, I made this for Isobel who refused to have her picture taken but wore it for two days.








Normal service will now
resume. Well once I have made a couple more dresses for Isobel, fixed her curtains, a skirt and dress AND a top for me... guess the sewing machine won't be going away anytime soon.

I will stop sewing and start blogging soon

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I will be a good mum and start sewing for baba tomorrow promise

Today I made this from the free coffee date dress pattern on burdastyle.com. It need jigging, but I think it's ok:




(will look better with a bra!)

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Suffering for my art!

That's a very grand title and probably not entirely true.

Actually my blog has been suffering for the sake of my sewing...

On Wednesday evening I made this butterfly dress with fabric from backstitch.co.uk and a pattern from burdastyle.com











On Thursday evening I made this












Then I went to the Isle of Wight...

Then yesterday evening I made this outfit










The skirt was an eBay dress and I ran the top up.

Tonight I have cut out the pieces for a dress, but it looks frightfully small!

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Hipstamatic - my weekend seventies stylie

Loving the Hipstamatic app for the iPhone!

And loving the seaside if course...
















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How old am I?

I have just been to a school friend's party, in a sixth form haunt; I was driven there by step-father and picked up by mummy.

How old do you think I am?


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Always a day away

At 4:30 this morning I had definitive proof that my baba has a grasp of days and time.

She doesn't always remember the days of the week but recognises them as markers in space time continuum (no, Isobel doesn't use those exact words, that would be freaky!).

Yesterday we had much chat about how we were grandma's tomorrow, Isobel pointed out that that was after sleep, a good start of the recognition.

At 4:30 this morning little girl was standing up in her cot singing 'i go to grandma's today!'.

If my head hadn't been buried under my pillow I would have joined in.


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What's wrong with this picture?

Yes, you guessed it - Isobel is wearing Crocs.

This is something I fought a long hard internal battle over.

The fact that Al Pacino wears them didn't stop me signing up to the 'when-I-see-Crocs-I-throw-up-a-little-in-my-mouth' club.

But, after going through a pair of expensive sandals in a day, I begun to see why they could be good for little ones who drag their feet while riding cars. My cousin Katy would have certainly stubbed her toe less if she'd had them growing up.

This little debate has gone on for more than a month; I discussed it with other Croc haters and we agreed we couldn't do it.

But, I was wavering.

Then when we went Camping and I saw Erica had given in and bought 'Vieve a pair, I knew it would all be ok.

I am still a gladihater though and will not be buying Crocs or Gladiators for myself. But I said that about fitflops...


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Cooking the books

I am an accountant in denial; one who really hates numbers and spreadsheets.

My daughter loves playing with a calculator, although I am happy to say she uses it as a telephone.

But seriously, cooking the books?






Ps. I'd rather she was a pirate










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The one in which we attempt to be literary - well nearly

Hi my name is surprise mum and I am a book addict.

That actually wasn't a tough admission, it's try I am a voracious reader, I devour books and consume them like some people do chocolate. My favourite people tend to be the same.

As Isobel is definitely one of my favourite people and she is heading the same way, so we have been reading ALOT; and like all little bookworms we are big fans of the Gruffalo and all things Julia Donaldson and Alex Scheffler.

I suspect everyone has heard the theory that there are only actually seven stories, and everything is a variation upon a theme but I was very surprised to hear a Turkish fairy story where the Hodja (wise man) advises a man who feels his house is cramped to take in all his pets and then remove them in order to appreciate the space he has - Squash and a Squeeze anyone?

Then I was reading the new Scarlett Thomas book the other day (a great book, full of fascinating literariness, has inspired me to read Aristotle's Poetics next), and one of the characters recounts a chinese fairy tale about a tiger who captures a fox. the fox makes the tiger walk behind him to prove that actually the fox is the scariest animal - sounding familiar?

At first I admit to being miffed that they weren't original stories, but now I think good on them for invigorating the originals, if they carry on like this we have many more to look forward to but I'd love to know which one inspired The Snail and the Whale.

Mummy fail - yet again

I really didn't think being a mum would be easy.

I never wanted to have a perfect angel child, because somehow children that are too good give me the creeps.

I always wanted a child with something about her, a bit of a spark, an adorable cheekiness.

I certainly never intended to spoil my child.

But most of all, I thought I would be FAR FAR better at discipline than I am.

I'm as firm as my thighs (clue: I haven't done yoga for months!, my voice becomes so high pitched I can join in with the twilight barking and I have no idea why evolution gave us whining.

I think I will just go sit on the naughty step a while.*


*I tried the naughty step on Isobel and she thought it was funny, so funny she would come back in smack PD again and say 'I go sit on step', she would sit on the step and repeat the whole exercise.

The Gallery Play

Sticky Fingers: The Gallery: Week 22

I love this camping picture.  It was the evening, and Isobel was running towards me, still playing as the sun sets.

Yes, at last I have managed to take part in The Gallery!  (Even if I did use this as an excuse to repost a picture from Monday)

We went glamping in a Glampervan

I've never really been camping before, well not in this country but on the basis of a romantic notion I went ahead and bought a campervan.


Yes I set up Glampervan to help me pay for it, but the main purpose was to literally provide a vehicle for entertainment and travel for me and my little girl.

It would be dreadful if we hated it. We didn't even hire one first.

Luckily we loved it. We took more seasoned campers with us on our first trip, Erica-May and Genevieve were our guides and although we heard more 'mine!'s from the two girls than we did bird song from the trees, we couldn't have asked for better company.

This may have been my first trip but I already feel qualified to offer words of wisdom (yes, I'll show you pictures in a minute but 'stuff' first:

Baking scones before you go means instant cream tea and happy campers!

Take pre-cooked chicken and sausages so that on your first evening and morning you can throw these on on the barbie and dinner will be ready in a time frame suited to two year olds.

Garlic bread and corn-on-the-cob cook well just wrapped in the fire and placed in the coals.

If the log man comes late on day one buy two bags so you can light the fire for supper before little girls want to go to bed - genius Erica, pure genius.

Make wishes on sugar sprites in the fire - sprinkle sugar and see the sprites.

Make sure your daughter wakes up peacefully and slowly on her last morning or she will be grumpy and cry for the television and her cot the whole time you pack up - this will not make that chore any easier.

Hand written signs on the side of the road are worth following for a little fair magic.

Oh, and it may take three attempts for a much asked for pony ride to be successful.

The camper may also provide hours of fun.