No rest for the wicked…

Two cakes this week! I’m sure I’d be thrilled if I was trying to start a business, but as I’m not, I’m kinda wondering how these things happen... and I’ve lost count of the number of orders I’ve got, I think it’s six not counting my own kids, but I really must start writing these things down…anyways, I'm definitely getting *better!

Here’re this week’s two:







And in case you’re too old to know, the first picture is of the Power Puff girls… I think, or maybe it’s Powder Puff, yikes I really should pay more attention! And, yes, that's foam you can see, but it's for support until everything is dry, not eating.

If you're thinking you've seen the second one here before, you'd be right, as lots of little girls like the same things!

Other news includes three parties within twenty-four hours – not recommended by the way, or rather having four kids who get invited to parties, isn’t recommended.

And ballet. Tomorrow at ten. Ten in the morning, on a Sunday. UGH. Not that I’m not up, thanks to the damn dog (I at least, have the kids trained!), but I like taking it slow at least one day a week. And I'm hoping to wallpaper my bedroom wall (that’s re-paper for those who’ve been around long enough), as my Christmas present from my parents finally arrived. I should add, it’s so late because I couldn’t decide what to get, rather than my mother being slack.

It’s a picture, a beautiful picture of a beach, and I stare at it thinking how much I’d like to walk right onto it. And talking of beaches, this good weather is a pain! Whenever the sun comes out all the ‘fair weather’ beachgoers show-up with their little darlings and glare at my big bad dog. I glare at him too, but I’m allowed.

He’s just thrown up by the way. It appears he ate the play-clay S won on the pass-the-parcel game. The BH is calling him in, but I'm thinking there was more…



* 'Better' at cake decorating, not writing things down...

Conversations from last night…

P: ‘So I’m half Scottish, and half English?’

R: ‘No, you’re half Scottish, and half Welsh.’

Me: ‘No he’s not, I’m not Welsh!’

R: ‘But you were born in Wales.”

Me: ‘But I don’t have any Welsh blood. And you were born here, does that make you J*****?’

R and P frown at each other.

R: ‘Dad says you’re Welsh.’

Me: ‘Dad likes to wind me up.’

R: ‘So what are you?’

Me: ‘Technically, I have some English heritage, and some European.’

R: ‘So you’re English.’

Me: ‘No, I'm not English. I have some English blood is all, but I'm not really anything.'

R (giving me a sly knowing grin): 'You have to be something! You're Welsh, admit it.'

Me: 'No I'm not! My biological mother was on holiday when she had me, she didn’t mean to have me in Wales!’

R: ‘How do you know that?’

Me: ‘Because she told me.’

R: ‘You’ve met her?’

Me: ‘Yes.’

R: ‘When?’

Me (starting to feel out of my depth and becoming aware that my three youngest children are paying way too much attention to this conversation): ‘None of your business, and I think we’ll drop this conversation now.’

Half an hour later P comes and finds me in the office.

P: ‘Mom, are you my biological mother?’

Me: ‘Yes, P.’

P: ‘Prove it!’

Me (wondering what his big brother has been telling him): ‘Well, there are pictures of me when I was pregnant with you, pictures of us together right after you were born. In fact I even have pictures of you when you were in my tummy. And, I have a scar where they cut me open when you were born.’

P (thinks on it for a moment): ‘But maybe they mixed me up with another baby…’

Me (rolling my eyes): ‘You and J are too alike for that. Trust me, P, you’re mine!’ I tell him and push him out the door into the kitchen, where he passes his father.

P: ‘Dad, I’ve just asked mom if you’re my biological father, and she said no!’

Me: Lost for words, and wondering what I can throw at the little git as he runs off laughing.

BH: Also lost for words, but has his eyebrows raised!

Perfecting my smile

Today is the last day of the Easter holidays. Depressing in itself, but more so when you think the Summer Term will last for three months this year. It’s always long, but three months just looks like forever right now. At least I should get to catch up at work.

Not that I’m really behind, but I want to organise the office and streamline all the bits I never have time for. Do you realise I’ve been with Tim for over a year now? And I still love my job! It’s brilliant now, as I know it inside out and feel in control.

The only thing which worries me is the boss’s wife. You may recall Sally is a friend, and it’s down to her that I got the job. There’s nothing wrong as such, we’re still great mates, but I fret she must get sick of the sight of me. It’s probably just my imagination, as there’s nothing in her behaviour to suggest this, not really, probably just one of my imagined worries!

I do seem to like them.

Umm, I’m wondering if I dare explain what a horrid person I’ve become? Well, I suppose sharing secrets is what this place is for, and there’s only the BH and Cass I can talk to in RL about this issue and I think they’re getting sick of it, so I’ll bore you instead.

In September several new girls started in J’s school year. Can’t be easy for these moms arriving at a school where so many friendships have already been established.

I noticed two of them. One I went to school with myself, so she was easy to talk to. Another is from Canada, and didn’t know a soul. Even with her endlessly cheerful twangy accent, I really like her and suggested to my friends we invite her to some of out get togethers. But no, the others weren’t so sure, as she’s always so well presented it made some feel like she’s more of a grown up than the rest of us.

Then there was a third. I didn’t notice her once during the first term, but my daughters had mentioned her daughter so I knew she existed.

You could say the first meeting was catastrophic, though I’ve since tried to put it out of my mind. But it won’t go away. I walked into the playground and spotted Sally talking to someone. I wandered over to say good morning, but waited behind until they’d finished their sentences.

The new mom turned and looked at me. And what a look. Up and down, with distaste written clear.

I can’t deny I was shaken. I haven’t been looked at like that since…well I can’t actually remember. I just stood there like a lemon wondering who the hell this woman was.

I soon found out, as Eva, the new mom, was suddenly great friends with all my friends. In fact it felt like I couldn’t have a conversation without Eva being there. And she’s got plenty to add to all conversations.

Been and done everything, has Eva. Seriously, whatever you can come up with, she will have a better story to recount.

In all fairness to her, she’s never given me such a filthy look again, and it’s hardly her fault she’s got experience of everything. And I know it can’t be easy being a new mom.

But I just can’t take to her.

And if that’s all there was to it, I’d shrug and say ‘So what? You can’t like everyone!’

But a couple of weeks after she’d appeared, Sally watched her walk away then turned to me and smiled, ‘Eva irritates you, doesn’t she?’

I was mortified. True, Eva does irritate the hell out of me (and I haven’t even mentioned her awful accent) but I’m not a total bitch – and I certainly don’t want Eva to guess the way I feel about her!

Blinking away the shock of being caught, I asked if it was obvious. Sally said not, just that I was very quiet around Eva, and she knew my body language well enough to see I wasn’t comfortable.

I poured some of it out, and then apologised. At the end of the conversation I simply said I’d learn to deal with it, but I’d be grateful if Eva wasn’t invited to all our get togethers, just yet. I just needed some time to get used to her.

But it seems time was against me. Everywhere I went, Eva was there. Endlessly talking. Wouldn’t be so bad, if everyone didn’t adore her. But even when she’s not bloody there, I can’t have a conversation with any of the moms without them commenting how great Eva is.

So, staying quiet and changing the subject have become my middle names.

Then the holidays began, and I sighed with the relief of two whole weeks without Eva in my life.

Ha, fat f*cking chance!

On the first Saturday there was a party, and who should walk in just as I sat myself down? Yep, Eva. ‘Are you staying?’ she asked Sally, and after Sally nodded, Eva promised to be back as quickly as possible. Twenty minutes later we’re all sharing a table and listening to Eva’s garden and decoration tips.

All things considered, it wasn’t a bad afternoon. I spent the time smiling and convincing myself I could cope with her for a few short hours.

Then it was time to go home. I nodded at Sally and said I’d see her next week – meaning AT WORK. But no, Sally was thinking of the moms get together we’d arranged for the Wednesday, and she promptly invited Eva to join us.

Sally caught me up in the car park, and asked me if it was alright to invite Eva like that.

What the hell was I supposed to say? The deal was done, and so I smiled (again, and it was starting to hurt by this time!) and said, ‘Of course it’s fine! The more the merrier.’

Thank god Easter arrived and my children duly vomited their way through it.

Come Tuesday I went into work and was able say with complete honesty, that my kids were sick and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make Wednesday.

But I hadn’t actually decided not to go at that point. After all, there were two other moms going to be there and I was looking forward to catching up with them.

The nail in the coffin came when Sally announced that because of the fine weather we should change the venue to the beach.

I don’t do the beach. I walk on it, but I don’t have the patience to lie on it for hours at a time. It’s no secret, in fact it’s a bit of a joke with my friends.

I felt slapped (I still do). But smiled and said I’d hope to be there, knowing I wouldn’t be.

I called my friend Anna that night to let her know the change of venue, and also to let her know I wouldn’t be going – because P was still ill.

She kindly offered to take my girls for me, as they’d be disappointed not to go.

I gratefully agreed, even knowing it would mean listening to her round up of the afternoon with plenty about Eva. But it was worse than that, as Eva had saved the day when S had had an accident.

Wonderful, now I have to thank Eva when we go back to school.

And when I showed up at work on Friday, Sally also made a big point of telling me how wonderful Eva is.

Why does everyone keep doing this?! It’s like they all know I need convincing. But I haven’t bitched about the woman to anyone at school beyond that first conversation with Sally, and I’ve studiously avoided saying anything negative about Eva again. And yet, it feels like she’s constantly in my face.

Irony is, I know it’s not even Eva feeding my dislike anymore!

Anyway, now you can all see what a bitch I am at heart. This woman’s done nothing to me, and yet I can’t stand her. I suppose I should just be grateful this is the first time I’ve ever disliked someone without understanding why.

It’s not a good feeling.

And there’s only twenty-four hours to go, before I’ve got three months of her. Wish me luck.

I just have to tell you…

I’ve just been looking at my stats for the first time in months, and I noticed someone found me whilst searching Google for:

‘vet, dog ate my underwear, is he going to die’

Well, if you or anyone else in need of reassurance arrives here again with that question, let me provide an answer…

It is highly unlikely a dog will die (unless maybe your underwear and dog are in extreme opposite *proportions).

How can I be so sure? Watch a young Labrador and their owner when out walking, I really can’t believe Kobi is the only stupid beast who needs help when passing the last of my tea towels. (If I had the inclination, they could probably be used again as he no longer bothers shredding them before consumption. He even managed half a hand towel one day, and those things must suck up any liquid something awful!)

Rest easy, and you’ll only run out of underwear two or three times before the message to ‘Pick your underwear up!’ sinks in. (Suddenly being out of tea towels will irritate you considerably less than suddenly being out of underwear. At least it does me.)

Oh, and if your dog eats a battery, my vet said not to worry about them either.

* And that'd be the dog which is small ;o)

So

February flashed by, March came and went, and here we are in April.

It’s now over a year since Ryker died and I still miss the old fart, more so at the moment as I’m getting severely pissed off with Kobi of late. He’s a good looking dog but doesn’t know his place, though someone explained why the other day – apparently a dog gets his idea of his importance from his litter, i.e. leader of the pack there, leader of the pack at home. I’ve no idea if this is true (and that’s why I said ‘apparently’!), but it does make sense when you take into account Ryker was the runt of his, whereas there is little doubt, Kobi wasn’t.

I really don’t know what to do. I can’t live without a dog and I’ve always been of the opinion when you get a puppy it’s like getting a child – you’re stuck with them for life. But Kobi doesn’t make liking him easy. He’s a pain in the arse in every way possible (chewing, peeing, stealing, nipping, pushing people over/out of the way) it truly is harder work than having another child!

On the upside, he doesn’t fight with other dogs. But this is the only upside, and instead he’s fair game for having a go at any horses he sees.

I used to think it was how you treated a dog that resulted in what you got in return. I should have known better, after all, the kids taught me years ago that you can raise them the same, doesn’t mean you’ll get the same!

Did I mention we had him snipped? And it wasn’t to make him calmer (though we live in hope), but because I figured I couldn’t breed this dog for fear I might inflict his personality traits on others.

What’s a mom to do? Even if I don’t like him, I love him. But ask anyone else in the family, and there’s a chorus of ‘Get rid of him!’ – which I honestly find surprising considering how they all adore animals. But I’m not getting rid of him, I can’t, instead I’ll just pray that I’ll read this in a year or so and smile with forgotten memories.


And whilst I’m talking about animals, I’ll mention the poor Thrush who flew into my window today. Another one killed himself. It always breaks my heart, but I was cross today as I saw a Magpie swooping away. I hate Magpies, I have ever since I was 9 and came home to find they’d got into my rabbit hutch and slaughtered three of my baby bunnies. Guts everywhere. Bloody Magpies.

Bloody pheasants too; they’re everywhere! Stupid birds scare off all the others (except the flippin’ Magpies!!!)

On a sweeter note, we have two new bunnies in the garden. They’re obviously young and are still too brave/stupid for their own good. Wonderful for us when they allow us to sit 15 foot away, but it won’t be if the cats (or magpies!) get close.

Geepers I’m moaning. Didn’t mean to, and I haven’t even mentioned my drama of yesterday. But I’ve decided not to mention that, as I’m now thinking I was over thinking. If you get my drift.

Anyway, I’ve decided I’d like to get back into this blogging lark, I miss it. And I miss all of you. But as ever, it’s a time thing. Or tiredness thing, depending upon how you look at it.

In fact I’m too tired to carry on typing, and the evening is running away from me and I need a bath. I’ll leave you with some recent piccies.


The Beast! (Looking innocent)
S at her school's Mother's Day Service (standing in front of her depiction of *me*)

S getting Bronze in a local art competition.


J being beautiful.

My garden, in a prettier, tranquil, moment.