Lucky said this morning:
'Mum, I love you further than Darth Vadar's planet'
I am floating amongst the Stars (Wars).
Well hello there
8 years ago
The Cake
Wednesday, 2 July 2008
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
What was the point in all that? Part 2
Have been away much longer than expected after last posting! Work travels, being generally busy at work (well, I do run a business you know!), house decorating and general state of being knackered had stifled my outpourings for the past few weeks। But now I feel the need to pour out again, so, let's get Lucky's party story Part 2 out of the way before resuming normal service...
Things weren't looking hopeful, what with it being 11 o'clock, Biker Boy fiddling with the drains, boys in PJs running around wildly and none of the real jobs (like cleaning up, hoovering, toilet cleaning {BB did argue the drains were sort of toilet cleaning but his laughed trailed off when he saw the look on my face}) being done by Biker Boy as instructed.
I felt the hot, prickly sensation of stress start to rise from my toes upwards making me feel faint.
A mad few hours followed. A quick 'stuff everything into cupboards' tidy up was followed by getting the garden ready with table for food, chairs and cushions for lounging, erecting football net for boys' competition ('what competition?' asked BB. 'The one you're running' I replied). No time for draping daisies round teddies necks, dearest Elsie Button, although I did feel lacking.Even the boys knew to toe the line - mummy was in no mood for messing around. By 3 o'clock we were all lined up in the kitchen looking presentable, balloons tied to front gate and front door, birthday cake proudly on display and barbeque ready to be fired up.
And I am happy to report that 1 bouncy castle, 29 children, 22 adults, about 30 hotdogs and 30 burgers, several bottles of squash and even more bottles of wine and beer later, the whole thing passed remarkably without incident.
Except for one.
We now refer to this as 'The disappearing cake incident'.I have attached to this post a photo of the home made birthday cake for Lucky. The little character on the cake is from Lucky's favourite programme, Ben 10, and he is called Eating Guy - quite apt we felt to go on the cake. Lucky was thrilled to bits, but Cheeky was a bit put out by all the presents and attention Lucky was getting on his special day. When the time came for the cake, I went in to get it from the kitchen. Eating Guy was missing off the cake - as was the front right-hand corner of the cake itself. Cheeky was nowhere to be seen. A quick scout around found him under the food table in the garden, quietly playing with his stolen treasure.
'Cheeky, did you eat Lucky's birthday cake?' I asked.'No mummy' he said, his fingers, mouth and cheeks covered in chocolate.'It wasn't me, it was Eating Guy - he eated it' he added sincerely.
Well, I couldn't resist a big chocolatey kiss and cuddle with him. He's only 3, and he had been very patient and good during the whole frenzied day. I felt he deserved his little toy, so I promised to borrow it only until Lucky blew out the candles on the cake (I propped his up against the right-hand corner of the cake to try and hide the missing bit - luckily he's a rather plump character). Lucky generously let Cheeky keep the Eating Guy off the cake without too much fuss as he knew one of his little friends had bought him a second one.
All the kids had a fantastic time, but as the last adults left in the early evening through the faint aroma of sewerage at the front of the house, I'm ashamed to admit I was feeling a wee bit cheated. Remember the alternative agenda for the party? It was also an attempt to meet some of the mums and dads from school and try to make some new friends (without looking too desperate and needy, of course). Well, that didn't really work out quite how I planned it. Our old friends from London told us our new friends from Hampshire were really, really nice. Our new friends from Hampshire all commented on the great bunch from London. And poor old Biker Boy and me? Well, we didn't get a chance to really talk to anyone, what with the keeping an eye on bouncy castle over-load and trying to avoid anybody suing us for negligence, serving drinks, barbequing like crazy, playing games, chasing kids round the garden, tracking down missing bits of the birthday cake and generally clearing up after everybody.
So what was the point in all that? Well Lucky had a great time and forged even stronger friendships with his new school mates. Cheeky received a present he didn't expect or even deserve come to think of it. And BB and I? Well we have been left secure in the knowledge that our London friends really are a great bunch as well as the promise of great friendships to come....mmmm, maybe we need to organise another party...
Things weren't looking hopeful, what with it being 11 o'clock, Biker Boy fiddling with the drains, boys in PJs running around wildly and none of the real jobs (like cleaning up, hoovering, toilet cleaning {BB did argue the drains were sort of toilet cleaning but his laughed trailed off when he saw the look on my face}) being done by Biker Boy as instructed.
I felt the hot, prickly sensation of stress start to rise from my toes upwards making me feel faint.
A mad few hours followed. A quick 'stuff everything into cupboards' tidy up was followed by getting the garden ready with table for food, chairs and cushions for lounging, erecting football net for boys' competition ('what competition?' asked BB. 'The one you're running' I replied). No time for draping daisies round teddies necks, dearest Elsie Button, although I did feel lacking.Even the boys knew to toe the line - mummy was in no mood for messing around. By 3 o'clock we were all lined up in the kitchen looking presentable, balloons tied to front gate and front door, birthday cake proudly on display and barbeque ready to be fired up.
And I am happy to report that 1 bouncy castle, 29 children, 22 adults, about 30 hotdogs and 30 burgers, several bottles of squash and even more bottles of wine and beer later, the whole thing passed remarkably without incident.
Except for one.
We now refer to this as 'The disappearing cake incident'.I have attached to this post a photo of the home made birthday cake for Lucky. The little character on the cake is from Lucky's favourite programme, Ben 10, and he is called Eating Guy - quite apt we felt to go on the cake. Lucky was thrilled to bits, but Cheeky was a bit put out by all the presents and attention Lucky was getting on his special day. When the time came for the cake, I went in to get it from the kitchen. Eating Guy was missing off the cake - as was the front right-hand corner of the cake itself. Cheeky was nowhere to be seen. A quick scout around found him under the food table in the garden, quietly playing with his stolen treasure.
'Cheeky, did you eat Lucky's birthday cake?' I asked.'No mummy' he said, his fingers, mouth and cheeks covered in chocolate.'It wasn't me, it was Eating Guy - he eated it' he added sincerely.
Well, I couldn't resist a big chocolatey kiss and cuddle with him. He's only 3, and he had been very patient and good during the whole frenzied day. I felt he deserved his little toy, so I promised to borrow it only until Lucky blew out the candles on the cake (I propped his up against the right-hand corner of the cake to try and hide the missing bit - luckily he's a rather plump character). Lucky generously let Cheeky keep the Eating Guy off the cake without too much fuss as he knew one of his little friends had bought him a second one.
All the kids had a fantastic time, but as the last adults left in the early evening through the faint aroma of sewerage at the front of the house, I'm ashamed to admit I was feeling a wee bit cheated. Remember the alternative agenda for the party? It was also an attempt to meet some of the mums and dads from school and try to make some new friends (without looking too desperate and needy, of course). Well, that didn't really work out quite how I planned it. Our old friends from London told us our new friends from Hampshire were really, really nice. Our new friends from Hampshire all commented on the great bunch from London. And poor old Biker Boy and me? Well, we didn't get a chance to really talk to anyone, what with the keeping an eye on bouncy castle over-load and trying to avoid anybody suing us for negligence, serving drinks, barbequing like crazy, playing games, chasing kids round the garden, tracking down missing bits of the birthday cake and generally clearing up after everybody.
So what was the point in all that? Well Lucky had a great time and forged even stronger friendships with his new school mates. Cheeky received a present he didn't expect or even deserve come to think of it. And BB and I? Well we have been left secure in the knowledge that our London friends really are a great bunch as well as the promise of great friendships to come....mmmm, maybe we need to organise another party...
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
What was the point in all that? Part 1
On Lucky’s big party day, I started the day early by zipping down to the nearest Tesco mega store to get everything we needed for the ‘open house’ party. I jumped straight from bed to car, without stopping to shower, figuring I’d do all that when I got back. Biker Boy was going to barbeque for everyone so I had to secure burgers, baps, dogs and buns before they all disappeared as the Nation went into barbeque mayhem as the first rays of sun promised a glorious day ahead.
The massive Tesco car park was already a hive of activity by the time I got there. My first challenge of the day came about trying to find a car space as close to the store as I possibly could. For the first time, I wished for Lucky or Cheeky to be with me to make use of the Parent/Toddler parking, but my conscience wouldn’t allow me to make surreptitious use of one of these spaces. So I kept rotating. And rotating. And rotating. I became fixated on circling a few lanes, so determined was I to get as close as possible to the entrance. Finally! I saw an early bird who had completed her shopping head back towards a car in one of my lanes (see how possessive I had become?) I slowly stalked behind her, waiting for her to come to a stop at her car, not sure at this point whether to indicate left or right to stake a claim on my space. It took me a while to clock that she was actually lost, but I crept alongside of her as she rounded the corner into the next lane, finally spotting her car on the left-hand side. I frantically whacked my left indicator on as I spotted a lane ‘hoverer’ further up. ‘Not on your nelly’ I thought as the driver started to edge forward in preparation for pulling into my space. We were facing each other head to head and I mouthed ‘I am going in that space’ while pointing my finger at it. Luckily, Lost Lady unpacked quickly, and reversed out, effectively blocking the Hoverer and I was able to nip into said space, but did catch a glimpse of Hoverer giving me the birdy in my rear view mirror.
All this had eaten 20 minutes up that I didn’t have to spare, so learning from past experience, I headed straight to the bread department to secure burger buns and hotdog rolls, as I needed a whopping 40 of each. Well, we had invited 32 children and their parents – and what with the no-replies, I wasn’t sure how many people would actually turn up, so best to be prepared! Next, I secured the burgers and sausages, and so felt sufficiently relaxed enough to go back to the entrance of the store and start my shop in its natural order round the store.
It was getting very busy, and by the time I got back round to the meat section, I noticed a distinct absence of burgers and felt pleased I had secured what I needed already. I parked my trolley, and went down the aisle to choose a chicken for Sunday lunch. Whilst squeezing a few chicken breasts, through the din of the store, I heard an excited, high pitched boy’s voice saying ‘here’s some hotdog rolls mum, how many do we need?’ I turned just in time to see him make off with two packets of my rolls, pilfered completely unashamedly out of my trolley! Well, I moved back up that aisle quicker than Coulthard in an F1 race shouting ‘excuse me, excuse me, those are my rolls you have taken out of my trolley.’ When I caught up with him, he had just handed them to his mum. ‘Sorry,’ I said (why was I apologising?) ‘but your son has just taken those rolls out of my trolley!’ She held onto them for a split second longer than she should have, obviously weighing up whether to put up a fight or hand them over, but one look at my frazzled, un made-up face made her rethink, so she handed them back without so much of an apology. I was livid, and snatched them from her so hard I left a permanent thumb print in one poor roll.
Bagging up and paying was fairly non-eventful, and I was pleased to get back home before 11am. The party was due to start at 3. As I drove up the drive, I saw Biker Boy looking non too happy, wearing his work clothes carrying some long, stick-like thing in his hands. ‘Drains are blocked’ he shouted as I drove past. ‘Have had to get the rods out.’ Well, I could have guessed that as I got a strong whiff of a very unpleasant smell the nearer I got to the house. ‘Oh shit!’ I shouted. ‘Exactly’ said Biker Boy. ‘And Cheeky’s been putting baby wipes down the toilet again’…
OK, sorry to leave you hanging, but I need to log off now as I am going out, so to be continued tomorrow!
The massive Tesco car park was already a hive of activity by the time I got there. My first challenge of the day came about trying to find a car space as close to the store as I possibly could. For the first time, I wished for Lucky or Cheeky to be with me to make use of the Parent/Toddler parking, but my conscience wouldn’t allow me to make surreptitious use of one of these spaces. So I kept rotating. And rotating. And rotating. I became fixated on circling a few lanes, so determined was I to get as close as possible to the entrance. Finally! I saw an early bird who had completed her shopping head back towards a car in one of my lanes (see how possessive I had become?) I slowly stalked behind her, waiting for her to come to a stop at her car, not sure at this point whether to indicate left or right to stake a claim on my space. It took me a while to clock that she was actually lost, but I crept alongside of her as she rounded the corner into the next lane, finally spotting her car on the left-hand side. I frantically whacked my left indicator on as I spotted a lane ‘hoverer’ further up. ‘Not on your nelly’ I thought as the driver started to edge forward in preparation for pulling into my space. We were facing each other head to head and I mouthed ‘I am going in that space’ while pointing my finger at it. Luckily, Lost Lady unpacked quickly, and reversed out, effectively blocking the Hoverer and I was able to nip into said space, but did catch a glimpse of Hoverer giving me the birdy in my rear view mirror.
All this had eaten 20 minutes up that I didn’t have to spare, so learning from past experience, I headed straight to the bread department to secure burger buns and hotdog rolls, as I needed a whopping 40 of each. Well, we had invited 32 children and their parents – and what with the no-replies, I wasn’t sure how many people would actually turn up, so best to be prepared! Next, I secured the burgers and sausages, and so felt sufficiently relaxed enough to go back to the entrance of the store and start my shop in its natural order round the store.
It was getting very busy, and by the time I got back round to the meat section, I noticed a distinct absence of burgers and felt pleased I had secured what I needed already. I parked my trolley, and went down the aisle to choose a chicken for Sunday lunch. Whilst squeezing a few chicken breasts, through the din of the store, I heard an excited, high pitched boy’s voice saying ‘here’s some hotdog rolls mum, how many do we need?’ I turned just in time to see him make off with two packets of my rolls, pilfered completely unashamedly out of my trolley! Well, I moved back up that aisle quicker than Coulthard in an F1 race shouting ‘excuse me, excuse me, those are my rolls you have taken out of my trolley.’ When I caught up with him, he had just handed them to his mum. ‘Sorry,’ I said (why was I apologising?) ‘but your son has just taken those rolls out of my trolley!’ She held onto them for a split second longer than she should have, obviously weighing up whether to put up a fight or hand them over, but one look at my frazzled, un made-up face made her rethink, so she handed them back without so much of an apology. I was livid, and snatched them from her so hard I left a permanent thumb print in one poor roll.
Bagging up and paying was fairly non-eventful, and I was pleased to get back home before 11am. The party was due to start at 3. As I drove up the drive, I saw Biker Boy looking non too happy, wearing his work clothes carrying some long, stick-like thing in his hands. ‘Drains are blocked’ he shouted as I drove past. ‘Have had to get the rods out.’ Well, I could have guessed that as I got a strong whiff of a very unpleasant smell the nearer I got to the house. ‘Oh shit!’ I shouted. ‘Exactly’ said Biker Boy. ‘And Cheeky’s been putting baby wipes down the toilet again’…
OK, sorry to leave you hanging, but I need to log off now as I am going out, so to be continued tomorrow!
Thursday, 5 June 2008
Child's play
Just to be clear from the outset, this post is a rant against the type of mum that does not reply to birthday party invites. If you're one of them, please read on and learn how irritating your behaviour is for those parents trying to plan a party. Maybe, just maybe, you will change your ways after reading...
Lucky is the new boy in class. It's his birthday tomorrow (6 - he's so excited) so we decided to hold a party at home, order a bouncy castle, stoke the BBQ up and open the house to parents as well as children to try to get to know a few of the adults. A fine idea.
Or so we thought.
Lucky chose 15 kids from his class to invite. We distributed the invites in good time in early May. Cool.
Not so cool.
At the start of this week, we were down 7 replies from the 15 class mates. 7 REPLIES!!! Almost half had failed to respond a week before the party. Now, I know we're new, and maybe some of the mums don't know who I am, but where I come from that is just plain and unadulterated rudeness.
So, come Monday, I kicked into action and through a process of elimination (hanging outside the classroom with Lucky, getting him to name (and shame in my books) his classmates and by association, their mum or dad. We successfully identified 4 of the guilty mums and approached them. All were apologetic, all offered feeble excuses, all planned on coming. And just when were you planning on letting me know, I felt like asking. Instead I grinned and beared it and pretended to be delighted we were to be deigned by their presence.
The last 3 rogue mums are still at large. I stood next to one of them at Sports Day this morning, knowing full well that she knows who I am, and knowing full well that she hasn't yet replied and there's only 2 DAYS TO GO!!! Well, I refused to ask her, thinking 'sod you - if you want to be rude, I don't really want you in my house anyway' (being in the school playing fields, I didn't feel at all bad about my childish behaviour.)
What it boils down to is this - this party's not just about Lucky being accepted in his new class. It's as much about me being accepted as well, but being accepted is such bloody hard work.
Lucky is the new boy in class. It's his birthday tomorrow (6 - he's so excited) so we decided to hold a party at home, order a bouncy castle, stoke the BBQ up and open the house to parents as well as children to try to get to know a few of the adults. A fine idea.
Or so we thought.
Lucky chose 15 kids from his class to invite. We distributed the invites in good time in early May. Cool.
Not so cool.
At the start of this week, we were down 7 replies from the 15 class mates. 7 REPLIES!!! Almost half had failed to respond a week before the party. Now, I know we're new, and maybe some of the mums don't know who I am, but where I come from that is just plain and unadulterated rudeness.
So, come Monday, I kicked into action and through a process of elimination (hanging outside the classroom with Lucky, getting him to name (and shame in my books) his classmates and by association, their mum or dad. We successfully identified 4 of the guilty mums and approached them. All were apologetic, all offered feeble excuses, all planned on coming. And just when were you planning on letting me know, I felt like asking. Instead I grinned and beared it and pretended to be delighted we were to be deigned by their presence.
The last 3 rogue mums are still at large. I stood next to one of them at Sports Day this morning, knowing full well that she knows who I am, and knowing full well that she hasn't yet replied and there's only 2 DAYS TO GO!!! Well, I refused to ask her, thinking 'sod you - if you want to be rude, I don't really want you in my house anyway' (being in the school playing fields, I didn't feel at all bad about my childish behaviour.)
What it boils down to is this - this party's not just about Lucky being accepted in his new class. It's as much about me being accepted as well, but being accepted is such bloody hard work.
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
And the award goes to....
Today I have been gathering together award entries for the various marketing campaigns we run for our clients. Awards are BIG NEWS in the agency world, so they are a necessary evil I undertake once a year for the good of my company. If shortlisted, you get the honour of dusting off your best frock, the guys their black ties, spend over £1,000 on a table full of people you don't necessarily want to spend an evening with, sitting through mediocre comedians taking the piss out of the industry, dancing with clients old enough to be your father and standing around waiting for a cab at the end of the night in the freezing cold with no wrap or jacket on. Can't wait.
So in the midst of writing some award spiel or other, I thought how nice it would be if mums had the same honours bestowed upon them once per year, and it got me thinking about the categories I could enter myself into...and they are as follows ta da da da da dahhhh:
The Strategy Award for detailed planning and excellent targte audience empathy every school morning to get two kids out of bed and to schools on time, fully dressed and with lunchboxes in tow (this still includes parking in the school car park by the way to save precious minues, as well as keeping a bag of Haribo in the car as a bribe...I know, I know...)
The Campaign of the Year Award to get Cheeky to eat some vegetables. Any vegetables! He has the amazing - and I am sure unique - ability to syphon out even the most finely chopped up vegetable in his dinner, and filter is out of his mouth back onto his plate. I masterminded a 'reverse psychology' plan and tagged carrot sticks 'treats' which I mixed in with his raisons for a snack. It worked! 1 down, 472 to go...
The Best Creative Award 2007, for convincing Lucky that the girl's black leggings I bought him for the Christmas play were in fact boy's trousers...just very tight ones! He scowled the whole time on stage...
The Internal Communications Award for ensuring that everyone knows where everyone else is and what they are doing during the week, and not missing very important school dates for the kids (like 'bring a picture of your grandparents to school day'...) or very important meetings for myself (like those wonderful Awards ceremonies). Biker Boy's West Ham calendar really does come into it's own even if it does look nasty:-)
And finally the Best Live Marketing Initiative award...for the time Lucky needed a poo in the park. We had just arrived, it was on the verge of arriving with us. I dumped the doughnuts and had poor Lucky squat behind a tree and aim into the sugary bag. And for wiping? Well the jammy covered serviettes of course! A sticky situation all round...
Looking back over that lot, I'm feeling quite smug actually. How ingenuous I have been this year! How strategic and resourceful!
This part-time work lark's not half bad really, teaching me essential skills like these to get through the week.
So in the midst of writing some award spiel or other, I thought how nice it would be if mums had the same honours bestowed upon them once per year, and it got me thinking about the categories I could enter myself into...and they are as follows ta da da da da dahhhh:
The Strategy Award for detailed planning and excellent targte audience empathy every school morning to get two kids out of bed and to schools on time, fully dressed and with lunchboxes in tow (this still includes parking in the school car park by the way to save precious minues, as well as keeping a bag of Haribo in the car as a bribe...I know, I know...)
The Campaign of the Year Award to get Cheeky to eat some vegetables. Any vegetables! He has the amazing - and I am sure unique - ability to syphon out even the most finely chopped up vegetable in his dinner, and filter is out of his mouth back onto his plate. I masterminded a 'reverse psychology' plan and tagged carrot sticks 'treats' which I mixed in with his raisons for a snack. It worked! 1 down, 472 to go...
The Best Creative Award 2007, for convincing Lucky that the girl's black leggings I bought him for the Christmas play were in fact boy's trousers...just very tight ones! He scowled the whole time on stage...
The Internal Communications Award for ensuring that everyone knows where everyone else is and what they are doing during the week, and not missing very important school dates for the kids (like 'bring a picture of your grandparents to school day'...) or very important meetings for myself (like those wonderful Awards ceremonies). Biker Boy's West Ham calendar really does come into it's own even if it does look nasty:-)
And finally the Best Live Marketing Initiative award...for the time Lucky needed a poo in the park. We had just arrived, it was on the verge of arriving with us. I dumped the doughnuts and had poor Lucky squat behind a tree and aim into the sugary bag. And for wiping? Well the jammy covered serviettes of course! A sticky situation all round...
Looking back over that lot, I'm feeling quite smug actually. How ingenuous I have been this year! How strategic and resourceful!
This part-time work lark's not half bad really, teaching me essential skills like these to get through the week.
Monday, 19 May 2008
Just how many people have touched my knickers?!
While emptying the washing machine yesterday I had an awful thought - just how many people have touched my knickers over the last 6-8 months?
I ask, not because I am some scarlet women, free and easy with my favours to every Tom, Dick and Harry (...well, just Dick as that's my pet name for Biker Boy) but because we have had many child carers and cleaners in our home over that period helping us out.
Why? Well, we had planned to move at the end of last summer, but then we lost our buyers and the deal was off. However, being the considerate type, we had given our wonderful nanny T lots of notice to find a new position, and being so wonderful, she did indeed find one incredibly quickly. I had waxed lyrical to her new employers about how lucky they were to get her. I didn't overdo it for she truly was a catch, and I was genuinely delighted that T had managed to sort herself out so quickly with what appeared to be a very nice family. How I regretted the waxing. Come September, we were left without childcare but still with two jobs to go to. What to do? Luckily a good neighbour (those were the days of being in the thick of the community...) stepped in and took care of Cheeky when Lucky was at school, then fetched Lucky for us at the end of the school day. Cheeky didn't like that. He's not good with change and he had been really happy with T. For the following 5 months he moaned every day about going to the neighbour's house.
In the meantime, we had also lost our cleaner, so started a new temporary one, Z. Another pair of hands on my washing.
When we did finally move, we found a childminder to look after the boys. It was all done in a bit of a rush, but surprisingly, Cheeky adapted quite well to this new situation. Lucky didn't. Something was bothering him, and we identified quite quickly that there was a big clash between Lucky and the childminder's older daughter. It wasn't going to work. As the childminder had also offered to help out with the cleaning, you guessed it, more hands touching the undies.
Enter, stage-left, S (for Saviour). S has now been with us for nearly 3 months. She is an older lady who has been there and done that. Both boys are happy, Biker Boy is very comfortable with her, and I have to owe my blogging to her as she is incredibly artistic and creative and spotted the frustrated writer in me.
Just like those odd socks and the occasional pair of undies that go missing when they enter the great chasm of the washing machine, we've all been feeling a little bit lost of lost and disconnected of late. Biker Boy and I have had the continuum of work to keep us steady, but the boys have felt all the change and upheaval the hardest. As we move forward into summer, and settle into new routines, I give sincere thanks to S and the balance she has brought to our home.
And I pray and I hope that her hands will be the last pair of strange hands on my smalls for quite some time to come.
I ask, not because I am some scarlet women, free and easy with my favours to every Tom, Dick and Harry (...well, just Dick as that's my pet name for Biker Boy) but because we have had many child carers and cleaners in our home over that period helping us out.
Why? Well, we had planned to move at the end of last summer, but then we lost our buyers and the deal was off. However, being the considerate type, we had given our wonderful nanny T lots of notice to find a new position, and being so wonderful, she did indeed find one incredibly quickly. I had waxed lyrical to her new employers about how lucky they were to get her. I didn't overdo it for she truly was a catch, and I was genuinely delighted that T had managed to sort herself out so quickly with what appeared to be a very nice family. How I regretted the waxing. Come September, we were left without childcare but still with two jobs to go to. What to do? Luckily a good neighbour (those were the days of being in the thick of the community...) stepped in and took care of Cheeky when Lucky was at school, then fetched Lucky for us at the end of the school day. Cheeky didn't like that. He's not good with change and he had been really happy with T. For the following 5 months he moaned every day about going to the neighbour's house.
In the meantime, we had also lost our cleaner, so started a new temporary one, Z. Another pair of hands on my washing.
When we did finally move, we found a childminder to look after the boys. It was all done in a bit of a rush, but surprisingly, Cheeky adapted quite well to this new situation. Lucky didn't. Something was bothering him, and we identified quite quickly that there was a big clash between Lucky and the childminder's older daughter. It wasn't going to work. As the childminder had also offered to help out with the cleaning, you guessed it, more hands touching the undies.
Enter, stage-left, S (for Saviour). S has now been with us for nearly 3 months. She is an older lady who has been there and done that. Both boys are happy, Biker Boy is very comfortable with her, and I have to owe my blogging to her as she is incredibly artistic and creative and spotted the frustrated writer in me.
Just like those odd socks and the occasional pair of undies that go missing when they enter the great chasm of the washing machine, we've all been feeling a little bit lost of lost and disconnected of late. Biker Boy and I have had the continuum of work to keep us steady, but the boys have felt all the change and upheaval the hardest. As we move forward into summer, and settle into new routines, I give sincere thanks to S and the balance she has brought to our home.
And I pray and I hope that her hands will be the last pair of strange hands on my smalls for quite some time to come.
Saturday, 17 May 2008
Big vs small
While out running with a small group of school mums the other night I realised that being thin is definitely a perception of the mind rather than a state of the body.
Bemoaning my marathon donut eating session earlier in the week, I managed to pant out that I needed to burn off a few calories. Immediately, all my fellow runners poo-pooed this and commented on my trimness, slender figure, thin frame etc etc...
Now, I am not dillusional and I can be honest with myself without being overharsh, but waif-like and slim I certainly am not (any more!) As my Bike Boy lovingly puts it, I definitely 'fill my trousers' and some more! But, looking around me, I realised that out of the 6 or 7 of us running, I WAS the slimmest one. For one small split second of a nano-second I was an object of envy, an inspiration, an aspiration...and it felt good. At that moment, perception became reality and for the first time in a long time I felt good about my body.
(Totally unrelated but very coincidental, I had a strange call the very next morning which turned out to be a model scout for Vogue Russia. Had news of my new supermodel thinness spread that fast and that far, I wondered? How we laughed when I told her I was nearly 40, had two kids and worked in marketing {and could just about squeeze into a size 12 on a good day - yes, that's right dear, a 12 not a 2...} Definitely a wrong number.)
This new house is very big - so much bigger than the London house that I feel a little lost in it. Whereas in the old house, on my days off, I'd get up and go into autodrive so that the house was put into order fairly quickly and with minimal fuss, now I am paralysed by the thought of the mammoth task ahead. The kitchen is the heart of this home with its open-plan layout and gorgeous view out to the garden, so I always start there to build the necessary momentum needed to tackle the rest of the house. No joy. Firstly, there's a telly in there, and I can be distracted by any old crap because secondly, there's an aga in there as well, and to loll on the aga with a cup of tea watching any old crap is really, really relaxing. Until Cheeky appears and in order to avoid his demands to build him something, play something with him, read to him or take him to the park, I have to galvinise myself back into cleaning up mode before I get distracted and it doesn't get done (again). In our smaller house in London, I wouldn't have had to put him off. I'd have been finished by now and we'd be off doing something, with someone, somewhere, as usual in our busy, busy day.
Something tells me I'm lonely in this big house, in this new town. I've never dwelled and dithered over housework so much in my life, but with nothing to do, noone to meet and nowhere to go, it helps pass the time.
Bemoaning my marathon donut eating session earlier in the week, I managed to pant out that I needed to burn off a few calories. Immediately, all my fellow runners poo-pooed this and commented on my trimness, slender figure, thin frame etc etc...
Now, I am not dillusional and I can be honest with myself without being overharsh, but waif-like and slim I certainly am not (any more!) As my Bike Boy lovingly puts it, I definitely 'fill my trousers' and some more! But, looking around me, I realised that out of the 6 or 7 of us running, I WAS the slimmest one. For one small split second of a nano-second I was an object of envy, an inspiration, an aspiration...and it felt good. At that moment, perception became reality and for the first time in a long time I felt good about my body.
(Totally unrelated but very coincidental, I had a strange call the very next morning which turned out to be a model scout for Vogue Russia. Had news of my new supermodel thinness spread that fast and that far, I wondered? How we laughed when I told her I was nearly 40, had two kids and worked in marketing {and could just about squeeze into a size 12 on a good day - yes, that's right dear, a 12 not a 2...} Definitely a wrong number.)
This new house is very big - so much bigger than the London house that I feel a little lost in it. Whereas in the old house, on my days off, I'd get up and go into autodrive so that the house was put into order fairly quickly and with minimal fuss, now I am paralysed by the thought of the mammoth task ahead. The kitchen is the heart of this home with its open-plan layout and gorgeous view out to the garden, so I always start there to build the necessary momentum needed to tackle the rest of the house. No joy. Firstly, there's a telly in there, and I can be distracted by any old crap because secondly, there's an aga in there as well, and to loll on the aga with a cup of tea watching any old crap is really, really relaxing. Until Cheeky appears and in order to avoid his demands to build him something, play something with him, read to him or take him to the park, I have to galvinise myself back into cleaning up mode before I get distracted and it doesn't get done (again). In our smaller house in London, I wouldn't have had to put him off. I'd have been finished by now and we'd be off doing something, with someone, somewhere, as usual in our busy, busy day.
Something tells me I'm lonely in this big house, in this new town. I've never dwelled and dithered over housework so much in my life, but with nothing to do, noone to meet and nowhere to go, it helps pass the time.
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