Sunday, 29 April 2012

A Note For PE .....

I have always encouraged my children to be open and honest with me. To be able to talk about anything without me necessarily flying off the handle, hitting the roof or generally running around flapping (though I withhold the right to do all three once they've left the room).

Sometimes this policy has had quite, um, interesting consequences, but as of yet the jaw-dropping, heart-stoppers like "I'm pregnant.." or "I'm getting married..." or "I've joined the Tory party" haven't cropped up. Yet.

And sometimes it means that a TeenTwin has absolutely no idea of the things you are and you aren't supposed to tell your mother......

A TeenTwin limps exaggeratedly into the room: "Muuuuuuum, can I have a note for PE?"

Mum, lifts head from Twitter, raises eyes to heaven: "If you must."

TeenTwin, forgetting to limp: "Fab and could you just say I can't get changed into my PE kit so I don't have to take it." It being one of the entirely stupid rules at The Academy that even if you are injured or too ill to partake in PE lessons, you must still carry your kit around all day and change into it anyway *Tuts*

"It's really good you give me notes, I have to forge everyone else's," she announces, making herself comfy and me splutter my wine. I may at this point have looked baffled or shocked or surprised or perhaps damp. Possibly a combination of all four.

"If they don't have a note, they ask me to do one," she explained patiently while I assured her I was quite au fait with the meaning of forgery.

"My writing looks all grown up if I do it fast and slant it," she continued happily. "People are always coming up in the canteen at lunchtime "I've forgotten my homework, write me a note" or "I don't want to do PE, write me a note."

I was, like I find myself in many, many conversations with the TeenTwins, both appalled and fascinated: "Er," I said, "You shouldn't really be telling me this, should you?"

"Why not?" she said. And she laughed.

So, ladies and gentleman, I give you my daughter, most honest 16 year old EVER and, um, forger extraordinaire.

(NB: The TeenTwin has not been identified in a futile attempt to protect the guilty)


Silent Sunday

What?... It rained ALL week!

Check out #silentsunday at Love All Blogs

Saturday, 28 April 2012

Public Notice



Are you aged between 16 and 18? Do you like wearing hoodies and/or baseball hats? Is your idea of a good time hanging around in a group and shouting at teenage girls as they walk past? Do you exhibit your extreme masculinity by running after and kicking a teenage girl if she tries to ignore you?


If this is you, don't be shy, just contact AngryMother.Com for an unrivalled opportunity to win 


(This public notice was sponsored by RAMS (the Really Annoyed Mummy Society) and TWATS (Teenage Women Against Teenage Scum).

Who Me?

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

The Gallery ... Action

I'm joining in with The Gallery hosted by the lovely Tara at Sticky Fingers. This week, in honour of Olympic year, the 99th Gallery has the theme Action......

This is 'some' children racing their way over, in and through a very expensive, hugely expensive and possibly mindbogglingly expensive work of art. The action is mostly off camera and focuses largely on me flapping my arms and shouting: "STOP DOING THAT, IT'S A HENRY MOORE."

Disclaimer (if a particular sculpture park is reading this): They may not be my actual children *looks shifty* and no artworks were damaged in the making of this photograph.

*Spits on hanky, gives it a polish*

*Whispers: "Do you think we got away with it?"*

Please check out everybody else's entries at The Gallery

Monday, 23 April 2012

My Week in Tweets

I'm joining in with Slummy Single Mummy's fabulous linky, A Week in Tweets ... and this week I'm entirely cheating because there are some days when one tweet is just not enough.... *hangs head.*

Monday 16 April:

The kids are all at school, I repeat the kids are all at school #doessodallallday #hurrah

Tuesday 17 April:

That unfortunate moment when you end up with a pint of peach wine to drink after the peach wine bottling. *hics a bit* *falls over* *giggles*

I am Rizzle Kicking it #thankgodthekidsareinbed

Homemade peach wine? Excellent bouquet, pretty colour, strong as f*ck #win *slumps sideways*

Wednesday 18 April:

Successfully negotiated way through booking 6 dental appointments Now ready to organise Olympic schedule, tackle world peace & solve poverty

Thursday 19 April:

Make up done (sort of) Have drenched self in Obsession in a bid to asphyxiate anyone who comes close enough to notice how 'sort of'

Friday 20 April:
Two hours sleep but all children delivered to school on time #rocknrollmummy *collapses*

Me? Delirious with lack of sleep? No, not me *puts cat in the fridge & milk of the step* *falls over*

Saturday 21 April:

That awkward moment when your daughters knock together entire fancy dress outfits just by raiding your wardrobe *sigh*

Sunday 22 April:

People who ring up to ask how you are just because they really want to tell you how they are. And then go on about it. At length. That.

Please check out everyone's Week in Tweets at Slummy Single Mummy's

Sunday, 22 April 2012

Listography: Top 5 wishes for my child

In my little known role as Fairy Godmother Extraordinaire (reasonable rates) I am joining in with this week's Listography and bestowing my wishes upon my youngest child, The Boy..... because he's a boy and eventually he will grow into a man and in my experience they need all the help they can get. *Sigh*

*Waves wand*

1. An inbuilt muffler for those moments when the, er, mechanics of his internal workings become externally heard. And a sensitive nose.

2. The ability to accept shopping as a necessary fact of life however tedious it may appear.

3. The knowledge that a little white lie is often the best course of action when confronted with difficult questions such as: "Do I look alright?" "Does this suit me?" and, of course, "Does my bum look big in this?"

4. A big organ.... What? We are a very musical family. *Tuts*

And last, but in no way, least:

5. A sonic screwdriver and some magic paper and a Tardis. Well, he is only six and they ARE wishes. Surely I can wish for whatever I *cough* HE wants.

*Disappears in a puff of smoke*

Please check out all the Listography entries at Kate Takes 5

Silent Sunday

Check out all the Silent Sunday entries at Love All Blogs

Friday, 20 April 2012

Freddie The Frog Takes Over


*Accepts bouquets, curtsies*

Because, CLEARLY, it is all my doing.

At the end of the first day back after the holidays, his teacher stopped me in the corridor to express that she was pleasantly surprised at how well he had done in class that day: "He's clearly been hiding his light under a bushel," she said.

On Wednesday, he came home with "I'm a Punctuation Star" badge and I nearly wept with pride. "Ha,"  I thought, "The genes are kicking in now."

And today..... Star of the Week! *Pauses to swallow lump in throat*

And for being Star of the Week, for his improved spelling, for his better penmanship and for his absolutely awesome grasp of punctuation, he got to bring home Freddy The Frog. *Comes back to earth with a thump*

Freddy the Frog is the class mascot. He is, thankfully, not an ACTUAL frog but a green furry representation in a red jumper. And Freddy the Frog comes with THE DIARY. *Heart sinks*

AND we're supposed to fill The Diary in with our weekend adventures WITH pictures. *sighs* And there ARE standards, you CANNOT send Freddy the Frog's Diary back with:

Friday: It rained. Got chucked in a corner and forgotten while the Star of the Week watched Dr Who. Somebody stood on me. 

Saturday: I am somewhere dark and dusty. I have been partially chewed by a cat.

Sunday: HELP MEEEeeeeeee.....

So are we actually going to have to DO something? In the rain.? When Daddy's working away? And the TeenTwins are going to a party and The ThirdGirl is studying for her SATS and I have SOOOO much washing to do? Not to mention the ironing.

I've sneaked a look at past entries in Freddy The Frog's Diary to be honest *hangs head* and it appears ALL preceding Star of the Week families have faced the same dilemma. A few of them have made a real effort and attached actual photographs, some glued in printer produced photos on paper and some of them *tuts* got their kids to draw a picture.

There's mention of birthday parties, dance classes and, the last resort of the desperate, soft play areas *rolls eyes* but most diary entries are the derring-do of in-house craft activities, visiting relatives, or relatives visiting, and The Supermarket Shop....... That's quite a popular one. Freddy the Frog has ridden a LOT of trolleys, you know what I'm saying?

And one of the previous Stars of the Week even wrote in his entry: "And then we went to the pub." And THAT I can handle and then some. *Cancels trip on the Orient Express.*

Though I am still going to try a little bit, you know.... like Photoshopping the photos and, er, lying.

Freddie the Frog watches Dr Who

*Awards self Most Impressive Mummy badge*

Monday, 16 April 2012

Police Academy 8....

There's always something the night before a new school term, usually it's finding a two-week old, unwashed PE kit making it's own way across the landing to the washbasket in a futile attempt to escape it's own stench, but not this time.

This time I was as organised as I'm capable of being. The uniforms were washed, there was just enough bread to cobble together lunchboxes, a pen and a piece of paper were at hand to write the "Please excuse Name-of-Child from PE because his/her kit is still sobbing in the bathroom" letter.

So organised in fact that I even managed to trawl through some of the accumulated paperwork brought home from school which usually gets thrown in a heap waiting for attention and totally fails to get it. In that pile I found a letter from the TeenTwins' Academy announcing the employment of a police officer at the start of the new term.

Not what I was imagining, oh no not me

Once I'd scrapped my jaw back up off the floor and done a impressive impression of Victor Meldrew at his most flabbergasted, I read the letter again.

"Following our recent Ofsted inspection," it read, "We communicated to you that we would not be complacent and continue to work to ensure that your child receives the best possible educational experience .... With this in mind, we intend to build upon our Ofsted judgement of Outstanding for behaviour and safety by employing a Safer Schools Partnership (Police) Officer (SSP) from the first day back after half term.

The post of a SSP has become standard practice in our other academies, and having seen the benefits that this post brings to the students and the community, I am delighted we have secured this post..." 

And there was a link to a government guide explaining the role of the Safer Schools Partnership. It's 41 pages long, has lots of pictures of beaming students and cheerful police officers all joshing together and some case studies. Heartwarming stuff.

Now, I have no problems with policemen establishing a relationship with a school and their pupils. We had a policeman who visited school when I was a girl (many moons ago) called PC Brian Coe, he did cycling proficiency tests and talked about "serious" things occasionally in assembly. I'm not sure he was called in to unmask the culprit in The Great Squashing of the Long Haired Peruvian Guinea Pig Incident but words were surely had when the perpetrator was unveiled.

PC Coe was the epitome of a community policeman; he lived in the town, his son was at school with us and when he retired he became a stalwart of the local Civic and Historical Societies. For me, he made policemen less scary and more human.

Hopefully the PC stationed at the Academy, in his purposely designed "base," will achieve the same result at the Academy but somehow I don't feel he's going to be running The Tufty Club. And maybe that's because this particular school letter concluded with:

"Lastly, I would like to draw your attention to an increasing problem which we have - students buying sweets and fizzy drinks in bulk from local shops, bringing them into the Academy and selling them during break times. The Academy does not tolerate students doing this for obvious reasons: healthy eating, litter, student medical dietary needs etc, and any student caught selling any item will have this confiscated and be excluded for a fixed period of time, Please assist us in upholding this rule by talking to your son/daughter about not selling or buying items from students,"

(Though, due to scurrilous, unfounded and probably thoroughly unreliable gossip from TeenTwin2 I am led to understand that the "contraband goods" are mostly bought from CostCo, and the teachers are as guilty at using this blackmarket as the pupils *raises eyebrows* and if nothing else, it exhibits a certain entrepreneurial spirit among pupils that is, frankly, quite encouraging in this current economic climate).

Anyway I don't feel entirely comfortable with the whole thing to be honest. I have no problem with policemen. I have no problem with policemen in schools. But I have a bit of a WTF moment over a policeman being employed in the school ALL THE TIME. And I have quite a large problem with a "We're getting your kids a policeman and he'll arrest anyone caught selling a doughnut in the playground" message I got from the Academy's letter.

Or perhaps that's just me......
TeenTwin2 arrived home to announce that the policeman had been stood at the school gates with the usual uniform-checking teachers as the students arrived:
"He was in proper uniform and everything," she said, "And he was well lush"


My Week in Tweets:

Monday 9 April:

6yo asking Are we nearly there yet? EVERY 30 seconds. The teenagers have trained him well *Grinds teeth*

Tuesday 10 April:

Sunday, 15 April 2012

The "Bear" Necessities ...

And some bears ARE necessary. Those bears that are picked up by babies and held on to, tightly, as that baby grows and grows.Well I say bears, but it could be anything really as long as it's fluffy, cuddly and provokes a heart-rending wail if you forget to take it with you EVERYWHERE you go.

And it's not something that's going to go away as that baby grows either, that scrap of fur becomes part of the family. Always there at the end of your child's arm; they play together, they sleep together, they holiday together. It sits up at the tea-table or shares the sofa, it travels with you or it waves at the window when, finally *sigh,* you've convinced the child that it's safe to go to school without them

So meet the, um, extended family:

Pink Bear mk2 belongs to TeenTwin1. The original Pink Bear was, unlike Pink Bear mk2, actually pink and abandoned in a Mothercare about ten years ago. TeenTwin1 was never a big fluffy lover, preferring her thumb as a constant bedtime companion, but when she eventually noticed the bear was missing all hell was unleashed. Mothercare was returned to, fruitlessly searched and the staff given a grilling worthy of Marathon Man but Pink Bear was apparently lost in the field of combat.
After a suitable period of mourning, Pink Bear mk2 arrived as a replacement. He's a replica of Pink Bear mk1 in every way except colour and so for several years, he was regularly dyed pink but TeenTwin1 is 16 years old now and pink is very much the last colour on her spectrum. (I'm still waiting for a request to dye him black).

The T-Bears - Sniffy Foot (on the right) and Sniffy Ear - are almost the oldest inanimate members of the family arriving into our lives when the twins were a day old. The intention was one bear per girl but it didn't quite work out that way and TeenTwin2 has monopolised them from that day to this.
One of the bears has a threadbare ear and one a threadbare foot where TeenTwin2 used to hold them to her nose to sleep (no, I don't know why either) but it means it's easy to tell them apart if, um, you ever had occasion to.

Yabbit is not a rabbit or a bear or an anything readily identifiable, though at one point I was strongly of the opinion it might be a sheep. In a dress. The Third Girl calls it Yabbit presumably because of some early confusion about rabbits (this has since been rectified). He (yes, despite the dress) was a present to the Third Girl that I instantly hated and she, of course, instantly loved.
Many much more pleasing, attractive and easier to recognise fluffy things have been employed in an attempt to lure her away from the Yabbit and all  have been scorned. The Yabbit reigns supreme and we have had to reach an uneasy truce; I sneer at him and his dress and he pointedly ignores me.

Pen Pen is quite clearly a penguin, a great big penguin that was about the same size of The Boy when he got it. As The Boy has grown, Pen Pen has shrunk a little while displaying a worrying tendency to lose his stuffing in times of stress. So every few months or so, I have to perform yet another life-saving Penguindectomy to save him.
But he's surviving, if shrinking, and has fathered a whole tribe of penguins (nine at the last count) that live on, under and around The Boy's in varying states of neglect and abandonment.
(Note to self; stop buying fluffy penguins.)

And no family would be complete without the Matriarch, and while this particular one might currently live at the bottom of a wicker hamper of jeans, she is no less loved for that.
Called Candy, she's the same age as me *deep sigh* and has had a rich, widely travelled and varied life. She survived a university education and the odd times she was employed as a drug mule (though we don't like to talk about that these days).
A no more indentifiable creature than Yabbit, I have always thought of her as Sweep (from Sooty fame) with legs and, er,  female but perhaps not.
Now nearing 50 (and looking it, unlike me OBVS), she is completely and utterly devoid of any of the cream fur that I vaguely remember from childhood, her stuffing leaks from vast wounds and her neck is only nominally attached but, well, she's still lovable. To me.

And these are our necessary bears, the things that we'll be reaching for just after children and just before photographs if ever the house bursts into flames (though I'm hoping it won't obviously).

Silent Sunday

Check out the other Silent Sunday entries on Love All Blogs

Friday, 13 April 2012

Friday the 13th, Very Superstitious ......

Today is Friday the 13th, the unluckiest day in the calendar according to superstition.

And if you are superstitious, it's the day you lock the doors, close the windows and don't move from the sofa for fear of invoking terrible consequences ... though, to be fair, there's still the possibility of something terrible happening even then, particularly if you turn the TV on for Jeremy Kyle.

But we don't do paraskavedekatriaphobia  in this house because we're not a superstitious household. Of course, we don't walk under ladders, not necessarily because we believe something bad WILL happen if we do but because there's a very strong possibility there's something or somebody up that ladder that might drop off on top of anyone silly enough to walk under or near it. So we avoid ladders, that's just common sense.

And opening umbrellas indoors is also not encouraged, basically because you can take someone's eye out with an inexpertly wielded open umbrella in a confined space. That's common sense too. As is not putting new shoes on the table, or old shoes, or any shoes ... we have to eat off that table. *Tuts.*

But mostly the reason we don't do superstitions in this family is The Third Girl, because she worries....... She worries a lot. She worries about the weather; high winds, floods, or snow can reduce her to a small, nail-nibbling mass of nerves. She worries about her health; every bruise and graze, cough and tummy bug is a prelude to all manner of disease and inevitably death. She worries about the future; her own and the world's. She worries about climate change, economic decline, wars, famine, slum children and polar-bears. And that's an awful lot of worry for any ten-year-old. 

And those are her rational worries, it would be a cruelty unimaginable to give a whole set of irrational fears to deal with too. NOT after last time and the *whispers* "One for sorrow" magpie debacle. She STILL has to wait for another magpie to appear after seeing one on it's own and it can make things - like getting to school on time - difficult. "Sorry we're late, we were waiting for a magpie" doesn't go down as well as, say: "The traffic was terrible." Fact.

So I haven't mentioned to her that today is Friday the 13th. Though of course this is the second Friday the 13th this year - there was one in January - and there'll be another in July. AND each Friday the 13th is EXACTLY 13 weeks apart. *Sinister sound effect*

I'm hoping she doesn't notice. *Crosses fingers*... oh.

Wednesday, 11 April 2012

The Hepworth, A Review ...

The Hepworth Wakefield is "One of the finest contemporary art museums in Europe," according to The Independent, and the largest purpose-built gallery in the UK for over 40 years. It cost 35 million pounds and the building itself, designed by the acclaimed David Chipperfield Architects, is already a Design Award winner.

Named after the internationally acclaimed sculptor Barbara Hepworth, born in Wakefield in 1903, the gallery boasts the city's collection of her work and that of the other local sculptor Henry Moore, born just down the road in 1898, among other notable works and collections.

All well and good, I'm impressed, but is it REALLY worth a family visit? CAN children be entertained by modern contemporary sculpture?


The Gallery; ...Easter

I'm joining in with this week's Gallery, hosted by the lovely Tara over at Sticky Fingers. The theme this week is, topically, Easter...

...And frankly I never expected to actually MEET the Easter Bunny. *Fans self*

Check out everybody else's entries at Sticky Fingers

Monday, 9 April 2012

My Week in Tweets

I'm joining in with Slummy Single Mummy's A Week in Tweets which is, unsurprisingly, the week, in tweets .... I'm cheating a bit this week though and including two tweets a day on a couple of days *whistles nonchalantly*

Monday 2 April:

Going all girly when the lead singer of a certain bang rings the OH & you answer the phone. That #willnevergrowup *giggles* *twirls hair*

Tuesday 3 April:

Wrapping disaster #1 averted by finding sticky tape #aftera2hourhunt

Wrapping disaster #2 averted by applying lashings of aforementioned sticky tape and squinting from a distance at it.

Wednesday 4 April:

I am in a cinema with some 6 year old boys. It's a whole new form of torture and possibly the fastest route to bankruptcy known to man.

Putting vodka in Berocca #thatisall #rockandrollhouseholdbutgettingonabit

Thursday 5 April:

Would like to know who has convinced The Boy that birthdays are four days long ... *looks suspiciously at entire family*

Friday 6 April:

6yo: "Is Easter, Zombie Jesus's birthday?" Thanks for that TeenTwins *bangs own head on table.*

Saturday 7 April:

I have successfully dyed Daughter1's hair green #hurrah *bows* *spends two hours washing green off self, furniture, walls, shower etc*

Sunday 8 April:
I'm wearing bunny ears #thatisall

Please check out everyone else's Week in Tweets round at Slummy Single Mummy's

Sunday, 8 April 2012

The Easter Story as told by A Small Boy, aged 6 & A Bit

"Right, what happened is one day Jesus and his twelve disciples had the last dinner and then they went to play in the garden. Then one of them kissed Jesus on the cheek. That's how they could tell it was him, the guards coming to arrest him. Then he got put on a cross.

He got put on the cross because he got arrested but I don't know what for. And he died. This bit is pretty disgusting, he was nailed to the cross with his hands. That's why he died because they pushed in nails. And they left him hanging on."

(Re-enacts Jesus hanging on a cross with nails in his hands including appropriate ow-ing noises and wriggling.)

"Then his body got put in a toon...."

("A tomb," says Mummy helpfully and gets a dirty look for her pains.)

"THEN his body got put in a TOON and Mary and Mary .... two Marys, dunno why .... came to visit the toon but the stone was moved then two angels came and they said that Jesus had rose from the dead. Then they left and Jesus came because he rose from the dead and then he told them what happened.

And they didn't have Easter eggs. They had wine and bread. Only children have Easter eggs."

*Wanders off eating chocolate egg*

"Can I watch Dr Who?"

(With special thanks *cough* to The Small Boy's C of E school.)

Silent Sunday

Check out the other Silent Sunday entries on Love All Blogs

Friday, 6 April 2012

Spot The Difference, A Tale of Two Women.

Samantha Brick by dint of writing this article - "Why Women Hate Me For Being Beautiful" - has made herself the most scorned, the most reviled, the most talked about woman in the country. No mean feat in a week when a previous winner of the most reviled woman in Britain award has been released from prison four years after abducting her own daughter and hiding her under a bed.

But whereas Karen Matthews was hated for her actions which were if not entirely evil, went quite a long way towards it, Samantha Brick is being not just hated but laughed at, sniggered at, giggled about and generally disdained in every queue in the country for her own vanity.

And vanity it must be, clearly she is not "all that" as just about every sentient being in the known world apparently looked at THAT article and went "Are you joking?" Early on the day of it's publication, there was a distinct ripple of unease, at least on Twitter, as if people suspected a trap. Surely it was some kind of spoof. She couldn't possibly be serious.

But it seemed she was. 

The next day she followed up her first article with this, claiming basically that the reaction to the first article just served to prove her point. The whole nation promptly became entirely and completely incensed with the Cheek Of The Woman.

Personally I couldn't give a toss, she's not my type anyway. She's 41 years old, a tepid blonde who may once have bloomed with beauty but is clearly fading and (I'm sorry) sagging a bit. She has a husband who must love her, he's consented to be photographed standing next to her for THOSE articles and you just wouldn't do that if you didn't. 

She is a journalist and clearly a successful one, she writes for a national newspaper even if it is THAT one. And she knew what she was doing, she would have to be the most disingenuous journalist in the entire history of the universe EVER not to know what writing THAT article in THAT newspaper would unleash. She isn't.

There might be a couple tons of make-up, a barrel of hair-dye, a pilot or two, several hundred bottles of champagne and a thousand bunches of flowers separating them, but sadly I suspect Samantha Brick wrote THAT article for much the same reason Karen Matthews arranged for and colluded with the abduction of her own child and then appeared nightly on news bulletins pleading for her return.

For monetary gain and TV fame.

Samantha Brick might not be given an actual prison sentence, it not being a crime to write a pile of attention seeking old tosh, but she will never be able to live it down. Everywhere she goes from now on, she will be the woman who wrote THAT article, people will point, nudge each other and whisper. There will probably be giggling and the odd muffled guffaw.

Meanwhile the real villain of the week has been spirited away to anonymity from where, apparently, she wants to plot her triumphant return to the limelight on the Jeremy Kyle Show proving that she really does have an extreme case of attention seeking.

I wonder which one will start to have regrets first...

Wednesday, 4 April 2012

The Gallery: At Peace ...

I'm joining in with this week's The Gallery hosted by Sticky Fingers, the theme is At Peace.

It appears that the Longest Day is not, as actually thought, sometime in June but on the fourth of April which just happens to be The Boy's birthday. This may not be actual fact but today it seemed that way, so this is my At Peace contribution. It is contemporaneous.

The sub-title is, of course, At Last.

The Boy, aged 6. 4.04.12.

Check out everybody else's entries on The Gallery

Tuesday, 3 April 2012

Now You Are Six, A Letter To My Son ...

Dear Boy,

Today you are six .. which probably doesn't mean that much to you to be honest, beyond presents, family, presents, friends, presents, party food, more presents and that one extra candle to blow out on the birthday cake. Oh, and presents.

Tomorrow you will still be the same and feel the same as you did yesterday. But I see you growing so quick, like a flower filmed in stop-motion.

It doesn't seem more than six minutes since you were handed to me in the delivery room. Nor six seconds since I was overwhelmed with that surging rush of love on looking into your eyes for the first time.

That love never flickers or dims. It never will.

But now you call me mum, instead of mummy, and sometimes *sigh* you call me Miss because other people are becoming important in your growing independence and your expanding world. You're a magnet for mud; a tousle-headed dust-bucket of a boy with grazes on your knees all the time. The infernal workings of your internal organs are your entertainment and my despair but still ...I love you.

I love the sloppy tomato-sauced kisses that you save, especially, for me.

I love the head-in-the-dressing-gown-and-go-wibble hugs, the strangulation-by-child-hanging-around-your-neck hugs, the don't-ever-let-me-go hugs and the i-love-you hugs.

I love that you say: "Mummy, you look beautiful" when it's 8 o'clock in the morning and I'm still in my dressing gown.

I even love the 3 o'clock in the morning visitations when all you want is to be tucked back into bed with one more goodnight kiss. (But shall we keep that for VERY special occasions now?)

You were my unexpected gift, a surprise addition to a family I already thought complete, but how could I have known my world would never have been complete without you in it.

You are my pride, my joy, my indulgence and my baby. And you will still be my baby however old you are. (Yeah, I'm sorry about that).

I hope you have a VERY happy birthday, my baby boy.
I love you.

Forever and always,


Monday, 2 April 2012

My Week in Tweets.

I'm joining in with Slummy Single Mummy's My Week in Tweets which is telling what your week is in, ahem, tweets. And if you don't know what tweets are, you're obviously not on Twitter *tuts*

Monday 26 March:

It pleases me enormously the end result of days weeding & garden slaving is the cat now has somewhere to poo where we can all enjoy it (NOT).

Tuesday 27 March:

There should be rules banning the wearing of a crop top if the tits in the crop top are smaller than the stomach poking out of the bottom.

Wednesday 28 March:

In many ways I think I would have been a much better mummy-blogger if I didn't have any children, they don't half get in the way.

Thursday 29 March:

I'm going to panic buy gin. Just in case #beprepared.

Friday 30 March:

The Small Boy has apparently gone to check whether the Easter Bunny has laid an egg #confused.

Saturday 31 March:

Emptying the Dyson into the bin? Don't do it in the wind. You're welcome. *vacs self*

Sunday 1 April:

WILL NO-ONE RID ME OF THESE TURBULENT CHILDREN #schoolholidayangst *bangs against wall for light relief*

Please check out everyone else's Week in Tweets at Slummy Single Mummy's blog

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