This is harder than you might think

I’ve been sitting here trying to write a post. But knowing a real live person might read this, is scary.

I know that must sound strange, of course I know you’re all real live people (hey, I read your blogs and see how human you really are!) but knowing I might have a spoken conversation about something I’ve written is putting me off.

And I think I kind of knew this would happen. This is what I’m like about writing. It’s not that the BH hasn’t ever read anything I’ve written (I swear, he has!), but it’s never really been his type of thing so… he’s not read much.

It’s one of the reasons I started visiting writing sites. I thought it would be ideal with ‘everyone in the same boat’. But that's not what happened for me. I guess your boat depends on your confidence level, and I’ve got a submarine.

But now I’m having an argument with myself! Haven’t I bored you all senseless with pages of my shit? AND YOU’RE STILL HERE! (Though this might just be because you get a good laugh at a hopeless housewife on the road to insanity, and I’ll admit this is a good enough reason for me to read some blogs - not yours, of course!).

So this can only be good for me!

Yes.

I can almost feel the positive force as I write!

The BH WILL like what I say (at least if he wants dinner tonight!*), and my confidence will bloom! I shall become a hit slut** and inform the world I have arrived. People will flock here for my wisdom and wit. Shortly thereafter, being declared SuperMom of the twenty-first century, my children will bow to my command! (this last one is of course, my ultimate dream.)

And then Hell will freeze over!


Ohh bugger, I bet I wake up.

--x--

*Message for BH: Joke-Frank-joke! (private joke ;o))
** 2nd message for the BH: A hit slut is nothing to worry about (I swear!) and I’ll explain later.

--x--

I’m ready to post. But in the intervening hours from when I started this post (yes it can take that long with the interruptions) to now, my BH has come home. And raised an eyebrow at an old post. Can you see the water line rising? I’m going to have to get him to okay this before I post.

He’s reading it…he’s smiling…he’s done the spellcheck!

You’ll have to forgive me

But with school back next week, instead of blogging there’s name tapes to be sewn and hair to get cut.

I shall be back – and I have a new reader – the BH!

Guess what folks...

I've been caught.

No emails please.

Oh oh oh oh oh

I’ve got a song stuck in my head, and it’s driving me MAD! I wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t so bloody irritating in its own right, but it is, so I’m doubly irritated. It starts off with a stuttering warble, Oh oh oh oh oh, like some bad sixties hit, and then all I can remember is two lines. Two lines with all those Ohs repeating endlessly:
I believe in the boogie baby
times are changing
everything will come around
we're just moving in circles baby
all or nothing
everything will come around


Round and round in my head! All last night, till four in the morning. Then I woke up with it. Oh oh oh oh oh, I’m sick of it!

But apart from the bad music concert I’m experiencing, the damn thing is getting in my life, like some insane prophetic tune! Times are changing. My cockatiel, Dingbat, is dying.

Now I’m not going to get too soppy over a bird, I am today sane enough to keep things in perspective.

But I do find it sad as Dingbat marks the last of an era gone.

Many years ago, before the BH and I married, a friend went off to Thailand for the winter and asked us to watch his cockatiel. I’m sure the owner told us the bird’s name, but I wasn’t paying attention so called him Dingbat as an interim. Of course the owner never returned and we got stuck with the squawking, bad tempered thing.

But I couldn’t get rid of it, because the owner might’ve returned. so I spent some time taming him to the point he was happy to be held and preened.

This became an item of interest as every Sunday we held a lunch party for the BH’s friends. This was before my BH fell in love with computers, and at this point he was a bus driver. In those days there was a glut of single male drivers from the UK, all living in bedsits, and as the BH was the only one with a woman (who also happened to cook a decent roast), and they descend upon us once a week to eat and drink us broke.

It was at one of these meals we discovered Dingbat was a party animal. When the plates were cleared he used to come out and sing at the table for his supper. He would try anything and everything, but the sweeter the better for Dingbat. Then he discovered alcohol and really became the centre of attention!

Red wine was always his favourite tipple, as the beer bubbles made him sneeze, and boy would he sing for that! Once tipsy there was no stopping him and he would crone away as grown men thrilled at being allowed to preen his head feathers.

For years Dingbat was the first name on our party lists, and most of my memories included a demented drunk bird singing his heart out and begging for a head rub.

Then we had kids.

There were no more parties and No. 1 son had sneezing fits if Dingbat was allowed to fly around.

For the last decade, excepting the odd occasion alone with me, Dingbat has sat in his cage in the corner of our kitchen. He still sings with the radio, but his party days are long gone. Instead he spends his time threatening to bite the many tiny fingers that poke into his cage as they pass.

On Monday he had a bump on his wing, today it is the size of a grape. So I took him to the vet first thing to see if it could be removed.

But the vet was amazed to see a cockatiel Dingbats age. I thought they lived longer. The vet was nice and gave us some antibiotic powder for the growth, but said Dingbat probably wouldn’t survive a general anaesthetic.

Dingbat was shaking when we got home and I got the children to whistle with him till he calmed from the unexpected handling.

But he’s old, and had more fun than most along the way. His time is almost here. And I shall miss him.

Dingbat loves that damn song.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh…

Huh?

It’s been a slow day in the asylum, and I’m happy to report I no longer have the desire to rip anyone’s throat out or blub into a pillow. Now that I’ve calmed down, I’m thinking I should have visited some of those forums I’ve been avoiding. Never mind, there’s always next month ;o)

It wasn’t supposed to be a slow day, but the man didn’t show to collect the sofa at lunchtime and so I waited in for him. He called tonight to reschedule for next Wednesday. I can’t even bitch about it, ‘coz it’s a charity I’m giving the sofa to, and you can’t really bitch about volunteer charity workers. Or I could, but then I’d have guilt and that isn’t good for me.

Instead I ruined my mood doing this stupid quiz:

Your Ultimate Purity Score Is...
Category	Your Score	Average
Self-Lovin'	81.7% Never taken out of the packaging	65%
Shamelessness	95.2% Has yet to see self in mirror	79.2%
Sex Drive	76.3% The Pope is envious	77.6%
Straightness	14.3% Knows the other body type like a map	44.4%
Gayness	100%	83.8%
Fucking Sick	94.7% Refreshingly normal	90.1%
You are 75.96% pure Average Score: 72.6%
Take The Ultimate Purity Test and see how you match up!

Why stupid? Because I don’t understand the results! *sob*

How stupid am I not to understand the results of some stupid damn quiz?! Don’t answer that. I think the hormones are still there *sob*. I was fine before I did this stupid quiz!

What I don’t understand is (well, all of it, but I’ll break it down):

Shamelessness, has yet to look in mirror – Are they saying I’m shameless to the point of embarrassment?

Self Loving, never taken out of packaging – WTF does this mean? I don’t know if they mean I naïve, self-loathing, or vain.

Sex Drive, the pope is envious – Huh? I KNOW I have a high sex drive! Women talk! I’m confused. I answered honestly *sob*.

Straightness, knows the other body type like a map – This sounds okay, but why have I only got a score of 14.3%?

Gayness, 100% - Does this mean I’m gay? I really don’t think I am. Maybe the scores are back to front. 100% not gay, but what does that mean for the straightness score?

I like the FS comment. Not the score, but the comment's okay.

And the purity, that’s okay too. But I want to understand what they’re saying about me, so if you don’t mind would you please do it and let me know whether I’m gay or straight, judged on what they say about you and what you know about you.


I know I shouldn’t do these stupid quizzes, but the other day I did this one and got a surprise:

You are Agonistic

You're not sure if God exists, and you don't care. For you, there's no true way to figure out the divine. You rather focus on what you can control - your own life. And you tend to resent when others "sell" religion to you.

What's Your Religious Philosophy?

I’m an agnostic?! I had no idea. Truly. And yet… it makes sense. Except when the vicar shows up and guilt trips me into attending church, I’ve pretty much stopped going. I can’t explain it all, and you don’t want to hear it, but the point with this quiz was, it really opened my eyes to something I hadn’t noticed about myself.

I know they’re only supposed to be daft fun, but that’s why I should at least be able to understand them! I don’t know if that first quiz has complimented me or been rude. I need to know. Please go and see what it says about you, and let me know.

In hiding

This post isn’t really for men to read because it’s a female ramble, you can stay if you want but you’ll hear about my menstrual cycle. You’ve been warned.



This morning I awoke with a major headache. My first reaction was to blame the decaffeinated tea I started drinking after ten last night. But resuming my normal beverage didn’t help and by the time the kids had had their breakfast I admitted defeat and headed for the painkillers.

Half an hour later the headache was still throbbing but the irritation had lessened. In its place came a feeling of sorrow and I retreated to the bedroom in the hope of sobbing into my pillow.

Once there I wondered why. I have nothing to base these feeling on. Then it dawned on me my period must be due.

Most women are probably more organised and know when their periods are to strike. And I have no excuses because mine are regular. I just don’t pay attention. They’re going to happen whether I’m counting the days or not, so why bother?

The difference with this period is that I’ve realised they really do affect me. This is not an easy admission. In fact it pisses me off beyond words to admit hormones make me a different person. I can accept that pregnancy alters you disposition, but periods? I’m mean, bloody hell, every damn month? I've watched TV shows where the men get to take the piss out of women who are ‘due’. I’ve heard the jokes. But I guess being married to man who has more sense than to suggest my moods may be hormone related, has distanced me from the reality. This and the fact there’s usually so many real reasons why I could be feeling like this.

Back in bedroom this revelation resulted in some amazing clear thinking, though I still wanted to sob. And by the time the BH came looking to see where I was hiding, I was able to explain in a calm manner what the matter was. I also said I would like to be left alone. Totally alone.

The man is a saint. Truly. How many husbands would smile and say they’ll immediately remove all irritations out of the house, even the dog? Listening to my RL friends – not a lot! (though on the internet there seem to be an amazing amount of great husbands about. And his actually words were ‘I’d rather you stayed home alone, than come out and snap at everyone.’)

So off they’ve gone. The house is silent and my period has arrived. And I’m left truly pissed off that my relaxed and calm persona dissipated not because of stress and loud children, but because of my own damnable body. And there’s nothing I can do about it but wait it out.

Liar, liar, pants on fire

Remind me not to answer the phone. I’d rather wait till they give up and then check callback to see who it was.

Oh, but I shouldn’t be so mean!

Yes I should.

Noooooo, he just called at the wrong time. He wasn’t to know I only watch one program a week.

No. Fair enough. But. Dear. God. He. Goes. Onnnnnnnn...

He called to ask if we knew anything about making free phone calls using broadband. I didn’t even shout for the BH, I knew he’d wince and shuffle out the room when I said who it was.

Please don’t think we don’t like him. We do. But not on the phone. Or in a supermarket. Or, really any occasion you have less than forty minutes to an hour.

I said the BH didn’t deal with that stuff at work (I dunno), and I’d never tried it (I haven't). I just wanted to end the conversation without being impolite.

He said surely I must have heard of it.

Yes. Of course I have. But I don’t have any useful information. Now please, please, go away!

But…what’s this?

An opportunity to educate Debi?

It seems we weren’t his first stop! Oh no-sireee, this man’s being out hunting and gathering information. And here he is, presented with a wench more ignorant than him! What’s a man supposed to do?

Why, teach her of course!

He launched into full, detailed, colourful, and very boringlengthy explanation.

I prayed for help. Why are the children always quiet when I need them? I mean for heavens sake, I’m on the phone, where’re the injuries, blood and arguments that normally occur? Oh yeah, three out of four are asleep.

But. He doesn’t know that. Just…just…wait for…aaaaaaaa…break.

Now!

Ooooooooo, let’s call it a fib.

Carefree

What does it matter if the house is a mess? Who said we had to eat at six each night? Does it matter if the lawn’s not mowed? Should I be bothered that the house isn’t finished? And do I care if it takes another three years? What was I planning to do with my time in three years anyway?

Since becoming the New Improved RELAXED Me (it’s two weeks now, excepting a few moments, like when I woke today) I discovered I don’t care about much. And I like it.

At first the knowledge that my BH would soon be back at work and the school runs are shortly to resume, worried me because I’m aware my new state (probably) won’t last long when confronted by term time reality. But even that’s okay. I have today. And here and now I feel dreamy*.

This could of course be down to lack of sleep. But strangely even the tiredness isn't bothersome (and it DOES help with drowning out the noise of the children). Though I wouldn’t be adverse to a lie in, or night off from the nightmares and bedwetting.

The bedwetting isn’t me, by the way! And the nightmares we all share (excepting the BH). I’ve always suffered from them, but as I rarely remember, I don’t care. But I wish the children didn’t get them. It’s such a job to wake them, and they cling to me so. Can such a thing be inherited? I haven’t heard of it but am sure it must, as barring J and her fridge escapade, none of them have any cause for their unpleasant dreams.

My nightmares used to bother my BH a lot. And I really should have mentioned them before we went travelling and he found out the hard way. On a bus. I caused quite a scene on that occasion, and the driver stopped and insisted he talk alone with me. But I guess I’d be suspicious too, if a girl stood up on a dark, sleeping bus and screamed ‘Please somebody help me!’ Every hostel we stayed at the BH used to warn the roommates of my night terrors. Umm, I'm sure a few people won't forget me.

I still haven’t made any great changes in my life. I do want to, and I know I’m ruining any hope of getting on courses by doing nothing before the academic year begins. But that’s alright too. Another year then they’ll all be in school and the lunch run will stop. And maybe I should focus on the house first. But as I’m not worrying about that right now…

I’m thinking about writing again. But I’m still nervous, so I’ll wait until the weather chills and the urge has become desperation. Have you noticed my weather-pixie today? I think the weather’s turning already and if I could afford to, I’d turn the heating on at night already!

I thought I should write this all down because in two weeks, at this time, I’ll be checking homework and making dinner. There’s no way I’ll be feeling this good, and I might have forgotten I ever did.

--x--

* I use the word dreamy too often and am aware of it. But the only other word that sums up my feeling would be mellow, but that makes me sound high, which sadly I’m not. Though I’m still drinking caffeinated tea.

Morning has broken…

EXCEPT IT BLOODYWELL SHOULDN’T HAVE!

I had an early night last night. I went to bed at midnight. At two I was still looking at the clock.

Which I didn’t mind.

No, what I mind is being woken by a FREAKIN' INSANE FLY!

Stupid little fucker kept dive bombing me. So here I am. Before seven in the morning, alone in a quiet house, because EVERYONE ELSE IS STILL SLEEPING.

I want to be asleep. But I can’t go back to sleep after I’ve woken. So I’m a little stressed. I deserve TEA! So I’m having it, and SCREW the caffeine!

Two sugars please

This morning I woke up soooooooo tired. It was my own fault as I was up till three and I knew the builder was arriving at seven thirty to work on the deck with the BH.

At seven twenty-five, bleary eyed and stumbling, I forced myself out of bed to make tea. I was literally bleary eyed, and so when I though I saw something in the sugar, I ignored it. Then I noticed something floating in the tea and realised it wasn’t just my eyesight.

Nasty, tiny, alive things were in my cupboard! And my sugar!

And this is my all own fault too, because I had seen those nasty tiny things on Saturday in another cupboard. But ignored them. Hoping they’d go away.

They didn’t. They multiplied.

Still, it gave me the chance to sort out the cupboards. Which I don’t do very often. I remember thinking corner cupboards would hold a lot when I planned the kitchen, I didn’t think about how bloody impossible they are to clean. It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t hold as much, but where the heck am I supposed to put all the things as I’m doing it?

I tried asking the kids to ferry items to the table, to be checked and cleaned, as I passed them down. But I’d made the mistake of telling them why, and they all ran away making ucky sounds.

But I had fun cleaning out my cupboards. I found that packet of spice my mate brought me back from South Africa, and the spare packet of authentic Italian pasta I bought for that dinner party, oh and look how many packets of paprika are stuffed down the back, and why did I buy salt yesterday when I have four bags already? (Luckily, nasty tiny things don’t like salt.)

My mother showed up as I was washing down the shelves and started poking in the bags.

Her: Why are you throwing out this pasta?

Me: Look close, we’ve got an infestation.

Her: Umm, you really should check your food when you bring it home.

Me: Check it?

Her: Oh yes, the supermarkets are full of nasty things, and there’s always the odd weevil in a bag of flour. Are they weevils?

She squints at the packet to try and see the nasty, tiny things.

Her: Umm, not weevils. This packet’s had it.

Me: I know that’s why it’s in the rubbish bag.

Her: Rubbish bag? You’re not throwing all this food away are you?

Me: Mom, it’s all covered in them!

Her: You can't throw out this flour.

Me: I am! Look inside.

She does.

Her: They’re tiny, they won’t do you any harm.

Me: I’m not eating them! Now put it back in the bag.

Her: Honestly, you're so over-dramatic.

Me: If I keep it, it'll infected everything again!

Her: So what’s wrong with this rice? You can wash it.

Me: And what am I supposed to do with it then? Lay it out to dry and then re-bag? No. If you can be bothered doing all that, then please take it. But wash it properly or you’ll have them in your cupboards.

She was silent and placed the rice back in the bin bag, which I took as her defeat.

Her: A tin! They can’t get in there.

Me: Umm, that’s one’s out of date, about two years.

Her: So? They doesn’t really go off you know!

Me: Mom! Please, put it back in the bag.

Her: You didn’t live in Africa long enough! In Africa we lived on out of date tins all the time. In fact I don't think they even bothered putting dates on the tins!

--x--

And talking of tea (which I was at the very beginning, remember?), I drink a lot of it.

This came up in a conversation with a girlfriend who’s just had a baby. This baby is special because he’s a miracle (they really do happen!)

But just because a baby is a miracle doesn’t mean their babyhood will be easy. This tiny, cute miracle is a tad grumpy because everything disagrees with him, and his poor mother has had to cut her diet in an effort to make her breastmilk stay in his stomach.

One of the things gone is tea. At least normal tea. The mother is drinking camomile, and swears blind it’s changed her personality.

And then she suggested I try it.

Umm, it’s not that I’m against trying teas, but, but… I need a decent cup of caffeine or it's just not worth the bother.

I run on it (though obviously not literally!), I simply couldn’t get through the day without a cup of heavily caffeinated tea in my hand.

She made a sort of squirming noise, and commented that maybe I drink too much tea.

TOO MUCH TEA? Is there such a thing?!

I googled.

Apparently there IS such a thing.

I had to laugh when I read the daily recommended intake! Six cups? Ha! I have two before I’m dressed and I’m up to six by elevenses (except if I’m going shopping where there are no toilets ;o)). And –apparently- one of the reasons there is a recommended amount is because caffeine’s not good for you! I did know this. But as I don’t drink coffee, it doesn’t really apply to me.

At least, not before now that I’ve bothered to think about it

And if caffeine’s not good for you, I guess bumping it up with a glass of Barrocca (alert aid) each morning (and occasionally lunchtime) doesn’t help?

I don’t know what to do. I know what I should do, but come on… it’s only tea!

I shall go and buy some de-caffeinated tea tomorrow. I shall try it.

If I say it enough, I’ll do it. But I don’t want to!

Not the sweetest love story to tell the kids

I’m not good with dates. They stay distant, then suddenly jump on me. Occasionally they pass by unnoticed, and it’s days before I realise.

In two weeks the BH and I celebrate thirteen years married. This time I shall remember because I’m going to think about it a lot! And if it’s on my mind, you’re going to hear about it, so...

Let’s start at the beginning.

When I met my husband, I hated him.

He was a friend of my then boyfriend. I thought him an arrogant womaniser, who partied way too much and lectured me whenever I had the misfortune to cross his path.

This doesn’t mean I didn’t find him attractive. I did. But not physically. Not that there’s anything wrong with my husband physically, it’s just... so long as there’s nothing scary about a mans body (and he has strong forearms), I can be attracted to any type and find no particular type special.

You’re probably confused. Heck I get confused trying to explain! Umm, take Sean Bean. I don’t think he’s very nice, though I have nothing to base this on. Except he looks mean, and people that look mean, sometimes are. And mean people scare me, so I don’t like him in case he is mean. And. I think he needs to exfoliate more. He doesn’t have good skin, which is inexcusable when he must be wealthy. So I don’t like him, or find him physically appealing.

And yet… given half a chance, I’D RIP HIS CLOTHES OFF AND LOCK US IN A ROOM TOGETHER. For weeks. I might even have his children, ummm….

All things considered, it’s better if Sean and I never meet.

This was almost* how I felt about my Future BH (who knows about my Sean Bean fantasies, and finds them more than a little scary), though he wasn’t mean looking or had bad skin. No, the Future BH was physically acceptable, but too vain for my taste.

So now that I’ve made myself clear, I’ll progress…

Several months after becoming single again I was in a nighthclub and spotted my Future BH from afar. I tried to leave. I begged my girlfriend. But oh no, she was so busy getting it on with the DJ she wasn’t budging. (Thinking about it now, I could have left on my own – but the story would have been short.)

So… he came over. And due to my strict upbringing, I was forced to be polite because he was.

But it was a front. He just wanted a lift home and knew I’d be driving (I always do the driving ‘cause I rarely drink). And being a nice girl, I agreed and at the end of the evening waited for him. And waited.

Eventually he showed up sporting a spiky haired blond bimbo, who was tasteful enough to still doing up her shirt.

We drove home in silence and I stopped to drop him off.

At this point he should have said ‘Thanks’. He didn’t, he was rude. I lost my temper and got out of the car to tell him exactly what I thought of him and within minutes we were arguing in the street.

Unfortunately, it was a residential street and a lot of people weren’t amused, but he was… and invited me in to continue.

I think we shouted for the first hour. Then we started talking. I can’t say he wasn’t anything like I thought, but we clicked (which is odd because we have nothing in common. Seriously. Nothing). We sat talking for hours.

And then the most amazing thing happen.

He brushed the hair out of my eyes and I fell in love so completely I knew I would marry him.

I can remember the feeling even now. My stomach dropping so fast my heads spins. No one else has ever made me feel like that, and after thirteen years in a good marriage I'm mighty glad the feeling was true.

He didn’t kiss me that night (nor the next four), and you can probably guess the relationship wasn’t all dreamy and plain sailing. But it has a joyful end because we both grew up a bit, and got the hard bits over in the first few years before getting married and living happily ever after (good job too, as I wouldn’t have the energy for such a relationship now!)


Come back soon to find out why ‘taking a break’ only applied to him ;o)

--x--

* I say almost because I hadn’t been aware of the FBH for as long as I have Mr Bean, and was able to control myself. If Mr Bean ever gets within twenty feet of me – he won’t stand a chance.

Wishing the day away

I’m a sucker for moonlight. I love the way the landscape glows misty grey, light enough to move by and yet dark enough to catch your breath. Just thinking about it lifts my mood to some dreamy place where magic happens.

Last night when I went to bed, the moon shone bright in the perfect position. I love it when that happens and I hadn’t paid enough attention to the moonrise to be expecting it.

It was gone two, and the BH was asleep having left me watching A Midsummer Nights Dream. I’m a sucker for Shakespeare too. If he’d been awake, he would have got lucky. Instead I lay and watched the moon.

Most people like curtains. I don’t, although one day I will get round to making some as I have some super faux suede waiting for a use. Sometimes I wonder about voyeurs, but if they can be bothered traiping across fields on the off chance the midnight movie won’t interest me, I say good luck to them!

Last night there were clouds. Little ones. The best type to have with a fat moon as the light shines through, illuminating the whisps.

If the moon were a man I would be in love.

How many women have fallen in love with the moon? How many will?

I imagined billions of us, lying in the moonlight trough the ages, enjoying the tingling sensation such a simple sight creates within.

But would there really be billions? Up until a few hundred years ago the planet wasn’t so full. And there was a lot of smog around Europe for quite a while. And windows weren’t popular, so you either got damp, cold and/or a stiff neck to watch him. And these things might detract from the adoration.

But surely billions will fall in love?

But we can’t be sure, and I guess your opinion depends on where you imagine the human race going. I tend to think of it as sink or swim coming soon. There’re too many people on our little rock. Well, that’s not really true – it’s just badly managed, but seeing as us humans are too stubborn to accommodate nature, there’s a doubt anything will change as the populations grow. (Or dwindle if you’re in Europe or Japan.) So people will move destroying land and effecting weather patterns as they go, and environmental and light pollution are unlikely to escape unscathed, and those billions probably won’t have my view.

Or maybe the billions will never exist, gone in some grand pandemic of our own making. But that’s even more depressing, so let’s move on.

I prefer to dream the human race won’t sink but swim, or rather fly. Up and away.

Out there. In space with the moon.

When I was nine I remember standing on a balcony in Bermuda gazing at the moon. My father stood beside me and told me that when I was grown up, people would live on the moon. I would have the choice.

I knew I wanted to go.

And though the world didn’t move as fast as my father predicted, when my husband proposed I nevertheless felt the need to warn that if an opportunity arose where I could go into space, then I would be gone (he could come too if he wanted!)

But… as I lay in the shadowy glow, it occurred to me if my dream had ever been realised I would have had to give up my beloved moon as I know him. Without the atmosphere and small clouds, his allure might not be so great.

But beyond me, maybe the billions will live on other worlds. With other moons. On Mars people will sleep in the moonlight of Phobos and Deimos, but will their moonlight be silver? Will they be able to love as deeply if the new moons didn’t help create us?

I’m left with a sense that maybe my love for this piece of rock, is special. Maybe the billions will never get the chance to experience and realise the perfect beauty and awe I do.

Lucky, lucky me. Hurry up bedtime!

Happy Birthday to one of my favourite people,

Today is my brothers birthday and this seems like a perfect opportunity to introduce him. Let’s call him Ben.

Ben is thirty-five, has a top job, owns his own home, and is single. People love him. He sounds like quite a catch, huh? Damn shame none are fast enough! He likes his life the way it is and he’s honest about it. After all he has a mother and sister at his beck-and-call, and we seem to be the only women prepared to see him at his own convenience.

And this is handy because when Ben’s not working or distracting himself, he’s a lazy git. I don’t mean lazy as in lying around, no, for Ben is always studying and throwing himself into new fads (this year’s cookery). When I say lazy, I mean he’s never learnt to cope on his own and has little desire to try.

Of course I could make a stand, demand he doesn’t call me sounding like a desperate husband for whom I should drop everything and run to his aid. But I’ve been there, done that. And all that happens is everyone thinks I’m a bitch, and my mother has to do everything.

So instead I advise on electrical issues, building maintenance, ingredient explanations, fruit-loop girlfriends, and choosing his sofa colour (he wouldn't want to ask a girlfriend because they might, *gasp*, think he was keen).

I bet you’re wondering why I bother…well, apart from obviously being a wonderful sister, his life is full of stupidness I find highly entertaining!

I’ll save the stories of insane women banging on his door in the middle of the night, and keep his connection to Charles de Gaulle for another time. I shall instead begin by telling you about his house.

It’s a very nice house.

It was once my* house – and at this point I should add - don’t ever, EVER, sell you house to family, because fours years on they’ll STILL be calling to ask why a fuse has blown!

And then there’s the occasion he called and asked when he could have his plants back (this made about as much sense to me then, as that sentence does to you right now); WTF?

Oh yes, my little brother discovered his two fir trees missing from their pots by the front door and went to work assuming I’d taken them. Two days later he called to ask me why. Why indeed.

What was I supposed to say to that?

I called him a bloody idiot, and told him to report the theft to the police.

He couldn’t be bothered, or maybe didn’t wish to explain why he thought I’d taken them, and so the poor pots stood soiled but empty…


…until…



…the thief returned the firs the following week. Seriously. Both of them. Re-potted.


And then he had the vandals.

When I sold the house to Ben it was PERFECT after we spent three years renovating the 1836 property, replacing everything but the roof and the walls (all re-rendered).

So earlier this year Ben walks home from work sees this:



And eight more like it. It seemed his home had been the victim of some bizarre new form of violent expression.

He was near tears as he explained how these bastards had chipped through the render to the granite below. WHAT SORT OF PEOPLE DO THIS?

I am an evil person. There was never a single minute this didn’t amuse me. But he was getting really pissed at my giggles and I suggested he talk to the neighbours to ask if they had seen anything (he didn’t want to because he didn’t know them, I said it was okay as I had provided all relevant information on him the last time I saw Diane).

He called me back. The BASTARDS had a blue van, and worked most of the day.

I sent him to the other neighbours.

He found poor Mr Brett stood paralysed on the pavement opposite. I think he took it worse than Ben.

Mr Brett’s builders had gone to the wrong house.

Umm, you might be thinking easy mistake but come on… one house is crappy and cracked… next door is perfect…one you VISITED when you gave the quote… the other you didn’t…

--x--

* I should say ‘our’ as the BH was there too!

How sweet is that?

Wow, this new relaxed persona can take a shaking!

I know this because it took me a full twenty seconds to utter a sound after catching my youngest on the back step.

It took my brain that long to assemble the thoughts: why is S crouching just outside the door? I can hear water. Is she pouring something? Why are her knickers around her ankles? AND REALISE WHAT SHE WAS DOING, I then did the worse thing possible and laughed!

Apparently my daughter felt the urge for a breeze as she peed because P had done it the other day, and so stifling my giggles by attempting to visualise what a craze like this could do to my social life, I called him in.

The look of disgust on his face reassured me she was mistaken, but then he piped up ‘I peed on the beach at the castle the other day. Dad told me to.’ Well I can hardly tell him off for that – especially if his father told him to!

So I just told S she mustn’t do it again.

We’re up to three breezy pees now, and she screamed like a banshee when her father carried her into the house after catching her trying to poop down by the beech tree.

For some reason I’m amused, and I think I should be allowed to make the most of the feeling ‘cause I know it’s going to get old real quick!

I should have worn the vest bra!

This morning I went to the doctor and finally had that ECG I should have had weeks ago. It seems I’d left it so long even Dr B. couldn’t remember what he was looking for. In the old days it would have taken him a second to whip out my file and check, but these are modern times! Nowadays doctors get stropy computers that don’t accept passwords (case sensitive is just asking for trouble.)

So once he knew where we were the fancy machine gets pulled out, complete with sticky things. Shirt off*. Lie down. Pull bra up a bit. Pull bra down a bit. There we go!

Or don’t.

Umm, sticky things not damp enough. (Sticky things hurt when pulled s-l-o-w-l-y off forearm. I’LL DO IT MY-BLOODY-SELF!) Okay, new sticky things on. Let’s go!

Umm, interference?

Lights off. Plugs switches off. Would I mind taking my bra off because the underwire could be interfering? Gee no cute Doctor, I just love getting these puppies out in a freezing office that’ll make my nipples pop an air-conditioned office, and having them wrenched about(Oh and this is just the time to remember how human doctors are ;o)). One more try!

Well Bloody hell, I’m obviously NOT DEAD regardless of what the damn machine says!

Boobs away, we’ll look at the previous test results.

Liver – good
Kidneys – good
Cholesterol – good (HA, unbelievable! As I’m a pig and always thought if anyone checked my cholesterol they’d shit a brick - but no, go figure!)
Thyroid – good (huh? Does this mean it’s NOT a thyroid problem? Bugger, I wanted an easy answer!)

So it seems on paper (though not ECG paper) I’m healthy!

Which is wonderful news.

Except… what about the symptoms? (I’m going to assume you’d like to view the next blog sometime soon, so I won’t bother listing)

Oh great more tests.

--x--

* Those who have read my blog from the start will know I spent considerable time choosing my bra.

I’m so relaxed all I can do is waffle.

I haven’t been this relaxed since… I can’t remember.

And I don’t want it to stop.

But as I know it will when school starts, I’m not as relaxed as I could be. And it’s half-way through the BH’s holiday, which is also a worry as I quite like having him about (I can’t say totally ‘cause I get no privacy, and I like a little).

It’s a shame he’s such a good husband and doesn’t provide me with bitching posts, as those blogs are so fun. I could tell you what a wonderful husband he is, but everyone does that and if he found this blog, his head’d get too big.

So back to me. I’m relaxed. AND that's after I drove this morning. AND it was because I had to drop my No.1 son’s friend off after a sleepover AT OUR HOUSE. How amazing is that? I’m amazed.

So are the children. And they’ve helped! Every time one of them whacks/ laughs at/ teases/ screams at another, I simply ask if they like new improved mommy or shall I become a raving lunatic (again)? They know I mean it, they’ve seen it

But I don’t have the kids this afternoon (I know you can tell because I’m here. And relaxed.) so maybe that’s helping. The kids have gone to the Maze with the grandparents. With any luck they’ll get lost.

But back to me. I emailed Hoss yesterday and he suggested sharing some history about my island. And as Doug asked about the castle the other day, I’m thinking it might be fun.

But I’m too damn lazy relaxed. So I’m borrowing an idea of Hoss’s (hope you don’t mind) and will feature fact snippets at the end of my posts to bore you senseless entertain you each day.

And talking of blog things (I know I wasn’t really, but my mind wanders) how do you know which words make people come to your site? I do know that the counter site can tell you if you pay them money each month, but as I don’t want to I googled to see if there’s any way to tell for free.

I didn’t find anything to do with that, but I found a blogshare game instead.

They trade blog shares. They assess blog worth by the number of blogs linking to a site, and each of those blogs has a worth and that affects the originals worth. I think, or something like that.

Then I found me. THEY ASSESSED ME! My site has a blog share value of B$2,697.61. I feel like I had a test and no one said! They assessed you too, by the way.

I'm not sure I like people watching how many links I have so they can win a game. And I don't think anyone's bought any of my shares. I'm depressed (but still relaxed!). The only thing that cheered me up was that when I link someone from my blog, I’m worth B$254.33 to them.

---x---

And now that you've read down this far, is it me or do the weather girl's boobs look huge in that dress?

I typed this up last night, then hesitated... but what the heck

It seems I am drawn to share more when the word is asleep. This is a secret about me which I would never tell out loud or to those in RL (and if I ever meet any of you – don’t you dare mention it!).


I went to a lot of schools. One was different. It was small with just twenty people in a class year; it was academic and although I was bottom of the class it was the only place I ever learnt anything; there were boys and this was new to me; and it closed down when I was eleven.

But my biggest fondness is because this was the place I had my first crush. Of course when you’re eleven your dreams are hardly a passionate affair, even less so when the boy is sixteen and doesn’t know you exist.

But the burn was there, and the object of my desire was skinny with floppy hair and a cheeky grin. Each day when the prefects (of which he was one) hurried us out the playground, I would smile and try to gather the nerve to say something, anything. I remember some vague reference to his bum-fluff, though luckily I didn’t know the term bum-fluff then, and instead called his patchy growth whiskers (like the cat food). He took it with good grace.

And that’s about all I remember from the reality.

But I didn’t need much because by the time I turned twelve I was at a single-sex boarding school and in need of no further encouragement! Whiskers occupied my day-dreams* through my time there, morphing into a demi-god.


Fast forward seven years.


It was a balmy Saturday night, I was in town – a little bit drunk* - with a girlfriend and in a very bad mood over an ex who was supposed to be pining over me, but instead was having a rather jolly time in a bar I just left.

My friend saw someone she knew and tired of my heartbroken groans, insisted we join them at private party in a nightclub. I reluctantly agreed and cheered up when I discovered I knew lots of people in there. And then I got introduced to some new faces.

Except one face seemed to think we’d met before.

I shook my head.

He nodded and said we’d gone to That School together, except he was older. Six years older. He told me his name.

And I still drew a blank.

“You used to follow me around and call me Whiskers!”

Suddenly I was red-faced and laughing. Good grief, was I really that obvious when I was ten? I stared at him, could this be him? The Whiskers of my memory wasn’t this short, or wide, and where was the floppy hair? But he made me laugh. And his smile still charmed me.

I did something very unusual (for me) and went home with him that night.

We stayed up till dawn and walked on a deserted beach before the world awoke. And then it came to a perfect end when he drove me home.

I’ve never figured out why I didn’t call him, or why I wasn’t upset that he didn’t call me, but I’ve held onto a notion that it was romantic that such an early flame had some fire after all.


Fast forward another seventeen years.


Early on a cold October Sunday morning and my second son was playing rugby, while I stood talking to some mothers.

One of them was Linda, who is the scariest Mother of mothers, she’s one of those noisy, popular types whose children win everything. She’s also on the PTAs and knows everyone, and everyone does as they’re told when Linda’s about.

Her husband came over and we got introduced.

“I think we know each other,” he smiled.

I shook my head trying to place him.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it! Didn’t you used to go to That School? But I was a bit older than you, must have been five or six years.”

SHIT, you’re not serious? I stare at this man, there’s definitely NO floppy hair, and this guys almost as round as he is tall. Please gawd, this HAS to be a mistake!

Linda laughed as I stuttered an apology for my appalling memory and asked his name.

Dean. Was that his name? I didn’t recognise it. And what sort of a SLUT am I not to know… but seventeen years.?! It can’t be him! But I can’t be sure because it wasn’t like I spent any time with him…

He let it go. And at the time I was glad.

But over the coming months it drove me mad!

As the weather got colder more mothers took to dropping off their little darlings and staying home. But Dean was often there, and we took to sitting in the club-house drinking hot-chocolate together. We got on well, and he’s terrific fun and always had me laughing (or cringing) at his stories. But he didn’t make any further references to That School, and I honestly couldn’t figure out if he had once been Whiskers.

Plenty of his tales were about his ridiculous teenage antics. Dismantling a mini and reassembling it in his mates front room, sending a wreath to a friends wedding reception – that sort of thing.

Then he told me a story about bricking up a front door.

As he spoke the ending came to me before he reached it and I snorted my hot chocolate all over the table. I knew this story! I had heard it before – whilst lying in Whiskers bed! (slut!) The BIGGEST difference being, it was Whisker’s who had been bricked in!

Oh the relief! Poor Dean had no idea why I laughed so hard. I asked the name of the man he and his friends had done it to. Paul Summers.

Paul, that sounded right, (and I shall now, never forget it).

But I had to make sure and asked where Paul had lived. Bingo! Same ground floor flat I once visited. I was happy.

Dean noticed. “Now that I think about it, you must know him! We were at That School together. I’ll have to get you together.”

Err, no thanks. Memories stay sweeter when unmarried and locked in the past.

--x--

*Maybe one day I’ll tell you about my night-dreams ;o)
**for US readers, please note we mostly have lousy weather and are allowed to drink from the age of eighteen.

All change!

I’m in the mood for new things. I’m not sure this will last, but I’ll try things so long as they stay fun!

First up is my template, though I’m thinking I should have been more honest and replaced the coffee with tea and cookies with a couple of cigarettes (err, yes, these are another little secret that few in RL know about!), but they reflect my feeling that this blog is some time out for me.

Next up I’ve joined blog explosion. This was on the spur of the moment when I was reading Latin Lovers page and had pangs of envy when he said how his hits had risen.

In the cold light of morning I woke and wondered at the real benefits. Does it really matter how many hits you get? I guess this largely depends upon what type of blog you write, but seeing as mine has become a lot more personal than I originally planned, isn’t it more important that I have a circle of bloggers I adore and feel comfortable with? With this thought in mind, I trembled at my impulsiveness.

Then I logged on.

Thirty-two hits before I even got up this morning, usually that’s average days worth!

I’m unexpectedly thrilled.

I think.

But I also think I’ll be happier if some of them choose to return and say something! So until they do, I’m still thrembling.

Next I found something fun for the blog. A guest-map! As a reader you can place a marker where you are in the world. How cool is that?! (Or am I showing my nerdiness at loving these blog add ons?)

Unfortunately I haven’t yet started changing anything in RL, but I want to relax and enjoy what’s left of the holidays and anyway, small steps are sure steps… and hey, these are a start!

I’m feeling good, and sharing it with you ‘cause I don’t get to say it too often!

The last few days haven’t been lazy but they’ve definitely been a relief. I haven’t driven once this week and am convinced this had made a big difference to my stress level. I should also point out that the BH has been around too, and since he’s realised what hard work it is entertaining children at such varied stages, he’s been trying his best to help too!

I know it’s mean, but I can’t help but smile at how flustered he gets with the kids, he almost manages to make me look calm and generous!

And at this point I should stop and thank those who comment here, as you are doing wonders for my assertiveness! – Although it doesn’t always work.

Take last Friday, I sat my BH down and told him how I wasn’t coping too well with motherhood at the moment. I’ve only ever done this once before, a full decade ago, and so was reasonably sure he’d take me seriously. He did, and went on to apply his own de-stressing approach which is having sex every night. This de-stress method isn’t without merit, but there are quicker ways to improve my life.

But I got another chance to speak my mind last weekend when I went head-to-head with him over the dinner table rules, he wasn’t best pleased at the time but everything’s been running smoothly all week with my new (and improved!) table rules. The children are a lot happier and although he won’t admit it, I know the BH feels the same.

Then on Tuesday the BH was most miffed when he realised I was serious about walking to the shops again, and he couldn’t believe I considered an hours walk with four children, a dog and shopping to carry on the way home, less bother than taking the car. But I stuck to my guns and when we finally arrived home and the children quietly collapsed he began to appreciate my reasoning!

In a previous post I did mention that on Wednesday the BH lost it, and this was the true tuning point! It’s not that anything major has altered, we’re just sharing more and able to take solace with each other when you have one of those detestable moments when you want to run screaming from the madhouse.

And with a build up like that, I can confirm, today was perfect!

We decided to take the kids out to the castle and loaded them into the car (him driving!) and headed off. But we had some things to do first. No sooner had we parked in town when J announced she needed the loo. No problem! I know exactly which shops will show mercy on the bladder-impaired and sorted the situation quick-smart!

Twenty minutes later, J needed the toilet again (I kid you not) and then S and P got in on the act and crossed their legs too. No Problem! Back to original kind hearted shop assistant!

Fifteen minutes later (I’m serious!) she went for the hat trick. Unfortunately the only toilet was two floors down in a smelly car park and in the opposite direction. This needn’t have been a problem except her father was starting to shake with the sheer frustration of trying to start the day. So I told her to pee behind the car. She refused and said she’d wait, which in my book means she’s just after checking out all the toilets she can (she really likes to do this!).

But getting out to the castle wasn’t quick as the tide was against us and we had to travel on the puddle-ducks. This meant waiting. J crossed her legs and didn’t say a word. But she did as soon as we stepped off the duck! The poor girl was dancing as I dragged her around the entrance queue and demanded to know where the toilets were.

Bloody miles away, is where!

I had to leave the other kids with the BH as we ran off and disturbed a militia re-enactment in progress. My BH was astounded at my ability to hold my head up high as I loudly requested the attention of the stolen audience to ask where the nearest toilet facilities were (he arrived in time to see the crowd parting for us!).



Luckily this was the end of the day’s dramas and from that point on it was a delight.



I know I enjoyed walking around the castle, and the girls had fun making a pebble collection, P smiled endlessly and quietly sung ‘It’s a Pirates life for me’ all the way back on the duck. The eldest wasn’t bowled over – until I lent him the camera, then there was no stopping him! And the BH… well he’s quiet in a relaxed way, and I think two relaxed parents at the end of a busy day is enough to feel sure something went right.



Though he did groan when I said we were off to the Neolithic burial mound next week.

The BH got some time to himself today and LOOK what he bought me!

It didn’t cost nearly as much as it looks like it should (he knows how I fret), and he’s put it under the beech tree so I can lie in the shade and watch the children as they play! Isn’t he a dream? He’ll be rewarded later ;o)










I also happened to swing by Doing It My Way and discovered I’d been tagged! This is a new experience for me, and a handy way to fill a post ;o)


10 Years Ago Today: I was 26 years old and just starting to recover from becoming a mother almost exactly one year earlier. It wasn’t an easy time but I was finally learning to cope and there were reasons to celebrate, my son took his first steps and I had thrown my first ever children’s birthday party this week!

5 Years Ago Today: I was 31 years old and enjoying life as a mother. My youngest son had turned two last month, and my eldest turned six yesterday, I was also three months pregnant with my third. At this point, life was sweet as our first home was nearing its rebuild, I was coping nicely with motherhood and my circle of friends was booming through my son’s school life.

1 Year Ago Today: I was 35 years old and recuperating from my eldest son’s birthday sleep-over. It was a nightmare as the builders arrived at seven in the morning and we had boys bouncing off every wall after only five hours sleep! They didn’t go home until after lunch, I did nothing all afternoon with the builders watching!

Yesterday: I’m 36 years old. We had a birthday breakfast for my son with pressies given. Not the best of ideas as we met with family for a big lunch out. In the afternoon we all went up to the sports fields and the kids rode and played (eldest got a new bike and his iPod shuffle – very happy!)

Today: Duty called. My mother has a circle of friends she sees once a week to play tennis and bridge with. The women are a collection of mothers who met on the school run years ago and so have off-spring at the same stages in life. Today was ‘Grandmothers Day’, which meant each grannie had to turn up with daughters and daughters-in law, and every grandchild they possess. Most of these people don’t live on the island, but hey-ho they’re all so wealthy they’re either holidaying here or can pop over. The party was held at one of the grannies homes (a splendid place with tennis court, pool, patios galore, bouncy castle for the lil’uns, games room, and of course – pims) and if I ever made an effort to fit in with these people whom I have known for over twenty years, I would have loved it.

My primary school best friend was there (over from Spain for the month) but as most of the conversations centred on holiday homes and au pairs, I couldn’t offer much and ending up feeling (as I always do) like a fish out of water. My mother says I don’t do social very well – I guess she’s right.

Tomorrow: Ooo, this has become an unknown! Should have been hiding at a girlfriends house while BH attacks deck project with builder, but builder and friend both cancelled this evening, so I’m thinking maybe a trip out to the castle.

5 Snacks I enjoy: Raspberries, blackberries, snicker bars, brazil nuts, and ice-cream.

5 Bands I know most of the lyrics to their songs: Snow Patrol, Maroon 5, Keane, Madness, The Pogues.

5 things I would do with $100,000,000: Get a driver! And a cook might be handy too. Put an upstairs on my house so the kids could all have their own bedrooms, I would also get an indoor pool added as an extension. BH would give up work and we could holiday! Then I’d start giving it away.

5 Locations I Would Like To Run Away To: Pompeii, Florida, Scotland, Grand Canyon, and Mongolia.

5 Bad Habits I Have: I hint when I should be definite, getting cross when driving, getting cross when shopping, staying up too late, sleeping in later than I should.

5 Things I Like Doing: Writing, soaking in a bath, gardening, reading and sex.

5 Things I Would Never Wear: See through outfits, ra-ra skirt, bikini, platform shoes, lime green.

5 TV Shows I Like: Desperate Housewives, Sopranos, Babylon 5, The West Wing, Star Trek

5 Movies I Like: It’s a Wonderful Life, Twelve Monkeys, 2001, Life of Brian, The Man Who Would Be King.

5 Famous People I'd Like To Meet: Not fussed about any alive today, but with a time machine: Genghis and Kubla Khan, Einstein, Shakespeare, Julius Caesar.

5 Biggest Joys of the Moment: My children take up four (I’m having a good day ;o)), the pressie my BH bought me today.

5 People to Tag: Will they thank me? You’ll have to trust me when I say this is fun to do! Doug, Hoss, Mark, Anduin, and Maureen :o)

Ho ho ho, I’m feeling better!

Yep, there’s nothing like watching someone else flip to make me feel better about myself!

Five days into his annual holiday and the BH lost it! I could see it coming. There were comments and weary sighs yesterday. But heck, I’m in a hole of my own right now and I can’t be expected to help others from falling down it, can I? And anyway, it’s too much fun observing how the never-ending-mind numbing-mundane-questions that the children drown me with, work on him.

A part of me is worried. He knows of a world outside this house. He could decide to walk away. But I’ll worry about that tomorrow, because today I’m working too hard hiding my smile :o)

Being tall, feeling short.

Now I know how the general population imagine people of height must love being able to reach the top shelf in the kitchen, but for most of my life I hated it.

As an obsessed teenager, friends would scold me saying how lucky I was, and how they wished they were taller – but come on, how many romance books have a heroine over five eight? There is good reason for this, over a certain height you just become gangly, and gangly people can’t dance*. And tall people often have to try to fade in, (you can usually tell by the way they slouch and lean against things and after a lifetime it becomes a hunch** or maybe they have the lady Di head hung look) but this just emphasises the long bits.

And to agonise my situation, I liked wearing heels. I know that sounds bizarre because most people enjoy the extra height by wearing heels, but I wasn’t after that – I was after the sexy feeling high- heels give me.

Luckily I looked down long enough to meet my husband and then didn’t wear heels for a decade, as it took me that long to work out he thought the heels were sexy too! (In moments since I have often wondered whether my perception that most men of my dating days, wouldn’t be interested (because of my height) was true? Did I miss an army of suitors*** because I was too self-loathing to perceive them?)

But enough of that… back to today’s shortness.

My aunt and cousin are visiting us which is a real treat ‘coz I haven’t seen my cousin since she was a bridesmaid at our wedding. She was a plump average eight year old then. Today she is a six foot two, twenty-one year old, drop-dead-gorgeous-goddess.

“Wow, you grew!” were my original first words to her, but then I’ve never been in this position before (looking up at a girl!)

Unluckily her length is in her legs and though she may look spectacular I know what a bitch it is trapising around shops trying to find jeans long enough to cover them! And then nature insists on having feet big enough to cope with legs that long…

And then there’s her shape! Surely a nightmare to fit! My father talks of women whose waists he could encompass with his hands – but as I’d never seen it, how could I be expected to believe? All the tall women I know (including me) appear straight, this being another downfall of height. (Except… in the years I’ve had my children I’ve discovered this has its benefits too, because weight doesn’t show as quickly.)

So as I’m standing there feeling short and the children are toppling backwards trying to see her face, I notice she’s wearing flats. My aunt (of my height) sees my gaze and grins at me, “She won’t wear heels at the moment. New boyfriend.”

I’m not sure if I should weep for the girl or laugh. Either way I’m too short to make it credible that I have any idea what she’s going through and offer sympathy. And anyway being short isn’t a breeze either, it’s intimidating for one, and your neck hurts after a while.

--x--

* As I have grown up I have discovered this isn’t true and that, unbelievably, it’s just me who can’t dance!
** I don’t have a hunch, as I have excellent posture beaten into me by my father.
*** I’m getting carried away with dreaming… but hey, it’s my dream, so why not?

I have a plan!

Over the past few days I have gone from wallowing in self absorption and feeling that I dislike way too much in my life, to a decision that I would change everything!

Then calm and common sense arrived back, and I now know that this is no way realistic – but I am left determined I can change some things and the trick will be figuring out what and how much.

I was incredibly tired this weekend and began by lounging about feeling beaten and ignoring all my usual amusements. This included the net – which was surprisingly easy!

I think of myself as obsessed with the computer and weekends are when I get to flit around forums catching up on posts. But this doesn’t do me any good. Half the people I come across annoy the hell out of me, and not being an argumentative sort, instead of telling them, I absorb the emotion. Not visiting has done me good. And it isn’t like they missed me (I don't say a lot, because I'm too annoyed ;o)) – so where’s the loss?

And I didn’t spend money I don’t have in Ebay. This was also good.

In fact the only positive I missed on the net were the blogs I visit, so from now on – that’s all I shall do!

Next thing to change is driving. I HATE driving. It brings out the worst in me, and if I ever have money, before I have a cleaner, gardener or cook I shall pay someone to do the driving around! But back in the real world…this of course is impossible. What I can do is rearrange my schedule so that all unnecessary trips are cut. Instead we shall walk. This starts today. And the dog is unhappy.

During the holidays I have no reason to put myself through the traffic to reach my beach. And I don’t like summer on beach anyway cause there are too many people. So when we walk to the shops, the dog will get his walk then.

Meal plans are also good, and now that I’m avoiding driving I need them!

Next item of change, is me.

I have nothing that is mine. Except this blog, which I can’t visit when the BH is about. So I thought about stuff I used to do and am trying to work out which I shall resurrect.

I think writing’s gone. My muse has flown and it didn’t fit my life too well anyway, because when I did write I would stay up half the night and day-dream the day away.

Onward, or rather further backward. In days long gone I studied.

I have been looking at courses with the OU, and guess what? The points I have in science are enough for a Natural Science Certificate. This doesn’t mean much, but I got a buzz when I realised! So why don’t I continue on for a diploma or degree?

These days the courses are expensive and as the OU no longer class us as UK, it’s even more than the advertised costs! Bummer, because I won’t have the money to do anything till at least Christmas.

But that’s okay, because I can decide on a course and do a lot of the required reading before I sign up. If I sign up.

There is a problem with this option. It’s time consuming on a major level. And should I really be spending the time and money studying when I could go out and earn some money? Life might be better with spare cash.

But then I get into a vicious circle. Earning money is well and good – if I can get a term time position, but it’ll be a crap job cause I don’t have any qualifications, and if I’m working a crap job – will I feel any better about my life? It could just send me over the edge. This one will require some more thought.

Also decided I am not looking after other peoples children anymore. I wasn’t paid for it, but have concluded I don’t even want to do it for money. Other peoples kids are horrid (not that mine aren’t too!) and why put myself through it unnecessarily? I’m always trying to please people and I don’t even know why! Half the time people take the piss and I’m left feeling irritated, and so this must stop (unless it’s an emergency), even for friends.

And talking of friends… I’m missing mine. I think I have been in denial about this. But I have now decided it’s not forbidden for me to miss her, and thus it’s okay to feel lonely for a while, but I have plenty others and sooner or later one will fill the place she held.

So that’s me. Getting there in a muddle. But at least it’s a muddle in the right direction!

And I must finish this bloody house! I hate this house, but slowly it is getting there and if I got my head out my ass it’s happen a whole lot sooner!

Right, we have to go shopping – wish me luck!


Update: It took me an hour and a half for what is usually a thirty minute trip to the shops, this can't be done on busy days!

A fresh approach!

The last two days have been spent shopping for school uniforms. This is surprisingly tiresome when kitting out children with odd shaped bodies. Number one son has extra narrow feet, number one daughter has extra wide feet, number one son has narrow waist with long legs, number two son has wide shoulders and waist for arm and leg length, and number two son and daughter haven’t grown a shoe size in a year (but can bet they will before term start!) Even so I’ve done remarkably well and have plenty of time for the sewing alterations (in fact, I may even appear organised to people who don’t really know me).

This all came about because I was feeling bold. I awoke yesterday morning convinced that good days came about because of my temperament, and all I had to do was get through the day with a positive patient attitude, the children would then reflect back my harmony – and soon ALL days would become good!

This is utter crap.

I tried, I really, really tried, and I’m too worn out to explain. But I never raised my voice, beat or even threatened anyone. In fact on the ‘mothering scale’ I did good. And it’s not like the children were the worst they’ve ever been. But I’ve discovered bottling my emotions and faking a happy exterior blow my ‘I’m-in-control-scale’ apart.

Must stay calm. Must stay calm. Must, must, must! That’s what was going through my mind when it all got too much and I had my panic attack, in town, with the four children. Except maybe it wasn’t a panic attack ‘cause I haven’t had one in well over a decade, and I wasn’t panicking so much as containing my impatience fury exasperation. (For any who are lucky enough to have got through life without the experience, it goes something like this: it’s like you’re in a balloon and all of a sudden it pops and the air rushes out and the world shrinks in, at the same time an invisible foe is sticking a knife in your abdomen and pins in your lungs.)

Fortunately I knew what was happening and didn’t collapse from sheer fright. Unfortunately my silent migraine* swiftly join the fray. (This seems to be something unique to me** (lucky me!) and I have baffled many a good doctor and eye specialist with its manifestation. It tends to occur in my right eye, blowing the pupil into a cats-eye shape and stealing my vision for a minute or two. I’ve had loads of tests, even an MRI. There’s nothing amiss, and as my doctor pointed out – I’ve had it six years and it hasn’t killed me yet. So I don’t worry. Much. And it’s cool to look at ;o))

Right now I’m feeling more pissed off than anything else. Pissed off that shopping can do this to me, and that my body lets me down in such stupid ways, and that the kids weren’t any less boisterous after my embarrassing public staggering-about dance!

But number two son did manage to amuse me. When I could again breathe without gasping, I told the children I was feeling sick and needed to get home, P asked “Like sea-sickness? Coz if it was like that it would be worse at sea ‘coz worse things happen at sea!”

Apparently, I should thank Balamory*** for teaching him this nugget of wisdom -- how right they are! I would probably have fallen overboard.

---x---

*This is what one doctor called it and it’s stuck.
** I did find one reference to something like it on the net, but the author didn’t respond to my email, and then the site vanished.
*** Childrens TV show I CANNOT BARE.

What fun they had!

It seems one or more of the little darlings had some fun on a visit to the bathroom today.

A couple of hours ago I went to bed (it’s one of those nights) after brushing my teeth using my toothpaste (we all have different types). I’m still rinsing and spitting.

Amazingly, someone managed to transfer the soap into my toothpaste without trashing the bathroom (I have to give credit where credit is due!). I’m not sure how I know what soap tastes like, but my advice is stick with bars, because liquid tastes like shit (though not literally).

I view this as almost ironic, seeing as we moved away from bars of soap because my firstborn thought he was really clever rubbing everyone else’s toothbrushes on them (yes, this is the same son that won the award for fair-play. Hey, I said I was surprised!).

But I rumbled that trick before any bubbles ‘cause I always wash the toothbrushes before as well as after use! You see I knew a woman with some wicked tips of ultimate revenge.

Of course her suggestions were aimed at unsatisfactory loves and not at siblings, but they inter-change remarkably well.

When a row has occurred and your partner simply refuses to apologise or buy you that incy-wincy diamond necklace (this was her world) you can get the last laugh by locking yourself in the bathroom. Not to cry and regret your words (as I might) but so you can clean the toilet.

With his toothbrush.

So long as you give it a good rinse, they’ll never know, and so the next morning when a smile is required, it will be truly genuine!

I never tried it myself, but I’m thinking someone’s not happy with my level of service and I should change my toothbrush every day.

This could be a record…

Two great days in a row!

Today I did… nothing! Isn’t that divine?

When I say nothing – I don’t mean I didn’t even bother to get dressed (I’m not quite that low! Yet.), but after the stress of walking the dog I called a friend who has three sons and invited her and her tribe around to do…nothing.

(I’m serious about the dog walking stress. A ten minute car journey turned into forty minutes because a road was closed due to an accident, and on an island having one main road closed causes chaos! And then the beach was busy and had loads of families giving my dog filthy looks for having the nerve to be there. And anyway the children were with me, and how relaxing do you think that is every morning?!)

But back to my wonderful day of nothing. Us moms were totally mean and wouldn’t let the children on the playstation or stay indoors, so whilst they dashed about the garden making their own fun, we sat on the balcony watching whilst being able to hear ourselves think. And did nothing.

Except eat. We did eat a lot*. Twenty hot dogs, eighteen toasted tea cakes, a Mediterranean loaf, a chocolate log, seven packets of hula-hoops , huge bag of grapes, a punnet each of raspberries, blackberries and strawberries, and a water melon.

I’m stuffed.

But in my defence, for me it was all fruit. Ridiculously expensive fruit which was supposed to last my family the week. I’m sure in the old days healthy stuff was cheaper than the nice stuff, so at least you saved money pigging out on the right things. Damn, I should have just opened the biscuits.

---*---

* the 'we' was the children too, not just us moms!

Monday with a difference!

This morning didn’t feel like a Monday. Usually, when Monday arrives my first emotion of the day is dread at the coming week, but then I get a spark of anticipation and hop out of bed to check my emails.

The cause this momentary excitement is Doug, and whilst his emails were rarely weekly, there was always the possibility he had sent something. But not now, because now, Doug’s completed his book, and no more chapters will arrive at my inbox. But I can’t complain, becuase obviously I'm *thrilled* for Doug! And anyway, there also wasn’t the usual dread this morning.

This week is special. The children have no activities and no commitments! Not one! FOR THE ENTIRE WEEK!*

This may not sound like a great cause for happiness if you have a life, but I don’t. Mine is lived through my children and the weeks when I get to decide (maybe even on a whim ;o)) what we’re doing and when, are very, very rare. (I might even do nothing! Just imagine...)

I’ve also done a meal plan, which is also rare but for the opposite reason (this comes under being a crappy disorganised mother!).

So this morning I dragged everyone to the beach and made them run around for an hour in the hope that their energy levels would drop for the rest of the day. This has worked a treat, and provided the added bonus of getting the food shopping done without me resorting to more than veiled threats if they didn't stop running down the aisles!

Next came the Monday chores. Every room must reveal carpet enough for me to vacuum. But to be perfectly honest I really wasn’t in the mood. So I bribed the boys!

Both have become obsessed with money. (I think this may be a reaction to the brainwashing I put them through. It goes like this: you have to work hard at school so you can get the best grades you possibly can, only that way will you get options in life. Options include getting a job you love, or a job where you make lots of money (the ideal job would incorporate both), or getting a well paid job and working just enough hours to live on. Mommy and Daddy didn’t work hard enough, and thus don’t have options, and that’s why we're terrible parents who've never taken them on holiday (they all fantasise about Florida, me too!), oh and, mommy and daddy will need looking after in a grand fashion in our old age.)

And for one pound each the boys tidied the lounge and girls bedroom (little do they know, I would have paid a lot more!) In turn, they bribed the girls twenty pence each to pick up their clothes and pass the books up off the floor.

Meanwhile, in the peace and tranquillity of my EMPTY kitchen, I was able to sweep without screaming at anyone for repeatedly running through my dust pile. Heaven.

The only mar on an otherwise great day is, even I realise how ridiculous it is that these tiny things make me so happy!

--x--

*They also don't have actitives for the next two weeks, but because the BH will be at home I'll be dancing to a different tune ;o)