I have moved ... no really ... I have moved

I have moved to http://www.arewenearlythereyetmummy.com/

So what are you waiting for? ... come on over, have a mooch around, play with my roly poly tag cloud and make yourself at home.

If everyone could update blogrolls, follow mes and any mention of Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy? via social media info etc etc etc, I'd be eternally grateful.

I'm here but I'm not - news of the great unveiling

I'm not really here.

I'm at Teacher Friend Mother of Three's caravan in the Yorkshire Dales with the 3 and 4 year old. Facebook Wife Mother of One is coming too.

The husband is clicking 'publish post' for me in my absence.

We are more than likely splashing about in the stream which runs along the side of 'the van' and although we are only here for 24 hours I have packed enough clothes for a week. Last night we probably toasted marshmellows and drank lashings of wine before cramming ourselves and the six children into cupboards, drawers and shower cubicles to sleep.

Anyway. I've had a major facelift ... well not personally that would take a LOT of money but you know what I mean. I just wanted to warn you all, I wouldn't want you to tune in and think you'd gone to the wrong place.

http://arewenearlythereyetmummy.com

The husband has spent an AWFUL lot of time and effort creating the new site. It's all a bit sparkly with a hint of fandangled jiggerypokery. I'm very proud of him and what he's achieved and I hope you'll like it too. There are a few tweaks still to make, but he has tons of other 'paid' stuff to do, so there we have it in all it's glory. If everyone could update blogrolls, follow mes and any mention of AWNTYM via social media info etc etc etc, I'd be eternally grateful.

Anyway I'll be back shortly with tales of 'how many pairs of pants/shorts/t-shirts/socks a small child can go through in one 24 hour period at the van' ... as well as how many people can comfortably sleep in a 2 bedroomed static caravan.

I'm thinking 9 isn't the magic number.

Shaddap your face ...

Things the husband has said to me ...

... last week

Him looking at me - "It's no wonder our children are schizophrenic"

... this week

Me - "You'll miss me tomorrow night when I'm not here. You'll weep into your pillow"

Him - "Only if that ironing still isn't done"

Things the 4 year old has said to me this week

"You have a hairy front bottom"

"This is the worst day of my life ... EVER"

Words the 4 year old has got wrong whilst singing this week ...

"Dancing Queen, young and sweet only tangerine"

May the drowning dreams commence ...

For some reason the schools in our village have two weeks at half term. Great for the kids, not so great for parents who have to work and juggle childcare. To add further pressure one half of the OAP childminding duo is in hospital having an operation.

The husband was in charge today. This morning as I was leaving for the office, the glorious sun was beating down and I suggested the husband bob to Tesco or Argos and get one of those cheap little paddling pools for the kids to mess around in whilst he tried to do some work. Off they went.

At lunchtime I sent a text asking if the kids were enjoying their paddling pool.

His reply 'we won't have to worry about swimming lessons' just made me roll my eyes to the heavens.

This is what greeted me when I got home ...

Man lust had taken over. Why buy a cheap little paddling pool when you can have a vast swimming pool?

Does anybody else have tales of man lust taking over?

Go Ape Giveaway - Calling All Gorillas

I have always wanted to Go Ape. Something about dangling 40ft in the air, being a tad scared and challenging my inner ape appeals. Myself and Mary from Caution Woman at Work are donning gorilla suits going to be twittering from the treetops, taking photos and then telling you all about it when we return. I will also be writing a piece for http://www.havealovelytime.com/ a great new family travel blog.

I have 3 pairs of tickets (possibly more) up for grabs and I want to offer them to my lovely readers. All you need to do is leave a comment and my independent adjudicators (the 3 and 4 year old) will pull names out of a hat a week today.

Before you comment make sure you can attend the location on the time and date below.

The date - Sunday 12 July 2009
Time - 11.30am
Location - Dalby Forest, Near Pickering, North Yorkshire
Minimum age - 10yrs
Minimum height - 1.4m (4ft7")
Maximum weight - 20.5 stones (130kg)

Do me a favour and hit the button to the bottom right to retweet this competition!

Our local supermarket - the height of sophistication

The husband sent me an email at work the other day asking me to get some guacamole to go with some nachos we were having that evening.

I had a nagging feeling that our local supermarket, which I work opposite, may not be up to the task.

I gave them the benefit of my doubt, after all last week they reopened after moving things from one aisle to another and giving the staff new fleeces undergoing a huge revamp which was launched with a massive strawberry frightening small children out of their wits and making them cry wandering round tapping people on the shoulder and giving out fridge magnets and free bananas.

I perused the shelves and couldn't find any guacamole. Finding a supermarket employee I approached her.

"Do you have any guacamole?" said I

"Gwakkawot?" said she with a look of confusion

"A Mexican dip made from avocados. If you don't stock it we could make our own with avocados" said I

"Avvawot?" Said she

I decided that maybe the village wasn't ready to embrace Mexican dips and gave up.

Two days later, husband sent me an email at work asking for fresh mint and thyme for some meatballs. Again, no joy. The nearest thing to mint was a Polo. At this rate the husband is going to have to tone down his menu choices.

Last month one of my colleagues bought some apples from the same supermarket. Biting into one he announced that his apple tasted of ... cheese. Some others tried apples out of the same bag.

Yes, cheese was the general consensus.

If I could get them to make the apples taste of avocado I could make my own gwakkawot.

The perils of face painting ...

The 3 year old is really quite shy. He would rather hide in a dark cupboard full of spiders than be the centre of attention.

So, on Monday when we were at a game fair (as in pheasant, ferrets, polo and tractors; Not Buckaroo, Twister or Hungry Hippos). There was a face painting stand. The 4 year old, not shy at all decided she was having her face painted and she was having a dalmation. Fairy nuff.


In the past the 3 year old has been forced against his will persuaded to have a spider painted on his wrist, which he has then washed off immediately.

No sireeee, not today. He wanted to be a clown ... or at least he thought he did, until he saw himself in the mirror ...

It took a while, but he did get used to it as you can see ...

That night he had a bath and the clown was washed away ... or so we thought.

The following morning he still had a tinge of yellow running through his eyebrows, a red moustache and nose.

A miracle ...

We witnessed a miracle at Walt Disney World, Florida.

We were sat in a VIP area with a couple of families watching the amazing Spectromagic evening. Floats (they were actually far more fabulous than that) floated (what else) along the paths in the Magic Kingdom outside Cinderella's castle, each one lit up with characters wearing outfits speckled with lights. Just beautiful.

There was a family of five who were all celebrating their birthday. I kid you not, all five in the same week. This meant that every cast member (that's Disney speak for employee) had to wish each and everyone of them a Happy Birthday with great gusto, which they of course did.

... that was not the miracle.

Then there was the girl, on the front row, sitting with her father. When Snow White walked past and stopped to kiss her she nearly fainted. It was a sight to behold, so lovely and something she won't forget in a hurry.

... that wasn't the miracle either ...

The miracle we all witnessed was the woman sat in a wheelchair at the end of our row, who happened to be the mother of the girl kissed by Snow White.

She had been fairly calm, just watching the parade. However, on seeing The Little Mermaid float coasting round the corner towards us she started bouncing up and down in her wheelchair clapping wildly.

When the float came level with our seating and Ursula and Ariel waved she actually jumped up, did a jig which included some booty shaking, waved as if she were drowning at sea, blew kisses, checked that her family hadn't seen her and sat down again.

Walt Disney World, where dreams come true.

And so this leads me to one of my favourite Little Britain clips ...

I ain't gittin' on no plane!

The 4 year old brought a picture home from school last week ...



It is the 4 year old and God hanging out in the sunshine.

I'm not sure which part I like best ... God's wild beard or his backcombed hair.

He has a look of BA Baracus don't you think?

Bedtime Stories according to the children (all 3 of them)

The people at Think Parents asked us to review Bedtime Stories.



MarMar came to babysit and, well ... we went out for the evening and she watched it with them.

Disclaimer : Just as we were leaving the 3 year old asked if it had started yet ... it was 15 minutes in. Based on that you can discount absolutely anything he says in the following review.

So, a review according to the 3, 4 and 13 year old.

So, kids, how was the film?

3 year old - There were sweets coming down

4 year old - It was good

13 year old - I didn't get it in the beginning, I thought it would be a bedtime story. By the end though it made sense and I thought it was really good.

What was the film about?

3 year old - There were sweets coming down

4 year old - Lots of stories that came true

13 year old - Bedtime stories that came true

What did you like?

3 year old - The man had a bee on his tongue. It stinged him.

4 year old - The hamster was really funny. It was running on a wheel and watching telly. And I liked the mermaid. And the really funny man, he kept trying to kiss the lady and another man kept kicking him.

13 year old - I liked that the Bedtime Stories linked with his life. It was really clever the way it connected and things happened.

Anything you disliked?

3 year old - Yeah, no

4 year old - When the boy kicks the man, it was really nasty

13 year old - The little guy, he kept kicking the couple as they were about to kiss

Did the film have a happy ending?

3 year old - Yes, it's off now

4 year old - Yes, because they kissed and no one kicked them

13 year old - Umm, I can't remember, but they kissed

Marks out of 5?

3 year old - 5/5 (probably copying his sisters)

4 year old - 5/5 (and has since asked to watch it again ... twice)

13 year old - 4/5

Shhhhht ...

We've had some potential for child/toddler tourettes again this week ....

Hollaback Girl by Gwen Stafani was on Radio 1 on Friday. I was in the car with both children at the time. Bear in mind the chorus for a moment please;

Ooh, this my sh*t, this my sh*t
Ooh, this my sh*t, this my sh*t
Ooh, this my sh*t, this my sh*t
Ooh, this my sh*t, this my sh*t

Instead of saying sh*t, they changed it to shhhhht, so it sounded exactly like ... well, sh*t.

Delighted I was not.

The 4 year old said nothing at the time, but I am well aware she will be digesting it for another more suitable time, like our once yearly trip to church, when we are sat in the Dr’s waiting room or travelling in a full but silent lift.

Update on life as we know it ...

I reached new professional heights this week when I was on the phone to our advertising agency. I was giving some amendments for some advert copy and I said the following;

“Yes, put a curly ‘c’ in front of the salary?”

As I said it, I knew I had forgotten that I was indeed speaking to a 40+ year old man and not my 4 year old daughter. I hastily ended the conversation and put down the phone. I then had an ‘I carried a watermelon’ moment (Haven't you seen Dirty Dancing?).

I am starting to notice changes to my body. So far this week I have noticed huge wrinkles around my eyes when I smile to myself in the mirror. Please note I do not spend time smiling at myself in the mirror, it was an accidental find. Nor do I chant 'Go get them Laura, you are the fabulous!' three times before I go to work.

Clearly these lines are caused by laughing. I like to laugh. I do not like the wrinkles. Also, nasal hair. After 30 years of just being there out of view it's suddenly grown. At the grand age of 30 is it time to invest in some anti ageing creams and find some way to stop the nasal hair before I can plait it upwards and into my eyebrows. Not an attractive look.

We have a house, the dream house in fact. Hooray! We move in 4ish weeks. I am particularly excited by the fact that we will have a dishwasher after 3 years without and a normal persons bath. We currently have a corner bath, being tall means this is not remotely comfortable.

I have started de-cluttering the house. A natural hoarder, I have found de-cluttering quite cathartic. I pick on a room armed with a bin liner and get rid of anything that has no use.

The 4 year old is fine, a little wobbly about the new house but she will be fine. "You'll have a bigger bedroom" I keep saying animatedly with a big smile as if that will make her feel more at ease.

She has said to me on three separate occasions this week that she doesn't like her dreams, that they are always bad. I have started giving her happy memories to think about when she starts to think about her bad dreams. The latest one was when I was pregnant with her and she kept me and the husband amused of an evening by hiccuping from within. She thinks this is amusing and I have told her it will ward off the bad dreams. Let's see how long that lasts.

She is still skipping with her rope at every opportunity and lassoing random people in the school playground. She keeps her skipping rope in a powder pink shoe box she got from school ... "It's the skipping ropes house". Who am I to argue.

The 3 year old is fine and dandy. He seems unfazed by our house move. He has recently added to his people collection (Mickey Mouse and Tramp) and soon will not be able to get into bed for his people. He has his post op (grommets) check on Friday which I'm sure will go fine. I'm paranoid that his hearing has dropped again ... it could be selective. If only they could do something about his foghorn voice and his snoring too ... Jeez ... the snoring. Each snore shakes the house.

He loves pre-school, more so when it doesn't rain and he can play outside on the bikes, pulling wheelies and handbrake turns, much to the horror of 'the ladies' as he affectionately calls them. He thinks it's OK to burp every time we sit down for a family meal, but it's alright because he says 'excuse me'.

The Husband doesn't burp during family meals or snore, in fact he makes no noise when he sleeps. Occasionally I have to check that he is even breathing. This week he has discovered Twitter, Wordpress and that he doesn't like iced muffins. he is designing a new website (to be unveiled sometime soon) for his freelance work and is about to embark on redesigning my blog. All this rain has accelerated the cabbages, peas and onions in his vegetable patch which he will be unable to transport to the new house. A case of 'look at what you could have won'.


The Tadpoles worry me and I think we shall be leaving them here. We had 30 tadpoles, stolen from Auntie Kate's pond. I thought it would be great for the children to see them morph into frogs. They are currently living on the decking in a large box. I feed them, but they much prefer the taste of fresh tadpole. We now have around 12 giant tadpoles.

A Muffin Off By The Ovenly Challenged

It was with GREAT optimism that I challenged Single Parent Dad to a ‘Muffin Off’.

Knowing what I know now I'm wondering if I was just plain delusional with a hint of foolishness thrown in for good measure. At the time of the challenge I was confident that I could produce beautiful muffins far superior to his.

He is the maker of 'packet bish bash bosh buns' and I am just 'ovenly challenged'.

After putting on my daughter’s apron (there is no photographic evidence of this, but if you imagine an elephant sporting a flannel you are there) and putting the Police with Reggatta de Blanc on the ipod (classic muffin making music) I followed English Mum’s recipe which I found really easy to follow.

I was delighted with her tip about overworking the gluten and decided that this was the reason that everything I bake looks and tastes like concrete.

It started so well, I even used the special Mickey spatula for luck.

Everything sniffed (the 3 year old) and mixed (me) I nervously waited whilst the oven did its thang. I kept chanting the well known mantra ‘A watched muffin doesn’t flourish’ or something like that and kept my eyes averted.

The failed noise From Family Fortunes rang out as I removed my muffins from the oven (Uh Urrrrrr doesn’t quite do it). I imagine the husband was sat in the office (next door to the kitchen) rolling his eyes back in his head as I swore repeatedly.

They weren't burnt, they were cooked but there was something wrong ...

Only I could produce ‘Dwarf Muffins’. Please note the pony at the front is there only to distract your eye for the shortcomings of my baking, not to make my muffins look bigger than they are. Note also the dimmed lighting ... Ahem.

Not only did they come out dwarfed but they were also peaked. This meant that when I tried to disguise them for any photographic evidence each one ended up looking like a hillock with a moat. Even the chocolate sprinklies decided to bugger off into the moat for a swim pushing the humongous muffin cases further away from the teeny tiny muffins.

The only saving grace is that they tasted ‘alright’ and ‘not bad’ (husband). ‘Alright’ is actually about a 6 out of 10; after all he has endured nearly 9 years of my deliberate poisoning baking attempts. The 3 year old ate one and the 4 year old who doesn't eat buns ate two muffins.

I made husband do a repeat tasting post icing. The icing was still runny and he agreed that the muffins were far tastier without. The phrase 'you can't polish a turd' springs to mind.

Tonight, when I asked for a direct muffin quote from the 4 year old she simply coughed over the remaining muffins and went on her way.

I have let English Mum down. What kind of baking ambassador am I? I'd like to blame the baking powder ... or the overworking of my mix.

As for Single Parent Dad, at the time of writing I haven't seen his attempts, but I don't need to. I know that they will be much better than mine.

Now, where did I put that recipe for humble pie?

To find out how Single parent Dad got on meander over on here.
If anyone would like to take on the muffin meme, just let me know!

Clicking My Heels and a 'Muffin Off'

The headline will read;

3 YEAR OLD SCARRED BY JETSET MOTHER

As you all know I went on a jolly trip of great importance to the US of A a few weeks ago.

Tonight we engaged MarMar for babysitting duties so that we could go to the cinema.

Husband - Goodnight, see you in the morning

3 year old - Are you going to America with Mummy?

Clearly the 3 year old is still in some confusion about time and distance ... or he is scarred by my abandoning him for the best pomegranate mojitos ever Mickey Mouse ... or he thinks I can click my heels like Dorothy.

I think I shall buy him a globe.

In other news ... on Wednesday I will be presenting the results of my 'Muffin Off' with Single Parent Dad (He of packet bun shame) where we shall both be judged by englishmum when we attempt to recreate her vanilla muffins. I'm still not sure what the criteria is, I'll just be glad if my embarrasing efforts beautiful muffins are not charred.

My Knitted Naked Family?

bloggerdad was tweeting about this site yesterday. Curiosity got the better of me and I took a look.

It is hilarious.

I automatically passed it on to some friends.

My friend, Facebook Wife Mother of One, was sharing the hilarity of awkward family photos with her father last night and they were chortling, in particular, at this photo.

Her mother came into the room in the middle of their chortling and got the wrong end of the stick (albeit a knitted one). She thought that I had sent the photo to Facebook Wife Mother of One and that it was in fact me and my family.

I'm torn. Do I feel disturbed or amused.

Am erring on the side of amused.

The Cork Collection

The 4 year old used her imagination and created a piece of modern art on the living room carpet using our cork collection.

It took her a while, she enjoyed putting each of the corks out and talking to some of them(?).

Her 3 year old brother enjoyed knocking them all down. He was a human bowling ball. She took it in good spirit, for a change

Answering the inevitable questions;

You have a cork collection?
Yes, we have a cork collection.

Why do we have a cork collection?
I don't actually know. They just sit in those vases up there. We don't get out our corks of a night and compare them, they just sit.

How many corks do you have?
I am not entirely sure how many corks we have.

How long have you been collecting them?
Umm ... so you can work out our wine intake per day/month/year? Surely you have better things to do. Let's just say we've enjoyed every drop.

The virtual burglar pays a visit ... in my head

Occasionally I have irrational thoughts. For instance;

What if a burglar were to break into the house in the middle of the night?

Last week I gave it too much thought, it went a little something like this;

So, the burglar breaks in. I don’t know how, he just does OK?

The dog who is having one of those dreams where she’s running in the park stirs. She doesn’t bark. Instead she vomits on the burglar’s shoes and proceeds to wag her tail and lick him. She welcomes him into our home. Not only has she been sick but earlier in the evening she was cleaning her arse with that tongue.

He fumbles to switch on his torch and surveys the kitchen for car keys to the shiny motor on the drive. Plates are piled high on the work surface. Don’t these people have a dishwasher? No, not unless you count me and the husband.

His torch light falls upon a picture on a pinboard of a gay couple. One of them is dressed as Adam Ant, the other is dressed as himself and has a fetching moustache. This picture is me (Magnum PI) and the husband (Adam Ant) at my sisters 40th birthday party. Note the chest hair (For the record and those of you who were wondering ... this is not my own chest hair).

There’s no hope of finding keys amongst the clutter. He locates a handbag on the worktop and opens it. He takes out the contents looking for a purse; a box of raisins, a soggy tissue, a broken Cinderella necklace, a sock, a notebook with extensive Disney notes … a purse with a faulty zip, several receipts for the Co-op and just three ten pence pieces.

He finds a mobile phone right at the bottom of the handbag, hiding. Not the latest model but worth a bob or two. The screen flashes bright. A picture of two small children wearing underpants on their heads greets him. Oh my god, what kinds of people are parenting these children? I believe in nature over nurture … my children are truly bonkers, is that really my fault? … Ahem.

He decides to venture into the living room to check out the electrical goods. Suddenly there is a piercing shriek. He stops dead in his tracks, terrified that there is a beast upstairs. The 4 year old is having night terrors again.

In his panic to leave the house he goes into the downstairs toilet and is met a child’s floater bobbing alone. “Of course I flushed the toilet Mummy”

Recoiling in horror and running back towards the door he stands on a toy fire engine and falls to the floor crashing into the intricate marble run of the previous day.

As he crawls to his knees he kneels on a piece of Lego. OH THE PAIN! For those of you not accustomed to the pain a piece of Lego can cause when kneeled upon, I have confirmed, after a lengthy conversation with the husband, that is equal to standing on an upturned plug.

Clutching his knee he notices some car keys hanging out of a coat pocket in the hall. Bingo!

Relieved to be leaving the house of horrors he realises that the keys are not for the shiny motor, they are indeed for the rusty, dusty old motor parked beside it.

He sits in the car, the first thing to hit him is the lingering smell of wet dog. He puts the key in the ignition. The car stereo signals its awakening with a loud rasping farting noise and The Wind in The Willows blares out of the speakers. The faulty hand brake alarm starts and the petrol gauge is glowing on empty.

What burglar, in his right mind would pick on us?!

Housekeeping Bits & The Disney Design-a-Tee

Housekeeping bits first then on with business ...

My interview with My Child editor Tara is up here. Go have a look if you want to know a bit more about me.

Don't forget the Lego Duplo giveaway deadline is 4pm Tuesday. The Duplo has arrived and the boxes are bigger than I expected! For a chance to enter just leave a comment here.

The answer to my answers on a postcard ... or a comment box post on Saturday was SNAIL ... obviously

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Disney Design-a-Tee

Whilst at Walt Disney World we got to design our own t-shirts at the Disney Design-a-Tee shop.

We customised our t-shirts on a touch screen where we could select our favourite T-shirt colour, size and style and choose from more than 400 pieces of character art. we added our own words, but you can also add pre-selected phrases too.

My friend the Dulwich Divorcee was told that Mickey and divorce don't go together when she tried to make her t-shirt. You can read about her hilarious and heart warming quest for Mickey here.

Erica, who has a penchant for Baileys (but never drinks, oh no) was also told that Mickey and alcohol don't go together.

Realising that I wouldn't be able to make a wholesome t-shirt for myself I made one for the 4 year old with her name and some blatant advertising of my blog and she loves it.

It came in a great little bag that has already been utilised as a sleeping bag for a variety of soft toys.

Answers on a postcard ... or a comment box

The 3 year old brought this back from pre-school last week.

Can you tell what it is?






















The first one to guess wins ...

(drum roll)

... general blogging kudos.

I'm British, I'm cynical ... did I have a good time? Hell yeah!

Now that I've got over the jet lag, my children have almost forgiven me for abandoning them, my ankles have reduced to their normal size, and I've stopped grieving the company of my fellow bloggers (that bit's actually a lie) I thought I'd give you an overview of my trip.

I was aware of Walt Disney World, Florida before, but the thought of going there had never crossed my mind. I wasn't against it per se, I really didn't have any thoughts about it ... I had an open mind.

So, that's not completely true. I assumed it would be too expensive, fast food and only fast food, lots of big rides, nothing for little ones to do, huge crowds of huge people and queues that go on forever.

I had even heard people speak of their holidays to Walt Disney World with huge smiles on their animated faces. I didn't believe them, how could something be so good?

"Take some pictures of really fat people" someone texted before I left. That, by the way, was the same person who told me to avoid anyone wearing a sombrero.

I only saw a handful of obese people and they were ensconced on sit down scooters. When we were having our walk round tour of Typhoon Lagoon our lovely guide Sindy told us that one of the rides has an elevator as well as steps to get to the top. I made a comment that surely if you are too fat to climb the stairs you are too fat travel down a water slide tube. She glared at me and it was then that I considered that there may be disabled people wishing to use the slides too ... Walt thought of everything.

"All you'll eat is burgers, weeners and chips" my friend said ... "What's a weener?" I replied

"You'll need two seats on your return flight" husband said.

I didn't eat any fast food when I was there. So much so that on the last day when we drove past a McDonald's on the way to the mall I was almost clawing my way through the window of the 'oven bus'.

Whilst away I ate some of the best food I have ever eaten, the oak grilled filet of beef at Citrico's being the outright winner, closely followed by the goats cheese truffles and we tried a variety of the options available. There are restaurants which serve what we would class fast food but the menus are dominated by healthy options which makes a refreshing change.

The rides themselves were ... awesome. I haven't been on a rollercoaster for ten years or more. My favourite ride was the Aerosmith Rock 'n' Roller. I have never laughed and cried so much at the same time and it only lasted a few minutes.

We got fast passes which sounds very VIP, however, anyone can get fast passes, you just have to be organised. This means you can walk past the main queue to an alternative queue which gets you onto the ride quicker.

The Tower of Terror was ... well, terrifying ... dropping 13 floors in a lift. It is the only ride at Disney which has a randomiser (Disney fact), meaning each time you ride you have a different experience. I'm happy to have tried it, but won't be testing the randomiser! At one point (between floors 12 amd 2) I shouted "I can't bear this" in a very dramatic and English manner, much to the amusement of the American Mom in front.

We went on several children's rides which were great fun and we found there was something for everyone from toddler all the way up to over excited adult. Toy Story Mania was my favourite of the children's rides we tried.

There were loads of attractions that didn't include doing loop the loop in the dark or screaming louder than you knew you could. For instance, you could take a tour of Minnie's house, go on safari, play on a playground, have a chat with Crush from Finding Nemo or watch one of many shows ... Mickey's Philharmonic, Finding Nemo the Musical, Muppet Show, American Idol to name but a few.

What I wasn't expecting was to be mesmerised by the magical aspect of everything. Seeing children's faces as they ate their breakfast and turned to find Mickey tapping them on their shoulder almost reduced most of us to tears (English Mum).

The fireworks ... oh the fireworks ... I don't even think I can't even describe them to do them justice. Awesome, amazing, fanbloodytastic? Especially the Wishes show in the Magical Kingdom ... seeing Cinderella's castle lit up at night with fireworks blasting above, Tinkerbell flying out of the castle window and the music playing .... I don't do emotional, but I did that night. I may have welled up a little (though not as much as Linda).

I had such a fantastic time and I'm an adult (of sorts). How can I not let my beautiful children, lights of my life, experience this magic whilst they are still young enough to believe?!

My only concern would be that once you've holidayed at Walt Disney World with your children nothing else could ever live up to it! When I take them, the following year, to a campsite in the Lakes with an adventure playground and communal facilities they'll be wondering, as I will, where the self flushing toilets, fireworks and Mickey ears are.

Abandon Ship

Whilst I was getting the 3 year old out of the bath last night I heard the following being shouted downstairs ...

4 year old - DADDY, WHY DID YOU JUST SHOUT SHIP?

Roll Up Roll Up ... Lego Duplo Giveaway

Some lovely people have sent me a couple of boxes of Lego Duplo for my fab readers!








Leave a comment if you'd like to be entered. On Tuesday 12 May at approximately 4pm (give me chance to get home from work will you) my independent adjudicators (the 3 and 4 year old) will pick two people at random out of a hat ... there will be photographic evidence.

Can't say fairer than that.

The competition is open to residents of the UK (sorry everyone else) and the only thing I ask is that you give honest feedback about the product on the Lego Duplo website once your child has used it.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy

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12 May - So the independent adjudicators took a break from eating their apples and delved intoo the Minnie Mouse ears hat of names.

The Legu Duplo Giveaway Winners are ...

Audrey and Katherine! Well done, your Lego Duplo will be winging it's way to you asap!

If it’s not one thing it’s another.

This month’s ‘thing’ is that our landlady called the day before I went to Walt Disney World, Florida to say she’s decided to sell our house. We have lived here for almost three years and thought we’d be here for at least one more. She said we could stay … bottom lip quivering.

So, this morning I have been on the house trail. Because we need something with four bedrooms it is proving difficult. Today we have seen three.

Dream Home … The first house was absolutely beautiful with loads of period features and five bedrooms. There is a nice garden to the front, a large yard perfect for Barbie and Spiderman bikes at the back, two minutes from the train station and ten minutes from the 4 year olds school. The problem: it is slightly more than we are paying for this, plus someone else is interested and can move in before us.

Bunga Bunga … There is a house that backs onto ours. Over the fence and from the outside it is splendid with a huge garden complete with small stream running through it. The removal costs would be minimal as we would just pass things back and forth over the fence. Husband would be able to check on the progress of his cabbages and peas with the possibility of taking them with him. Appearances can be deceptive though, especially in this case. Everything is botched and falling apart. I couldn’t swing a rabbit in the bedrooms for fitted wardrobes … if I had a rabbit that is.

Ukrainian Topsy Turvy Bunga Bunga… The third house, owned by a lovely Ukrainian man had the right amount of bedrooms but was an upside down house, with all living space on the upper floor. It was very strange, an upside down bungalow. The lovely Ukrainian man told us that he was moving to the Ukraine to die … which was nice. I don’t think he meant straight away, more of an “I was born there and I shall die there” way.

Elephantitis, auras, chuntering and narcolepsy

The wonderful Sarah (Disney Head of PR for the UK) looked after us all week and it was only when she left us at Orlando airport that it was apparent how much we had relied upon her. After Linda got a bottle of champagne confiscated at bag scanning we got onto the wrong monorail. Poor lost bloggers.

There was no Premium Economy upgrade this time. Jane checked our auras whilst we waited to be called for boarding. We were all fine apart from English Mum whose aura was depleted. At least she had one though. No aura, no fly.

Further integration into normal life followed when I stood back aghast that the toilets at the airport were not self flushing and the taps were not sensor led. We had been spoilt.

The flight was as expected … chewy beef stew, watching films with one working headphone (at one point I thought I may have gone deaf in one ear due to the screaming on the rollerccoasters), a breakfast muffin which had runny cheese covering its innards. The cheese had a consistency I have never experienced before and hopefully will never again.

When we reached Gatwick I said goodbye to my six new friends. It was a sad moment. We had experienced so much in our week away and I felt bereft as I wandered aimlessly round the South Terminal. Who would make me laugh now?

The fatigue slowly crept up. I had five hours to waste and I could have slept standing up. I felt like a cross between Tom Hanks in The Terminal and a zombie in Night of the Living Dead.

As I slowly lost the will to live the music in the terminal got more bizarre. It swung from plinky plonky show tunes to suicide inducing Russian love ballads. I considered falling asleep on a bench but panicked that I would never wake and miss my flight.

Every time I thought of my children I got teary. At times I heard Linda’s chuntering or Lulu laughing. Of course I was hallucinating.

Finally I got my flight. It was pain free and I slept in a bobbing head fashion on and off. I think the woman next to me thought I had narcolepsy.

In desperate anticipation of seeing my children I got my 100th and final wind. My bag couldn’t come out on the conveyor belt fast enough and I nearly sprinted through arrivals.

The 4 year old clung to me for dear life, the 3 year old looked at me all red cheeked and asked for his present. I wondered if he had missed me as much as his sister, but then he grabbed my hand and didn’t let go until we reached the car.

When we got home and the children had stroked all their presents and the 4 year old had stared at me repeatedly (just checking I was really back) I put them to bed and realised just how much I had missed their cuddles and reading to them at night.

I lay on the sofa, ate pizza and admired my swollen ankles. I looked like I had elephantitis. I went to bed at 8.45 and only woke in the middle of the night when husband came to bed. I was having a beautiful Disney dream … all sparkly and awesome.

Husband has been brilliant. Apart from doing a sterling job with the children he let me waffle on all the way back from the airport (a bit like the irritating 'when I was at band camp' girl from American Pie), let me sleep in this morning and has brought me a cup of tea. The only problem I have now is weaning the children off midget gems.

This morning I am walking around as if I have pooed myself. I haven't but I am aching all over. It's either whiplash or my body has seized up because I have stopped walking everywhere at top speed. Either way I wish I could have another swedish massage.

Things I have thought about this morning and laughed to myself in a slightly crazy manner about;

Linda sending a text message accidentally telling people she had tried crack for the first time, when in fact she was eating crab

Seeing the Wishes firework show and getting teary – I don’t do emotional

The US blogger uber mummy who kept asking us to say ‘brilliant’ and ‘lovely’

Linda’s synopsis of Gran Torino on our return flight … grumpy bigoted bugger … chunter … Chinese girl … chunter … next door neighbour … chunter … bloody dead …. Chunter … crap.

The best beef I’ve EVER tasted at Citricos

Travelling Premium Economy and bonding with Jane over hot towels, Woody Allen and the skymap

Seeing Cinderella’s castle for the first time which filled me with joy

Mr Incredible doing press ups at the Move it Shake it Celebrate it street party – I think I fell in love momentarily with a cartoon character

Erica squeezing my arm so hard on Dinosaur that I have a bruise

The Aerosmith Rock ‘n’ Roller rollercoaster which was the by far the best and English Mum confessing as we were about to step onto it that this was her 'first time' in a laid back manner

I fell asleep and started snoring ...

I thought I’d better post in case you thought I’d fallen in love with Mickey and run off into the sunset. I am still alive and … well … I just don’t have time to blog. Until I return next week I’ll just have to give you bits and bobs.





The Grand Floridian Spa

I had never had a spa experience before … or a proper massage … unless you call sitting on the living room floor whilst husband rubs my shoulders then declares he’s finished when he gets bored … until yesterday where I had a Swedish massage at the Grand Floridian.

I was more nervous before my massage than I was in the queue for any of the rides. I just didn’t know what to expect. How naked would I have to be?

After changing into a robe I sat in the luxury waiting area. I overheard snippets of conversations … “She pummeled my boobs” … “I fell asleep and started snoring” … “what if I fart?” and the panic rose

Terrified that a Russian shot putter would open the door, crack her knuckles and shout my name in a very deep voice then give me a fireman’s lift to the treatment room I shuddered in my robe.

As with all these things I needn’t have worried. I got little Lisa, a lovely lady who put me instantly at ease, rubbed away my aches and pains for 50 minutes and made me feel pampered.

Just for the record I can vouch that there was no snoring, farting or pummeling of boobs.

Mum’s on a Walt Disney Jolly - By Dad

OK. So the subtlety of the wife's request for a UK view of ‘Mum’s on a Walt Disney Jolly’ wasn't wasted; but she could just have asked outright.

It is, I’ve come to learn over a decade or so, the way the wife likes to handle things; I guess she thought I might have a lot on my plate (obviously not as much as she had on her first trip to a US restaurant), so we’ll move on.

EDIT – to say the ‘official’ request has arrived as I type.

MWDJ – Day 1

Dad – Wide awake at 3am as wife departs the house. Sleep. Rudely awoken at 06:58am as 3yr launches himself alongside. 4 yr old floats in for cuddles 07:35. Breakfast, no drama. Kids to school; no fuss. Work. Collect kids from school. Feed one midget gem each child (to garner brownie points). Play in garden. Make evening meal. Illustrate chart slash timeline for Mums return from MWDJ. Kids bathed, read to and counting sheep by 19:57. Pop goes the cork. Relax, wondering what exactly the plastic thing is that turns the channel over on the TV. Am I allowed to use it? And there’s me thinking the TV was permatuned into ShipwreckedPeterandHugeBoobsApprenticeBritainsnexttoptwaddle.

Current state of mind – I’ve just coughed up a lung and pierced an ear drum, do I have Swine Flu; I hate negotiating; I am very t.i.r.e.d.; why does it take 6 days to get a doctors appt.

The kids are missing mum for sure, but their behaviour has been totally awesome, man.

The boy has trouble comprehending distances and still thinks mum will be nipping in with his present anytime soon. Hence the chart. He’s happy, sleeping well and enjoys jumping into bed with Dad for half an hour before nipping off to wake his sister.

He's like, totally enjoying driving daddies car, during the wait between dropping his sister at school and starting pre-school.

Boy’s current state of mind – where’s my present; can I have a midget gem; look dad ‘T’ for Thomas.

The Girl is oft taking the role of doting older sibling, looking after her brother and counselling him regularly. It seems to be working, so good on her. She’s looking forward to feeding the lambs at her Aunt and Uncle’s house this afternoon. The hoped for advance up the non hair pulling chart has not materialised, to the extent her teacher has finally spotted her doing it. She now skips everywhere. I mean everywhere. She's roped in numerous small children, one adult guy wearing a gastly shiny suit, our dog thrice and a waste bin in the school yard. Maybe she's practising for a Rodeo at the Timber Creek Ranch.

Girl’s current state of mind – do we live in Great England; look, I can skip like a woodpecker on speed; can I have a Guinea Pig and a Lamb for my birthday; why didn't mummy meet Mickey Mouse instead of Minne, he's much better.

Current family state of mind - we all miss mummy lots (even though the house is much tidier).

Have a nice day y'all.

The Husband

Day Two - Breakfast With Goofy and Typhoon Lagoon

The difference between waking early at home and waking early here is that when I wake at home I have to get up and service the children. Here I can blog, email people and take my time getting ready.

Yesterday in the excitement of waking early and seeing the view out of the window I forgot where I was momentarily and whipping open the curtains to survey the scene forgot that I was on the ground floor and only wearing my big pants. Luckily the gardener who was 2 metres from my window was facing the other way and I quickly whipped shut the curtains again.

Breakfast was a bit ‘wow’ and ‘ooh’. Not only was the food amazing (remember your American accent folks) but we shared it with Minnie, Goofy and Donald. Watching the children’s faces as they turned to find a character tapping them on the shoulder was a bit special. The breakfast itself was really tasty and the choice was immense … Mickey shaped waffles, yoghurt and toppings, cereal, pastries and the full bacon, sausage, eggs and … asparagus which was a novelty.

After breakfast I got my sunglasses out of my bag to find that them in two parts. Short of using a plaster to fix them and looking like a bit of a tit I bought some new ones in the hotel shop … I held off buying some Hannah Montana sunglasses and opted for some plain ones with Walt Disney World resort in teeny tiny letters on them. The shop stocks every conceivable product including a scratch and sniff nightie. I scratched, I sniffed and nothing. I have it on good authority it was supposed to smell of chocolate. I may try again this morning.

After breakfast we had a tour of Typhoon Lagoon one of two water parks. I started to feel a bit warm and fuzzy as I watched children snorkeling with sharks and tropical fish. An enthusiastic lady called Sindy showed us round. There was a HUGE pool with a tidal wave every 90 seconds. Sindy explained their procedures for lost children which is very thorough and well thought out. They prefer to call it ‘lost parents’ … the child is taken to an area with games and waits until their parent who is probably chilling on the lazy river remembers they have a child, panics and is claimed by that child.

There are lots of shady areas to get out of the sun and plenty of refreshments including free water fountains. The park caters for all ages and the slides range from the super fast 40mph ‘lose your swimsuit up your bottom’ slides to the more sedate lazy river. There are some areas specifically for small children and some of the slides have no height restrictions.

I could feel the Disney effect taking hold. In fact some of my platelets were beginning to grow Mickey ears.

More to come ... Aerosmith Rock 'n' Roller, Toy Story Mania and The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. Plus 7 UK Bloggers testing cocktails ends in crying ... tears of laughter of course

Day One - Fatigue, an Armadillo and Towel Origami

I was rudely awoken at 3am. I kissed my sleeping children and my coughing husband and got going.

The flight to Gatwick was fairly uneventful bar the breakfast primed to scald and an obscene looking sausage.

At Gatwick I met my fellow bloggers … six lovely ladies. We checked in and discovered to our excitement that we’d been upgraded to premium economy.

We waited in the V Lounge which is superbly kitted out for both adults and children. Video games for big kids, soft play and Duplo for the littlies. Every pastry you could imagine and a variety of drinks. It was a great start to our trip and very relaxing.

On entering the plane I wanted to start shrieking like an excited child. “There are stairs, there are stairs”. I have never been on a plane with stairs, but then I’ve never done a long haul flight.

As we had been upgraded we had extra leg room which is always a bonus when you are an Amazonian Tree Dweller. I had a screen for films, games and in-flight info. The in-flight info was a double edged sword and somewhat irritating for someone as impatient as me. I did want to know where we were on a little map, but when it told me that we still had 2636 miles and 5 hours to go was my cup half full or half empty?

I have suffered severe sleep deprivation before, after all I have two small children who think that sleep is for the weak. Today was something else. Having not slept much the night before for fear of not waking in time for my flight it meant that I started on the wrong foot. By the time we were on our flight I was very tired. I tried to sleep. I pride myself on being able to sleep anywhere, however I couldn’t find the right position and I was scared of missing something.

When I say our cabin crew were efficient … I mean it. Within ten minutes of sitting down we were offered a hot towel. Now I’ve never quite got this hot towel business but I embraced it … but I still don’t get it. Then there were drinks. For the first time ever I declined the champagne and opted for the orange juice. Then there was lunch … lunch was nice. King prawns in chilli, a rock hard roll and a Gu chocolate pot. Before we got our meal I was slightly sceptical about how juicy a prawn can be at 40,000 feet but I wasn’t disappointed. Then there was the flight pack, which had amongst other things some purple and lime socks in it, which I wore with pride. Then there was the Hagan Daaz …by the time this arrived my skin was so dry that I didn’t know whether to smear it on my face or eat it. Sense took over and I devoured it whilst watching a film. Then there was the fruit bowl, then there was more drinks, then there was a sandwich, a cheesy one which name escapes me ... cheesy dream, cheesy surprise … I can’t remember but it repeated on me for four hours.

Then we were there. Out 10ish hour flight was over. By the time we got to immigration I was delirious with fatigue and started giggling at everything. Immigration although intimidating to start with was fine. I had to use a Star Trek style fingerprint machine and the man behind the desk rewarded me with each swipe of fingers by saying “Atta Girl” which only made me even more hysterical. I was asked if I had any fruit or vegetables about my person or in my bag and whether I had been around livestock in the last week. I wanted to tell him I had a sheep in my hand luggage and I was packing courgettes, but this would have been foolish, right?

Having rid my head of thoughts of swine flu and deleting text messages from my sister about avoiding Mexican’s we were greeted by a fellow traveller putting on a surgical mask. I now wished I had visited Focus Do It All to purchase a mask … one of those ones used when sanding floors.

We were greeted by the lovely Sarah from Disney and taken to Walt Disney World. I cried most of the way there in hysterical laughter and although tired was not hallucinating when I saw an armadillo about to cross the road and a man driving a large vehicle with no hands on the wheel … no he was too busy eating what looked like a bowl of cereal.

We went out for a meal to the Flying Fish Café … the food was superb. I was really struggling to stay awake and at one point wanted to lie on the floor of the restaurant. Although it was only 10pm my body was wondering why it was still eating at 3am. Crab cakes and red snapper mmmmmmm.

My room is amazing. Amazing is going to be the word of the week, although I will try to find some alternatives for variety. Although when I say amazing you have to say it in your head in an American accent.

The room overlooks a swimming pool, which has a white sandy beach and is awash with towel origami. There was one set in a Mickey Mouse head shape (photographic evidence to follow). I’ve never heard of towel origami before and I imagine a maid wearing Mickey ears making hundreds. There’s also a phone next to the toilet with a red flashy light. Because it’s there I feel compelled to ring my sister whilst sat on the toilet … just because I can.

Anyway I must go, lots to do … having breakfast with a surprise guest.

It’s hard not to miss the children when I am surrounded by hundreds of the little blighters but I am told they are being good as gold for the husband and the 3 year old who has no concept of time or distance thinks I’m down the road at the West Yorkshire Disney World and keeps asking where his present is.

I’m trying to get the husband to do a guest post whilst I’m away so you can find out what he and the kids are getting up to whilst I’m away … missing me blah blah pining for me blah blah whilst looking at photos of me longingly blah blah … he may need some more persuading!

Show Your Ears and Shut Your Mouth

After having to rush my passport through for Walt Disney World I took a look at the pictures old and new.

Something to note before continuing - I do have eyebrows ... nice, healthy, dark eyebrows. However, the passport office computer decided to give them a wax and reshape ... so much so that in the old photo it looks like there was a waxing accident.

In the old photo I was 20, carefree and smiley. I knew what a lie in was, an afternoon in the pub and staying out past midnight, I didn’t have to share my time amongst several people. I could do what I wanted when I wanted. No responsibility.

In the new photo I am 30. I look sombre. I haven’t had a lie in since 2004, I turn into a pumpkin at 11pm. I have a husband, two kids, a dog and a job. I share my food, though not by choice. I spend my time between peace keeping, endless washing and repeating the same phrases over and over again.

However, pictures can be deceptive.

A few things you may need to know about the new photo.

1) The passport office have a no smile policy. The current advice is to show your ears and shut your mouth.

2) I was sat in the photo booth in the foyer of my local Co-op on a very windy day. The curtain kept wafting up, revealing me trying to do ‘non smiley’ faces and I was hoping that no one I knew would be walking past at that moment.

3) Despite my solemn face, I am one million times happier than I was ten years ago

Thank god I can't find my passport from 20 years ago. I had a mullet and the look of a startled rabbit that the Spanish authorities used to laugh at.

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When you read this, if it is indeed Tuesday I shall be impatiently travelling to Florida. Putting all thoughts of swine flu to one side I am getting up at 4am for my good old Dad to chauffer me to the airport. 19 hours later I should arrive in Florida.

I keep having flashbacks to a film I watched circa 1990 where a family travel to Walt Disney World and lose their suitcases ... they spend their holiday wearing a combination of Disney themed items. I am finding this thought horrifying, however, the more I think about it the more I am convinced it will happen.

Daft, Blonde, Excited and Impatient

I've been tagged by A Modern Mother so now you have to know the following, whether you want to or not!

1. What are your current obsessions?
Chocolate Orange Bourneville, pear cider, blogging (obviously) and The Apprentice

2. Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?
Jeans, jeans or jeans

3. Last dream you had?
I was swimming in a pool full of kitchen utensils ... work that one out!

4. Last thing you bought?
Suncream for my impending Walt Disney World trip

5. What are you listening to?
Right now I'm listening to people talking in the office, phones ringing and the tippy tappy of my keyboard

6. If you were a god/goddess who would you be?
Annapurna, the Hindu goddess of food .. just because I like it, not because I'm good at it!

7. Favourite holiday spots?
Cancale in France, Barcelona and Scotland

8. Reading right now?
Just finished White Tiger which took me forever to read. I only read before bed and end up nodding off. Looking forward to the airport bookshops tomorrow!

9. Four words to describe yourself.
Daft, Blonde, Excited and Impatient

10. Guilty pleasure?
Crap TV ... I like nothing more than putting the kids to bed, the husband going out to five a side and lying on the sofa watching rubbish.

11. Who or what makes you laugh until you’re weak?
My sister

12. Favourite spring thing to do?
Picnic in the park, plus Spring signals the start of camping season

13. Planning to travel to next?
Walt Disney World, Florida ... tomorrow!

14. Best thing you ate or drank lately?
Husband's indian fishcakes with tomato rice. I salivate when I think about it.

15. When did you last get tipsy?
Friday night at Teacher Friend Mother of Three's secret squirrel birthday meal

16. Favourite ever film?
It really does depend what mood I'm in ... Today, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

17. Care to share some wisdom?
If only ...

18. Song you can't get out of your head?
Mamma Mia - it's on a loop in our house

19. Thing you are looking forward to?
Both going to Walt Disney World and coming back from Walt Disney World and seeing the family

Rules of the meme. Respond and rework. Answer questions on your own blog. Replace one question. Add one question. Tag 8 people.

You're it:

Caution ... Woman At Work

Soapboxmummy

Not Waving But Drowning

Some Mothers Do Ave Em

Thing 1 and Thing 2

Ali Blah Blah

Under the Influence

Four Down Mum To Go

Obviously doh ...

We arrived at school early on Friday and chose to sit in the car rather than wait in the chilly playground.

The 4 year old's school is nestled in a residential area.

A man pulled up outside his house and released not one, not two, not three ... but four dogs from the boot of his car after their early morning outing.

One of the dogs was missing a limb.

Me - "That dog only has three legs"

She looks up from her book, looks at the dog and says matter of factly;

4 year old - "Yes, the other one dropped off"

... and continues looking at her book.

Note to self - Teach children the art of people watching by stealth

On Tuesday we went to the park after school to try and dissolve any'post Easter/after school' arguments and whining. The idea being the kids would have a pinic tea in the sunshine and run wild on the adventure playground.

We are sat at the traffic lights, 4 year old in the front, 3 year old in the back.

4 year old - "Mummy, look at that TINY Grandma, look, look."

3 year old - "Where, where?"

I can see in my mirror that the 3 year old is actually considering taking off his seatbelt for a better look. I give him 'the glare' and he reconsiders and cranes his neck to see.

In order for me to look I have to lean really far forward to look at the woman in the passenger seat of the car next to us.

It's true, the woman in the passenger seat of the car next to us is in fact the TINIEST Grandma I have ever seen.

I look at the lady driver, our eyes meet. I look away quickly, embarrassed that I have been caught out staring at her TINY Grandma. I look in the opposite direction willing the lights to change.

Me - "Really, you mustn't stare"

3 year old - "I don't like that TINY Grandma"

Me - "Sit back and stop staring both of you!"

4 year old - "But she is soooo TINY, look, look"

Me - "Stop staring!"

I imagine the conversation in the other car ...

Woman in other car - "What is wrong with that child? She's bouncing about, shouting and staring at us. I bet the mother has been giving them too much sugar."

TINY Grandma - "Why is the one in the back with the big hair scowling at me?"

Woman in other car - "... and look, their mother is just ignoring them. Poor children"

TINY Grandma - "What chance have they got?"

Note to self - Teach children the art of people watching by stealth

Popping the corn ...

Teacher Friend Mother of Three's threw a party a few weeks ago.

All the kids were sat round eating their party tea and a bowl of popcorn was passed round.

The 3 year old and his friend were sat at a lower table and missed out.

3 year olds friend - "Can I have some c*ckp*rn please?"

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I only wear big pants to bed ...

So, the trip of a lifetime is getting closer.

We have received our itinerary and it's going to be non stop.

Non stop eating, rides, shows (Did you know there is such a thing as Finding Nemo - The Musical?) … early starts. I will be found slumped at the end of the table most mornings with bloodshot eyes and a caffeine drip.

I have started having anxiety dreams which I tend to get before I go away anywhere, with or without the children. This is coupled with anxiety filled wittering when I am left to think alone for too long. The good news is that the anxiety ends on the day of travel, which is good news for my fellow travellers.

I realised the anxiety levels were rising last night when the husband was engrossed in his book. I lay next to him firing ridiculous questions about time zones, hair straighteners and adaptor plugs.

After getting little response I lay there having conversations with myself, in my head of course;

Do I take the ipod? The ipod, thing of beauty, was a 30th birthday present. It is now a family pet. Can I justify taking it away from my children for my own pleasure? What will they sing to over their cereal? Could they just jam in a freestyle manner to Mamma Mia without music? Will I need to listen to music when no doubt Disney will be piped full of irritating theme tunes. Yes, I need to take the ipod or ear plugs.

Will I be sick on a rollercoaster? I have never been sick on a rollercoaster. Why would I be sick on a rollercoaster?

When I am sick on the rollercoaster will I be sick on one of my new blogging friends?

What do I take on a ten hour flight? I can only stuff so much in the laptop case. Do I need some of those attractive stockings to prevent DVT?

Will I sleepwalk? The last episode of sleepwalking was circa 1996 when I woke up running down the stairs … away from the huge mechanical spider which was trying to eat me.

Will I sleepwalk into the corridor and out of the hotel and be found on a rollercoaster the following morning?

I only wear big pants to bed. Should I buy some pyjamas?

I was busted last week. The 4 year old found out about my solo trip. She was fairly cool about it.

The house was empty and I decided to watch a promotional DVD someone has given me about Walt Disney World, Florida. Having never visited Disney I thought it would give me an overview of what to expect. Just as I was getting into it the house was awash with people. The 4 year old plonked herself down.

4 year old - Oooooh Cinderella

Me - Yes, it is

4 year old - Look at all those children. Is that where we're going?

Me - Well, here's the thing, next week I am going there for 'work'.

4 year old - Without me?

Me - Yes, for 'work'

4 year old - But there are children there.

Me - Yes, but I have to go with other adults, there are no children going

4 year old - OK, but you will get me a photo of Cinderella won't you

Me - Yes, WOW look at that rollercoaster, that's looks fast. I wonder if anyone is ever sick on that one?!

The 4 year old is bonkers ...

The picture above is a tiny percentage of faces the 4 year can pull.

Most of her time is spent on the bottom two rows, although she can swing from top left to bottom right in 0-60 seconds when the mood takes her.

She's turning into a brainbox and would rather spend her time writing and drawing than anything else. She questions everything ... and always wants to be right.

In the 'creative brainbox questioning everything and being right' sense she is very much like her father.

She's developing a wicked sense of humour and she LOVES chocolate ... which is of course all down to ... ahem ... me.

The 3 year old likes to be with me ...

When I'm getting dressed I get this ...













Just bouncing ... the whole time.

He particularly likes to sit on the toilet whilst I shower. Sometimes he'll pull up the step he uses to brush his teeth at the sink and sit right next to the shower door.

Just ... sitting ... being as one ... as I wash my hair.

Sometimes I have to draw smiley faces in the steam on the shower door, more for my own amusement than his.

Next week (did I tell you I'm going to Walt Disney World, Florida?) I will relish my audience free showers ...

Then, towards the end of my week away I will miss wiping the steam away and seeing this

Sniffing and Squeezing The Fruit and Vegetables

I had a rare opportunity to visit the supermarket after work last week, on the way to pick up the children from Auntie K's.

I don't often go to the supermarket and use online shopping. Less stressful but fairly boring as I end up ordering the same stuff every week.

I revelled in wandering round sniffing and squeezing the fruit and vegetables, looking at all the new products and committing them to memory for my next online shop.

I am an avid people watcher. In fact, avid doesn't quite cover it ... I LOVE watching people ... their behaviour, interaction, foibles, habits.

I wandered with my trolley and watched the frazzled lady with her three children hanging off the trolley arguing over a Fruit Shoot; The man with his meal for one and beer perusing the condom and lubricants shelf; The old couple looking at stain removers.

Old Lady - Pointing "Is it the same as that one?"

Old Man - "I don't know I haven't brought my reading glasses, I can't see what it says"

Old Lady - In loud whisper "Does it remove large areas of blood?"

The Old Man looked at his wife in horror and then at me, at which point I scurried off to peruse the cake aisle and see what else the 'meal for one man' had put in his basket.

Love Me Tender

Me - "I love you"

3 year old - "I love me too!"

Breakfast at Ariel's ...

So, I told you I was going away (Travel and relaxation? In the same sentence?) and up until today I couldn't tell you where.

Now I can spill ... I'm going to Walt Disney World, Florida to do a parent review ... without children or husband ... A.L.O.N.E

... which is strictly not true, because I'm going away with some other fantastic Mummy bloggers.

My initial reaction to spending 5 nights sans enfant was one of absolute wild hysteria. That is 'Hooooray, uninterrupted sleep hysteria' and not 'rocking back and forth how will they cope without me? hysteria'.

Now it has actually sunk in I am swinging from Hooray hysteria to 'how will I cope without them?' hysteria.

I haven't told the children yet, mainly because they wouldn't really have any comprehension of where it is and what it is that I'm doing ... unless of course I mentioned to the 4 year old that I'm having breakfast at Ariel's ... which of course I won't, for fear of finding her in my luggage on arrival at Orlando airport.

I spent Saturday driving to Liverpool to renew my passport (Oh, how I have aged in ten years). I have no sense of direction but was pretty confident that with optimistic thoughts and a bit of sunshine I'd find it.

My Dad heard that I was going alone and told me in no uncertain terms he would be my navigator. This was fortunate. Apart from the fact that my sister pointed out over the weekend I drive like Cruella de Vil ... ten minutes into our journey I hadn't a clue which way to go!

The reason I'm doing this review is thanks to these people;

www.thinkparents.net

Go along and register.

Hopefully the next review trip won't be a ten hour coach trip with children!

Smug? Me? Nah!

Wee Parts One, Two and Loving the Tadpoles

Wee Part One

We live five minutes drive from lots of country lanes. Some of these country lanes have bumps, the sort that make your stomach lurch as you dip down. We call these 'wheeeeeeeees', which is the noise we scream as we fly over the them.

We have a particular favourite on the back road to Ilkley. The faster you go the better the 'wheeeeeeeee'.

The 4 year old informed me today that she knows how to tell a bad 'wheeeeeeeee' from a good 'wheeeeeeeee'.

4 year old - "A good wheeeeeeeee makes me do a little wee".

Wee Part Two

We spent most of Easter weekend with my sister, her family and some of her friends who had come down for the week from Scotland.

The friends from Scotland have a daughter who is four and got on famously with my 4 year old. After their first day together they declared themselves BFF.

The Scottish four year old is … well … Scottish and instead of using the word 'small' uses the word 'wee'. As my Dad, my aunt, uncle, cousins and my grandparents are Scottish it is something I give no thought to.

The 4 year old however has given it as much thought as possible.

4 year old - "Why does [the Scottish four year old] say 'a wee dog/a wee burp/a wee play/a wee boy"?

Me - "Scottish people use the word 'wee' for 'small'.

4 year old - "But if a Scottish person does a small wee, is it a wee wee"

Me - "I suppose so, yes"

4 year old - "… and if a Scottish person does a small poo is it a wee poo?" looks at me and sniggers

Me - sighing "I suppose so, yes"

This conversation I'm sure would have gone on ... and on ... and on had she not been in the car clutching an ice cream tub full of tadpoles which had been collected from Auntie K's pond ... to which she kept whispering "I love you".

Conversations with the 3 year old ...

... are so much simpler than conversations with the 4 year old.

Yesterday I was getting dressed. The 3 year old was sat on my bed.

3 year old - "What are they for?"

Me - "What?"

3 year old - "Your boobies"

Me - "When you were a baby they gave you milk"

3 year old - "Do I have eyeballs in my head?"

Me - "Yes, you have two"

... and with that he went about his business.

The same conversation with the 4 year old would have gone on for half an hour and she would have waited until we were in public before saying the word 'BOOBIES' really loud. By the end of my interrogation I would have needed a lie down and/or a large glass of wine.

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In other news

- More Than A Mother is hosting this weeks Mummy Bloggers carnival, go take a look.
- I will be reporting about whether I won the egg roll on Sunday tomorrow
- Stealth Boy has not been active since Friday

We have a family tradition ... update

We met at my sisters house on Easter Sunday. The children hunted for chocolate eggs in the garden. The dog joined in too and I am looking forward to picking up metallic poos from our garden.

We went to the park for our egg rolling and found a fantastic hill, complete with kamikazee rocks and tree roots for a bit of added excitement.

I didn't win ... my niece did, she was overcome with emotion as she has never won before.

My egg is the golden one in the green box, next to the black sheep.

The 3 year old came third. Perhaps with a weekly training session the 3 year old will win next year.

... then I can live the winning of the egg rolling cup through his eyes (and pretend the trophy is mine giving oscar style acceptance speeches in the mirror when I'm alone).

Stealth Boy strikes again ...

What you see in the 'after' photo is 7.5kgs of dry dog food.

What you fail to see in the 'after' photo is the dog puke on the hallway carpet, dog food on the hob and under the microwave and a 3 year old boy crying in his bedroom.

We have a family tradition ...

… egg rolling.

Every Easter.

Up until five years ago I hadn’t met another family that did it. We take it seriously, very seriously indeed.

… we have a trophy.

For those of you who are not with it (ahem) … we paint hard boiled eggs, find a hill and roll our eggs down it. The egg that gets the most points over three rolls is the winner. The owner of said winning egg receives the trophy, which is proudly displayed until the next ‘egg roll’.

In t'olden days, when I was a child it was simple. Paint egg, find hill, roll egg, slap winner on back, well done.

Now the rules are a little lax.

I follow the old style method of ‘place and release’. Placing my egg on the line and releasing it.

I have never won the trophy.

Other family members, I shall name no names, favour the ‘egg toss’. The wrongdoer appear to be applying the ‘place and release’ method but at the last minute tosses their egg to gain speed and distance. This causes much bickering amongst the family and the word ‘cheat’ is bandied about. We have over ten family participants and it can get a little heated.

When the winner has been presented with the trophy we have lots of leftover eggs. One year, pre small children, we decided to have an egg pelting session which ended abruptly when a Grandparent received a black eye.

Since then we have taken a cricket bat and taken it in turns to bash the eggs (away from other people).

This week I received an email from my sister. I realised the excitement was brewing when she asked for verification of the rules.

She wanted to know if she could use more than one egg?
No, you may not. If you want to show off your artisitic abilities then we shall admire your extra eggs and say 'oooh', but they will not be submitted. One egg is sufficient.

Could we make the rules on trophy winning clear?
Yes. The winner wins the trophy.

Anything else?
Yes, we are going old school. We are using the ‘place and release’ method. Anyone found to be using the ‘egg toss’ will have points deducted from the total and people will point and mock.

After 30 years I might stand a chance of winning the trophy.

I keep finding the husband staring off into space and I think he must be thinking about work. Then I realise, he is a graphic designer, he is already designing his egg in his head.

Like I said, we take it seriously.

Welcome to my world ...

My Dad and stepmum had the kids on Tuesday whilst I was at work.

I sent my Dad a text asking how they were getting along.

I received the following text back ...

Fed ducks at canal, 2 dams built in stream, clothes drying. Drawing next. The OAP childminders must drink a LOT of Red Bull

Travel and relaxation? In the same sentence?

Holiday (noun) : a time, often one or two weeks, when someone does not go to work or school but is free to do what they want, such as travel or relax

The word 'holiday' (or vacation to some of you) doesn't mean the same as it did pre children.

I can remember a time when a holiday involved a sunbed and a book ... not sharing a sunbed with a soggy child whilst trying to get sand out of a swim nappy and shouting across a crowded beach to the husband that child number two needs a poo.

Pre children we packed a bag, got in the car and drove to France. We didn't book anything, we took a chance. Husband and I spent a leisurely week taking in the sights. We slept in a different hotel in a different town every night ... apart from one night when we slept in the car (not through choice). We ate great food, drank excellent wine and it was an adventure.

We went to Barcelona, ate tapas, drank too much, laughed even more and mooched. Perfect.

We went to the Edinburgh Fringe. Took in some street theatre, some comedy shows, more drinking, mooching and some afternoon naps back at the B&B. Aaaah, bliss.

Since having the children we have had a variety of holidays ... all lovely but not much relaxing involved. Just because you are sleeping in a different bed at night and smothering yourself in suncream by day does not mean that your children will suddenly need less attention.

If I'm not dreaming that the children are drowning in the swimming pool (is it just me?) then I'm listening to them whine because they are too hot or watching them flick sand in each others eyes.

And, how many times can a headstrong toddler take off their sun hat in the blazing sunshine?

Then there's the travel. Fly, drive, sail ... take your pick. It's almost guaranteed to give you palpitations at regular intervals.

Don't get me wrong, there have been some marvellous moments during our holidays, but the stress levels needed to get to that point are, well, high.

I'm sure as they get older it will become easier. For one, when they can both swim I can stop having the drowning in the pool dream, right?

Anyway, I have been given an opportunity. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity for a few reasons;

1. I'm going away without the kids

2. I'm going away without the husband

3. I'm going somewhere that husband would, in his own words, rather gargle with razor blades than visit

All in the name of research

I can't wait, in a matter of weeks I shall be ...

... I can't say anymore for fear of jinxing my freedom.

In time my pretties, in time.

I've had a makeover ...

Back in November this is what the 4 year old thought I looked like;

BEFORE














Now, four months later I have had a makeover. The months have been good to me don't you think?

AFTER





















I have twelve fingers, before I had none.

I have mascara, a pink handbag and a pretty flower.

Most importantly the 'back boobs' have gone.

I'm liking the new me.

It's not snot ... or is it?

Tonight I was reading to the children in the 3 year old's bed.

With great gusto I was reading Gilbert The Shark. Much to the 4 year olds disdain I gave Gilbert a very broad Yorkshire accent ... "Aye, let's go tut wreck arrr Mum" I read.

It was then that I saw it. I say 'it' because I am unsure of what 'it' was.

Something was stuck to the wall above the 3 year olds bed.

To be fair it could have been one of many substances ... not poo though, the 3 year old prefers the carpet for that delight.

I'd love to think that the 3 year old hadn't stuck his finger up his nose then wiped it up his wall, that it was a piece of stray banana. But, I know my children well and nothing would surprise me.

It reminded me of an email which was sent round my ex workplace last year (shortly before I was made redundant).

Dear All

It has been brought to my attention that someone has been wiping their nasal extractions on the toilet cubicle walls.

Please could you refrain from doing so, not only is it disgusting but it is distressing other members of staff.

Kindest regards

Mrs HR Manager

The nasal extractions were not mine, however I must admit that when I was made redundant the thought did fleetingly cross my mind to start collecting my own nasal extractions and present them as a parting gift

I pointed at the offending substance on the wall ... "Whose is that and what is it?"

They looked at me, at each other and shrugged.

We not only lost an hour, we lost our sanity

An hour, one measly hour has caused havoc with bedtime.

Before the clocks went forward all was well …

Bath, bedtime story, snuggle, goodnight kiss.
All asleep by 7.45.
Glass of vino, feet up, watch TV.

Now?

Bath, bedtime story, snuggle, goodnight kiss.

Then at intervals to suit they get out of bed and hover at the top of the stairs shouting the following;

4 year old – “Mummy, I need to tell you a joke”

10 mins …
3 year old – “Mummy, I need a wee”

5 mins …
4 year old – “Mummy, I have an itch”

5 mins …
3 year old – “Mummy, Ratty is on the floor”

10 mins …
4 year old – “Mummy, he keeps tapping on my wall”

5 mins …
3 year old – “Mummy, pre-school tomorrow?”

10 mins …
4 year old – “Mummy, I accidentally fell out of bed”

10 mins …
3 year old – “Mummy, I need a poo”

5 mins …
4 year old – “Mummy, I've spilt water on my bed”

Then … silence.

That’s an hour of up and down, up and down, up and down. The same amount of time that was unpleasantly stolen last Sunday.

The morning after the night before I am greeted by yawning, grumpy children.

They argue about which cereal to have, which chair to sit on, who will look at the milk carton, who should get the fairy dust out of the bottom of the cereal packet, who is the more accomplished whistler ... and so on and so forth.

It takes three times as long to do anything. I feel like one of those women in the cartoons who is jumping up and down, bright red in the face with steam coming out of her ears.

I set off for school with the 4 year old who tells me she doesn't want to go to school because it's 'absolooooooootely boring'.

I want to beat her with my handbag, but I refrain.

A petrol station, a carwash and a non magical bottom ...

Yesterday after school we got in the car and I said in my jolliest voice "Who wants to come and get some petrol?" … funnily enough there was silence.

Our local petrol station was rammed and judging by the faces of my passengers they wouldn't take kindly to waiting for 15 minutes on the forecourt.

"It's OK" I said "Let's go to the other one".

"This is boring" said the 4 year old, "I'm hungry" said the 3 year old

Got to 'other one' to find it being demolished.

"Don't worry, let's go to the next one" I said, slightly less jolly.

"This is sooo boooooring" said the 4 year old, "I want crisps" said the 3 year old.

Five miles later and some crying from the 3 year old who was both mortified and mystified that I could not produce a snack out of my arse whilst driving we arrived at the petrol station … which was rammed.

I agreed that if they stop being grumpy I'd purchase a snack from the petrol station and then we'd go through the car wash. A bit of food based bribery never hurt anyone. The carwash was just a bonus in my eyes.

"This is really b …" the 4 year old stopped herself as the word 'snack' registered in her head. "I want big crisps ... please" the 3 year old said with a big smile.

Their only experience of car cleaning has been with the husband, he uses the handwash people who give the personal touch with a chamois leather. They may not have a working Visa but when they've finished you can see your face in the bonnet and that's all that matters.

Petrol pumped, snack purchased and off we went into the carwash tunnel. I tapped in the code, the children ate cookies.

Off it went, I was super excited "Oooooh look at that" I said as foam covered the car, then the big brushes started up, "Wow, look at the big brush rollers" I said .... "Check out the car blow dryer, isn't it good?".

They looked disinterested with a hint of fear. The 3 year old had his fingers in his ears.

When the carwash had finished, I got out to admire the gleam. It was a bit patchy, but still, better than before.

When I got back in the car I turned round and said "Wasn't that fun?!"

The 4 year old handed me her cookie wrapper. The 3 year old didn't respond either, he still had his fingers in his ears

"Can we just go home now and watch TV?" said the 4 year old, "Juice please" said the 3 year old.

The 4 year old turned to her brother and said "Mummy can't magic juice out of her bottom you know!"

An update on life as we know it

Me – I was shocked and slightly disturbed to find that all this blogging (which some may see as idle wittering) has earned me number 40 in the Top 100 British Parent Bloggers. It’s all very exciting and I don’t completely understand all the technical bits which got it there, but none the less I have told everyone (bar the monotone security guard on Friday) I have come into contact with over the past week.

I have had several broody moments this week. I keep seeing mothers with their bundles of joy out and about in the village. In my mind I would love another bundle of joy because the maternal lunatic which lives inside me has erased all the crappy/shitty/tear your hair out parts of having a baby. All I can remember are the good bits … swaying with my beautiful baby in the pitch black of night as I feed her/him for the third time in six hours. Bliss. What? Wasn’t I tired and vaguely psychotic through lack of sleep? According to the maternal lunatic in my head … nope, never. I blame the sudden bouts of sunshine this week which make everything seem très jolie.

Just for the record, the above paragraph is written in a special typeface that my husband can't read.

I am feeling fairly domesticated which is a vast improvement on my previous status of ‘definitely not domesticated, no sireee’. Not only have I ironed more than twice this week I have also bought a new Hoover and taken an interest in the garden. My new favourite hangout is the local garden centre.

Can I just mention that the highlight of the televisual year is upon us. The Apprentice is back on Wednesday. Personally, I can’t wait.

Husband – Doesn’t like the Apprentice and is more Alan Titchmarsh than Guitar Hero these days. Despite a bad back he has spent hours cultivating a vegetable patch. It started three weeks ago with a ceremonious bonfire (what is it with men and fire?) in the back garden to clear the way and now we have seedlings sprouting ubiquitously.

I keep having visions of him stepping onto a podium at the village summer fair to collect his prize for 'Yorkshire's Biggest Leeks'.

3 Year Old – Stealth Boy has struck again. Last week husband found a '3 year old sized soil angel' in his vegetable patch. This is hindering the above village prize giving vision.

I walked into the kitchen on Saturday morning to find it flooded. From what I can tell he had been trying to fill the dog’s water bowl. Unfortunately he had then spilled it and repeated the process around twenty times.

The grommet operation was a success, he can hear, his balance is better and he actually starts conversations with people where before he would stand and stare at them as if they were talking in Swahili.

We are growing his hair, I say 'we' but I am actually against this idea as his head is already on the large side. He now has ear flaps and as his hair grows, so does his head. I keep looking at pictures of him after his last hair cut and contemplating sneaking off to the barbers for a quick snip.

4 Year Old – She is in fine fettle. Parents evening made us swell with pride.

Her writing has become much clearer and she likes to leave messages, albeit phonetically, on my computer. Her latest offering was … ‘Ben ten is a hirobicoshiyfitswivpipl’. As you can see she needs to work on her spacing too.

Her class keep getting nit letters, every time I read one I start to itch. No nits yet and I am crossing my fingers that we shall avoid them altogether. Who am I kidding?!

On a recent trip (one of many) to the garden centre she caught us unawares and she had to have an emergency poo. Husband was mortified as he and the 4 year old emerged from behind a polytunnel. She looked relieved. Apparently it was huge. We just can't EVER go there again.

Luckily there are other garden centres in the area that we can visit.

He had clearly left his personality at home

I went to a meeting on Friday in the centre of Leeds. The meeting was in a huge glass fronted office block.

To enter the building I had to use a revolving door. I pushed and it moved, but it was very stiff. As I popped out the other side into the reception I thought ‘surely it shouldn’t have been that hard’ and released a “Phew!”

The sullen faced security guard manning the reception said in a monotone voice “You went through it the wrong way”.

Thinking it hilarious I laughed and said “I bet loads of people do that, ha ha, how funny!”

He looked at me and said “No, just you”.

No witnesses have come forward ...

This is chief suspect, Stealth Boy, also known around these parts as the 3 year old. He looks a bit like Sportacus but don’t be deceived.

Over recent times he has been getting up very early, sometimes undetected, and it is believed that his latest covert operation is in full swing.

He leaves calling cards all over the house, evidence of his early morning work.

For instance, over recent weeks, I have found the following oddities which have a distinct whiff of '3 year old';

1. I start to read my book. After a few minutes I realise that either a) I have read the chapter already or b) I have travelled forward in time. My bookmark has been moved.

2. I pick up an apple from the fruit bowl. It already has a single child sized bite mark.

3. There is a beautiful yellow crayon sunshine on the dining room wall.

4. Deleting messages from my mobile phone sent items I come across a message to a friend’s phone saying ‘fogypipy jambegy?’.

5. A tub of fish food has been opened and upturned on the 13 year old's bed.

6. Three tulips out of 6 in a vase looking the as if they have been attacked with a sword.

7. Five calculators open on the computer desktop.

8. A biscuit barrel with half its contents missing and a trail of crumbs …

9. A lipstick crushed into its lid.

and the grand finale, crime of the century ...

10. A beanbag minus its innards.

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If you have some time to spare bob on over to Don't Tear Your Hair Out for the latest British Mummy Bloggers Carnival - there are some great entries!

What's that noise Mummy?

Sorry for keeping you all waiting on news of the 3 year old's ear operation!

Anyone who hasn't been reading long; the 3 year old had grommets fitted 2 weeks ago, a very simple surgical procedure. I just had to let you know because the way I describe things from here on in you'd think he’d had open heart surgery.

The big day arrived and for all my calm, laid back 'I’m cool with this', I became a complete bundle of nervous crazy brrrrrp ding.

The 4 year old went off to school and I had 2 hours to kill before we needed to set off. I washed, I ironed, I tidied, I folded things … most out of character. I kept looking at my oblivious boy and was hit by a huge wave of love and thinking he was just so handsome. At one point I had to pick up ‘Bikini Barbie’ and get her to slap me about the face whilst telling me to get a grip.

When we got to the hospital he went off to play in the playroom which was very well stocked with toys and children of all ages with various body parts bandaged.

In preparation we had talked about the operation, even read a book all about it (most nights at the 3 year olds request) but I really don’t think there was any comprehension. He simply obsessed about riding on a bed with wheels.

Time ticked by so slowly. We had visits from a nurse, a Dr and the anaesthesiologist who all asked the same questions and then tagged the 3 year old with an array of wrist and ankle bands. The 3 year old just looked at them each as if they were speaking Japanese, unaware of their significance.

At 2pm the nurse came and told us it was time to go to theatre. Only one parent was allowed with him whilst he was being put to sleep. I offered to toss a coin, but husband graciously let me go. As we walked out of the ward the 3 year old skipped ahead in his half mast jimjams with Lulu clenched between his teeth like a dog.

When we got into the theatre he lay on a bed looking at the strange men who had visited his bed earlier. They tried to cajole some conversation out of him at which point seeing all the medical paraphernalia I got tense and went into ‘cracking jokes’ overdrive.

I was told to chat to the 3 year old whilst they went about knocking him out. The nurse behind me must have sensed my mild terror and resorted to blowing up a rubber glove to distract him … and me.

In a matter of seconds they had the needle in without a flinch from the 3 year old, I on the other hand was rigid … but still holding my ‘everything is fine, I look like I've had botox’ smile. His eyes rolled back in his head and he was asleep, instantly snoring, clutching Lulu. I kissed him and left with tears pricking my eyes.

The nurse told me to go back to the ward, have something to eat then come back down in 30 minutes and wait in the corridor outside theatre for him.

25 minutes after swallowing a sandwich whole I was pacing the corridor outside theatre. After a further 20 minutes I was starting to worry. The door suddenly opened and a bed rolled out with a child on it, not my child. The nurse with the child asked if I was Mrs D and said my boy was already back on the ward. My eyes pricked again; I wasn’t there for him.

The next 10 minutes was a comedy of errors as I tried to get back to the ward. The staircases were blocked off due to maintenance work so I had to use a lift which went to every floor but mine ending in me being trapped at the back when it did get to my floor by wheelchair bound grannies on a day out who wanted to discuss with me the finer points of the canteen. I had to use everything I had not to shout 'I don't give a f*ck about the f*cking canteen, GET OUT OF MY WAY'.

When I got to the ward I could hear the wailing. My disorientated, groggy boy was beside himself. My husband was trying to comfort him. I sat and rocked him for what felt like an hour until he stopped crying. Apparently they had brought him up in another lift, totally bypassing me waiting for him in the corridor. He had cried all the way up. I was angry, but contained myself.

When he’d calmed down he ate 4 slices of toast, drank a huge beaker of juice and thankfully wasn’t sick on me. Result! After 30 minutes he was up and leaping around the ward in a slightly hyper fashion.

We were allowed to go home 2 hours after his operation and he slept all the way home.

The following morning I was woken by him getting into bed with me.

3 year old - What’s that noise Mummy?

Me – The birds tweeting in the trees.

3 year old – What’s that noise Mummy?

Me – The radiators filling with water.

Things I take for granted that he hadn’t been able to hear before.

In the 2 weeks since we have noticed a vast improvement in his hearing, speech and his balance.

He still falls over but not as often!

Wedging 'Boy' in the play oven

For the first six months of his life she referred to him as 'boy', refusing to say his name. I think she hoped that after a couple of weeks he'd go back.

When he was in the moses basket she would often give him cuddles which involved laying atop him and covering all his air passages with her love.

Once, he was in his bouncy chair fast asleep, only a few months old, I went upstairs for less than five minutes. When I returned I found her playing with her kitchen and the bouncy chair ... empty.

He was lying in a little ball on the carpet sleeping soundly. I hoped that she had just wanted to include him in her tea party and had not attempted to wedge him into her play oven.

Recently they have started to play together more, communicating in pretend adult voices (with an American twang), as they pretend to be parents taking their child (our poor dog) camping to the beach (our hallway).

Sometimes they sit on the sofa snuggled up together watching TV, other times they sit there and argue about who is touching who, who has the most space and who has control of the remote (so they can accidently purchase a diamond encrusted shoehorn on QVC).

When a child gives out birthday sweets at the end of her school day she always gets two, one for him and one for her. When I tell her she's not supposed to get two she looks aghast ... "But he's my brother!"

Half an hour later they will be arguing again. Yet, if she is not there he always wants to know where she is and vice versa.

As I write this they are playing with Mr Potato Head and sharing ... that's right SHARING. If I had written this last week the 4 year old would have been hiding some of Mr Potato Head’s vital limbs so that the 3 year old can’t complete his ‘Tatie Head’.

I hope their relationship will continue to blossom and that as they get older they will still want to spend time with each other ... albeit still bickering.

Muuuuuuumy ...... Muuuuuuuuuuumy ..... Muuuuuuuuuuuuumy

When the 3 year old was under general anaesthetic last week I have a sneaking suspicion the surgeon chanted subliminal messages into his ears to check they were working properly.

Something along the lines of ... "Wake up at exactly 4.21am every morning starting tomorrow and wander into your parents room and tell them it's time to get up"

They were supposed to give him grommets, not an internal alarm clock, set for what I consider THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

We have one of those fandangled clocks which projects the time onto the ceiling in bright red. For four mornings it has throbbed 4.21 in the darkness as I return my reluctant boy back to bed where he lies and either shouts, cries, sings or goes back to sleep. The latter happening only once or twice.

The shouting becomes unbearable, like water torture (I imagine) ... 'Mummy, Mummy, Mummy' then 'Muuuuuuumy ...... Muuuuuuuuuuumy ..... Muuuuuuuuuuuuumy'. It's amazing how many variations can be shouted and the different pitches which wear away your patience a little more with each shout.

I turn into a human yo-yo. Stumbling back into bed then being summoned for a kiss, to fill a beaker with water, a cuddle, to cover up his god damn sock clad feet or to assist him in having a wee. I turn into psycho-mummy telling him how furious I will be if he wakes his sister up.

Last night was the worst - first the 3 year old woke at 2.53 with a cough, then he woke his sister who started coughing too. I am able to testify that a cough can be passed through a wall. I, the human yo-yo staggered back and forth between the children. Cough tennis continued until at 4.17 there was silence for 35 minutes, followed by the equivilent of the Wimbledon Final of coughing.

The only good thing is that I have discovered that between the hours of 4.21 and 7.36 I do my best blog writing, unfortunately it is all in my head. By the time I am sat in front of my PC at a more reasonable hour it has all slipped out and I can remember nothing.

I am now at work, mainlining Diet Coke through a drip, holding my eyelids open with one hand and typing with the other. It's going to be a long day.

You can only imagine how hilarious this post was at 4.21 in the confines of my head.

Charity begins at home ...

We had two charity bags put through the letterbox over the weekend. The sort you fill and leave on the driveway for the man in the van to collect. The bags sparked some feng shui action from me and I cleared wardrobes, cupboards and drawers.

Over lunch I told the 4 year old proudly that I had filled the two charity bags.

4 year old - Who is Charity?

Me - Charity isn't a person. The things in the bags will go to charity shops where they will be sold. The money will go towards helping people.

4 year old - People? Why?

Me - Yes, maybe people who don't have anywhere to live, or people who are poorly. There are lots of people that need help.

4 year old - ... and animals?

Me - Yes, and animals.

4 year old - But Mummy, who is Charity?

The 3 year old who has been listening from the end of the table whilst attacking a peanut butter sandwich, looks thoughtfully at me and says "I don't like the sun".

I get up and bang my head against the wall repeatedly. Well not really, but I may as well have.

Later I found the 4 year old hugging the television. An advert for the Dogs Trust was on. A neglected, scrawny, shivering dog was on the screen accompanied by sad music and a voiceover along the lines of 'Poor Smudge doesn't have anyone to love him, his owner used to beat him with a rusty pitchfork and he only fed him once a year. For just £2 a month you could save Smudge ...'

A letter came home from school the following day ... 'your child can come to school wearing red clothing on Friday and pay a pound for Red Nose Day'. As we have no red clothing I decided to order one of the funky Red Nose Day t-shirts designed by Stella McCartney instead. She chose the Beatles one over the fluffy rabbit one (I was shocked, her father was proud). I then explained that the money we were spending on the t-shirt would go to charity.

4 year old - Do you know what I'd do if I had lots of money?

I got excited; my television hugging, t-shirt wearing 4 year old had finally got the hang of charity and was going to pledge all her imaginary money to those less fortunate than herself.

4 year old - If I had lots of money I'd get a big fat purse to put it all in. It would be very long and very wide.

Chocolate really is fattening ...

As usual, we are in the car, we stop at a junction near a school.

A sea of children are exiting the school gates.

4 Year Old - Mummy, that boy looks like the one out of Charlie & The Chocolate Factory.

I have no idea which child she is referring to as there are approximately 50 children floating about; plus I am listening to her the radio at the same time.

Me - Who, Charlie Bucket?

4 Year Old - No, Mummy.

Me - Mike TV?

4 Year Old - No, Mummy. The one who swims in the chocolate and is soooo fat he gets stuck in a tube.

Me - Ah, that would be Augustus Gloop.

I'm so glad we were cocooned in the car for that one, with glass seperating us and the fat boy.

I wonder what the wife thinks ...

I work in recruitment. I received a CV today which had this in the 'interests' section;

To relax, I join a group of friends in a team we have formed for on-line combat gaming. We are able to link-up and communicate through headsets, employing tactical skills and simulated assault and combat craft. This enables me to socialize, exercise my reflexes and strengthen team skills, whilst still being present to support my wife in caring for our baby daughter.

Did anyone else burst out laughing at the 'whilst still being present to support my wife in caring for our baby daughter' part?

You know you eat too much Chinese food when ...

I will blog about the 3 year olds hospital experience and my emotional rollercoaster of a day when I've shifted this pounding headache.

In the meantime ...

Last night when we got back from the hospital we decided to order a chinese takeaway.

I rang up, gave her the order, and told her my husband would collect it. At no point did I give her my name. As the call came to an end she said "OK, Mrs Driver, goodbye"

Now I don't know what is worse, that, or ...

Earlier in the day I rang the Doctors surgery to make an appointment and when the receptionist came on the phone I said "Please can I place an order ..."

A hint of mild schitzophrenic panic ...

This week my big bold adventurer is going into hospital to have grommets fitted. Hopefully by the end of the day of the operation he will be able to hear properly!

I am very excited but there is a hint of mild schitzophrenic panic. I made the grave mistake of watching an episode of ER last week where a child died in hospital. I sat with a lump in my throat until the end and then watched the final of Masterchef which just pushed me over the edge.

Not only will he be able to hear, but, his speech will improve. Whilst his speech is delayed one word answers have now moved on to full sentences. Some things are clearer than others and need no translation, but when his ears are bad the translation can become time consuming and frustrating.

My latest translation triumphs were ...

meeyonbiowsiiii? = Can I play on my bike outside?

nitno'ot = It's snowing, a lot.

itdogysi'onneeee = The little dog is sitting on my knee.

cartsonplee = I would like some carrots please.

thanyoomearv = Thank you for having me.

He's fairly non plussed about the whole 'going to hospital' part, although I'm not sure he understands. We bought a book called 'tubes in my ears' from Amazon. Published some time in the 1980's it seems to focus in on the fact that although the boy can hear when he comes out of surgery he is also violently sick over his mother. The boys father, dressed in a suit, is always in the background looking non interested and talking on a mobile phone the size of a rugby ball. On the plus side the 3 year old has discovered he will ride on a bed with wheels and he will have teeeny weeny tubes in his ears that will help him hear.

Last month he had a week of really good hearing which was hopefully a taste of things to come. His ears must have drained and the only reason we knew was because EVERYTHING WAS TOO LOUD.

The husband had a moment in a public toilet when the 3 year old screamed blue murder on hearing a hand drier, which has now grown into a phobia of hand driers. The mere sight of one and he covers his ears. Also his sisters singing gave him the eeby jeebies, but then she does, at times, sound like Snow White holding a pneumatic drill.

I seem to have the idea that all that waiting around will mean that I can read my book in peace. Who am I kidding. I will be the mother rocking back and forth, looking nervous, weeping and clutching Lulu.

I'm actually looking forward to the bit where he is violently sick all over me. At least it will be over!

We love Lulu and we just want her home

Yesterday we lost Lulu.

Lulu is the 3 year olds best friend. A soft lamb which he has slept with and loved for all of his 3 years.

Her stuffing has worn away making her slouch, she is a bit smelly and she could do with a good clean.

I had been out with teacher friend mother of three and we had visited a museum and a clothing store. It didn't dawn on me until we got home that Lulu was missing.

I rang the museum which was closed and then the clothing store.

I spoke to someone who said nothing had been handed and got a bit emotional. I told her that we love Lulu and that we just want her home. I left my number with someone who probably thought I was ringing from the home for the terminally bewildered and asked them to call if she turned up.

The 3 year old is having his ear operation this week and Lulu was going to go with him to hold his hand. I paced up and down the kitchen. I rang teacher friend mother of three several times to ask her to search her car.

In my mind I was berating myself for not buying two Lulu's all those years back when my pregnant heart fell in love. I thought about tracking another down on ebay, but decided it just wouldn't be the same. There is only one Lulu.

I actually felt like crying, bereft; all for a smelly, floppy lamb.

Then the phone rang, it was the clothing store, they had found Lulu. I danced around the kitchen, I rang teacher friend mother of three again, I then broke the news to the 3 year old that Lulu was having a sleepover and they would be reunited the following day.

He seemed a little disappointed, but happy that Lulu would get to try on all those clothes. I must admit, I expected more devastation, after all they have never spent a night apart

... Which begs the question, who is more attached to Lulu?

I think Lulu will be holding my hand in hospital when my boy goes into the operating theatre.

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The Best Of British Mummy Bloggers carnival is up at Thames Valley Mums - there are saome great entries - go and have a look!!

Me thinks thou protest too much ...

I had an appointment with the optician after work today. I normally wear contacts but I had an unfortunate incident involving my finger, some make-up remover and my eye resulting in an 'abrasion' to my eyeball and a red eye for a week.

I have been wearing my glasses for four weeks which make me feel like Timmy Mallet.

I had a lecture from the grumpy optician who didn't believe I wasn't drunk when I poked myself in the eye and after a bit of cajoling she reunited me with my contact lenses.

Next door to the opticians is an M&S Food. It felt rude not to go in and buy dinner. It's payday after all. We'll be eating beans on toast for the other 29 days of the month.

I decided to 'Dine in for £10' which really seems very reasonable until you wander the store and find a couple of other bits and pieces and the legendary Percy Pigs.

As the woman on the checkout put the wine through the scanner she looked at me and said "You are over 21 aren't you?"

There wasn't even a hint of irony in her voice.

I pretended to look behind me and did the whole mock "Who? Me?". Then I fell about in hysterics. I told her how hilarious that was. She eyed me suspiciously over her glasses. I've never been asked for proof of my age, not even when I was 13 and the best option in my group of friends for buying cigarettes, or 15 and buying cider.

I suggested in a jokey fashion that she visit the optician next door, she didn't flinch and watched as I wandered off chuckling to myself, muttering under my breath "21?".

I told husband when I got home about the crazy blind lady in M&S Food, he gave me a sideways glance ... I think he thought I was lying too.

Just when I thought it was safe to leave the house ….

We’re in the car; me and the 13 year old in the front, the 4 year old and the 3 year old in the back.

I am singing along to the radio, badly. The 13 year old is playing games on her phone and the 3 and 4 year old are discussing the merits of cheese strings Vs yoghurt raisins.

I slow down to let a man in a 4x4 pull out of a junction. He clearly hasn’t seen my random act of kindness so I flash my lights. He still doesn’t pull out.

Losing my patience I say “Oh come on …”

The 4 year old instantly pipes up with “… you bugger”, followed by a quieter “bugger” from the 3 year old before they continue their previous conversation.

The 13 year old looks at me in disbelief and I mouth to her “say nothing”.

Meanwhile the man has finally pulled out of the junction. I continue on our journey wondering if the last 60 seconds actually happened. I look at my children in the rear view mirror, they are completely oblivious.

The only evidence of the ‘toddler tourettes’ is their 13 year old sister beside me; her shoulders are shaking and her long hair is covering her face.

She looks up to reveal tears, tears of silent laughter.

Prosthetic appendages. a moustache and a trip to Asda

The husband went to a fancy dress party on Friday night. He went as a flasher. Luckily he didn’t have to use his own ‘props’ but a costume borrowed from a neighbour.

This is what it looked like but this is not, I repeat NOT, my husband.

Just for the record the pubic hair on the borrowed outfit looked more, well … afro than the ‘John Travolta’s hair implants’ style pubic hair on the picture.

We were not privy to his final look as we were on the way back from visiting Auntie K. I feel this was a HUGE blessing as I’m not sure I could have fielded the 4 year olds inevitable questions about her father’s new prosthetic appendage.

All was well until 3.30am when I was rudely awoken by my husband standing over me saying “It’s OK, it’s me, this is not a dream, please unzip me, I’m stuck”. Don’t be fooled into thinking I’m about to share a romantic interlude, the outfit zipped up the back.

Saturday morning arrived and husband was, not surprisingly, suffering the after effects of a night of flashing, too much alcohol and a vindaloo. The bedroom had the distinctive aroma of an alcohol soaked jalapeno.

I took the children to Chavsda, my endearing name for our nearest Asda. We needed provisions for a dinner party and I had left it too late for any online satisfaction. The clientele at our nearest Asda is eclectic to say the least. I avoid this particular store at all costs unless there is an emergency.

There is a window each day when the local alcoholics descend to purchase a Smart Price bottle of cider. Due to intoxication they stagger from aisle to aisle belching, arguing with themselves, scratching their arses and generally smelling. Unfortunately our arrival coincided with their arrival. This is reason #241 why shopping should always be done online.

We managed to get our shopping done without much incident and as we were about to leave the 4 year old decided she needed a wee.

We went to the toilets where there was a queue.

“What’s that?” the 4 year old exclaimed pointing wildly.

I didn’t need to look to know it wouldn’t be good, but look I did.

As I turned the other four women in the queue followed my gaze and the 4 year olds finger.

I was initially relieved that she wasn’t pointing at the lady behind me who had a moustache to rival Magnum PI.

The woman in front of me nearly choked in amusement and everyone looked back at me, waiting for my response.

Because the 4 year old is learning to read phonetically at school she began to spell out ‘r ... i ... b ... b ... e ... d’.

I was desperately hoping a cubicle would come free so I could thrust my daughter into it and away from the condom machine looming behind us.

Before she started on the word condom I told her that the machine sells packs of tissues. This explanation was accepted much to the sniggering of my fellow toilet dwellers.

I can’t help thinking that this will come back and bite me on the arse at some point in the future.

For the last few years my biggest worry on leaving the house has been whether I have packed sufficient provisions into an already overflowing nappy bag.

Now that worry has been replaced with needing to know every possible distraction technique and lie to get out of every awkward public situation.

This requires me to be alert at all times, which is ... difficult.

When did leaving the house become even more of a challenge than it was before?

It seems the 'sing and sign' signal for unicorn is universal

Teacher friend mother of three is great at finding things to do in the holidays, so when she asked if we wanted to see some clowns there was no hesitation. I had a day off due to a gaping hole in our childcare arrangements for half term.

What better to do than spend it being entertained by jolly clowns.

The children’s excitement levels rose when I mentioned our plan for the following day. Conversations were peppered with references to clowns;

4 year old - Clowns wear red noses?

Me - Yes

4 year old - Clowns have big shoes

Me - Yes

4 year old - Clowns are scary?

Me - No

and ...

Me - Would you like some juice?

3 year old - I like clowns. No.

Me – Stop feeding the dog Cheerios

3 year old - I like clowns. No.

Me - Time for your bath

3 year old - I like clowns. No.

The big day arrived.

An hour before we were due to set off Teacher friend mother of three called to say eldest child had pebble dashed her bedroom with sick. No clowning around for them.

I met our other friend and went in convoy to the venue, a civic hall in a Leeds suburb.

On arrival we coughed up three golden coins per person to someone who looked like a toilet attendant. We were directed towards a table proffering Fruit Shoots and bags of crisps. No thank you. We were then directed towards another table selling ‘tat’. Sticks with tinsel attached to one end. The 4 year old, a magpie in a former life, would have offered a kidney for one of those glittery sticks. No thank you.

We sat down, excited by the imminent clown show. We waited and waited … then waited a further 15 minutes during which time the children worked out how to fold themselves, and each other, into their seats.

Just as I was losing the will to live the show began.

We were introduced to Mr Clown, who funnily enough, looked like a clown … and his wife, who didn’t. It turns out that Mrs Clown had transformed herself from a coin collecting toilet attendant by taking off her tabard and applying bright blue eye shadow and a gold sequined cardigan.

I suspect they had been doing their show for 50 years and were using the same format and stage props as in 1969.

It was fairly cringeworthy. Mrs Clown mouthed all her husband’s lines silently to keep up with him and he told jokes which went over the children’s heads. The parents watched imaginary tumbleweed roll through the hall.

After 35 minutes the show ended. Relief swept over me, the children had lost interest 10 minutes earlier. Unfortunately relief was taken over by dread when Mrs Clown announced it was an interval.

An interval to flog more Fruit Shoots, crisps and glittery sticks.

The next half of the show, luckily, picked up momentarily when Mr Clown came on stage wearing enormous stilts which the 3 year old thought were amazing. Then there was some singing which sparked the 4 year old back to life for five minutes.

Comatose we left.

We had lunch at M&S to ward off evil clown spirits. It’s funny how a hot chocolate can make everything seem alright again. The queuing system at the M&S cafe is worthy of a whole other blog post but I don’t have the strength.

On exiting the car park I had a sign language argument with a woman in a Ford Fiesta about her lack of car park etiquette when she nearly drove into me the wrong way round the one way system. It seems the 'sing and sign' signal for unicorn is universal.

Teacher friend mother of three called to see how it had gone. We couldn't decide who was worse off; the mother at home with puking child or the mother at the clown show.

I like clowns. No.

Just another morning ...

It is half term. The kids are staying at home today with daddy. No rushing to school, stay in jamas as long as you like, steady away.

I have been awake since 5.30. I was rudely awoken by the 3 year old who crawled into bed and clamped his cold feet to my toasty warm body. I was momentarily bitter, well, for a few moments actually.

I read Snow White & the Seven Dwarves 14 times. The 3 year old is particularly taken by the evil queen who he refers to as the ‘nice fairy’.

I have drunk three cups of tea, it is only 7am.

I start breakfast proceedings. The 4 year old appears all sleepy, but instantly bossy. I ask them what they want; Cheerios for the 4 year old, Boulders and Crispies for the 3 year old. He’s a cereal mixer just like Gramps and Mummy.

After breakfast I bung some washing in the dryer and put a new load in the washer. The never ending cycle. I constantly have two baskets of ironing on standby. Standing by for a time when I have three days spare to do the lot in one go. Never. Gonna. Happen.

The chilren are playing one of their chase, growl and laugh, chase, growl and cry games together.

I tell them I’m going to get ready for work; No playing with knives, ringing Australia on my mobile or ordering porn on Sky. I’m joking right?

All is well. I am able to shower, get dressed, apply make-up and, shock horror, brush my hair. I worry that my work colleagues may not recognise me if I am not sporting my ‘dragged through a hedge’ look.

I come back downstairs and busy myself with packing my handbag with enough sugary snacks to last till lunchtime. I can hear the children playing. This is a good sign. Silence is bad, screaming is bad, good old chuntering and playing is excellent. The only problem being I can’t locate them!

I follow their hushed tones to the downstairs toilet. I panic a little, my heart isn’t ready for another episode of poo clearing, wee on the wall or a towel induced sink flood or … well they could be up to anything to be fair.

I open the door anxiously to find, in a room the size of an average toilet cubicle, the 3 year old, a pillow, a drum, some plastic food, a small suitcase and the 4 year olds duvet which is … moving.

I remove the duvet to find the dog, a rather large Labrador, who looks at me with pleading eyes. If she could speak she would be screaming ‘PLEASE TAKE ME AWAY FROM THESE PEOPLE’.

After a discussion about toilets and bedding not mixing, the dog liking her own space and the perils of playing games in the vicinity of the toilet bowl I go to work …

… for a rest.

Best Of British Mummy Bloggers

It's Tuesday and it's carnival time!

I’m glad Monday is over, it unfortunately involved dog poo on the carpet, trodden in on a pair of wellingtons.

This led to some fervent scrubbing of the carpet, an argument with the Dyson and a haze of antibacterial spray and hand wash.

To add insult to injury the 3 year old forgot that he was toilet trained and had three accidents, all whilst 'dogpoogate' was ongoing.

So at 6am. all bleary eyed from being woken by a child getting into my bed with cold feet, I bring you some fantastic entries from the Best British Mummy Bloggers and a Dad too ...

1. The Mothership at Motherhood the Final Frontier discovers her children’s creative flair extends to interior design

2. Mary over at Caution … Woman At Work gets a frustrating letter from Leeds City Council

3. Tawny’s 9 year old is on another planet at I Promise That I Will Do My Best

4. Potty Mummy has had a cake fuelled birthday at The Potty Diaries

5. Susanna has a 1911 obsession with a doo-doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo moment at A Modern Mother

6. Almost Mrs Average at Don’t Tear Your Hair Out has a husband who not only vacuums but vacuums BEHIND the sofa, yes you read that right.

7. Tara’s daughter is showing her maternal side at Sticky Fingers

8. Read an online interview with a twist at One Strangely Lush Mother

9. Nixdminx grabs her ipod and heads to the treadmill for inspiration

10. Coding Mamma has a short fuse and needs a Peppa Pig fix

11. DJ Kirkby's very exciting book launch, some crying, a proposal and some more crying!

12. Liz at Violet Posy shows us what Downtown Dog gets up to in New York ... that lucky dawg!

13. A Confused Take That Fan reminds us that sprouts ARE unsociable!

14. Single Parent Dad wonders if he can stop Max being clumsy?

15. Noble Savage shows us that laughter really is the best medicine ... and bath time can be fun!

16. Then there’s me with a singing in public inspired entry. Shake those maracas …

The next carnival is on the 3rd of March and will be hosted at Most/Least. Please email entries to ella (at) mostleast (dot) com.

If you are interested in hosting a carnival pop over here for more information

A chip off the old block ...

It's my Dad's birthday today.

Happy Birthday Pops!

After he gave us his two penneth about concussion I asked my Dad to think of some more memories of days gone by.

I crossed my fingers, hoping he wouldn't remember another naked neighbour story.

It is with great relief that I give you 'The Perils Of Shopping With Children - Parts 1 and 2' by my Dad. Reading these has reaffirmed my belief that what comes around goes around!

Perils of shopping with children - Part 1

We are in the newsagents. You are about four years old, a picture of innocence in your pretty dress, blonde pigtails, white socks and shiny black shoes. I am the very proud father. Mr Fish, the newsagent, probably awash with fond memories of fatherhood smiles down at you, just visible above the counter, and we exchange pleasantries; the weather, children and the economy.

The conversation is difficult as Mr Fish has a cleft palette and requires a degree of patient interpretation.

In my peripheral vision I notice you are unusually quiet and very still like a predatory insect.

I look down and see a face of rapt concentration, your eyebrows are knitted and your lips are silently moving. With mounting anxiety and then dread it comes to me that you are mentally testing Mr Fish’s unfortunate nasal accent and that you may be about to give it a full trial run.

With as much good manners as possible I bring our chat to a quick close, grab you by the collar and make for the door, rudely pushing a few elderly customers and a birthday card display stand aside.

I fail to make the door.

“Whoy dus he spuk lak dat, duddy”? you ask in perfect mimicry of the unfortunate newsagent.

This is not asked in a small discrete whisper. As your mouth is four feet below my ears and you suspect I am a bit deaf the question is asked at full volume.

I turn as we leave and smile an apology at Mr Fish across the silent shop who smiles back with the sad look of someone resigned to this sort of innocent abuse by children.

Perils of shopping with children - Part 2

Earlier in your life we visited the bakers shop with strict written instructions from your mother about what we were to buy; a small shopping list reflecting the economic hardships of the time.

I know you were very young as you were attached to me by some sort of harness with a lead, presumably to prevent you running amok on the busy main road.

Reaching the head of the queue I handed the meagre list to the lady behind the glass display counter in the baker’s shop and as I waited was mesmerised by the machine that saws the loaves of bread into slices. That is if you want sliced bread, which happened to be the specification for the bread on the list.

The completed order is bagged and placed on the glass top of the tall display counter. I am waiting to be told how much to pay but notice the lady is staring down at one of the large cakes behind the glass.

“Is she trying to entice me to buy a cake as well as the bread and rolls”? I muse.

If she is she has another think coming, cakes are definitely not on the list.

No, I realise that she is actually trying to draw my attention to the deep grooves that have been ploughed across the pristine iced top of one of the cake on display. I look at the cake, then at you, who has all the fingers of a guilty hand in your mouth which is suspiciously rimmed with what looks like icing debris.

“Ah, I suppose I had better add the cake to the order”, I say to the lady behind the counter and wonder if I will have enough money.

Then, as we discuss in a joshing manner the problems of controlling young mischievous children I look down and watch with mounting horror as your hand again slips behind the glass front of the display counter and vandalises another, even more elaborate iced cake of even larger circumference.

We leave the shop and, watched through the window by the queue of entertained customers, I stagger up the street festooned with bags and towed by a small child in a harness trying desperately to keep her distance from her irate father.

she looks at me, at herself, at my nether regions

When I wrote Cheap at half the price yesterday it brought back memories of another conversation ...

In the car just me and the 4 year old. We stop at the traffic lights.

A heavily pregnant woman crosses the road with her child.

4 year old – She has a baby in there doesn't she?

Me – Yes, she does

4 year old – I was in your tummy once wasn’t I?

Me – Yes, you were

4 year old - How did I get out of your tummy?

At this point I wonder whether to be truthful or fob her off with tales of storks, fairy dust and a drum roll.

It’s a case of fob her off and have to face it another time or tell the truth and face the consequences.

4 year old – Did I come out of your belly button?

I am feeling brave, I can deal with this.

Me – No … you came out of my girly bits.

Stunned silence, she looks at me, at herself, at my nether regions then back at herself.

4 year old – Don’t be silly mummy.

Me – It’s true, you came out of my girly bits.

She looks at me and shakes her head, then clutches her belly and gives the biggest laugh.

4 year old - How did I really get out?

I can't win. A trip to the bookshop may be in order.

Cheap at half the price ...

Travelling home in the car, just me and the 4 year old.

The 6 o'clock news is on the radio. A woman is appealing to catch her husband's killer, naturally, she is distraught.

Luckily the heater in my car sounds like a vacuum cleaner, the 4 year old doesn't hear the full details, but she does understand that the woman is crying.

4 year old - Why is that lady crying?

Me - Her husband has died

4 year old - She must be very sad

Me - Yes, she is

4 year old - She won't ever see him again

Me - No

She ponders awhile. I hope this is the end of the conversation, not wanting a full death discussion before bedtime, but no ...

4 year old - She can buy a new husband though can't she?

Me - Umm, I don't think so

4 year old - Yes Mummy, she can buy a new husband and marry him like you and Daddy *

Me - How much do you think a husband costs?

4 year old - I don't know .... fiftyten pounds maybe.

* I would like to point out that although my husband and I are married, there was no dowry involved much to my fathers disappointment.

Dogs howled across the valley ...

After the 4 year olds terrible TV induced mood swings last night I vetoed tele-visual stimulus this evening.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Who was I punishing?

Instead the 3 and 4 year old fought like cat and dog whilst I prepared tomorrows packed lunch, washed up and made dinner.

I called time on the fighting and after a game of ‘I’m going to chase you and bite yer bum’ we ended up lying on my bed in a heap. Debris from the 3 year olds early morning alarm call was strewn across the bedroom floor; a drum, bells and a maraca.

Like a scene from a hippy dippy commune we each picked up an instrument and started jamming. We sang ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and ten rounds of ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain When She Comes’.

It must have sounded like a one man band being hit by an articulated lorry.

Dogs howled across the valley and cats keeled over.

When we’d finished I sat looking at the 3 year old who was working out how much brute force would make the drumstick go through the drum and wondered …

When did it suddenly become normal to sing like a fool in front of people?

OK, these are my children and therefore on a scale of 1 to 10 not embarrassing at all, but I can think of more than a handful of times that I have burst into song and shaken a child sized instrument in public, in front of other adults, in the last year alone.

Then I had a flashback …..

I recall distinctly sitting in my friend’s living room with my five antenatal buddies as we clutched our newborn babies to our bosom, ate cake and glugged Diet Coke (multi-tasking).

One of the group recounted a story which filled me with horror. The week before she visited a friend who had young children, more friends arrived and before she knew it they were all sat round in a circle singing ‘Wind The Bobbin Up’ … with actions.



Mortified she fled the scene before she was asked to join in.

There was a sharp intake of breath from all, except teacher friend mother of three who is also a brownie leader and thinks nothing of singing Kumbya My Lord to order.

I remember laughing as we said we’d never do that. Oh no, not us … NEVER. This was a time when I would rather blow dry my hair whilst sat in the bath than speak up in a group of people I didn’t know, let alone burst into a spontaneous verse of ‘Dingle Dangle Scarecrow’ in the supermarket queue.

My baptism of fire was when I joined ‘Sing & Sign’ with my 6 month old baby. The hint was in the group title and I should have avoided it at all cost. Desperate to get out of the house and hoping my child would become a prodigy and start quoting Shakespeare to her peers through sign language I went along.

Within five minutes I was sat cross legged on the carpet with a group of eight mothers and one father chanting a song about visiting a farm and seeing a cow.

The sign for cow is this;

… Which I like to call the ‘double knob head’.

It took three weeks of childish sniggering before I lost all inhibitions.

Now 4 years on I think nothing of bursting into song anytime, anyplace, anywhere.

I’ve just ordered a copy of The Sound of Music.

Soon I will progress from singing with actions and instruments to spinning like Julie Andrews in the local park singing ‘the hills are alive with the sound of music'.

My children will look on from afar before taking themselves off to the local adoption agency.

Picture courtesy of britishsignlanguage.com

Dream a little dream for me ...

I dream a lot but I don't always remember my dreams.

This week I have had three dreams and I have remembered each one vividly.

I was jolted awake by the first. Early last week I dreamt that a ginger man in a green nylon tracksuit was trying to burn our house down as we slept. When I awoke I wasn't sure if I had dreamt it or not. I lay for while trying to pull myself together in a cold sweat. Before settling back down to sleep I had to patrol the house like a member of the SAS, only they wear all black combat suits, I was wearing just a pair of big knickers to protect myself.

Last night I dreamt that the three year old had stopped breathing and I had forgotten any first aid I had ever learnt.

This dream was predetermined by the events of the previous day.

We had visited friends for Sunday dinner. The kids were introduced to Pacman on the super fandangled projector screen and they played with two puppies in front of a roaring log fire.

Before we ate the 3 year old fell on his knees knocking into the hearth of the fire. In pain, he got up crying and walked towards my husband. As my husband picked him up he arched his back, his eyes rolled back in his head and he went floppy. I lurched across the room towards my husband and boy just as he came round. Looking bewildered he started crying again. In total this event took less than 5 seconds from his inital fall. My husband and I were fairly shook up but put as he was OK put it down to fainting.

His day continued as before ... rolling around on the floor with the dogs, more Pacman, roast dinner, some shouting and chasing of dogs.

On the journey home I wondered what others would have done. I have friends who have taken their children to A&E for a simple fall or sniffle. If I followed that example I would live there.

I am fairly laid back but I started to wonder if I was too laid back. My intuition kept shouting at me that he was fine.

At work today I kept thinking about my dream. I wondered fleetingly if he might be passed out behind the OAP childminders sofa whilst I was sat typing away at my desk.

By 3pm I had rung the Dr's. At 5.15 pm I was sitting in the Dr's consultation room. My boy jumped up and down on the spot whilst I explained what had happened the previous day.

The Dr told me what I already knew. My boy had probably fainted due to the shock of hurting himself in front of a roaring fire and getting up too quickly. I was sent packing with a "GoodbyeseeyoulaterMrsD". The appointment lasted all of 60 seconds and I left the room feeling foolish, whilst my boy shouted 'Iapowaing' (translated means 'I am a Power Ranger').

The third dream ... oh god ... was AWFUL ...

On Friday night I dreamt I was being romanced by ... Freddie Starr. Yes, the short, portly, 66 year old comedian. Luckily the dream ended just before anything rude happened, but I still feel unclean.

Interview with a vampire

Not really a vampire, just me.

I have been meaning to do Jo Beaufoix's interview for ... oh ... maybe four weeks. I wouldn't blame her if she never commented on my blog again, nor if she wrote a nasty post about crap mummy bloggers called Laura.

I could blame the snow, the coldsore, the naked man, concussion, party week, my children, an ever increasing load of ironing or I could come clean.

It's been sat in my notebook for three weeks and I've been too busy polishing off the remaining Green & Blacks Christmas chocolate to type it up.

There is the possibility that she hasn't yet noticed. She's been busy eating in Richard Branson's restaurant, building snowmen attending not just one but TWO hen parties and hosting Miss M's 4th birthday party bash.

The guilt has set in so here we go. The lovely Jo B asked me ...

1. If you were given the choice between a weekly beauty treatment of any kind and having a cleaner which would you choose?

Cleaner every time.

On the beauty side of things; my eyebrows are making me look like I could be the third Gallagher brother. My nails look like I've been rock climbing without gloves. My legs are like a yeti's and my lady garden ... well, let's just not go there.

I reckon things can't get any worse.

The house could do with a thorough 'doing over' by someone in the know. I'm hoping Kim and Aggi will be bobbing over soon.

2. Are you secretly afraid of Supernanny?

Absofeckinglutely.

However, if she were to pay a visit I would put my fear aside, welcome her with open arms and never let her go. I'd probably even lock her in the cellar if we had one.

If she'd read my letter and knocked at the door I would gag the children and hide behind the sofa until the sun went down.

3. A psychic once told you not to eat sandwiches. Was this probably because;

a) They saw you eyeing up their marmalade sarnies and thought you were planning to steal them?

b) You were actually dressed as a sandwich at the time so were you to consume one it would really clash with your outfit?

c) You had informed them you have a recurring nightmare about losing a Wii tennis match due to over consumption of Marmite sandwiches?

It was probably all three. I regularly eye up other peoples sandwiches, whilst dressed as a sandwich and I have a recurring dream about losing a Wii tennis game ... BUT, and this is a big but I HATE MARMITE, so it would definitely be a nightmare.

4. What song will always, without fail, get you up shaking your thang on the dance floor, or at least have you tapping your feet wildly?

If I've consumed too much vodka I will dance to anything, probably in an embarrassing manner.

On a day to day basis I dance to The Jungle Book's 'Bare Necessities' in my kitchen. I'm really good at the bottom scratching bit at the end.



... which of course isn't embarrassing at all.

Talking of dancing ... last week I read this 'dancing' post over at Steenky Bee. I thought it was one of the funniest things I have read in a long time and I still have flashbacks of 'the face'.

When I have a flashback I erupt into laughter, in public, on my own, making me look like a lunatic fresh from the asylum.

5. What is the thing you love/hate most about yourself, or are you practically perfect in every way, like Mary Poppins? (Though frankly I think she needs to sort out her posture.)

Like Mary Poppins I have a bottomless handbag. I do, really I do. It holds all manner of after school snacks and beverages. Just like her, I also have complete control over my children at all times, this I love.

I hate the fact that I find lying about my childcare skills so easy to do.

Interview terminated!

Here’s the directions:

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.