If wishes were horses then beggars would ride.

Or in this mama's case - would wake up to clean air and general lack of asphyxia.



Most mornings I am up first and slowly the rest of the household trickles downstairs to mooch in the living room for a bit before beginning the day. Some days however d/Boy is up and awake before any of us. These are usually the days where he comes into my room and wakes me gentle, saying things like 'Tell me to go and get ready for school.' or 'Remind to make my bed.' This for the joy he experiences when he can turn around and say 'TA DAH! I have already done it.'



Monday morning I woke to a smell rather than a sound. I cannot even dignify it with the term 'scent'. My bedroom smelled of bodyspray. A lot of bodyspray. In fact my eyes were open for several minutes before I realised it,so thick was the air with this bodyspray. I prodded CK and said 'You are going to have to talk with your son about how to use an aerosol effectively'. With tears streaming from his reddened eyes CK just nodded, holding in lungs what little fresh air he could.

I blame the father/daughter tag team. He suggested to Princess C-W that she gift her brother with one of those stinky spray gift sets at Christmas as he had always wanted 'smellies'. Pah! Blurry pandering parents. We really should know by now that it never does any good

OK, first you have to pretend it is still Tuesday.

And then you have to imagine there is sunshine. And no rain. And that the wind, when it whips through, isn't icy.

It being February halfterm meant we had to meet up with Family Moog in crappy weather and force our children on a route march of some senic venue. So after some texting we settled on Hengistbury Head on Tuesday. Lunch timeish. Mrs Moog was going to make pancakes.

'Triffic! I'll get Pr. C-W to make her chicken and sweetcorn soup.' I said.

With dread we followed BBC 5 Day weather forecast over the weekend. However stiff upper lip, best foot forward and all that and with a bazgillion changes of clothes in the boot we set off in CK's car for an adventure. CK's car was a necessity as once three pair of wellies are stashed in Maria's boot there is room for nothing else, let alone coats, towels and a basket of food such as may sustain weary travellers.

Despite a slight detour (bloody Kate, CK's satnav!) we got to Hengistbury to discover there are TWO car parks! Which one? Never mind I shall phone Missus Moog and clarify. Oh wait! What is this? My phone has NO power?? Triffic!

However Missus Moog did NOT know about the second car park and as I went back to check it out I passed the Moogsmobile, executing a quick u-turn I ended up parking CK's boring wagon next to the Moogsmobile and right in front of the grass bank where destructoBoy, Princess Curly-Wurly and my assistant were standing shivering in the rain, my beacon of blog-readiness to the world.

Fortunately by the time we actually got to the beach the weather was slightly more friendly with just low cloud, light drizzzle and delicate breeze and so the ball was flung for my assistant who ran her little terrier heart out. (Sometimes she even picked the ball up!) And the smalls ran, clambered, pitched and screeched. Much fun was had by all. Back to the cars for lunch and pancakes - Go Missus Moog, flipper extraordinaire!

Being such a generous soul Missus Moog was kind enough to share with these two scary hoodies lurking in the carpark.

It was only as said pannekoek were being scoffed that one particularly not-intelligent blogger may have said 'Hey! Today is Shrove Tuesday!!

Do not judge me. (life realisations #2/trash phisolophies)

I have just spent the past half an hour combing my hair properly for the first time in over a week.

My arms, scalp and fingers hurt.

Yes I am the mother who threatens to cut off her daughter's hair every morning because it (once again) has not been brushed properly and is full of knots.

The joy of quite long and extremely fine hair is that with a swish of a baby brush over the top it looks all flat and lovely, it can then be twisted back into a bun so that one at least maintains and air of respectability.

Princess Curly-Wurly will learn this trick as she ages. Until then I shall continue to scrape out the knots and tangles and twist/plait or put up as required each day.


For her at least ;-)

Oh. Dear.

Yesterday I learned a salutory lesson or three - laptops are

) not water soluble

b) do not grow when water is applied

and

c) not at all responsive to the beneficial properties of a cold shower.



Through a fault all of my own (with some little physical assistance from a handy terence) my laptop had a rude awakening yesterday afternoon. One third of a cup of water knocked over onto its keyboard.



Overcoming the shake in my hands I threw a towel onto the keyboard, hopefully sucking out most of the water. I then rang CK and confessed my sin. Once past my surprise at his lack of emotion expressed I agreed that unplugging it from the mains was probably the best course of immediate action.



After some hours of it sitting keyboard down I booted up the computer and in that time a family of mice had taken up residence. They were not happy about the whirring noise apparently because MY GOD! they squealed. I turned it off quickly and didn't look at it for another 24 hours.



V. excited b/c early this afternoon it booted up. And then it opened up to my desktop (we each have one, we're dead posh here y'know ;-) I was left with a white screen. All white. Figuring this to be a bad thing I turned the whole thing off with the dead button.



CK worked his magic this afternoon, not only did he lose the white screen but he got the innernets back on. Yay for built-in tech support! Evidently the marriage licence was worth the money. But it didn't last. The computer living I mean. Not the marriage, that seems fine.



I am using an old laptop from Babyman's DestructoBoy's room. Having already made WMK gasp tonight I must confess there are six computers in this house. They range in age from 18 months to 12 years. Obviously the one I have potentially fatally maimed is the newest. So 'Tonight, Matthew I shall be playing on a very decrepit 5 year old laptop.'


Posting may be intermittent.

Confession time

dear Innernets,

last night I tried to poison my children.

It started off as a day just like any other one - with John Humphries haranguing some dopey politician as I stirred my son's porridge to a cooked state and shared some choice words with my daughter about brushing her hair before going to school.


I was stitched up by two UNO sharks in a competitive game of cards after lunch.

To recover my composure I went into the kitchen and set four lamb shanks to slow cook in a pot with some garlic, vinegar, brown sugar, onions, water, bacon, passata and just a little bit of red wine. I thought it would be all right to deviate from the recipe a little. There was no dark sugar left so I just used the pale brown sugar. I thought it would be okay, honest.

The oven was on a low medium heat, it was what the recipe said and later, again like I was supposed to, I turned it down to low for the last hour of cooking. Okay, perhaps I used a little bit too much vinegar but it really isn't very easy to obtain accurate measurements when you are pouring from a five litre container.

I checked the potatoes for green skin, they seemed normal. And the broccoli had only been purchased a few days before. It had been included in dinner on Monday so I felt safe using it. Oh! If only I had known.

You see Innernets, at 6'o'clock last night I sat my children at the table and forced them to eat real food. There wasn't a piece of cheese, pasta or other standard set meal in this house in sight.



I have learned my lesson and they have promised to stop making retching noises when I suggest something different for dinner.

bugger! and hooray squared!

Have just started sewing up Will's cardigan but I seem to have buggered up the sleeves. Why did one look like the heel of a sock? I can't even get the other one to pin properly into place.


I tried to undo the sewing up but succeeded only in making a hole. I have to confess my next step was to slice the top off the socksleeve in attempt to unravel it. This didn't work either. As a consequence it is now residing over on the other side of the room behind the dog bed. In a cut to bits, straggly, yarny state. Bloody buggery thing.


Hooray for modern veterinary science! Black Dog had his bollockectomy today and all went well, although CK swears the hound is barking in a higher register ;-) Even better was having an appointment with the vet nurse when I collected him. This means all was well with his eye and we are free and clear after nearly three weeks of him wearing the vet bling. Which, by the way, made the vet laugh this morning and when I picked him up this aftie the nurses had found him a smiley face sticker.


Hooray also for my incredibly talented friend Locket who it seems now has a dog ;-) We wish you many happy hours in your new dog. Or something like that.



This is a collage of recent things that have made me smile

* Row One - a reminder that Halloween approacheth, a snap of the THREE yards of some IKEA fabric I bought in a charity shop for three pounds (a def. hooray!) and the pattern for the knitting I was doing on the weekend (quadrilateral equations :-~)<


* Row Two - Blinged up vet bling (went easy in the end b/c had to leave line of sight for him), my son just slipped my shoes on the other morning (froot loop), CK working out the knitting pattern.*

Row Three - Hair style recently created by Princess Curly-Wurly, more blinged-up vet bling. Another reminder.

"My child is so clever."

I state here and now this is not about my kids. That I know of.

Having read this post if you EVER hear me say such stuff about Princess Curly-Wurly or DestructoBoy please (metaphorically) slap me upside the head.

Please note it is not my intention to offend people. But if it happens, tough. This is my online not-so-secret diary and I shall say what I choose.


So my rant? Here it is:



I exist in a mostly middle-class universe. This is a market town. There is a low crime-rate. We have a museum, an art exhibition space. There are many shops selling fabulous things, not least the deli which sells all kinds of weirdo cheeses, oils and other things we didn't even know we needed.

This town up here on the Hill (and some of you flatland dwellers may recognise this syndrome from your area as well) is also home to the most clever, talented, intelligent, skilled children ever in the history of the universe. No, really, it is true. Just ask their parents. It would seem that every child in the local vicinity was an early talker, walking from minutes old and has an untapped IQ of 752.

Even when said parents are informed that their own beloved darling is falling behind or (GASP!!) actually just normal they refuse to believe it. You see, 'Clemista only acts up at school b/c she has such a high level of intelligence that she is bored. Her skills are not being channelled effectively.'

Or perhaps 'Clemista' and her ilk are simply unfocused b/c no-one is making them actually listen to the grown-up in charge b/c 'one doesn't like to stifle creativity in a child so clever'.

Well, let me just say as one who has to deal with those 'so clever children' on a regular basis - you are making mine and your child's life difficult. And when I say your child may have some issues relating to his peer group I don't mean it is because he is precociously intelligent and mostly interacts with adults. I mean your child has been babied and is in fact emotionally immature!

It seems to me to be a peculiarly middle-class thing too. I don't know why. Maybe we all want our little 'Clemistas' and 'Henriques' to be fabulous and cannot accept the fact that like us, their parents, they are just ordinary.

Hmmm.... who knows.

Free to good home **EDITED

Two young (ish) children.
1998 and 2001 editions


Minimal wear, no longer in box but all parts attached.


Soundbox in top condition and works at full volume, tested in both models on regular basis.


Both come complete with full wardrobe and accessories.


Tears function in working order on older model,
intermittent working order on newer one.



Genuine need for disposal, owner moving without forwarding address.

Postage paid to assure quick sale

****EDIT****

1998 model - pink
2001 model - blue


Offer has been received for early model.

Later one still available.

It was an accident!

I was tidying Pr.C-W's brownie kit (b/c I am her slave)just now and on opening her brownie bag found a fab notebook which had been a birthday present. I had to move it to fit bits in and it opened in my hand.

Wanna see to what page?



I didn't mean to read through her diary but now i've seen this I think turn about is fair play!

This is such a fabulous find. Anyone able to decipher what she is 'watching on the computer!'?


Hahahahaha - programmes with swearing in! hahahahaha!!

weekend a la Trash Towers

Babyman got busy

He chose the colour himself,

after some negotiation.




His first choice was deep, bright red.



Emptying out his room I found his baby book and was reminded of soooo much. Not least that this gym bunny below has been his best friend since he was four months old!

Wash up Wednesdays.

Do you have a dishwasher?


Me too.

Is child labour wrong?



Shhhhhhhhhhh.... don't tell OfStEd!!

------------------------------------------

Being without mechanical assistance means that everything we use has to be cleaned by hand, hard work and Radio Four - aaaah! blessed Jenni Humphreys, I'm Sorry I Haven't The News Quiz Now Show & The Archers (fabulous idea to arrange a soap opera around a peach flavour schnapps!).

Every time my mother or my sister come to visit (and sometimes even just when they phone) there are non-stop suggestions that perhaps right beside the sink would be a GREAT place for a dishwasher. Or under it. Or in the laundry - just get one!

We have the same conversations about rice cookers, homes in Australia and kitchen extensions - actually I agree with them about that last one. But I don't want a dishwasher and over the years I have actually come to appreciate the physics, skill and beauty that goes into stacking the draining board.

Needs must that it is stacked that high b/c here at my house we usually let God dry the dishes (on occasion we have even left them for God to wash but so far no good.)

So I am creating a whole new art form to celebrate the boring, repetitive and bad for your hands hard work of domestic life - kitchen sculpture. It will be a Wednesday thing. Come back and visit.

Today* I have mostly been busy.

(strictly speaking it was yesterday but bear with me, it has been a long day at the coalface.)



Tomorrow (okay, today) is World Book Day and after many years of ignoring it this year our school has decided to do the dressing up thing. Not being good with decisions this has been a saga for Babyman - Capt. Jack/The Doctor. Capt. Jack/The Doctor. Oh! Who can choose?!


Princess C-Dub on the other hand had no hesitation and wanted to go as Ping from the Dragonkeeper books. You may remember this saga from a previous post.


Having an unanticipated morning off work I made a dash to our local (very old-fashioned) haberdashers because the night before I had remembered this.


So with my fanciful Hannah Montana dress pattern (nine pieces for a child's dress!! And I didn't even bother with the interfacings!!), a zip, some bias binding and two and a half (!) metres of posh, Chinoiserie-type fabric I headed home and nearly had panic attacks over how to lay the pattern, which part to cut first, why wouldn't my material look like the layout in the instructions and where the bloody hell where my material cutting scissors?!?!?!?



In the space of an hour and three quarters I managed to (finally) cut out all the pieces, completely trash the dining room and nearly cry at least once. Then I went back to my day job.

(Note the pieces of pattern paper and cloth scraps in the back corners of the room? Those were strewn from one end to the other and over every surface.)

I was even bad worker person today in that No. One borrowed child spent the day sitting at the dining room table playing with scraps of material while I did sewing. However the story she wove was very interesting and if you ever wish to know about dolphins, nets, fishermen, Bratz dolls or the perils of being a Bratz Doll and sharing your bed with a dolphin - I am the one to ask!

It is obviously something that has been on her mind as nearly the first words Pr.C-W said to me this afternoon were 'What am I going to wear tomorrow?' I told her that we would sort something out. (Nothing gives me that warm glow as much as tormenting a small child;-)) At this point I still had work to do on it.

During the dance hour I managed to finish setting the sleeves but had not yet attached the back panel so when they came home all tired and sweaty and REALLY hungry it looked a little bit like that crumpled heap lying there on the table. (BTW can you see my violet-hued slippers under the table? Cool, huh!)

Let me just tell you now that no matter what your children did for you last Sunday or may tell you tonight- I am officially the best mother in the whole wide world. Ever! Just imagine how pleased she is going to be when she wakes up and finds not only does it have a back panel but also some bias binding and a hem!

So nearly exactly 12 and 3/4 hours later I am finished, done and ready for it to come home tomorrow night (yes, alright fussy ones - tonight) trashed and mucky. I really don't know how you sewy real imaginary people do it. Kudos to you all for your ability with a motor and a needle.

Just before I go for some sleep let me show you my weekend's bargain.

Louis Moreau, the posh London quilt-y company, come here every six months or so and sells off lots of stuff. There isn't usually much there to catch my eye as it is either too big (end of bolts, etc) or far to small. It was obviously meant to be a Goldilocks afternoon as I found several bits that were just right and had to bring them home with me.


A mix of silk, texture, print and colour. Even the dark brown has a good feel to it for a solid bag.

Final word now, eyes starting to close of their own volition, must go to bed; the two legged bird has to be up in a just a few hours to catch the grumpy worms!!

P.S.Babyman decided in the end (there may have been some slight nudging going on, I wouldn't care to say) to go as Arthur Dent from Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy - jammies, slippers, a dressing gown and a towel - how straightforward is that?!

P.P.S. Received something today to put in Bunny Hop Swap pal's parcel - very pleased with myself.

*ACK!!* Emergency, emergency!!

Despite having known about it for some weeks I have not yet prepared Princess C-Dub's costume for World Book Day on Thursday. Any hints on whipping up an outfit for a 1st century B.C. Chinese girl with an affinity for dragons and a place at the Emperor's court?

Visual Acuity. (Or 'my poor tortured soul')

Did you know, while I have been thrashing around on my sickbed, just downstairs in the dining room has been something I have lusted after in one form or another for nearly 20 years? It is just sitting there, half in/half out of its box. Quietly sitting. Quietly teasing me. But I am better than that. I have (very nearly) competely ignored it and we are now on the downhill slide with just eight more sleeps until my birthday. (edited: it was eight when I started, technically it is now seven.)

But that doesn't mean I don't hear its siren song.

Ever since we agreed purchasing this camera would be a good thing I have started to 'look' at things. A billion years ago when I owned an SLR in a previous life I looked at things always 'through the lens'. This is neither as pretentious or selfish as it sounds because 1. I was young and excited about this amazing thing called 'photography' I had discovered and 2. I didn't have kids, dogs or a partner then so my time was my own.

In recent days, when I have actually managed to complete my share of 'white ceiling , pointless staring at' for the day , my focus seems to have been brought into clearer definition. Not because of the Zen aspects to the ceiling staring, rather I am thinking like an SLR user again. I feel my visual comprehension of colour and texture is being sharpened. This probably sounds like a 'Pseud's Corner' excerpt!

It may well be how all you sewers, quilters and proper knitters feel all the time anyway. Looking at how colours merge together or retreat quickly from one another depending on the light. The reaction of texture to shadow. Trying to fix whatever you have in your mind's eye so the finished piece shares the same clarity. Being open to the fortunes of a lucky accident. Honestly? It is a mindset I have been out of properly for many years.

This week's discovery is that my world around here is suddenly full of interesting angles.

I hope I can share them with you.

CK made danish pastries on the weekend with the kids.

I wish he had used butter like everyone else!

Shadow Ballet

Tonight as I lie in my freshly made bed, my poor 'hilltop malarial' body racked with shakes and shivers, Princess Curly-Wurly has been entertaining me with shadow ballet on the ceiling. Both she and her shadow are incredibly elegant. As she is the daughter of a woman with all the natural grace of a mountain elephant I am continually amazed by how graceful she has become.


Shadow Ballet involves standing relatively still and dancing, mostly with your arms, in front of a light source. Having the light source at an angle gives for greater display of movement. Perhaps the best way to appreciate this art form is from a semi-prone position on clean bed linen having just had hand cream rubbed into your hands, fingers and arms by the performer. I certainly found it worked very well.

Some examples of skill & cleverness from those graceful hands. I know there is nothing to give these scale but they were weeny, free standing and completely self-supporting. Not an easy thing to achieve with plasticine!

I have been so proud of my girl since Wednesday night when the (by now infamous) 'hilltop malaria' first got up and whacked me about the head and shoulders.

On arrival home from ballet I collopsed on the yellow couch in a big heap with 750 different blankets and layers and coats and scarves and hats arranged about my person for shiver abatement purposes. My brave Princess Curly-Wurly Girlie said to not worry, that she would make dinner tonight. And she did! My baby girl made beans on toast for her and her brother. And ever since she has been looking for ways to help, stroking my head, bringing me drinks, sharing her sweetie-bobs with me and then tonight introducing me to the delights of Shadow Ballet.

For that if not all the other fabulous things she has done for me this week I would like to award to Princess Curly-Wurly a 'you make my day' award.

Picky Tea.

It needed to be done straight away.

Picky tea is a CK invention and has, I think, been different in its execution to the concept but nye, what are you going to do?

Unless I have an active hand in the occasion it is a yellow meal - bread, crisps, sweetcorn, butter, cheese, potatoes, sausage rolls, eggs - you get the picture, right? But on my shift we add peppers, peas, grapes, yogurts, gherkins, apples and whatever I else I can find that will undermine CK's plan to turn his children into starch/carbohydrate addicts.

Once the varied and many constituent parts have been assembled they are laid out on the table on platters or little dishes and you pick out the stuff you would like to eat. For some it means loading your plate up until it threatens to throw itself into a dog's mouth to stop any more being added. For others it is nibbling away for six years on one crisp or the nasty horrible plastic stringy cheese your father has been conned into buying.

This Friday night festivity has become even more fun since Christmas because we gave CK a 'lazy susan'. Who knew what joy could be gained from introducing an element of Russian Roulette to a meal? Taking said 'lazy susan' and *ahem, blushing slightly says* 13 or 14 of these (I mean the ramekins not the puddings - that wouldbe shameful.) gently spin the 'lazy susan' until it stops in front of a small child and they have to eat whatever is in the pot closest to them. Great hilarity ensues as said child is forced to eat such poisons as cherry tomato pieces (pieces!) or peanuts. With much gurning, eye-rolling and sound effects the theatrics must be seen to be believed. Once I am allowed to have my birthday present I will have pics.

I like to earn my points.

I have been involved in this child-raising lark for some many years.

Not that I am a really old lady or anything but it is over 17 years now, with nine of those here with my own kids, and the one thing I have always held to is actions and consequences. In fact if you offer Babyman & Princess C-W the prompt 'actions', they will undoubtedly respond with 'consequences'. Via don't try this at home I found a mother who really practices what she preaches!


Sometimes I feel a little mean when I look at other parents relating to their childer - lots of laughing, funny games and general silliness but then I think that I would rather chew on my own elbows that put up with the rudeness, incivility and general pissiness I see the grown-ups get from these same kids.


Don't get me wrong - we have fun. We laugh, play and be silly. Quite often. (It is scheduled into our daily timetable under Spontaneity: fun variety).It is just that I have expectations. And they are set fairly high. I reckon that children will try and reach for the level you expect. Nothing clever or huge just the childcare antithesis of 'dumbing down'. I suppose another way of phrasing it is 'encouraging independence'.


As I say on a regular basis (whether to salve my own conscience or someone else's) "I like to get a tick in the 'bad mummy box' before breakfast." I like and encourage manners. Whether they are my own children or someone else's I like manners because from there comes a sense of self and your effect on others. It is also a fabulous structure for enabling a child socially. I would be mortified to think my children went out into the world and acted as wildly as I have seen some (and I include my 'borrowed' children, although to a lesser degree[in both manners and wildness!]).


Have you noticed this post is all about memememememe and I? That is a bit over the top and really needs to be addressed. So enough about me. Let me show you about some of the shopping I bought today!

Is it not truly beautiful? And a large thank you to our delightful hand model! The colour as shown in this pic is a bit dark. Really it is kind of a dark school trouser grey. And the sequins are almost dull brass. It is truly a beautiful thing and I love it. Not quite but nearly my favourite bit is that it cost me a whole £8!!! There is a little shop in town which has decided not to be there after Saturday. It is filled with beautiful things (well actually it is not filled any more - most of it is in my car!).

I would post pictures of the other things I bought to give money to the shop which is off on holiday on Saturday but I can't because a) they are for my secret cocoa swap and b) I didn't take the pictures!



As I type this 'Gallipoli' is on and they are just at the final scene. I don't know if any of you have seen it but for a whole generation of Autralians it is our equivalent of the final scene in Blackadder Four. All should watch it.