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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*blush*

I have just had supper with a lovely lovely friend whose lovely lovely other half always meets her from the train station after dark. I've always wanted to be the kind of girl that boys felt protective like that towards. But I'm guessing that girls like that don't suffer the embarrassments I have in last week.

Last Tuesday I was merrily wending my down Chancery Lane, when a polite 'excuse me' alerted me to the fact that my skirt was tucked in my tights. At least I was wearing knickers.

Then on Thursday as I was heading up in the lift to my office in St Pauls I noticed the care label on my dress. Oh yes, you guessed it: I had commuted, via nursery, with my dress on inside out.

This morning as I strolled over Blackfriars Bridge a gust of wind blew the full skirt of my yellow dress up in a Marilyn Monroe fashion; but unlike Marilyn I did flash my orange knickers to the world.

Yes, it's ok knights no need to polish your armour.


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Hidden Springs Glamping

I have proclaimed our first mother daughter camping trip a failure; it rained we came home very early.

But then I looked at these pictures and now I'm not so convinced it was a disaster.





































I want to go back.

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Mice and mothers

You know sometimes things just happen how you picture them? well I had a bit of that on Monday.

Little girl had been looking forward to seeing her best friend and, to be honest, I was in desperate need of a bit of a chat, so we sent a breakfast invitation text and hooray it seemed like a plan.

But then those things happen that happen when us free thinking, living breathing, independent human beings get together, things didn't go to plan.

The little girls couldn't agree where to sit so I ended up heaving chairs about - aggravating my back.

Little girl changed her usual order to be the same as her friends but then didn't like it.

(It's such a hard stage to navigate when you yourself are still in the trying to be an individual and your child just wants to be like her friends, time to teach her the 'the same but different' me thinks)

Yes, I did get her her usual plain croissant because I knew she was hungry, yeh yeh bad mummy. I know.

Nice comic sharing occurred ahh I thought.

Then there was a little girl putting a leaf in the arm of her friends chair debacle. Debacle because in the way that only three year olds can muster, her friend didn't want a leaf on her chair, friend drama'd and little girl persisted.

I took little girl outside to convince her to desist. Then we sat on our own and little girl ate some breakfast and went over to apologise, she returned upset that she hadn't had an apology back - I wasn't there but I think she just didn't hear.

We re-united. But, then I had promised that if little girl ate breakfast we could go. More chaos over wether all going, catching up etc... Little girls that it is.

In this confusion Little Girl decided to look through her magnifying glass to see her friend bigger, it wasn't close up, but more drama and more persistence ensued.

And I got cross, cross with both of them, actually at this point it was probably the drama that was getting to me. Yeh Bad Mummy again. I said, quite fiercely, to both of them (yep bad mummy again again) they obviously didn't want to play together so took my little girl away.

All she kept asking was where's her friend was. Poor little girl loves with all her heart. But, while I didn't feel the drama was justified what could I do?

There were reunited later and played nicely in the park, but it was awkward. I had sent a text apologising for getting cross with both of them, I did explain to little girl that if, whatever her intentions, her behaviour upsets someone she she should just walk away or stop.

But, I can't help feeling that these two have developed this pattern and I think little girl is going to get her heart broken.

The rest of our day?

Was fab. Little girl took herself off for thirty minutes 'rest'.

Then we made this stepping stone - oh yes you can have a bejewelled stepping stone.

We gardened, we shared a sun lounger and chatted and all felt right in the world.




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The sunshine weighs blissfully heavy on my eyes

This is not a sponsored post but it will be littered with product placements and links, I am just wanting to share my day with you (obviously all freebies and samples gratefully received!) My near perfect day, that cost me very little but allowed me to connect with many of the under appreciated things in my life. Things I used to take for granted.

Ok, this wasn't quite how my lie-ins of old used to go, but I still count an hour in bed with little girl as a heavenly time even if does involve You Tube. Our favourite today:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jc20vMz0V7Q&feature=youtube_gdata_player


Then little girl went to her daddy's and a little rain fell in my perfect day with his inevitable criticism of something, anything, as I handed her over.

Me, well I met someone very dear to me for brunch at Jamie's Recipease.

I pootled on home to hand over the keys to a temporary entrustee of my Darling Clementine, before embarking on a spot of Wii Yoga and Pilates.

Then I allowed the sun to weigh heavy on my eyelids as I sat in the garden in my favourite lounger and took time to just be.

Oh my Fing G how long has it been since I did that; truly nothing, no reading, no writing, no doing at all just being.

I listen to the birds nesting in the hedge above my head, I even watched them forage and feed. Wow, a garden peaceful enough to do that in, I repeat WOW!

Inspired by rest and the possibility of pottering I even trimmed the hedges by hand. Thus exercising biceps and not disturbing the birds.

Then I sat and just was some more.


A bath with some L'occitane lemon verbena bubbles (a precious gift -the bubbles not the bath, although now I come to mention it...) and an Elemis Exotic Moisturising Face mask, a freebie from when I could pay £100 for face cream and not blink...

Sounds glamorous until I tell you I used a pair of little girls knickers to tie my hair up, clean of course.

And now here I am feeling at peace, tippy typing a peaceful ( and some might say dull) post on my ipad (yet another gift) to celebrate a delightfully easy day, with much room to breathe.

A day rounded off in new Gap pjs, enjoying a supper of red wine and chocolates and an opportunity to catch up with emails, sky plus and an early night.













Oh another slight blight when my Alessi savaged the cork and I had to resort to the lazy fish.

I really do love my life but I have a long way to go before I feel I really live it.




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Bunny hop

Sometimes I do wonder what a mummy needs to do to rock a little girl's world. (In a good way of course; aren't you down with the kids?)


If you ask my little girl what she did this weekend, she will adopt that face that says 'well...' and proceed to tell you, very proudly, that:

I was sick in my car seat 'cos I had too many crisps on ferry boat'


Now this is true, but how did this become the headline in a weekend in which we went home to Grandma's?

We celebrated Grandpa's 60th birthday

Went to see the bluebells



Ate ice cream (AMazing stem ginger for me) and paddled at the seaside



Even went on Grandpa's boat

Went to 'Robin Hill Park' with Isla




AND what does she choose to tell you about? Being sick in the car.








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I'll give my bloody leg stress

So what was it?

Some stress response to an old injury, bio-mechanical issues ...

Basically saying I walk funny and I bump into things.

Actually they used far more technical words to explain the lesion on my tibia, but they did say I could avoid surgery and they will zap it with their infra red laser beams.

Ok, so maybe the last bit makes me sound like I will be lying in the arms of Superman while his loving gaze heals me... Sorry getting carried away again...

Seriously, they can fix me without surgery but I will still walk funny and bump into things...

And right now I may not feel the relief I expected but I do feel bloomin emotionally exhasted.






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Poxy pox

When one of your bestfriends tells you there is a chicken pox jab, and even tells you where to get it for your pretty little girl ...

Do get round to doing something about it.








At least she is in good company







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Diary of a not cancer diagnosis

Friday April 1st

Me: Doctor, doctor I have a bone in my leg and it hurts.

Wednesday April 6th

Freak out because the red-light over the x-ray table makes me think of James and radiation. Cry, struggle to breathe, call my mum.

Random panic subsides

Thursday April 7th

8pm miss a call from doctor wanting to discuss my x-ray. Try to call back, but surgery switchboard is closed.

Panic slightly.

WTF this is the NHS results should take a week!

Ring my mum.

Ring my ex, knowing if anyone will relish the opportunity to tell me not to be ridiculous it's him. I'm right, he does.

Friday April 8th

Sleepless night.

Drop little girl at nursery and start calling doctor. Receptionist says he's not in until 11:30. Cancel work, ring my mum, camp out in Neros.

Can't wait until 11:30, call again at 11. Not sure what I am expecting, in that kind of state of numb dread, let's face it it's not going to be the all clear.

Speak to doctor he says come in at 2:30 WTF is going on....

Arrive at surgery at 2, fail miserably to even concentrate on 2001 edition of Country Life.

Right, radiologist says: myeloma, oedema or lymphoma. Doctor says is unlikely but as is a tumour MRI needed.

Breathe, really, really try hard to breathe.

Try to remember what doc says but hard when have a piece of paper with 'Oma words on. Even the guy at Bupa goes quiet when I ask for pre-approval. Book MRI for Monday afternoon.

Go to a friend, drink wine, fast, call girls council of war for Tuesday. I want my friends, I want to hide, I want my family, I want to hide, I want to hide, I want someone to hold me and tell me it's ok, I want to hide.

Saturday and Sunday

Put one foot in front of the other, breathe, can't think, don't want to think.

Breathe.

Can't cry, even in my lonely bed. Nose prickles, tears get stuck in my chest.

Monday 11th

At work, write this:


It's just too big to think about. My chest get's tight, the Walls start closing in and I find it hard to breathe. It's getting too dark.


It will all be fine. Of course it will, I have a beautiful three year old daughter how can it not?

Fuck my leg hurts; there is a knot in my tummy. I want to cry, I can't cry even though my nose prickles.

Breathe, breathe. Breathe as if into a paper bag and be calm.

It will all be ok, things always are, eventually.

Breathe, relax your shoulders and just breathe.

I have the attention span of a gnat today. Or maybe I am doing the gnat an injustice; maybe a gnat read a whole sentence in one go.


Catch bus, arrive at hospital an hour early as I know not what else to do.

Surgeon seems unworried until he does new X-ray and is told no MRI until Friday, then the reassurances get drowned out by him telling radiology that we are looking for bone tumours.

I mean tumour doesn't mean the c word, it's just a thing...

Pick up little girl, she seems even more beautiful, more wonderful. What would she know of me if.... FUCK cannot go there, cannot think like that.

Tuesday April 12th

WFH waiting for call for MRI. Just cannot concentrate. Cannot think. Struggle to do ANYFUCKINGTHING.

Wednesday April 13th

Called in for MRI. Reassured by radiologist saying is teeny tiny.

Thursday April 14th

Manage to work, sort of.

Bath little girl and watch spots appear before my very eyes. No, it isn't the large quantities of wine I have drunk this week, little girl has chicken pox.

Call my mum. She laughs at me; the other day I told her we only get dealt what we can deal with...

Arrange care for Little girl so I can go to the hospital for the results.

Friday April 15th

Little girl's best friend has the pox too, so arrange play date for her and a welcome back committee for me.

Put fizz in the fridge.

All f'in clear. Longest week of my life, now all clear.

Not sure it has sunk in. Waiting for the relief. Go hide in coffee shop, not ready to talk yet.

Still waiting for the relief, I thought it would be instant.

Receive this text: Fucking Hell. What a load off. And that's how I feel. Jesus.

Monday April 18th

Everyone is so pleased for me. I can feel my shoulders clenched ready to breathe sigh of relief but not yet doing it.

Every time someone is nice to me I feel a little more ... A little more I am not sure what... Still numb... Nose still prickles but the sobs are being contained in my tight tight chest, trapped in my throat.

Maybe when the chicken pox is over...


All drama, no plot that's me.




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It's just too big to think about.

It's just too big to think about. My chest get's tight, the Walls start closing in and I find it hard to breathe. It's getting too dark.

It will all be fine. Of course it will, I have a beautiful three year old daughter how can it not?

Fuck my leg hurts; there is a knot in my tummy. I want to cry, I can't cry even though my nose prickles.

Breathe, breathe. Breathe as if into a paper bag and be calm.

It will all be ok, things always are, eventually.

Breathe, relax your shoulders and just breathe.

I have the attention span of a gnat today. Or maybe I am doing the gnat an injustice; maybe a gnat read a whole sentence in one go.

Sent from my iPad

All by myself

A few hours ago I was feeling as lonely as hell.

The only time I had felt so lonely before was when I lost a true love.

I have a letter from a Dr and a radiologist that has some very very scary words on it, but at the mo they are just words, idle threats as it were.

But then I made a few calls. I made my mum cry but just because she loves me.

I then spent a couple of hours in a friend's garden drinking Chablis; we called a council of war of the girls for Tuesday; and I came home and tweeted.

Suddenly I'm not drinking quite so alone.


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Didn't we?

I know I've said it before but I still feel the same way so I'll say it again: language development really amazes me.

Isobel has a few mistakes in her language, for example she will ask who is 'lifting' her up from nursery, but otherwise she really does get it spot on.

Her latest thing is adding an adjunct onto her sentences:

Didn't we
Mustn't I

And so on.

She always get's the right, just like she did when she learnt 'too', and all of them seem to have come along at once.

I have no idea how she does it.


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Who me?

Last week I tweeted something along the lines of:

I have no self-discipline and I am really beginning to p*ss myself off

And the more I have thought about this throw away tweet I have realised how very true it is,

I am fat because I have no diet willpower

I am broke because I use shopping to make myself feel better - it doesn't work, see above.

I hate mess but I am untidy and often hang my clothes on the floor.

Hmm, I see a common theme here. Anyone would think I was in charge of my life!

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Mothers

This is post I spent a lot of time thinking about yesterday but doing nothing with.Today, given my mood it could so easily have become a post about mother f*ckers, or should that be muva?

Anyway, so yesterday was mothers day, a funny lovely day for many people for many reasons. Funnily enough it is today I am missing my mum the most, just because I need a mummy hug.

Don't get me wrong, my mummy is only on the Isle of Wight so really not far away at all, but sometimes it just feels far.

You see my relationship with my mum is not always an easy one, and it seems that the mother daughter relationship can be one that can cause a hell of a lot of pain in both directions, but, luckily it seems to be an ever enduring one.

So there are many great things about going home...

The thing I have most appreciated lately is going home and being able to sleep when the drugs and laid me low.

The other thing I love most about going home is sitting on the settee of an evening feeling about 12 but being allowed wine. How great is going out and still, even though I am a mother myself, being picked up by my mum?

But, the thing I really, really truly love most of all about going home is that my Mummy is there.


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And from the Met office...

Little girl's wisdom is beyond criticism.

This morning, a grey and slightly drizzly morning, she little girl insisted on wearing the very light spring mac her daddy had bought her for her birthday.

As we scooted to nursery Isobel said 'mm chilly'.

I pointed out her light coat, in return she pointed to the sky and said:

'Mummy, it's not the coat that's chilly silly. It's because the sky is grey and not sunny.'

She the scooted off chuckling to herself and shaking her head at the folly of her mother.


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4th Mother's day

This Sunday it is Mother's Day. Oh, sorry the vomit inducing adverts have already told you that - why are they all so pink?

Anyway, this is a purely selfish post. I have a lovely mummy who I will be celebrating on Mother's day but this is about my fourth Mother's day as a mummy; little girl was born the day before Mother's day in 2008, she is good like that.

Every year I have been spoilt with notes of love and support from little girl and her daddy, accompanied by beautiful days.

This year I will of course get a card from my little girl, her nursery will see to that, but there will be no appreciative notes from her father. For some reason I find the lack of that friendship and support incredibly hard.

But the wine bottle is empty so this pity party must draw to close.




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A happy little scroll

I have just taken a scroll down memory lane and read some of my very early blog posts, before and after PD left.

One thing I can say is I miss blogging like that, and I miss our funnily not-really-family Sunday's.


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Stranger Danger

Little girl and I had a falling out on Sunday.

She cried at the checkout in Waitrose...

She carried on crying in the street...

I tucked her under my arm, and unsurprisingly, she cried and kicked there.

She continued crying in the car...

She cried all the way home.

She cried in the hallway.

She took the car keys and facing the door she hid behind the door curtain, crying.

I ignored her.

Then I tackled her, gave her milk and a cuddle that forced her to breathe again.

My crime? My evil mummy dede?

I wouldn't let her stand and wait for me OUTSIDE the shop.



(is it coincidence that I had just picked her up from PD's?)

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Things I Love about being a mum No. 700,018

I love finding hairclips in my coat pocket.

I'm not so keen on pulling out a tissue wrapped around a dried up spat-out haribo.

That Monday Feeling

This morning I walked to nursery carrying my handbag, a scooter and a nursery bag.

I was holding the hand of a very pretty little girl who was making a very not pretty noise.

In fact it was so not pretty I am struggling to describe it.

It was a fake crying-sulky noise along the lines of

'euggghhhhhhh eughhhhhhhhh ...... '

She did stop briefly when her friend was describing a poo she found in her back garden.

Otherwise, it was unbroken for the whole eight minute walk. Obviously I got no funny looks along the way.


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Lay me on an Altar and Batter me

These are not just any muffins. These are my-body-is-a-temple-you-may-worship-me-as-a-goddess healthy muffins.




And all because I want something sweet with my coffee tomorrow morning.

Nom-nom


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Minnie's Bowtique Review

This is a sponsored post only in that I have been sent some freebies for little girl, but not in that I am being paid to review.




To be honest the only reason I agreed to watch the new Playhouse Disney, Mickey's clubhouse episode is because it happens to be little girls chanel of choice at the mo. She first latched on to Handy Many perhaps picking up on her mothers desire for one of those herself...

Or possibly as a result of our meeting Mickey at the Tangled preview....

and so the web of social media is woven....

So, what did we think of Minnie's Bowtique?




Little girl enjoyed it. She loves the songs and shouting 'hey toodles!'.

But, as a girl who seems to have as many cars as dolls, I don't think she saw it as any different to normal, a girlier girly may well.

Her new Minnie is asleep in her bed as we speak/type/read

Me, I giggled at the el-bow joke and have developed a greater tolerance of the 'Hot Dog' song since I found out it is performed by They Might Be Giants.

So Minnie's Bowtique on on Saturday at 9am on Playhouse Disney

I have mixed feelings about Disney, I love the old school magic but, but is it all a little much? I guess only my little girl and time will tell on that one. I'm not ruling out a trip to the Magic Kingdom one day.

Am I the only one who still hears ' M I C K E Y....' in her head at any mention of the mouse himself ?


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Sunshine on a cloudy day

Ideas above our Station

People who know me may say that occasionally *cough* I suffer from delusions of grandeur. Although, I think they only relate to eating implements: I have to use a soup spoon for soup; I eat fish and chips with a fish fork and cake with a cake fork.

All sensible and actually not posh at all.

Little girl on the other hand is the real deal.

She has had more birthday's than the queen. There was the party at Grandma's on Saturday.








Her real birthday spent with her Mummy and Daddy









As she missed out on a nursery birthday she had that yesterday.

And the big party tomorrow. A whole lotta birthday.

It get's posher.

PD has his own train station and I have one too. I even have my own fleet of trains. Next time you see a white Southwest trains train give me a royal wave please.


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Three years old and just like the girl who had a little curl...

My darling girl, today is your third birthday and while we may not be spending it the way I would have hoped, it very much is something to celebrate. Hence me giving daddy a bottle of wine the same age as you.

Now as much as I love the fact that you can be at times a mini me, looks wise you are growing to look more and more like your daddy everyday. You have my chin and as daddy has no hair, I guess your hair looks like mine does now.

In other ways you resemble your father too: once you make up your mind about something your mind stays made up ( definitely not like mine), for example you decided weeks ago you wanted a monkey birthday cake, but Grandma and I thought we'd wait and see if that changed, but it didn't.

The worst insult and expression of displeasure with someone you have is to inform them that they 'are not your best friend'; unfortunately I hear this often, especially when I don't do as I'm told.

But, it's ok I know I am your favourite person in the whole wide world and I am very lucky to be so and to have you as mine.




You are a beautiful girl, who can be marvellous company and also be a little brat, but you are my little girl

And I love you

For all that you are and all that you will be.


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Monkey Business

We have just come back from celebrating little girl's birthday on the Island. Coming home is always hard as as much as we love our little life and our little house, it is all so much smaller than when we are there surrounded by our very much nearest and oh so more dearest.

It's actually quite lonely without them all.

Anyway, we had a party, invited brothers, sister, sister in laws, cousins, bestist friends, goddaughter and closest Aunt and Uncle. Grandma and Grandpa were the hosts with the most.

Little girl's wish for a monkey cake was fulfilled by her fairy Grandmother.





And in her own words it was 'the best birthday party ever'

(even with her sudden balloon phobia)

Thank you everyone, you will be a hard act to follow on her actual birthday this Tuesday...


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My most compelling reason for an upgrade to iPhone 4

I love my white iPhone, I love it's curves and it's apple whiteness. I have been due an upgrade for a year now but I have been hanging out for the ever promised white one but I may now succumb anyway.

Why?

Well, in my day pictures where taken, film was left to languish in drawers until discovered one day, so many months later you no longer know what is on it. I remember the green Truprint envelopes so well.

And the joy when the photos arrived in a packet in the post.

Now little girl asks to see the photo practically before I have taken it.

I know this still doesn't answer why I want an iPhone 4: I want one because I want to be in the picture too.

Not because I like pictures of me, but because there are so few of me and my little girl.


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Why do we teach our children to talk?

So at 1:30am they can come into our beds, poke us and say:

I talking to you Mummy.

Obviously.


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When the bough breaks

Ok, so I'm no club style crooner; I do a mean Frere Jacque but what does it say about my rendition of Rock a-bye Baby when my daughter interrupts me with: 'go away mummy, I go to sleep now on my own. You go downstairs'.

Hmm, moving swiftly on.

Little girl had very distinctive fashion ideas this weekend.

Red cords under a dress for a party:




And how else do you accessorise your pjs on a Sunday morning but with a pair of wings and a butterfly hat:




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Disney me up

As I mentioned in this previous post, we were invited to by Disney to go see Tangled and we loved it.

Well, what we saw of it. Little girl found her first cinematic experience a little too much and we left early.

But we saw enough for Little Girl too decide that she would be Repunzel when she grows up.


And as we left early we were sent some lovely goodies:




This is much loved, a love demonstrated by the dragging everywhere by her hair. I can only say I am glad I am not loved that much.

And thanks to these stickers we no longer have magic tangle spray but Tangled spray.



I will be looking forward to seeing the end of the film one day, but until then we live a little bit of it everyday. Thank you Disney, this movie was a return to what you do best.

Yep, I guess this is a sponsored post but the gratitude is mine.


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What becomes of the broken hearted?

This morning I was roused from an unpeaceful slumber, by a little girl sobbing her heart out.

My daughter has had her heart broken for the very first time, and I so would love to say it will be the last but at not quite three years old, I fear she has a long way to go yet.

About a month ago Little Girl's key carer left nursery. Although only about four and a half feet tall, Big Isabel had been a big part of Little Girl's daily life for about two years. Her departure whilst it did not make Little Girl too sad, it did have a profound affect on her; we had a week of wet knickers which must symbolise heart ache in anyone's books.

Yesterday I was on a course and I needed someone to collect Little Girl from nursery for me. I knew it may be too soon, but I also knew the both would love to be reunited.

When I got home I saw the love, the cuddles and Little Girl's pure bliss at having her favourite people around her. I believe she had taken great pride in showing Big Isabel every inch of our house and explaining every little thing.

But, of course, after bedtime and a cuppa, Big Isabel left to go home.

This morning I thought my daughter was inconsolable, but after 20 minutes of determined cuddling and sympathising, I received what I believe is the greatest accolade for mothering I have so far received.

Little girl said: I happy now mummy, you make me happy mummy.


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Happy Valentines Day

If you recognise these this wish is for you.











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Dating a Single Mum? Here are some tips

Ok, so maybe I shouldn't paint everyone with the same lip brush as me but take this how you will.

If you are going to date a single mum be prepared for a long distance relationship; you are not going to suddenly find your self spending all your time at hers.

Basically be prepared for somewhat of a simmering relationship that may well take a LONG time to come to boil.

Dating is what she wants and what she needs, some romance and someone to love her without too many demands. Some fun!

Be strong enough and sure enough of your own self worth to cope with the fact that you will never be number one, any children will always come first, not just in terms of time, but energy and love too.

Remember she has children already so be prepared to be a grown up, don't expect mothering or cosseting.

If you can be strong enough to lean on, soft enough to care, fun enough to play, and more than a little self sufficient I am sure she will love you with as much energy as she can muster.

Let's face it love is not finite, but time and energy are.

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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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