But, he really loves the dashing about bit. He gets a little excited though and, much to my
I’ve started agility training with the pooch. We’re learning to get him to run forwards, rather than coming to me. Sounds painless, but it’s not. All the time we’ve had him, I’ve trained him to come to me at my recall. Now, inexplicably, to him I suppose, I want him to run straight on. He’s bamboozled. We’re getting there. But, he really loves the dashing about bit. He gets a little excited though and, much to my
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This morning, taking my blonde, bobbed one to school, she sagely pronounced.....
“Be careful of the pricks”. Now, whether she was referring to the holly bushes alongside the car as I climbed out or if this was an allusion to life going forward, I couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was sound advice. I just love it when I hurt myself and the kids come to *help* me. I. Just. Love it.
When I shouted “Youch”, followed by a few muttered expletives (the one I generally whisper under my breath at least 50 times a day is, “For f*@ks sake”, just for the record; It genuinely helps with my sanity) one of the little sausages came rushing to save me. On this particular occasion I had slammed by finger in the drawer. No biggy, but it was the bottom drawer so I was at perfect child height. The 10 year old clumsy food-faced one ran into the kitchen, “Mummy, are you O……….”, tripped over an invisible brick on his way to save me from my fate, arms flailing and elbowed me in the eye……”K….?” “Youch”, I exclaimed (and probably ffs, very quietly, but I can't be sure). (Hand over one eye, sore finger tucked under other arm, gingerly) “I’m fine. Thanks.” “Sorry, Mummy”. “It’s OK” On hearing the rumpus, the smallest blonde sausage came to administer emergency cuddles only to be tripped up by the other child’s wayward leg and she full-on head-butted me in the boobies. At this point, I was in some kind of foetus position with both of them climbing over me asking if I was OK…. “I’m fine” (FFS) I’m never sure when the Christmas Decorations should be taken down. There are the Twelve Days of Christmas (my Mum used to tell us it was bad luck to take them down before the 6th) and, in Spain, Christmas isn’t over until the 6th, The 3 Kings Day (El Dia de Los Reyes). That’s when we SHOULD do it, really. But, in our household, the decorations just become sort of *invisible*. It’s pretty much the day after Christmas. All of a sudden, no-one cares if the twinkly lights aren’t switched on, the stockings are shoved in a bag, the Santa hats a forgotten squeal, the angel on the top of the tree looks slightly pissed, but no-one bothers to adjust the poor dear. So, they are duly removed, this year on New Years Day. I always recruit the kids to help and, to start with, they are placed lovingly in boxes (not the kids, the decs. Though, putting the kids in boxes, sealing them and storing them in the loft ’til next Christmas is alluring. Not *really*…ahem) After a while it’s just a free-for-all of hurling them (again, not the kids) from the other side of the room, dog in the way, like Piggy In The Middle, and hoping to hit the target of the half collapsed box.
My body is breaking. I am veritably falling apart. Life was going swimmingly until I hit 40, then my body turned on me, like the cowardly Judus it is. It gave me a kick right up the fajazzal, and is now stomping all over me in this hypothetical rampage of destruction! I shit you not.
I have been to the doctor/hospital more times in the the last couple of years than I have my entire adult life. It’s getting quite homely in the waiting room at my local surgery. The Doc asks me how the kids are and what we got up to at the weekend. I’m half expecting her to invite me for Christmas. I basically have all these symptoms that the professionals are failing to connect together, like some really crappy 3 year old’s dot-dot-dot picture. Why do they insist on treating things one specific thing at a time? No big picture here….oh no. Headaches and dizziness - Neurologist (Nothing wrong. Must be cluster headaches). Palpitations/shortness of breath - Heart Specialist (heart beating fine in that millisecond of time. Pop a pill each time it happens). Joint/muscle pain - Rheumatologist (Not Rheumatoid arthritis, maybe wear and tear). Insomnia - drink a hot drink and have a bath (you are f&*king kidding me?). That’s it? That’s all you can give me? I’m falling apart but there’s nothing wrong? Pop heart pills and Ibuprofen every day, ideally in the bath, washed down with hot milk……? I’ve basically got Google’s Error 404 code slapped across my forehead. No-one knows what it is or what it’s for, we can only assume it signifies “We know f&*king nothing, maybe YOU can come up with something….” “So, in the meantime, we’ll just throw random pills at it, but not actually talk to eachother” Sorry for the swearing, Mum. I’m clearly still processing. My way of discharging all this relatively nonsensical rubbish is to write. I feel so much better now. *Breathes*
Oh Dear. I just scalped Barbie. Well, one of them. I’m slowly putting together, albeit inadvertently, a Barbie ParaOlympic team. We have One Handed Regular Barbie (the Pup got hold of her some time back), she’s going to be the Swimming Gold Medal holder for sure. We have One Legged Sporty Barbie (she got sucked into the Vortex of Doom that is my vacuum cleaner a while back), she will be our Sprinter Gold Medalist. I’ll make her leg out of a lolly stick. We have Half Face Barbie (also lost her good looks to the plastic-loving mutt), I think she would make the best Archer. She has one good eye. She will definitely be in line to win Gold. And now we have the latest competitor. Pixie cut/balding Light...... Every now and again, I have the insane idea of taking a hot, relaxing bath, clearly forgetting the last attempt several lifetimes ago. The taking of the bath isn’t in itself insane, it’s the *relaxing* bit that comes in to play here. Sure, for the first 30 seconds, sheer heaven, until the inevitable stomp stomp stomp of small elephant feet coming up the stairs in the guise of a blonde 5 year old with pig tails. Blondie - Mummy, what you doing? Me - Erm, having a bath. Blondie - Why? Me - Because I want one Blondie - I’ll get you my toys! Do you want Paw Patrol to play with? Me - No thanks Blondie - Marshall? Skye? Where’s... £750? I'd want the buckles to be made of sodding kryptonite and fairies to have sprinkled magic fairy dust to make me fly to pay *that* for a pair of boots. https://uk.burberry.com/knee-high-leather-riding-boots-p402… Let's just look at the description, shall we? I think I would quite literally shit my pants each time I turned around and saw this laying there.... I tried to deliver a packet today….the person wasn’t in, so I knocked on the neighbour’s door. No answer. I waited a bit and then started to write out a 'Sorry we missed you’ card. Just as I started writing, the door opened.... Pointers and suggestions to finish off July. Is it just me….?
Found this frog in, or should I say on, our paddling pool today
We went for a canal boat trip the other day. I’m on the front with the kids and the dog, constantly worrying that one or the other would fall in….not the calm, sedate passage I had hoped for. We’re putt, putt, putting along when the hormonal one notices a whole herd of rabbits, must have Bottles of Lemonade hold an impossible amount of fizz. What is it in the lemonade recipe that isn’t added to other fizzy drinks? I spend stupid amounts of time gingerly opening the lid, a millimetre at a time, letting farty bits of gas out and then…..quickly closing it, before the eruption of lemonade threatens to reach the rim and drown me, the house and the surrounding villages. A little bit of lemonade goes a long, long, long…..long way. Mostly under the fridge. The edges of the kitchen draws stay sticky for a month. As does the dog. Last time we had a lemonade volcano, he sat like the good boy he is, waiting patiently for a treat and he couldn't get back up. His butthole and surrounding hairs had welded to the floor. I’m sure if we could harness that fizziness, we could top up the National Grid. I shall have to give that some thought….. My sister and I get the giggles about stuff. Stupid stuff, mainly, but especially stuff that humiliates either the one or the other, sort of stuff. You know the stuff? One such time I still cannot help but snort at even to this day. Seriously, if I were attending a funeral My son loves his little sister, sooooo much. Sadly, she’s bloody horrible to him most of the time. Anyway, this morning, when she was hiding under the duvet in my bed because, apparently, a monster was coming for her, he bravely burst into the room like Zorro and said from behind his hand hand, out of he corner of his mouth, "Don’t worry Mum, I’ll handle this”. With some trepidation, I let him step forward into the breach to reassure a genuinely petrified 4 year old. He announced “It’s OK, you really shouldn’t worry, because the monsters have been caught and are either going to be hanged or killed". Nailed it. My 10 year old son is clumsy. Not clumsy in a 'fally-over' kind of way, more of a 'just not paying attention' kind of way. He drops/knocks over drinks, spills milk out the cereal bowl, splats people in the face while being some weird character or another, randomly kicks people in the head while being a Practicalities and useful notions from this week
My youngest is a craftaholic. She makes things out of anything that is motionless. Plus the dog. It doesn't impress him. Anyway, yesterday morning she thought it would be fabulous to do some crafting with a chilli pepper while I was upstairs getting myself ready to take her to school. She'd stuck sticks in it, put diamonds on it, even drawn a face! There was no denying it, it was a very beautiful chilli pepper. Beautiful, that is, until it bit back. I'm standing behind a girl in H&M, Christ, she can talk. Everything is *super* super, super, super. I'm all for finding things terrific and marvellous, but she's so super happy listening to her own voice, she hasn't noticed her super hapless friend's eyes glazing over.
I could see her friend wishing she would shut the f**k up. Super small, super big, super tasty, super good (pretty sure they’re the same thing), super empty, super busy, super long....she really needs to learn a new word. I’m sure her friend would be super pleased. And super super quick, before she gives her a super high five in the face. She's gone. Super. It always seems like a good idea to go on a trip in the car with the kids. Doesn’t matter where, just to get out somewhere…..until you have to leave the house and get IN the car….. I had the very exceptional idea of visiting a lovely National Trust property close to us. The squidlets Things I’ve Learnt This week
I’ve decided to do a series on this, in the interest of public health.
I recently went on a trip. To Italy. Large Airports are fascinating places. You can literally see every type and race of person in the world. A People Watcher’s Paradise. The other morning I suddenly remembered something that happened at Gatwick and kind of snort/laughed to myself in the car. You know how you do, then you can’t stop smiling and snorting for |
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AuthorRandom, but thoughtful, witterings about the comedy of every day family life and some, quite frankly, incredibly sharp insights into what other people really should, or should not, be doing, in my opinion. I spend a lot of time thinking, is it just me? Writing actually gives me an outlet for all the debris bouncing around in my mind and makes a little room ... ArchivesCategories |