Our first day of Christmas

This is an unsponsored post.

I wasn't lucky enough to be rewarded for writing about Christmas rules but I have enjoyed reading all the posts.

In fact I think I have nearly given away all of mine in the comments boxes, but I thought I'd write this post anyway!

Today is the first so the tree has gone up. I started this tradition in the grim days of my accounting exams, they were the last week in November so the tree was my treat. This year Isobel helped, I think I may need to secure the tree.




I have also realised I need more decorations, the subtle balls in the dining room just don't cut it when you are 1 and 3/4s.




Tomorrow I begin the hunt for good old fashioned silver paperchains.

I will let you know the rest of the rules tomorrow.

A spoiler for you though - I love brussel sprouts!


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Blogger's Zoo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home sweet home

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

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

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

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

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

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

20 minutes later my limpet arrived home.


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From one Daddy to another

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me and my Daddy

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Wordless Wednesay - Colouring

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


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

One of the most satisfying good mummy jobs

... has to be sewing mittens onto elastic.




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

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


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Mary, Mary part two

Mummy and Daddy you may not want to read this


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

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

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

So I stripped off and climbed in.

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

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

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

And then, she tried to wash it away!

Hmm teenage tendencies continue

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


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

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So that was then

The picture below was taken this morning.

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

It was taken long before we boarded the ferry.

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

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

Hmm nice.

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

Dipping pennies in rola-cola

It's no secret, nor is it something peculiar to us, but we are a little strapped for cash.

OK so this isn't a great way to be but it isn't all bad.

It has provoked a further de-cluttering of the house as I scour it for things I can sell on eBay - don't stand still too long I may list you.

I'm also finally working through the drawers full of stockpiled free samples. I always thought I was keeping them for guests who may have forgotten something. But now I have no spare room and it's my skin that is becoming the pampered guest.

I shop in Iceland for frozen veg, I must say I do pack it all in a Waitrose bag and I am sure I have muttered more than once: 'Come on Isobel let's go to Waitrose now'.

I take a packed breakfast and lunch to work which obviously will have me at supermodel proportions very soon, so even I will take up less space at home.

Heartbreaking

Click here to see PD's Heartbreaking post.

So if that breaks my heart what would this do to me:

Social networkers are being urged to get involved in a new online campaign to find Madeleine McCann by spreading a video appeal around the world. The video shows pictures of Madeleine and what she would look like two years after her disappearance, aged six.

Moral Dilema

OK, so imagine this:

You get back from a lovely afternoon with friends; an afternoon in which your daughter has been so friendly, so good at sharing her toys and generally delightful.

As you unpack the pushchair you are reminded of last weeks trip to the Chemist where your daughter danced around the shop while you waited for your prescription

How are you reminded?

You find a baby sponge in the basket that you didn't pay for.

Your angel girl is a SHOPLIFTER and you are the unwitting getaway driver!

Celebrations!

I still struggle with the fact that people's lives continue when I'm not with them.

I mean if I'm not on the stage then surely the curtain is down?

Anyway, it's funny to think that as I type one of my very dearest friends is getting married. She is undoubtedly looking stunning and radiant and marrying a lovely man.

But, as the wedding is a very intimate one and as we are NCT friends and inviting us all would add 50% to the number of guests, we can only imagine what a lovely time they are having and wish them well.

CONGRATULATIONS Mine and Hugh!!!!!

All that said, we did make sure she had a good pre-wedding evening.

Firstly she had me grappling with her ample bosom in the bathroom of her lovely hotel room. No it was a last minute fling, get your minds out of the gutter please.

I was simply anointing her with nail varnish remover.

No, again this isn't some strange fetish - I was helping reduce the dodgy streaks from her spray tan. Yes, ladies (and boys) it works. This is my handy hint of the day.

Then the rest of the gang came for burgers and champagne while watching the fireworks across London from the balcony of Mine's Richmond Hill hotel room.

A fabulous evening spent with some people I now count as my dearest friends.




Mine, you are beautiful in so many ways, and our daily chats mean the world to me. May you all be happy and the deepest depths only be those you dive to. xx


Pictures taken by Leela

Hmm a little disturbing

This evening as I put the washing away I left my knicker drawer open.

Nothing new there.

Isobel was dancing around the room in one of my bras, as she does - so, nothing new there either.

Unfortunately Isobel's arms have grown a bit longer than they were and she managed to rummage at the back of the drawer and found one of mummy's 'toys' *blush*.

Then she proceeded, while wearing my bra, to use said toy as a microphone *blush deep deep beetroot red*.

Hmm, I won't disturb you posting a picture, I don't want to be judged on size!

Porcine me

No this isn't a diet post (though heaven knows it should be).

This is a completely different, but equally as sinful a post.

You see I always swore to myself that my child wouldn't constantly watch tele. She would draw, paint, cook, play, and go on the swings.

In short she would be 'stimulated'.

Unfortunately, Isobel has discovered the delights (loosest sense of the word)of Peppa Pig. Yes, the pink, eyes on one side of the head, puddle jumping, Peppa Pig. She whose whole family falls on the floor with laughter.

PD has taken to drawing characters from the show for her, he's got quite good at it.

And not only do we now have it on the sky plus - oh yes it's gone beyond the 5:30, after nursery showing - I'm ashamed to say I have it on my iPhone.

Wait it gets worse...

I have it on my iPhone and when Isobel gets up at 6:30 ish, we lie in bed and watch it.

Oh no, you haven't heard the worst of it...

I have even been known, in the interest of sane adult conversation (i.e. conversation where all parties are at the table not one adult guarding the stairs), to put on Peppa pig during a Sunday pub lunch.

Isobel does do all the other things I mentioned at the beginning of the post, but I, I mean we, have succumbed to the charms of this red dressed porcine lovely. In fact it often feels like we have 'Peppa pig until you die from it', but without the ensung bacon sarnies. Oh no, hang on a minute, that would be if she died from it.

Not only that, I am actually quite excited that at last Nick Jr is putting on new episodes.

Maybe excited is too strong a word, perhaps relieved is more appropriate.

If in doubt get your weeny boppers out

I am such a neglectful mother, I only noticed the Halloween party sign
at nursery yesterday.

No time to make a costume like last year.

Luckily, as a seasoned festival goer, Isobel owns a tutu and a pair of
weeny boppers.

What more does a girl need?

Horn

No, I'm not in lust with a gorgous lover, I haven't dusted off my sauciest undies, they are still languishing at the bottom of my drawer. (If you happen to have a spare toy boy loittering around, do feel free to send him my way.)

I haven't GOT the horn; what it really is, is that I am ON the horns of a dilema.

A schooling dilema - yes already. But no, not about actual schools. Just about nursery. I say just, but it has me perturbed.

A few months ago they wanted Isobel to move up to the next class, but I didn't want her to go without her friends.

I was assured they would move Isobel with at least one of her gang - Elif. Perfect, as Elif is 2 days younger, Elif who we have known since she was days old and Elif whose mum is one of my very dearest friends.

But now it transpires that there is only place and I have been asked to move Isobel alone. So, I hear you say, say no again.

I can't.

If I say no, they will ask Mine to let Elif go, if Mine says no it will be Charlotte who is asked to move. So ultimately one of the gang has to go it alone.

It terrifies me and I have no idea why.

Foiled or snubbed?

I used to love this weekend. In the grand scheme of things it has to
be one of the best: the clocks go back, an hours extra sleep. Yay for
that in itself, but that means a lie-in AND time to prep lunch for
friends, two of my favourite Sunday activities.

Well, that was life before my little girl. Now, I have no idea what a
lie-in is. And unfortunately babies do not come with a mass update
function like mobile phones.

Last year we really had no issue, we carried on as usual and Isobel
adjusted perfectly.

This year, I thought I'd hedge my bets, especially with the 6 am get
ups we've had lately. 5 am get up? No thank you!

So, last night Isobel and I bathed and put on our pjs. Yes, I do mean
we, Isobel was in fetching peppa pig ( post yet to come) and me in a
glorious pair of GAP checked ones.

As a treat we headed back down stairs to snuggle on the settee with
milk and In The Night Garden. So far so good.

As an extra special treat (or cunning ploy) I thought we girlies would
have an extra half an hour and watch the pretty ladies in their swirly
dressses trip the light fantastic...

At 7:10 Isobel got up from the settee and said 'bye-bye mummy, night
night' and proceeded to take herself off up the stairs to bed.

Yep, we were up at 5:30 this morning. Well, by up I mean in my bed
watching Peppa Pig on the iPhone.

Sent from my iPhone

Etiquette or no etiquette, it's still theft

The pleases and thank yous barely compensated for Isobel eating most
of the smoked salmon with our scrambled eggs this morning.

But, how could I resist the 'more pees, ta too' s that came at me from
across the table.

Hmm, a couple of truths

The fourth bottle of wine is ALWAYS a mistake.

It is worth spending a couple of extra bob on your leggings to avoid
the whole world being able to see what you had for breakfast - this I
dedicate to the lady who was rummaging around in hers as she walked in
front of me this morning.

Sent from my iPhone

Not so out of touch then

For the last year I have kind of felt a little, well maybe a lot, out of touch with the real world.

But, this morning another commuter chat showed actually how in touch I am:

1. I do Twitter - Ok it's sporadic and as I socialise less in real life I seem to be even worse at virtual socialising
2. I am on Facebook - haven't updated my staus in years but I am there.
3. I know about Etsy, Notonthehighstreet, and folksy.
4. I am wearing v. fashionable red brogues
5. Not only have I manged to read a Guardian news story in the last few weeks, I have retained enough knowledge and understanding to discuss it!.

Maybe I might be more than one dimensional after all.

Who's your Mummy

There are moments when I wish my daughter had never learnt the word 'Mummy'. Normally this is the case at it's 156th uttering in the space of 30 seconds. Or when it is 4am and it's a 'Muuuummmmmmyyyyy'; it's far easier to ignore a plain normal angry cry than the personal, heart wrenching cry aimed solely at me.

Generally I am actually quite pleased to hear myself being called Mummy.

A while ago I read somewhere that parents who start to call each other Mum and Dad will find their sex lives waining.

As PD and I are meant to be reducing that kind of activity, the fact that we seem to have slipped into the habit of refering to each other as Mum and Daddy doesn't really matter. Now I come to think of it he calls me Mum more than I him Dad, but, we won't go there.

Yes, I did think it was something I would never do, but what did I know. I promise we only do it when talking to or around Isobel, not in the pub over a pint or anything.

As this is the case, I was really surprised when Isobel knew what my name is. I mean my real name.

Happy birthday Grandma

Many happy returns grandma.

I'm sorry you are feeling poorly; I'm sorry I forgot your pink fizz
and lost your card; and in a way I'm even sorrier I put my back out
(bloomin painful and entirely impractical).

But I am very happy that my angel child ( yes,I mean angel, it always
happens that I write something about her being a madam and the next
day she reminds me that she is 99 % a star ) and I are here with you.

How we get home tomorrow is anyone's guess, but we are here and we
love it.

Lots of love xx

Sent from my iPhone

Hmmm

To say my daughter is a mummy's girl is an understatement of such epic proportions it could shift tectonic plates and change the shape of our world.

To say my daughter can be a bit of a madam is not an understatement, she is a bit, but it feels me with epic proportions of dread.

It is something I am keen to nip in the bud. Well a little bit.

The last thing I want is to raise a brat. But a little mischief is OK, in fact it is desirable.

And confidence, well that I'd like to give her in spades.

So, while I am in this frame of mind, imagine how I felt to be pulled aside by Isobel's nursery teacher to be told she had bitten, yes I said bitten, twice that day.

She wasn't the initiator but she did retaliate, and then in shock she cried. It's a bit of a double edge sword isn't it: you don't want her to bite but you want her to stand up for herself.

Now I get to bit all parents get to, I have the excuses...

She is having problem with her final molars, the way she gnaws on her own fingers is somewhat of a clue; she's only 1 1/2 how do you discipline a 1 1/2 year old; it's just a phase, all toddlers go through it.....

But really, I wanted to cry (completely out of proportion), I looked at her differently and I didn't know what to do.

I just wanted to do better for both of us, hey ho we'll get there. She'll train me soon enough.

Wordless Wednesday explained.

Rye because we were staying in Rye.

Hood because that s her Daddy's surname (Isobel has mine)

And Little Red Riding Hood - well that's pretty self explantory me thinks.

(Oh, and btw, I bought that a coat in a GAP sale for £5.99 6 months ago, gotta love the GAP sale.)

Wordless Wednesday Little Red Rye-ding Hood

Cluckless

Today Isobel and I went to visit Clare and her little Karl.

Karl is six weeks old but was three weeks early, so he is perfectly formed and little.

But you'll just have to take my word for it because I didn't take any pics (Duh?!).

Little Karl was lovely and sleepy, sleepy because he'd kept his Mum up during the night. Little Karl was lovely and cuddly and snuggly and had ickle tiny weeny hands with even littler nails.

Isobel only complained a little when I held him, and with them both closeI found it dfficult to imagine her being that little.

But you know what, as much as I loved her being a little baby, I wouldn't swap where she is now for then...

and I didn't feel broody at all.

Pretty evil?

The more Isobel's development progresses, which it is doing in leaps and bounds, the more I start to have some wicked wonderings.

Are we genetically programmed to appreciate and prefer pretty things? Who teaches us what is pretty and what isn't?

Could you tell your child that things that are ugly are actually pretty? When I teach Isobel that it's a 'pretty flower' how does she then know which people that word can apply to?

If you were hiring a nanny would you hire a pretty one so your child was surrounded by beauty or an ugly one to boost your ego?

What if you taught them the wrong names for things, how old would they be when they found out (and how much would they HATE you for it)?

Isobel is learning new words and understanding more and more each day, while most of this is imparted without effort, what if you applied yourself to teach them the wrong way?

Don't panic, I'm not using my daughter as some kind of social experiment, but one could couldn't one, if one really wanted to?

Good bye Granny

Isobel's Granny is at present boarding a big tin can to fly away back to sunnier climes, to her home (and PD's) in South Africa.

Just as she had become part of our furniture and our daily lives; just as we were getting to know her and her to know us; and just as she was getting used to the amount of walking we do here (lots) compared to in Jo'burg (none).

I must confess I was worried at first, I mean it's hard enough when you want to impress your Mother out of law, but you really don't want her instantly seeing why her son left!

But I don't think it turned out that way.

Isobel fell in love, Nanny is now included in the morning roll call.

Granny in SA, you will be missed. x

(At this point I'd like to post a picture of them drying their hair together, or playing peek-a-boo, but I'm ashamed to say I don't have one. Hopefully PD will post one soon; it is after all it is he who will miss his Mum most of all.)

It's not all bad; it's not bad at all

Sometimes a day comes along and gives you everything you could hope for. The sun shines and you get just what you need.

Yesterday was one of those days; one of those days that leaves you smiling all the way through to the next day.

I’m still smiling; I’m still feeling the love.

Thank you everyone, thank you indeed.

Birthday resolutions

Today is my birthday and I have a surprise day off.

The last year has not been my finest and far too many tears have been shed.

So, my birthday resoultion is to party more and cry less, a lot less.

Wordless Wednesday

Because I've left my phone at home.

Cold, blinkin cold Camber Seas

Camber Sands

We are away for the weekend.

Sun (a little, though not in this picture); sea (more than you would
expect, picture to come); sand (check)....

When it's not your mother-in-law because you aren't married and it's
not really an outlaw because you aren't even together anymore, how do
I refer to PD's mum?

I guess I'll leave it to Isobel who calls her Nanny.

Yep, we are an extended disfunctional family this weekend; it
functions quite well, we are having a good time.

Dear Blog

Dear Blog,

I feel that I have been neglecting you of late and I thought I'd drop you a note to apologise.

You haven't received the attention you deserve and for that I am sorry. I'm afraid my thoughts have been elsewhere for a while, and while much of I would like to have blogged about, I haven't.

But, it's OK the nice man at The Priory has given me more little white pills and once the nausea and fog that they bring with them clears I am sure I will be back to my usual bloggy self.

Indeed, we have an award ceremony to attend.

Anyway, so much to say but so little motivation right now.

Catch you later.

Me.

A little light reading

I wouldn't say Isobel's been clingy since I went away but...

I must confess to being partial to a little reading while spending time on the loo. Normally this involves Grazia or Living magazines, and at present the book Sum.

Well, I say at present.

But, most recently it's been the Gruffalo and has involved a little girl sitting on my lap at the same time.

I've heard what they say about the family that plays together...

Wordless Wednesday - Teepee Tea for Twit-twoo

Night night games

I had a good weekend on a hen do.

So good infact that, on my return to mummydom yesterday afternoon, I
invented a whole load of new games that involved me being horizontal.

Wordless Wednesday - That's what friends are for

Who is SHE?

Sunday morning I found myself being exactly the kind if Mum I never EVER want to be.

It seems that in the last three months I have developed PMTNCS - Pre-menstrual Total Nutcase Syndrome.

My anxiety levels soar beyond the unfriendly knot I carry in my stomach most days; my general fearfulness and depression deepens. I feel like I'm drowning and am overwhelmed by, well by absolutely everything.

I cope and I put one foot in front of the other. I fix a smile on my face and keep repeating in the style of an old steam train 'I know I can, I'm sure I can'.

Meanwhile I pluck up courage and cry down the phone to my Mum, because I just can't cope with feeling that way; because I feel like I am going completely and utterly insane.

Anyway, back to Sunday. Isobel was riding her trike; Isobel was wearing her blue shoes as she didn't want to wear her Converse; Isobel was refusing to put her feet on the pedals, choosing instead to drag her toes across the ground.

I could hear myself 'Pick your feet up Isobel, good girl.'

Nothing wrong there. But try hearing it over and OVER again in the space in a very short journey.

Isobel, funnily enough had enough, and I had enough, not of her but of me.

It wasn't so much the nagging, but being an ineffective nagging parent. You know the type, the type where the parent's ineffective nagging is far more annoying than the child's behaviour.

Anyway, at this point I dispatched PD and Isobel to the park while I went and wept into a cup of coffee.

The same but completely totally different.

Our babies are very, very, scarily clever people.

I know that at this point in her life Isobel is learning more things at a quicker pace than she will at any other time.

(Even more scary as I seem to unlearning things at an alarming pace too)

We don't make it easy for our babas:

First we tell them that this yellow plastic thing is a duck

Then we expect them to know that this green-brown feathered thing is also a duck



And they do it.

Then we teach them colours:

That this is blue

But so is this.

It really is abso-bloomin-amazing.



Ps. Isobel has taken to sleeping with a plastic duck. I think it is because she can say it, I understand it and therefore she gets it, rather than any early fetish on her part.

Now you see it...

Isobel is developing her tricksy side.

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

But...

Isobel takes her fork, shows it to you.

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

She shows you that her hand is empty.

The audience enquires as to the whereabouts of said fork.

Da dah!

The fork is produced, waved and applause garnered.

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

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

I'm sure it will be magic!

Sent from my iPhone

Festival Friday

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

It was FAB!

Do I need to say more?

Ok, so I do.

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

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

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

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


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

Say yes mummy, say yes?!

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

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

Pretty please can we do it again?!

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

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






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

A little more conversation

Things I said on the train today:

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

Wordless wednesday - yes it's dark and yes, I'm wearing shades, what you can't see is my spock ears

PFF

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

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

Bestival hoopy loopy

Live from bestival!

Bestival festival wey hey

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

Going to Grandmas.

Because...

*drum roll*....

(I'm that excited)...

Isobel and I are off to Bestival!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you mummy, this means a lot to me xx

Wordless Wednesday - my idea of toddlerproofing

Reddit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyone suggest another good read?

Ps. I thought it taught me about why we say Bob’s your Uncle, but Wikipedia gives a different explanation!

Pps. thanks to Mamma Po Emily at Maternal Tales for the tweeted recommendation

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

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

At 6:45 she was in bed asleep.

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

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

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

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

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

Something and nothing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the fearless something often referred to as bouncing begun:

... and ended.

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

A whole one and a half

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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