This was meant to be a picture of little girl rocking the whole socks and sandals look, but we nearly missed the shoes.




-- Post From My iPhone

One of the reasons I haven't blogged much

I've been busy exercising my inner old lady.




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The nearly naked chef

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The great White

So spring is busy springing and summer is yet to come, but the end of the day a girl likes to take off her opaques.

So my legs have never been my best feature, and they are extremely pale not hairy but just a great white expanse, I certainly wasn't prepared for little girl's reaction:

'tights mummy. Pleeeeease mummy tights please'.


-- Post From My iPhone

Friday fings

These are things I have found myself uttering lately:

'You know you have been too long on the loo when your daughter comes and lays out a picnic.'

'yes, I know I have been having chest pains but do I honestly look like I'm having a heart attack. Ok, don't answer that.'

'I think what bothers me most, is that it bothers me'







-- Post From My iPhone

Outdoor games

In our house we don't seem to discriminate between indoor and outdoor games.

While I was busy trying to channel Charlie Dimmock, (yes I did try bra-less but it made moving between gardening and the trampoline somewhat eye-threatening,) Isobel was busy making money.











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Life and times of a blog post

Of late I have found that shine of blogging has somewhat died.

It isn't because of the hoo-ha over reviewing vs not reviewing etc of blogging war that took place last year; and it isn't because of the growth in numbers of lovely blogs out there now that I often feel I can't keep up with all; it's not because I don't like the competition or the pressure of maintaining a spot on the top 100 (something I am sure I have failed to do this month).

Or maybe it is.

I can't read blogs at work over my lunch like I used to and sad though it may seem my evenings have become somewhat 'crafty' of late. I just seem to be completely unable to keep up with crowd.

It's not that I don't think about posts, that's so not true. I write a million posts in my head but never seem to get round to putting it on paper - well virtual paper, you know what I mean.

For example on Tuesday I thought about writing a post about how we had come back from the Isle of Wight where we surrounded by lovely family and friends, and felt a little flat and a lotta lonely. Isobel had loved seeing Grandma and Grandpa and terrorising Jack the dog, but most of all she had loved seeing her cousins and they had loved seeing her. They played brilliantly, I have never heard so much joyous screaming in my life, it's just as well Mummy's house is detached or I am sure the police would have been called.

So on Tuesday it would have been a sad, lonely, woe-is-me single mum pity post.

But the Wednesday came and the post had kind of morphed into a 'cant-always-get-what-you-want-but-try-sometime-and-you-get-what-you-need' post. I'd commuted to work with lovely train pals and one of my newest bestest friends and had a good old chin-wag. The beautiful bells of St Pauls heralded my arrival at the office; the man in the coffee shop wrote me a lovely note on my fruit toast bag; and I was greeted in the office with 'hello pretty lady'.

What more could a girl need?

I have a lovely life.

I even had a man around who gave a great quote for relieving some of my claustrophobia - by knocking down a wall sillies - what did you think I meant?

I had texts and invitations - oh my I have a LIFE, well at least the potential of one if I could just find a babysitter, so all was good.

When I rewrote the post in my head on Friday, a third of the staff had been fired in the office, I'm a contractor I could be next...

You get the idea.

If I don't write the post it goes around and around in my head, it grows it shrinks and meanwhile my life moves on.

And I just don't manage to blog it.

What is the point of this? I have no idea, but hey it's a post.

(Oh and yes, despite my blogging angst I will be at Cyber Mummy)

This morning...

Two little girlies walked hand in hand to nursery.

One had skipped to catch up with the other.

As their bunches swung, the discussed how cold it was:

'obel hand cold' was greeted with 'hmm cold'

Two two year old little old ladies.




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Thankful-for-all-the-birthday-gifts Thursday

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Definately in the jeans

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It's in the jeans

I have just made a disturbing discovery: my daughter has more pairs of jeans than I do!

Maybe her need is greater but there is surely a principle here.

I mean, maybe I do manage to go more than half a day before I get a wet bum from a damp slide; roll in the mud; or get yellow paint on my knees while doing hand prints; and I do manage to wash my hands slightly less thoroughly, meaning I don't get wet to my toes doing so.

But, surely as the head of this households my jeans should dominate?







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More Wednesday words

As a management consultant I am paid to advise clients.

Today, prior to offering quite a maverick but obviously genius (and less work for me) system suggestion, I offered these words to my project manager:

You seem stressed; go home and do unspeakable things to your wife, or failing that get you chain saw out, cut something down and set fire to it.

I won't be expecting an update on that action tomorrow.

Always professional me.


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Wednesday words

I love Isobel's talking, I'm amazed at her use of the word 'too', she understands perfectly how to use it, her grasp of the possesive is amazing, never has 'mine' and 'yours' been weilded with such passion; her sentences grow daily.

This morning, in my bed, while watching 3rd and Bird, she proclaimed:

'silly 'Obel, button off birdie'

She had indeed accidentally pressed the button and turned off 3rd and Bird, although not before the tune had lodged itself in my head.

Silly obel!




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Watch out, watch out there's a Humphry about.

I must warn you that this post has been written in my head several times over the last few days, the story has evolved but now I am getting it out of my head it probably won't be that interesting.

I have given birth to a milk monster. Luckily she wasn't such a greedy guzzler when I was breastfeeding, but now she would gladly give up ALL consumption except that of milk, and especially milk served in her bottle.

The result of all this milk guzzling by one who is not a baby cow is runny nappies and dry skin. So I have now switched her to goats milk.

A switch which has coincidently come at the same time as the destruction of our last baby bottle; baby bottles are not designed for teeth, she bit right through the teat!

I made a big play of showing Isobel that is was broken and that we were throwing it away. I held my breath and waited for the drama and misery to unfold.

But, it didn't. She did peer in the bin a few times, but otherwise accepted the previously heartily rejected bottle/cup thingies.

If I'd written this post a few days ago I would be heartily patting myself on the back as her skin is better AND for getting her off the bottle, a battle I was saving until the words 'baby bottle' would upset her.

But I didn't write it then, I left it and now she will drink out of only one replacement bottle.




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Wordless wednesday

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Do you think we should have bought a garage?

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I'm afraid of the dark

There are a few things that scare me, but none more than these:

I'm afraid if anything happened to me now my little girl wouldn't remember me.

I'm scared that when the time comes there will be no one who loves me enough to share my pillow or to keep holding my hand until the very end.

Hmm, maybe I should just go back to posting trampoline videos.


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Improve your social life - get a trampoline

(considering how I phrased my last bouncy post that could have been: improve your social life - get an errection.)

So, the trampoline is not only drawing us out into the garden, it is also attracting the little people.

First it was the girls coming to put it up.

Last Saturday it was the nursery gang: children varying in braveness and bounciness; parents happy to drink coffee, eat fresh baked croissants and chat, rather than stand in the park.



Yesterday we had our first alfresco meal of the year and it was 'Vieve who came to play.
Although I'm not sure who got the most pleasure bouncing at the end of the garden - 'vieve or her daddy!



Me, I enjoyed watching my little girl exhaust herself while I had a glass of red wine in my hand.

I can feel the summer of 'trampline' love already!

Word from the wise: this will test your pelvic floor.


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Wordless Wednesday

Picture courtesy of Elif's daddy!

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Mother's Day

This was my third Mother's day; on my first I came home from hospital with beautiful baby girl and my Mummy made sure I had a mother's day card.

Last year PD recreated a fantastic meal we had at Gaucho's.

This year he cooked me a lovely lunch too; he cracked a dish, set fire to a tea towel and himself, but he cooked me lunch and wanted to make it all special as a Mother's day should be.

I am very lucky with many of my relationships:

I wasn't there to make my Mummy's day special - her present hasn't even arrived yet - but I think my brother and sister did that, but that doesn't mean I don't love her, I love her very much.

And although PD and I aren't together, we are bound together by our little girl but we are friends too. Sometimes I guess we are a little too close for exes, but fretting about it and examining what is and what isn't doesn't help. All this confusion doesn't mean I don't love him dearly.

All this confusion doesn't mean we aren't a family; in fact, quite often I think we function better than many more 'traditional' families.

See, lucky lucky me.

Forgotten Friday

There are lots of things I have forgotten.

I have forgotten what it feels like to come home from work and flop on the sofa.

I have forgotten how it felt to be able to blow over £100 on a pair of shoes and not blink.

I have forgotten how to dance into the wee small hours

I have forgotten want the packaging at Agent Provocateur looks like.

I have totally forgotten what not being tired feels like; I regularly anoint by body inside and out with caffine to get by!

I have also forgotten what life was like before Isobel; forgotten that there was ever a time when I wouldn't be picking unidentifiable goo out of hair and wiping something very identifiable from a bottom.

AND I have forgotten what it felt like before my heart grew a billion sizes.

Birthday Chaos

The party was fun.

HUGE as we shared it, but fun.

I was a little surprised how many parents just stood in the way of the entertainment rather than joining in; but I was also surprised at how many parents absolutely loved the Diddi Dance!



It was worth the nightmares.

No title does this justice

We had a fantastic weekend.

The climax of Isobel's birthday came on Sunday afternoon but more of the later.

Before that, on Saturday, the girls arrived with wine and junk food to help me with an erection.

Now, now don't be so smutty.

What Chantal and Carmen helped erect has provided more longevity that any other kind could!

Couldn't resist

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(In)action girl

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Grown up?

Yesterday I underwent a minor surgical procedure; it was a follow up job so, against surgeons wishes I opted for a local anaesthetic. The last one was done under general and meant I had to be looked after.

This time I drove myself to hospital, and home again to pick up my little poppet.

Other than Isobel I went home alone.

Now, there is something awfully grown up about driving yourself to or from the airport or hospital, but it also kind of makes you feel a little unloved.

Oh, I'm ok. I have uncomfortable stitches, and people do care. It's just that lump in the throat moment as you walk out the door.


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The longest birthday in history

It has to be said that Isobel is having one of the most epic birthdays -epic in DR Zhivago terms.

I mean I love it when cards (and gifts, especially gifts - whom I kidding) arrive late as it makes my birthday last longer, but I'm not really sure when 'obel's birthday started and it isn't over yet.

Did it start last Monday when her new too-cool-for-school trike arrived?  I had to give it to her, I'd been coveting since I was pregnant.

Was the beginning when we arrived at Grandma's on Friday and saw Jack-jack and Danel?  Or when Grandma and Grandpa gave her a lovely dolls house?  We have have been playing 'go wee-wee, washands' and 'teatime, comon dahling sit down' ever since.




Or maybe it was when her cousins arrived.

The 'wow' that greeted the Post Office given to her by my brother Ross and Amanda.  In fact she has been well trained, she 'wowed' at the card too. Not sure if the Post Office is realistic, it is only a post office not a Londis too.  Also, Isobel thinks the phonebox is actually a phone.

Perhaps, the tea party with family and Miss B and Annabel (quick aside: If Isobel is Miss B's goddaughter and Annabel is mine, does that make them godsisters?)





Maybe it was her actual Birthday on Monday, during which she did start singing 'birthday obel' to herself. Although I must say this was possibly her least exciting day.

Today, Diddi-dance sang happy birthday to her and we decorated party bags for the BIG PARTY that is coming up on Sunday.

Two today

Good morning little girl,

Happy birthday.

It seems very appropriate that today you have changed your song from 'twinkle, star, are up sky, twinkle twinkle' to ....

'birthday toyou, birthday obel, birthday toyou'.

I find myself a little lost for words as to what to say,which is unlike you with your constant stream of chatter and song. Be it 'obel's book gone' 'more milk pease mummy' or requests to get the paint out and do 'tainti' or asking if you will see 'Elish soon' or 'up mummy dance'.

It really is all going on. I can't believe you are two but I am excited about all the conversations we are yet to have.

I love you.

One day I will make you as proud of me as I am of you. Xx







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Proof she wasn't scared of dogs before

OK, so this was taken over a year ago, but this is 'Jack,jack' my mums dog.

Isobel either spends her time patting him or telling him 'night-night' thereby sending him to his bed.

Yesterday I told Isobel that we would go and see him on Friday, she pointed to her face and said 'dog' again.

Hey ho I'm sure it will be fine, if I just RELAX about it....

Going to the dogs

I have lovely neighbours, beyond lovely neighbours, wouldn't swap them for the world neighbours.

But on Monday we had a bit of an incident.

As they often do, next door had taken in a parcel for me (this postal service isn't why I love them, but it helps an Internet shopaholic like myself). Isobel and I popped round to collect the parcel.

Their little dog Toffee came running out and knocked Isobel to the ground and while he didn't bite her face he did open his mouth.

I scooped little girl up, but for the next hour she kept pointing to her face and saying 'dog obel'. She even told her daddy.

Now, I'm not cross, I don't think the dog is dangerous (though I do get the fear if I think of possible outcomes - mutilation and the like), my neighbours are mortified; I am actually more concerned about making sure isobel isn't afraid of dogs,

We will pop next door and see toffee again.

Can anyone offer any advice? Please not about the dog, no muzzles etc, just about making sure my little girl remains phobia free.



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Drinking and driving

I hope she isn't going to shmesco in her pjs.

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Hip to be square

There is something about colouring in the lines that
makes me want to rebel a little.

But I am awfully proud that my little girl is mastering the art.

Well she colours particular bits.








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Deal maker

Bartering and bargaining are two things I'm not particularly good at.

I love eBay but I get caught up in the auction and can often end up paying more than I meant.

The one time I visited a souk I got to freaked out by the attention that I got as a blonde foreigner to stand my ground and haggle. (that's not to say I wouldn't love to be one of those women who travels the world and has a house full of exquisite bargains to illustrate her tales.)

I have resolved, as a parent not to engage in haggling with my child, but all know what happens to those resolutions - we grow wiser!

Imagine my surprise this evening when I visited my unusually unsettled little girl in her room and she first presented me with her chattels and a request for 'mummy's bed', which was greeted with a no from me; where upon she re-adjusted her bid to a 'cuggle?'

She received her cuggle simply because I was stunned at her audacity.


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Feel the love

Nursery really have a handle on this single parent thing, even if I am their only one.

I got a valentines card




But, (hmph) PD got one too...




They know that mummy is more special as mummy's had glitter

And, look at all the other hearts I got too




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Potty training - lesson one

How to read on the loo.




As you can see, we haven't got to the 'lift lid' or 'remove tights' lessons yet.


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Bedfellows

As a girl when you first share a bed with someone new you know it will certainly not be an unselfconcious event.

There may be nights of sleeplessness and tummy ache in an attempt to avoid any embarrassing draughts.

You may even get up to go to the loo in the middle of the night in order to not be overheard and perhaps to re-brush your teeth.

You will cling to the edge if the bed and accept even the smallest of token duvet corners so as to be a good bedfellow.

There would definately not be an invitation for others to join you at so early a stage.

When do we learn these rules?

Isobel comes into my bed; sleeps diagonally; snores loudly; brings with her twittwoo, tully and baby; and thinks nothing of her trumpet pj trousers.


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(practically) Wordless Wednesday

Fifteen minutes playing with rice and cups.



Thirty minutes playing clean up



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Voice coach required

I live in fear of becoming an ineffective parent, you know the sort, the children tend to be brats for whom they spend their lives making excuses. I don't know what's more annoying the cajoling and pleading for better behaviour or the bratty behaviour itself.

I just do not want to have a child that no-one wants to have around.

And so far I don't

But...

Isobel sometimes laughs when I say 'No' and there are some battles I really can't be bothered to fight.

I don't give into whining, I try to distract but there is an element of whining. Tantrums are short lived and definitely for show. Crying as her I leave her at nursery I am sure is now a habit.

While Isobel isn't a brat, I do know I have to be firmer.

I don't plead with her to let me change her nappy I just put a firm hand on her tummy and she stops wriggling; I don't beg her to get in the pushchair - I can get those straps on even with a struggle.

So, I'm not a complete push over.

I do think if perhaps my voice was less audible to dogs and dolphins I may get a better reaction.

Forgive me Supernanny for I have sinned

I have allowed my daughter to sleep in my bed.

Just the once mind.

I'm not sure where she gets it from

But my daughter is very bossy.

It started with the Barbera Woodhouse esque command 'sit', whereby she would position me exactly where she wanted me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7lZnxrF694&feature=youtube_gdata

Then we had '(get) up'.

Now we have 'comon mummy'.

Or continuing with the dog training theme (no comment please) we had 'walk' whereby I would be led by the hand out of her way or in the direction I was obviously supposed to going.

Now we have 'carry'; 'dance'; and my favourite one of all

'cuggle'.




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Fab Friday!

At last I have good things to write.

Several things have lifted my mood this week, yay for me and for the the very real smile on my face.

So, firstly I have returned to my beloved yoga. On Tuesday I had such a fab class I left on a high I can only compare to a post-orgasmic glow, oh my it was good. Yes, yes, yes....



Sorry, just pausing to bask a little more.

Ahhh

And then last night I had the pleasure of having one of little girl's best friends to stay and although by floor boards took the beating of two pairs of little feet clomping about in my heels, it was an absolute delight to see the two girls play so nicely.




It almost made up for the heartbreak in the mornings as one goes upstairs at nursery and the other goes down.

At least we have the joint birthday to look forward to, not to mention a million playdates. I've bought a buggy board especially!



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Wordless Wednesday - Fwiends

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Waving not drowning

Dear Me,

 

It is ok that you are struggling against a tide of anxiety that is reaching tsunami proportions.  This doesn’t mean you are losing the plot; it is just an expected dip in your recovery.

 

I know you feel disappointed in yourself as you really thought you were fixed and that the drugs do work, you thought you were yourself again.  You are yourself; you will be even more yourself again soon.

 

Please don’t beat yourself up for wanting to run away and weep, this too shall pass.  The light at the end of the tunnel is not an oncoming train; it’s your daughter with a torch.

 

x

 

 

 

Favourite Photo Meme

I have been tagged by the lurverly Metropolitan Mum to dig in the archives and produce my very favourite picture.



To be honest there are many I could choose, especially from PD's photo blog; as I have just lost my Grandad, and my Grandma is rapidly shrinking, this is the one that came to mind:










As little as five years ago I would have doubted that my little girl would know one of the biggest influences in my life, my Grandma. The years have passed and while she may not be the same Grandma I grew up with, I am proud to introduce my little girl to the Greatest Great Grandma she will ever have.


I stopped taking pictures of Grandad because I wanted to remember him as he was, and as I will always picture him.


I tag the lovely Nixdminx and English Mum to let us see their favourtite piccies.


Thank you Tara for starting this one.

Little florishes

I have just been in to greet my little girl.

'where's my pretty girl?'

As Obel sat up, she said...

'Ta-da!'



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Arse from my 'obel

Over the Christmas hols I am not the only one to have gained, but while it's pounds I've amassed Isobel has been busily adding to her vocabulary.

This is in danger of being a proud mummy post, but actually I'm putting it down here because I am worried I will forget.

Over Christmas I was impressed that Isobel had added a new body part to her list. Apparently my daughter had learnt where her elbow is.

In fact she had learnt where it was and kept repeating it.

Except it wasn't her elbow, her mother was being rubbish.

She was actually saying her name, she had mastered the concept of 'me' and 'mine'.

It's 'Obel'.

I have now assumed what will undoubtedly be my identity for many years to come: I am 'Obel's Mummy'.

Along with her name Isobel now knows the difference between hot and cold and light and dark. She knows when things are 'ninished'; can tell her mummy to be 'fareful'; knows about 'now', 'rain' and 'sunshine'; can point out buses; name all her favourite tele programmes (the shame!); ask for her favourite dinner, rice fish and peas, pasta, pizza; and she can make her own scrambled eggs.

First day back at school (nursery)

And I score a 'could do better'.

For the first time in the whole 13 days Isobel slept to beyond 7am.

I struggled to rouse myself even though it was later than I had been waking.

Isobel didn't want to go to nursery, so I bribed her with milk to get in her pushchair.

One plus mark gained for getting her to keep her gloves on...

100 lost for forgetting her bag.

Many more lost for allowing my child to be dressed in whatever they inevitably have to lend her later.


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