So, Cybermummy...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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












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












And did I mention the lovely lovely lovely people.

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

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

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









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Intense

Oops I mean in Tents







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Cybermumy 2011

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

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

What can I tell you:

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

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

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

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

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

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


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Things I have learnt this evening

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

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

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

Was your bedtime as educational?



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I bet you think it is mid-summer

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








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Fit or Flop

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I did say maybe…

Silent Sunday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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MY Stairway to Heaven

Restored to it's former glory




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Stairway to Heaven

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

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

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

Saturday afternoon I painted the front door.

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

Perhaps I best start reading Delusions of Gender


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

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

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

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

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






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

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

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

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

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

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


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Just for a moment

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

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

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

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

All this and I only had one gin and tonic.


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Back to the future

Surely this can't be right.

I mean 80s fashion is one thing.

But the Jelly Bag being height of fashion again?







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


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Too damned clever

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

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

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

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


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Who's zooming who

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other distraction techniques are:

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

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


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Only the crumbliest

I really have turned into the flakiest person I know.

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

No I mean I am a crap friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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Stepford child

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

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

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

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







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My baby takes the early morning train

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

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

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

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

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

I think I lost.


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Roll over

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

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




Sounds good so far.

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




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






Not quite sure exactly where I am meant to sleep.

I think that pillow in the background is mine.


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*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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