Siswick Construction Zone

Coming Out of the Non-Blogging Abyss!

2011-01-14T22:00:00.001Z

So I haven’t blogged for 11 months (What do you mean you hadn’t noticed?).

Last years New Years Resolution was to blog more.

Whoops!

This year I failed to even make a single resolution.

Because unmade resolutions are really the only ones I stand a chance of keeping.

I could blame it on this…….

…….because she still doesn’t sleep through the night.

Yes, she is almost 16 months old,

and YES, I am beginning to take it very personally.

Her sleep mode is faulty, busted, defunct.

But in reality all the effort I could’ve been putting into blogging I have instead put into sitting on my backside eating chocolate, and not gaining a single pound.

It’s a long way back from Sofa heaven.

See you in another 11 months.

Or maybe even sooner!

Be My Valentine…

2010-02-14T12:47:00.000Z

Yes, it’s true I am officially smitten.

Thank you Microsoft for simplifying one area of my life.

Now if you could only excel your good selves and invent a program that gets Libby sleeping 12 hours a night I’d be forever in your debt.

In Defence of Britney Spears

2010-02-11T20:37:00.000Z

Well that was a title I never ever imagined giving a post, or even a single thought for that matter.

I think if we’re honest people we’re all still slightly disturbed about when Britney did this.

It wasn’t a good look.

I knew my old Dyson was on the fritz but didn’t realise quite how decrepit it was until we replaced it with a beautiful new Dyson and I got quite carried away with some celebratory vacuuming (I don’t know what it is about vacuuming with a Dyson but for me it is the most fulfilling housework I ever do, or maybe just the only housework I ever do?) and emptied the cylinder only to find enough hair to hairify (I know that's not a word or even a possibility but I’m sleep deprived so I really don’t care so much)about 12 bald men.

Previous to this Eli had gone to use the bathroom after I had showered (which was a delightful change, usually he likes to visit at least once per shower, another joy of parenthood) and exited the loo in a panic. On seeing my head wrapped in a towel his panic intensified.

“Mum, you showered all your hair off!”

I went to look and reassured him that I did have some hair left on my balding dome.

Post Partum hair loss sucks.

I leave a trail of long brown hairs wherever I go. I find them in very dubious places. I have thinning patches all over. My tresses are distressed.

Not tres glamorous.

Then I remembered dear troubled Mrs Federline as was, and that she had 2 kids really close together (which I still think wasn’t so much entirely intentional and more completely accidental, not that I’m judgmental, much) and I thought wowsers that post partum hair loss had to be really dreadful.

So maybe that’s why Brit buzzed all her hair off.

(If I could pull it off like Katherine Heigl in Grey’s I’d be tempted I’m telling you. But alas I would not be a beautiful baldy and I know it.)

Well that or that Brit really was just a total fruit loop.

The Wrong Side of Bed

2010-01-22T21:31:00.004Z

The other night in an out of the ordinary attempt to avoid falling asleep Eli kept coming to ask me very important things (usually the kid is out like a light),

On what felt like the 43286th time that I heard little footsteps coming towards me down the hallway he asked "Mummy can I sleep the other way?".

I rolled my eyes and calmly said something along the lines of 'you can sleep any way you like as long as you are ASLEEP, GO TOOOO BED!!!!!!!!!'

Off he went and this is how we found him 2 hours later.......

His interpretation of sleeping the other way wasn't exactly what I expected.

And in case you're wondering. Yes. That is his hand down his pants.

He's all boy our Eli.

The Bad Parenting Chronicles: Episode 9

2010-01-14T11:00:00.000Z

Considering I haven't chronicled my parenting faux pas since September 2008 you could be forgiven for thinking that either,

a. I have obviously learned from my mistakes and reached new supreme levels of parenting,

or b. I was just too lazy to blog about what a failure I am.

I know what you're thinking.......

It has to be B.

And you'd be right.

Here is a sterling example of how I haven't come any closer to achieving Super-Parent status.

I was 37 weeks pregnant.

We went to get the few (mostly pink) things left on our baby list.

Me, Rob, Thomas, Eli.

We lost Eli.

Here.

At one of the biggest shopping malls in all of England.

It turns out buying tiny pink clothing doesn't excite Eli.

He wandered off.

We panicked.

I ran the length of the place in my heavily pregnant state dragging a 4 year old in flip flops behind me. (Do you have any idea how hard it is for a 4 year old to sprint in flip flops? Or how amusing a 37 weeks pregnant woman looks running?)

After the longest phone conversation known to man between the customer services lady and the head of security it was confirmed he'd been located.

I nearly squeezed the life out of him.

And sadly it was in that moment that I realised that if that recipe of shock, panic and trauma coupled with the fastest running of my life didn't manage to dislodge that baby from my uterus then she was never gonna come out without being evicted.

Bummer.

The Sleep Grinch

2010-01-08T12:34:00.001Z

It would seem that my remaining loyal readers (all 6 of them), who didn't remove me from their google reader during my long sojourn in the blogging wilderness would like photographic evidence of our Libby aka little Roo, Lady May, Mayflower, Libskerino and approximately a trillion variations of each.

We're all about nicknames in the Siswick household.

So here she is:

2 weeks

10 weeks
14 weeks
Very 1st Christmas at 4 Months
She is now 4 months old (I almost accidentally put 14 months then, but that's just how long it actually feels like we've had her and how long it seems like since I had a good nights sleep) and adored slightly more each day.

She is currently a big fan of licking just about anything that gets within a tongues reach of her. Which we're hoping she outgrows before she starts school.

Oh and in response to this post. Her DNA was kind to her, no hairy back gene for Libby Mae.

Eli's on the other hand is thickening up for winter. You'd have to see it to believe it.

All is not right in the galaxy........

2010-01-05T18:30:00.001Z

It would appear that after more than a decade of being ogled and adored by women globally and let's face it ladies it's not for his footballing prowess (and I can appreciate a quality cross or free kick as much as the next person), David Beckham is now actually trying to repel women.

First there was this hideous beard.....

and then this dodgy new hairdo....

(Don't even get me started on that suit or the fact that Charlize Theron hosted the World Cup draw whilst not even attempting to pretend she had a clue what she was actually promoting. I swear she was only there to smooch Mr Beckham and for that she should no doubt be commended).
Then tragically both together.

I am now sadly being forced to reconsider my 13 year long crush on him myself.

My allegiance is definitely wavering.

One things for sure, I won't be getting a David Beckham mug and jigsaw for my upcoming birthday like I did the year I turned 22.

Let that be a lesson to you David.

Separated at Birth?

2010-01-02T13:00:00.000Z

Out in the car running errands with Eli we stopped at some traffic lights.

"Wow look Mummy, it's Tom and Jenna!"

I glanced around immediately to see where my brother in law and his girlfriend were.

Then I saw this:

I honestly can't figure out if Tom and Jenna should feel offended or not.

Watch Out People!

2009-12-31T22:00:00.004Z

You know you're completely out of the blogging loop when you log in on blogger and it kindly informs you that you have 261 unmoderated comments. For a mere second I let it go to my head a tiny bit and felt tres popular indeed. Right until I scanned the comments prior to moderation and found each and every one to be completely identical, all offering me Viagra.

Viagra? Are you kidding me? I have 3 kids, the smallest of which it appears failed to read our family sleeping policy prior to arrival in chez Siswick and is killing me slowly, mostly a brain cell at a time. I think I'm likely down to approximately 12 remaining right now.

I need a pill to keep me awake in the morning and another to put me to sleep at night preferably for at least 8 gloriously solid hours. Viagra I can live without, it is surplus to requirements here.

But is this what the blogosphere has come to in my absence? Spam comments? Uncool.

It was a humbling moment when I came to the realisation that if I neglected one of my kids as badly as I have neglected my lovely blog these last 12 months or so social services would've intervened long, long ago. Surely my blog is as worthy of my love as my offspring?

So I have used up all my paltry excuses for not blogging:

I'm pregnant and tired-check.

I just had a baby and am even more tired-check.

I fell over because I was so tired and fractured my shoulder-check.

I can hardly string a sentence together due to combined tiredness from pregnancy, having a baby, fracturing my shoulder and having to contend with dear sweet beautiful Libby whose single goal in life is to ensure I never get a good nights sleep-check.

No more excuses people, I'm back on the blog.

And I mean it!

That is my only New Year Resolution.

Really? My Child?

2009-10-30T09:00:00.003Z

Now that my firstborn is in full time school he frequently comes home with his jumper generously spattered with stickers in recognition of his good works and impeccable behaviour.

Obviously I always feel a smug glow of pride when he comes out adorned with stickers while other parents pick up their kids who aren't so beautifully decorated. (No doubt that'll be me next year picking up Eli, he's just not all that bothered about making people happy like our Thomas).

Of course in school I was always the model of perfect classroom etiquette (when I wasn't idly chatting to my classmates and ignoring the teacher of course) so I think Thomas is just following in my footsteps.

The other day as we were collecting his coat I enquired as to why he'd received a sticker of a dinosaur that said 'excellent-saurus'.

"I had the tidiest pile".

"What?"

"When we got changed for PE and had to leave our clothes tidy my pile was the very tidy one".

(Completely bewildered) "Oh, right!"

"Cos some of those kids just are not good at being tidy".

And that behaviour he did not get from me.

But I'm hoping it's contagious because my house would really benefit from a healthy dose of that.

(On a tangent I just barely got around to removing the 'your pregnancy' widget. Imagine my horror when I just checked it only to find I'd neglected it so long it was telling me I was 7 weeks pregnant all over again! I'd rather fracture my other shoulder than be pregnant all over again).

New evidence that nothing good comes from cleaning.

2009-10-06T18:36:00.003+01:00

Imagine the scene.

A young(ish) Mother's first day with all 3 kidlets all by herself.

The 4 year old gets to school, clean, dressed and on time.

The 3 year old gets to nursery, somewhat clean, dressed and on time, albeit reluctantly.

The Mother delights in her efficiency and arrives home with 2 week old baby in tow feeling like maybe life isn't gonna be the chaotic existence she imagined after all.

She gazes at her sleeping baby and glances at her watch. She has time to quickly overhaul the house and get things all shiny clean and super tidy before the baby needs feeding then she can indulge in uninterrupted baby time before the 3 year old needs collecting.

Bliss, yes?

Until the part where the completely excellent Mother falls over who knows what bashing her head and fracturing her shoulder.

And that, friends, is why I'm never cleaning again.

(I wish I had it caught on camera because that tumble would be truly hilarious to watch I am sure, just saying!)

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Welcome.....

2009-08-31T11:29:00.002+01:00

...to the world Libby Mae.

Libby made her entrance into the world on 28/08/09 at 10:40pm.

Weighing a hefty 7lbs 3.5oz.

A real whopper by our standards.

Giving a Bit of Credit Where it's Long Overdue

2009-07-06T19:25:00.000+01:00

For Father's Day this year we happened to be off by the sea enjoying some sunshine on our family Summer holiday.

On Thomas's last day of school before we left Rob wasn't working and so he went to pick him up. I tried to talk him out of it because I knew Thomas would be coming home with some top quality hand crafted card or gift and I had wanted to keep it as a surprise for the big day itself.

But Rob went nonetheless and really I should have just been grateful that someone else was doing the pick up for a change. Because really after the 212th pick up of the academic year the monotony really started to kick in.

Thomas came home with this card.

I knew right away what the drawing was. It couldn't have been more obvious.

It's Rob playing his Xbox. Priceless.

I looked at Rob, he seemed crestfallen, he said with a tinge of sarcasm, 'Oh it gets better!'

So I looked inside and there recorded by his teacher is what in the eyes of Thomas his dad liked doing the most in all the world.

Rob was both gutted and concerned that Thomas's teachers would have a far less than top notch opinion of his fathering prowess.

Behind a chuckle I tried to comfort him by suggesting that it could have been far, far worse.

After all It could have said my dad likes to play Grand Theft Auto or some Zombie killing game.

So should Thomas's teachers ever fill their spare hours randomly googling parents of their pupils for the record I'd just like to say what a fab dad Rob truly is (and that his Xbox generally only enjoys the wonder of electrical power when they kids are fast asleep in bed).

I don't give him nearly enough vocal credit (or probably non vocal credit either) and I don't devote nearly enough blog posts to him (really I should cos the guy has hilariously killer OCD and what's not entertaining about that?).

On Father's Day when he was well within his rights to demand a nap and maybe even breakfast in bed (which I'm pretty sure were my Mother's day demands) he was instead doing this with his two biggest fans.

Plus one things for sure you'd never catch me doing stuff like this with them.

I'm impressed I even went outside to take pictures of it.

Mummy's are for warm, indoor and clean activities only.

Oh and for the record Rob actually didn't even think the Xbox tennis was that special.

What a Difference 365 Makes

2009-07-03T03:22:00.003+01:00

Yesterday Eli had his very first visit to Nursery School.

As we spent our hour there playing in very familiar surroundings (due to the fact that we drop Thomas off there every afternoon) I couldn't help but let my mind wander back to the same experience a year ago when I was doing the exact same thing with Thomas. (Though mercifully back then it was about 10 degrees cooler and I wasn't incubating what feels like a litter of puppies).

A year ago I was full of apprehension about my firstborn growing up too quickly.

This year I can't help thinking, Roll on September!

Last year I decided to send Thomas in the afternoons so that we could all enjoy lazy mornings in our PJ's together.

This year I realised that with 2 boys under 5 lazy mornings simply just don't exist so Eli will be headed to school at 8:40 with his brother every day and I'll have lazy mornings by myself (new baby permitting).

Last year Thomas cried for 30 minutes after leaving his visit to Nursery he was so enamoured.

This year, all year, Eli has cried and had to be wrestled out of nursery when we drop Thomas off on an almost daily basis. I feel ready for that particular brand of humiliation to end. 11 days to go and counting.

While Eli and I were visiting Thomas's teacher came over to tell me that she's thrilled to be getting Eli because it'll make it easier to say bye to Thomas. She expressed that it'd be like having Thomas still there.

A lovely sentiment.

But Eli isn't a bit like Thomas.

The main contrast?

Last year I remember being really concerned that Thomas would injure himself playing with their real grown up woodworking tools.

This year I'm far more concerned that Eli will bludgeon someone other than himself.

I'm a tiny bit concerned.....

2009-06-27T20:51:00.005+01:00

....that this baby currently residing in my uterus (with something wedged rather inhospitably under my ribs) is gonna be born with the uncanny ability to count from 1 to 3.

She will probably think too that my normal tone of voice is that of a shrieking beast.

For such is the frequency these days that I appear to be giving out warnings and counting sternly to three before one of my delightful monsters requires a visit (or 8) to the naughty spot.

I just can't work out if my unborn child's numerical brilliance will be the result of my good parenting or bad.

Ah well brilliance is brilliance.

Who cares how we get there.

Belated Birthday (Revisited)

2009-06-24T07:13:00.002+01:00

You'd imagine after last years birthday I'd have been more on the ball this year.

It would appear that guilt eventually wears off because on May 24th our baby turned 3.

Leaving all traces of babyhood behind him.

And I'm only just blogging about it now.

A month late!

(Future Eli: Please note that this year I was equally neglectful blogging about Thomas's birthday so don't grow up to be a bitter and cynical middle child please.)

We'd been preparing him for months that three year olds don't have dummies and they don't ride in strollers, and apart from a viciously hellish week of sleepless nights all has gone swimmingly.

He had a space rocket cake (made by my good self) that I could have quite happily devoured in one sitting.
He got gifts galore and when asked later what his favourite gift was he replied without hesitation:

"My Nanny got me a Queen Car (Translation:Lightning McQueen) card that sings happy birthday to me".

Typical.

Next year I'll save myself a fortune and buy him a £2 birthday card and spend the rest of his birthday fund on new shoes for me. Because clearly that's the only way that money is going to be truly appreciated.

30 Weeks: A Four Year Old's Perspective

2009-06-20T07:09:00.001+01:00

Months ago Thomas came home from nursery with this picture.

In case you're wondering that's me on the right. (But isn't that completely obvious?)

Apparently my most striking feature is my gigantic googly eyes but please do pay attention to (and even envy a little) my stick thin body and arms.

It's like me and Victoria Beckham were separated at birth or something.

If you happen to be wondering who the rather round and squat person is on the left of me that would be my mother. She was visiting at the time and lucky for Thomas she was so thrilled by the knowledge that he could write his very own name that she got completely distracted from the fact that he had drawn her with an uncanny resemblance to an Oompa Loompa. Though I have to admit to being rather amused myself.

Roll on to last Sunday when Thomas drew this beauty of a family portrait in his Primary class at Church and oh what a difference a few months makes.

Again that would be me on the right.

Long gone is my stick thin body, (though I do appear to have maintained a pretty good set of legs).

Shrunken are my eyes, stupid pregnancy insomnia.

Imagine my horror to find out that this is a representation of how I'm looking these days.

Please note our baby girl dwelling comfortably within my gigantic body cavity, pigtails et al.

So do you think he did me justice? Here is a picture of me yesterday at 30 weeks gestation.

Oh and please don't hate me for not being enormous.

Or for the fact that this is by far the most near to being enormous I have been at this stage in pregnancy.

Bring on the next 10 weeks and somebody hide all drawing materials from the 4 year old.

The Price of Fame

2009-06-17T18:21:00.000+01:00

Over here in recent months (cos really that's how far behind I am with blogging) I have been swelling, not just with pregnancy either, but also with a little bit of pride.

In January our brother in law, Alex, was recruited as the new face of the BBC's preschool channel.

The good fortune honestly couldn't have shone upon a more deserving guy. (Alex was even AP on his mission and the really good kind too, not the kind you secretly want to poke in the eye or even better bake laxative laced cookies for).
So you can probably imagine how thrilled the boys were to see Uncle Alex on TV, right?

Wrong.

Thomas was immediately traumatised as to why on earth Uncle Alex was shacked up in some rather different house (which is the set for the channel) with a woman who was very much not his Auntie Jo.

Gradually he overcame his grave suspicions of infidelity and we were able to watch in relative peace without him voicing concern every 12 seconds that all was not quite right in the world.

We dutifully switched our allegiances from our usual (very selectively chosen to maintain my sanity) programs and channels and started to watch Uncle Alex instead.

Turns out having a celebrity in the family has it's downside.

In supporting Uncle Alex my kids were exposed to TV shows that I'd previously avoided at all costs and pretty much immediately Eli was completely enamoured with 'In the Night Garden'.

If you're thinking 'I've never heard of that show'. First of all let me say, lucky, lucky you. (And I really, really mean it!)

Secondly let me go ahead and provide an explanation. Think Teletubbies (but without that incredibly creepy sunshine that was actually a baby), but whilst thinking teletubbies imagine slightly more drug influenced creators. (If such a thing is imaginable).

Can you picture it perfectly in your head now?

A garden world full of characters like Iggle Piggle, Upsy Daisy, Makka Pakka, the Pontipines and the Tombliboos. That spend their time being escorted around on either the Ninky Nonk or the Pinky Ponk. (Seriously now you think you're the one that's drug influenced don't you? But alas, no, it's all true I assure you). The characters remain annoyingly almost mute but are narrated by the super calming voice of Derek Jacobi. Which just about stops my head from exploding whenever I am cruelly subjected to the show.

Where an average episode involves the Tombliboos trousers falling down followed by a aimless trip on the Ninky Nonk. The End.

Just as well the channel scriptwriters seem to have a bit of a thing for dressing Uncle Alex up as a woman (which results in his becoming his mothers twin) because the endless amount of amusement that brings me almost compensates for my In the night Garden hell.

But in the mean time at least we have the flipside that we can go on the channel website and print out our very own (if slightly disturbing looking) Uncle Alex to colour and how many kids can say that about their Uncle?

Twenty20 Vision

2009-06-15T20:41:00.002+01:00

In the past when shamelessly bearing my soul. I made no secret of my appreciation for the gentlemanly game of cricket.

Recently I have been somewhat absorbed by the World Twenty20 championship (that's fast and supposedly somewhat sexier cricket for those of you not as informed as I). Though when I say world I actually mean just 16 measly countries (cricket is a sadly under appreciated sport it would appear) but still that is vastly more of the world than the Baseball world series which covers just North America. Which hardly qualifies as the whole world really. But, hey I'm no stickler for geography.

I can't but think as I support my country in their cricketing endeavours that if they just used this picture I found completely by accident (honestly!!) in their marketing and advertising that worldwide viewership and support would rapidly increase.

Am I right or am I right?

Pee, pee, pee, pee, all the way home.

2009-05-09T11:19:00.002+01:00

You know we have never gotten around to teaching our boys to pee standing up.

I'd always figured that considering the bathroom is a place of zero privacy they'd kind of see their father in action and follow suit eventually.

In the mean time I was more than happy with them aiming at their target from the safety of a sitting position because they manage to somehow make enough mess that way without having free reign to spray all of the bathroom should they wish.

See, small things make me happy.

Fast forward to a walk home from school.

A walk that I have now forced Eli to endure despite his very loud protests because pushing an almost 3 year old in a pushchair up a 80 degree hill in my delicate condition is just not good for my blood pressure.

Or maybe I'm just using that as an excuse.

Truth is the kid is enormous and when he walks up that hill he sleeps like an angel which is good for his health and excellent for my mental health. Win-win.

We got about one twentieth of the way home one day and Thomas informs me he needs to pee. This is a frequent conversation on the journey home and I tell him he should have gone two minutes ago at school and now he'll just have to wait until we get home.

He lingers behind sulking. Eli stays with him. After all misery does love company.

Thomas shouts 'It's OK. I'll go right here' and before I have a chance to inform him that dogs are just about the only species for whom it is acceptable to pee in the street. He has his pants half way down his little white bottom, wilbsy liberated in the front and he pees into the bushes.

Completely horrified but knowing there isn't a right lot I can do to stop him in mid stream. I say a frantic silent prayer that the good Lord will render all 3 of us completely invisible, possibly forever.

You know because there are 650 pupils in Thomas's school and ours is a popular route home.

Just when I start to convince myself that maybe I won't have to move to some remote Scottish island with just sheep for company and where nobody will have heard about the boy who pees in the street because it probably wasn't even that noticeable really. I hear another little voice announce 'Me pee too!' as Eli in his newly potty trained fervour replicates his brothers actions perfectly.

But fails to be even slightly discreet.

Needless to say we avoided the walk home for a while and I took the car instead.

If only it had blacked out windows.

The Secret

2009-04-19T01:40:00.002+01:00

Remember me harping on about the Second Trimester energy boost and how it clearly must just be pure pregnancy propaganda to keep us poor pregnant souls going through the arduous First Trimester?

I have now unearthed the beautiful secret.

This is the magical key to the much desired energy boost.

Pack up offspring in car and go to your mothers house.

Enjoy the fact that in her own house she is primarily responsible for all cooking and cleaning.

Revel in the joy that she doesn't get to see her grandson's as often as she'd like so is more than happy to entertain them while you rest.

Wonder how on earth you were blessed with such a great mother in the first place when she gets up at 7am with the kids and encourages you to sleep until 11am.

Yep 11am. Like you're 15 again.

Leave 4 days later feeling completely refreshed but slightly devastated that it's over and normality ensues.

Thanks Mum, we had a wonderful visit. I may well be returning.

Some things I should have blogged about but didn't because I was just too lazy.

2009-04-12T20:56:00.000+01:00

Remember how my boys always had hair that looked something like this?

(Though I admit Eli's is particularly insane in his picture.)Well around Christmas Thomas started asking to have his hair cut 'all spiky' just like his dad. So I eventually relented and took him and felt saddened the entire time as I watched him grinning from ear to ear as the stylist cut off all his hair.

He looked SO grown up but also super cute so I quickly learned to live with it!

A few weeks later Sabbath day boredom kicked in and we decided it was time to bid farewell to Eli's hair too.

Rob somehow managed to persuade him and we pulled out the clippers and went to town on his head. In fact Rob went to town with a little too much ferocity and mistakenly put the number 3 guard on instead of number 6.

Which resulted in hair so short that we had to resort to shaving our hairy boys forehead because his forehead hair was longer than the hair on his head.
Eli wasn't so impressed with the outcome. He asked several times for his hair back and confided to anyone who would listen with disgust that 'my daddy did it to me!' Fortunately it's growing back now and we'll be keeping it long (but not so dishevelled looking) in the future.
Thomas who didn't escape the Sabbath day boredom also got his hair buzzed off and at the end of January turned 4! (Yes I am ashamed I'm blogging about this 2.5 months late.)

He chose to go bowling and somehow even with the bumper bars up he managed to beat me. Well, more precisely utterly thrash me considering he whooped me by 30 points or so. Clearly all my bowling prowess on the Wii just didn't transfer into real life. Gutted.

Blasted Nintendo people giving me a false sense of confidence and achievement.

February saw England get its worst snowfall in 18 years. Usually we get a mere sprinkling that leaves within a few hours but this snow kept on coming and lingered for a week or so.
The boys (including Rob) of course were thrilled and made the most of every snow filled day.
I on the other hand put on as many clothes and possible and waited for it to pass.
Whilst wondering why on earth I wasn't born somewhere warmer and how come global warming hasn't actually made me any warmer at all.
After months of watching from the sidelines Eli recently officially started football training for the West End number 5's alongside his big brother. For the most part he has zero clue what is going on and runs around aimlessly which is far from productive but on the bright side it is very amusing to observe.
Today is our 6 year anniversary. I'm actually not even at home with Rob. I came to my mum's with the boys for a few days this afternoon. 6 years has flown by. But I am grateful for the husband I have and the time we have spent together.

We all miss you already Rob!

The Verdict?

2009-04-10T01:40:00.000+01:00

Please pray for us that she won't get the hairy back genes that Eli got.

What I'm thinking.....

2009-04-08T21:14:00.000+01:00

I'm thinking I had forgotten just how extremely glamorous pregnancy is. After a recent trip to my doctor I came home with old lady tan support stockings (toe to thigh no less) for my gorgeous varicose vein on my left calf (courtesy of pregnancy number 1) and Haemorrhoid cream, you know just in case, Nice.

I'm thinking it wasn't worth attempting to win some Mothering Award by sending my kids to preschool at different times of day. Just so I could have quality time with each. I could be having 9 extra quality hours of sleep a week. Surely that's of far more import than quality time.

I'm thinking I shouldn't have read Marley & Me while I was pregnant. The demise and death of that dog had me literally cowering behind the sofa sobbing uncontrollably hoping the kids wouldn't see me so upset. Also Rob's untimely arrival home had me rushing to the bathroom to ferociously splash my face with cold water in an attempt to hide my ridiculous hysterics. (He would never understand he's never owned a dog, he's of the opinion it's just a dog).

I'm thinking that this pregnancy may have cured (fingers tightly crossed) the natural disaster which is my hair. My effortlessly poker straight chocolate tresses that started growing intermittent frizzy patches during my pregnancy with Eli seem to be correcting themselves. (In hindsight I should have known he was gonna be a handful when he managed to singlehandedly ruin my hair from the confines of my uterus).

I'm thinking after experiencing the joys of morning sickness for the first time with this pregnancy that if this pregnancy introduces me to the further joy of stretch marks for the first time also that baby number 3 will officially be my least favourite child. Forever.

And finally I'm thinking now that I'm halfway done that I can't wait to find out what this little nipper is.

Good job I have my ultrasound TOMORROW!!!

Watch this space people.

LOST that loving feeling.

2009-03-30T21:11:00.000+01:00

You know what they say, desperate times call for desperate measures.

So I am overlooking the fact that it's 9pm and the only place I really want to be is in bed.

Because there is something I have to say.

Something very important.

What on earth have they done to Sawyer?

Come on ladies, who doesn't watch LOST and secretly think if they had to be marooned on a desert island it would be slightly more bearable if Sawyer were around to ogle all day long and maybe share a mango with?

Don't get me wrong I am still a LOST devotee (despite all these seasons in still having no flaming clue what is going on or what might potentially happen next) but this 'Lafleur' Sawyer I just cannot get on board with.

The shiny straight groomed hair and general cleanliness just don't cut it.

Though I have to admit seeing him shacked up with Juliet does may me go 'ahhh how lovely'. (but I'm pregnant remember and the crazy hormones get me thinking just about everything is lovely.)

TV executives please bring back the old Sawyer just the way we love him.
Smouldering,

Sweaty,

Sarcastic,

But most importantly shirtless.

Because after all that is what makes good TV.

Waiting......

2009-03-15T20:01:00.000Z

I figured it time to provide an explanation regarding my absence when I started receiving messages of concern for my well being.

Worry not, I have not had any tragic finger loss issues that stop me being able to type/babble on. All of my digits are blessedly intact.

The truth is simple.

I'm lazy. But pregnant lazy not just lazy lazy, so that's OK , right?

I'm just anxiously anticipating my second trimester energy boost. Actually to be fair I'm still eagerly awaiting the second trimester energy boost from my previous two pregnancies that rudely never happened to materialise. Third time around I'm wondering if such a thing actually exists or if it's medical propaganda to get us through the the first trimester with an ounce of hope for the future.

By the time I've had to tell Eli to leave his wilbsy alone (potty training has provided 24 hour access to his favourite area) for the 8 millionth time each day and I get the nippers into bed and I actually have time to blog all I'm actually fit for is falling into bed with a good book.

Rob says it's really fun being married to the equivalent of an 80 year old.

So when that energy boost hits I'll be back with a vengeance. That of course could be any day now or in 5 years time when all my kids are in full time school and I actually get to occasionally enjoy such luxuries as peeing in privacy, if only between the hours of 9-3 on weekdays.

I hope I'm worth the wait!

Why Boys are All Identical

2009-02-25T17:50:00.004Z

Yesterday Eli and I had a little chat about best friends in which he informed me that Nanny was his best friend and so was his wilbsy. (Wilbsy is Siswick speak for boy parts).

In the days BPT (before Potty training) I was unfortunately changing Eli's nappy. He made sure to give his wilbsy a good old squeeze and poke just to make sure it hadn't fallen off in the last couple of hours since his last nappy change.

I guess boys think such things are possible.

He looked up to me with the biggest grin on his cheeky face and said, "Mummy I love my wilbsy!"

Yep, you and everyone else on the planet with a XY chromosome combination, son.

The joys of being a mother to boys!

But at least he's honest.

Eli Takes to the Throne

2009-02-19T09:20:00.002Z

With the arrival of this weeks break in the school calendar I knew very grudgingly I had to dedicate this time to one thing and one thing only.

Potty Training Eli.

Yep, the same Eli that is unpredictable, stubborn and delights in the filth of his bodily excrement.

Coupled with morning sickness that just won't bugger off I anticipated the upcoming week with very little optimism.

Well with the exact same amount of optimism I have that David Beckham will unexpectedly turn up on my doorstep and profess he should have proposed to me in 1997 and not Victoria. After all Victoria and I do have the same maiden name of Adams and we both have brown hair so it's understandable that he could easily get confused. Yes, even though we're not officially acquainted. Because lets face it he may be an Adonis to look at but he's just not very clever.

Monday arrived and Rob left for work early. I took 800 deep breaths and got on with the task in hand.

I decided on a double pronged bribery approach coupled with Gina Ford's Potty training in one week.

We have the immediate reward of if you pee in the potty you can have a single lovely skittle to enjoy each time coupled with the longer term award of if you fill up this chart with stickers every time you pee (or poo of course) when it is full you can have that super snazzy walking talking Lightnin' McQueen you've been coveting since you spied it at Tesco. (Of course I was wise and got it half price in the January sales, cha-ching!)

Day 1 there was pee on the floor but mostly pee on the potty and he was dry all night.

Day 2 there was still some pee on the floor but again mostly pee on the potty and dry all night.

Day 3, which will be known for the rest of the time as the day Eli became my favourite child there was pee only on the potty totally unprompted by me all the day long.

Hooray! So on day number 4 I'm feeling confident and may even venture out in public.

But maybe I won't because I might miss David Beckham popping by.

Because apparently miracles of such magnitude are possible.

Completely Mental with a side Order of Judgement

2009-02-11T00:20:00.003Z

On November 20th I was driving home from work and noticed the unmistakable twinkliness (I am aware that isn't an actual word) of a Christmas tree illuminating someones front window.

Sure I was listening (and singing along) to Christmas music in my car but that's not the point is it?

Regardless, I judged the unknown occupants of that house because we all know November 20th is just too flaming early to have your Christmas tree up.

I recall guffawing at their stupidity because it was a living tree and it's chances of surviving until December 25th were highly unlikely.

Every day as I drove home I would stare in complete disbelief at their ridiculously early Christmas tree erection. Even when December 1st rolled around and I put our tree up (totally for the kids benefit of course) I still thought about those crazy folks on the next street who had beat me to it by 1o days.

Soon all the world was a place of twinkly lighted beauty and the ridiculously early Christmas decorators were lost from my thoughts.

New Years Day rolled around and we took our decorations down.

I noticed others must have done the same.

Gradually all the twinkly lights disappeared.

All the twinkly lights but one house.

The crazy folks house.

January 10th came around and their illuminated tree (which hadn't yet died as I predicted, apparently I do not possess the wealth of Christmas tree knowledge that I had previously assigned myself) still had pride of place in the window.

Surely this wasn't normal behaviour.

Then the cogs in my brain started turning. This definitely wasn't normal behaviour.

Obviously whoever occupied that house had died during the Christmas season.

Surely that was the only explanation as to why these people were still enjoying Christmas when the rest of us were anxiously anticipating the arrival of Spring.

On my birthday 3 days later. I noticed the tree was still there but not lit.

Evidence that the occupant was very much still alive, right?

Well that or they'd been dead for so long and hadn't paid their electricity bill that their supplier disconnected them.

A week on the tree still stood there sad and un-illuminated.

Several times I had to force myself not to share my theory with my friend who is a police officer (and has filled my mind of stories of decomposing corpses being eaten by their own pets) in the hopes that he'd go discover the truth and all would be right in the world once more.

Instead I just forced myself to drive by without looking at the house.

Today I looked.

The tree was gone and I came to the conclusion that the most likely explanation is simply that I am a massive drama queen.

The truth hurts!

Lucky Charms

2009-02-05T19:09:00.001Z

I've never been a big believer in lucky charms.

As a kid my mum had a white rabbit foot brooch.

I'm not exaggerating when I say it completely traumatised me.

We were after all big rabbit owners as kids.

She ensured me it was lucky. I didn't and still don't believe her.

How lucky could that foot really be? The poor flaming rabbit got murdered and had it's foot chopped off and turned into a truly hideous brooch.

It certainly wasn't lucky for the poor innocent rabbit.

Oh and mum if you're reading this I honestly don't want it when you leave this mortal coil thank you very much.

Along the same lines I never understood the hoarding of horseshoes, wishbones (that's part of a chicken carcass people), endless searching for Four leaf clovers and lucky pennies.

I was always of the opinion that in life you make your own luck.

But finally a lucky charm I can get on board with, fashionably created in Milan.

Yep that's right folks.

Over at AC Milan they're giving David Beckham's backside a good old squeeze for luck.

Turns out that since his arrival on loan they haven't lost a single match.

If only Milan were closer and it wouldn't result in a restraining order.

What Exactly Does Carol Need?

2009-02-03T12:00:00.002Z

I saw this on my lovely friend Rachael's blog and it made me chuckle so I figured I'd give it a go.

Basically you type your name followed by the word 'needs' and see what Google kindly throws back at you.

Put the Top 10 in a post and voila, entertainment for all the world to see.

1. Carol needs to be grounded in some very basic things. I SO do not.

2. Carol needs assessment information request. Honestly I could live without it.

3. Carol needs our help, will be killing her dogs. Luckily for all of you and dogs nationwide I am not a dog owner, and probably should never be allowed to be. The forecast apparently isn't looking good.

4. Carol needs licenced real estate agent. In this global recession? I think not. I'd be better off attempting to win the lottery.

5. Carol needs a pacemaker. I may well do if Eli decides to make more poop masterpieces on his bedroom wall.

6. Carol needs to change. It's true I do, but where to start?

7. Carol needs a power source. I really do Caffeine just isn't kicking it these days.

8. Carol needs YOU! Indeed I do, don't go forgetting it.

9. Carol needs a 1995 retired Tony Carter teapot of a chaise lounge with the gramophone on a small table. I don't think legally anybody should be able to manufacture such a hideous object. That is definitely not going on my wish list.

10. Carol needs a forever family, and desires a placement where she can feel safe. I honestly do, preferably somewhere sunny where they let you eat chocolate for breakfast and let you sleep til noon. Also no chores required.

So what do you need?

The Real Reason I Have Been MIA

2009-01-31T09:50:00.000Z

Indeed the Siswick Family is expanding this year.

On August 29th we'll be expecting numero tres to make a preferably pain free appearance.

Really we just thought when we make babies as cute as these ones below we'd be doing the entire world a disservice by not procreating further.

You are welcome world.

Rob had been hesitant to have another.

I think our lives have gotten pretty easy with the boys being bigger (well as easy as life can be with 2 preschool aged kids who fight almost constantly anyhow) and the thought of starting from scratch all over again was more than a bit daunting.

But we made our decision and what seemed like 5 minutes later (though it was several months) I was peeing on a stick and seeing our future change right in front of my very own eyes.

Of course now Rob keeps saying deeply terrifying things like,

Maybe a 4th wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe we should have two more close together again.

Easy Tiger! I only just regained my sanity from having the last two close together.

Plus this much I do know if pregnancy number 3 had been pregnancy number 1 Thomas may well have been an only child.

Number 3 has had me encounter the joys of morning sickness for the very first time.

I am now kind of regretting smirking to myself as friends suffered with constant nausea while I was pregnant the first two times. Karma obviously does exist.

This time round I don't know if my friends are more happy that I'm pregnant or that I'm sick with it. That's true friendship eh?

Never have I been so tired in my life. By the time the boys are in bed I am completely done for. Fit for nothing else but sitting on my backside on the sofa trying to muster enough energy to get to bed.

Hence the serious blog neglect since just before Christmas through to right about now. I'm powering through so that blogging isn't another thing to catch up on when I finally have energy once more. The laundry is gonna take me several months to get on top of alone.

This pregnancy I have had serious food aversions so when I actually fancy something I just go ahead and eat it. With the boys I spent the first trimester eating baked potato's, this time round has been a completely different story.

My diet has consisted of such delights as

cheese and onion pie,

strawberry trifle,

cheeseburgers and Cadbury's creme eggs.

Which leads me on with gratitude to the NHS who only ever weigh you at your very first appointment and never ever again. I have a feeling I'm gonna be really appreciative of that this time round with a diet consisting mostly of fat and sugar.

It is good to be British.

Our fish just all passed away on Thursday (fungal issues we think) and Thomas was upset (I guess he'll really miss them for the 8 seconds a week he used to notice them) so to stop him crying we told him and Eli about the baby.

Thomas wants a sister.

Eli wants a brother.

Come August someone is going to be seriously disappointed.

But for us we'll be delighted with either.

Wordless Wednesday: When Words Just Aren't Required

2009-01-28T16:23:00.002Z

Christmas Revisited

2009-01-23T19:48:00.000Z

For a super efficient blogger (which title I bestowed lovingly upon myself) I appear to be doing a shoddy job of blogging of late.

Three weeks into January I still don't know what day it is most days and I still haven't really found homes for the bazillion new toys the boys got for Christmas.

So here I find myself on the 23rd January blogging about Christmas. Which to be completely honest is tiresome even for a covert Christmas lover such as myself.

So here is the whistle stop tour of Siswick Christmas 2008

This year we started a new family tradition of taking the kids to the cinema on Christmas Eve. We had never plucked up enough courage to take either of them before. So we held our breath and crossed our fingers and hoped we'd all emerge alive and not too humiliated.

Because humiliation is always a factor when going anywhere with testosterone fueled 2 and 3 year olds, lets be honest.

We found that skittles turned out to be our greatest ally in keeping the kids still and quiet.

Both boys inevitably ended up sitting on our laps which resulted in Thomas kicking the woman in front of me full on in the back of the head, but she was pretty good sport about it.

But then again you can hardly make a scene in the middle of a movie, thank goodness!!

I made sure not to make eye contact on the way out just in case.

Surely the cutest sight ever? If only I could get them a recording contract.

We spent our Christmas Day at Rob's parents with his siblings and all 8 Siswick grandchildren were in attendance a recipe for chaos and disorder all over.
I excelled myself by giving my mother in law another thoughtful gift. (Clearly I should have stopped putting some thought in and actually got on with making the flaming thing seeming as I was embroidering away late into Christmas Eve, the sloth strikes again).

The result? She cried.

And who on some level doesn't wanna be responsible for making their mother in law cry?

It was just an apron that said Hands Down Best Grandma ever, along with hand prints of all the Siswick posterity. I know, I'm too kind.

The kiddo's got plenty of new stuff and for the most part love it all. Though we do have 2 rescue packs gathering dust but we're OK with that because have you any idea how annoying the Diego theme is as an alarm clock? Not a good way to start any day.

But the best gift of all was the one the kids got for us. For 3 solid weeks they slept in until 9am. Bliss! Plus Rob was off so we took it in turns to get up and the other would carry on slumbering until 10am.

Merry Christmas indeed!

Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without the legendary Siswick gift game. Which involves everyone buying an unusual/wacky gift and we all choose but can swap freely. But my brother in law Dan ended up with this Mankini (a la Borat) which will have me crying with laughter for years to come.

Seriously would you want this guy as your dentist?

So that is Christmas in a rather large nutshell. Now only 17 more blog posts I need to actually get cracking on.

Well and the 439204 that are currently calling me from my google reader. Sorry folks, I'll get there I promise!

Looking Forward

2009-01-11T19:57:00.005Z

2009 is upon us.

It came upon me so unexpectedly that I completely forgot to make New Years resolutions that I would undoubtedly break at some point between now and Spring. Hey, at least I can't disappoint myself now, right? Hallelujah to that I say.

Here is a sneaky peak into what 2009 holds for us over here, try not to get too jealous.

First up: Potty Training

Why our dear Father in Heaven didn't send these little people to live with us completely toilet trained is beyond me, seriously.

It brings out all the worst parts of my character and magnifies them a gazillion-fold.

Thomas was dry both day and night by day 4 (bless his heart) but still by pee on the floor number 8, in the second hour, of morning number one, I was seriously contemplating throwing both him and myself under a passing bus. It was so tempting.

But SuperRob came to the rescue and saved the day.

Before I get ahead of myself and start imagining a glorious repeat of Gina Ford's (baby Nazi though she is) magical 'Potty training in one week' plan I should probably consider that this is Eli I am dealing with.

The child responsible for such antics as these? (Disclaimer: Not a link for the faint hearted or weak stomached).

Is freedom of bodily functions really what we want to give that little hellion?

Plus no SuperRob on hand to save the day this time.

So I'll be treating myself to some of this, you know, obviously, because I'm worth it.

But mostly because I'll no doubt be needing it, by the gallon.

The summer (a term I use loosely to refer to the months June through to August and not a specified period of delightful weather because hello we live in England and we haven't actually seen the sun for more than a few minutes at a time since 2006) will host our family summer holiday. This year we're going with my side of the family to lovely Great Yarmouth on the East coast. If it is a patch on last years Siswick gathering we're in for a real treat.

Unless of course 3 months in we're still dealing with potty training. Light of potty training fortune please shine upon me.

Our last milestone of this year comes in September when Thomas starts school full time from 8:45-3:25 every single day.

Oh how I'll mourn for the first week at the loss of my firstborn.

Which will speedily turn to total jubilation followed by the making of a chart to countdown the days to September 2010 when Eli will be joining him there full time too. Ah good times.

2009 could also be the year we add a new addition to the Siswick family, so watch this space. After all what better way to celebrate getting your house entirely baby kit free than by having another, right?

But I may have exploded from over consumption of Cadbury's creme eggs before any of the above actually occur, but come on, what a way to go!

Because lately I'm just too lazy to Blog but my kids are really cute!

2009-01-09T19:03:00.004Z

The Moment When I Wondered if I bought the Right Baby Home from the Hospital

2008-12-29T10:57:00.000Z

Remember Christmas Morning when you were a kid?

Tearing wrapping paper off with wild abandon and getting thoroughly stuck in (Ok so that is still what I do now but thats not the point people)?

Joyous, right?

Fast forward to Christmas 2008.

Where my firstborn child carefully unwraps each individual present before taking care to add it in a very orderly fashion to his tower of presents before moving on to the next.

I only caught a photo half way through but he repeated such shameless tidy shenanigans the very next day at my mum's house.

Heaven knows he didn't get the tidy or self restraint genes from me.

I hope it's not contagious.

I Blame That Geoffrey Giraffe

2008-12-20T10:47:00.000Z

Recently we hit Toys R Us (Thomas pronounces it Toys R arse which always makes me chuckle because the A word is tres naughty here) with the kids in tow.

Knowing fully well that leaving toy-less would result in complete hysteria from our offspring.

Thomas chose a Ninja Turtle and Eli a Fire Engine, Police Car and Ambulance Combo.

Hysteria avoided.

But then he saw this:

The Hot Wheels Shark Park.

It was half price.

He started using words like awesome, car munching action and dare I say it? Flying Pizza.

I did my best to discourage the purchase but he had his heart set on it.

Oh and when I say he I'm not referring to Thomas or Eli.

I am referring to Rob.

Apparently boys never grow up.

Well That Flew by!

2008-12-18T22:34:00.003Z

Dear Friends & Family,

We decided this year to be responsible and do our part for the environment and not send out Christmas cards to our loved ones and to try this approach instead. Well, really we're just incredibly lazy and disorganised but you probably knew that already.

(Techno retards please note that all words highlighted in a different colour font are actually hyperlinks to more information on that topic not just pretty writing).

2008 started on a massive high for us. Having one child master potty training over the Christmas break left us feeling the world was indeed our oyster. It is amazing how those little things really make a truly enormous difference. At the end of January Thomas turned 3 and it really has been a delightful age for him, mostly.

In February Rob was able to go to France for his 3rd annual snowboarding trip. Carol once again stayed home with the kids (and her mum). Carol incidentally is adding up all these snowboarding days and when it gets to a number she is happy with will get her own back and take a trip of her own, without either kids or husband, with just chocolate and books for company somewhere very warm and blissfully quiet.

In April we celebrated our 5th anniversary and wondered at where the time had gone.

It was also all change at church for us. Rob finally got released from his calling in the Young Men's program which he'd been involved in pretty much since we got married, so Carol finally got her husband back on Tuesday nights. Rob is now teaching the youth Sunday School class. Carol got released from her calling on the Relief Society Presidency (women's organisation) after a 3 year stint and was called to be the Primary President. A challenge she quickly grew to enjoy.

Also April saw our family grow by 4 fish. One has since passed away but we remain astounded (and a little bit impressed with ourselves) that we have managed to keep the remaining 3 alive so long.

In May our baby Eli turned two. May also saw Carol and Thomas endure an overnight stay at Huddersfield Royal Infirmary due to Thomas breaking his radius and Ulna driving a car down a slide. We hear these things are only to be expected when you have sons. We feel sure this isn't the last of our trips to Accident and Emergency.

In July we enjoyed a family holiday in Wales with 23 lovely folks from the Siswick side of the family. The sun obviously does shine on the righteous because it turned out to be the loveliest week of the whole summer.

Having waved farewell to playgroup in July (where he had been attending thrice weekly for the previous 9 months) in September Thomas started at Nursery School and absolutely loves spending his afternoons there. We also had a pleasant surprise when Playgroup called to offer Eli an early starter place rather than him wait until January and he now attends two mornings. All the workers adore him and we have had several offers to take him off our hands. Occasionally we have been tempted to agree.

Rob keeps busy at work with Velux and continues to take advantage of managing his own time and the perks that allows. He has been playing football in a fair play league based in Sheffield and as they had a break in fixtures for Christmas his team 'Yorkshire New Saints' were top of the league.

Carol keeps busy with the boys and is constantly entertained by their antics and enthusiasm for life. She is a bit concerned that maybe she now loves The Backyardigans more than the children.

Thomas loves his weekly football training with the West End Under 5's and loves being a Huddersfield Town season ticket holder along with his dad, grandad and Uncle Phil. He is getting big so quick, has recently mastered writing his name and we are constantly amazed at the wisdom and knowledge that pours out of his constantly moving mouth. He starts attending Primary at Church in the new year and is thrilled to officially be a big boy.

Eli still loves his penguin more than anything in the world and 2008 saw him slowly gnaw the poor diseased looking birds beak off. He still likes to entertain us at any opportunity and gives the best hugs ever. He recently moved from his cot to a bed and did so far more smoothly than we ever imagined. We love hearing his little prayers each day and other Eli-isms.

We are already enjoying the Christmas Season and seeing the boys buzzing with anticipation is wonderful.

2008 has been good to us.

We hope it has been good to you too!

With love,

The Siswicks
Rob, Carol, Thomas & Eli

Deliciously Devious

2008-12-17T10:44:00.003Z

Here in the blessed British Isles there is no expectation at Christmas time to buy gifts for teachers.

There is none of that 'room mother' malarkey either.

In fact teachers are to consider themselves honoured if they receive a Christmas Card from a parent. Mostly they get nothing. Us Brits are nothing if we aren't stingy.

Here you take your kids to school leave them there and stay away.

Returning only to collect your kids or dutifully attend concerts and other presentations when permitted.

I am perfectly happy with this arrangement.

But at Christmas I go the extra mile, I want to make a good impression.

I want to let the teachers know I appreciate them both educating my kids and taking them off my hands several hours each week.

So again this year in a bid to make an everlasting impression I baked (if you can call stirring and chilling baking because really that is all the effort required).

I baked Banoffee pie, crisp chocolate biscuit crumb base, filled with dense swirled caramel and melted Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate, topped with banana and finally whipped cream.

Delicious!

Why make the effort if it isn't even expected?

It's all about being teachers pet.

And when I say that I'm not talking about the kids I am simply talking about me!

From the tears in Thomas' teachers eyes I'd say Mission Accomplished.

Angelic, Really?

2008-12-14T20:09:00.003Z

On Friday I was absolutely swollen with pride as I went to see my firstborn in his first ever school Christmas concert.

A couple of weeks previously we received direction that the Nursery Class were gonna to be a choir of angels in the production (which I quietly found highly amusing because the furthest thing you can probably find from an angel is a three year old) and that in aforementioned role my son would be required to wear an angel costume.

I explained it to him and he responded promptly and with disgust, "No!"

Turns out angels wear dresses and as he is very much a boy there was no possibility of him wearing a dress ever.

After convincing him to trust me that angels are actually men (despite them being depicted in nativity plays worldwide as sweet little girls) and they wear 'special robes' and not dresses he finally agreed to participate. Though there is a possibility he agreed to participate solely to shut me up so he could concentrate on more important things, you know, like Diego.

So here is my very own little angel pre-performance. It is amazing what you can accomplish with a pillowcase and some tinsel (my sewing machine conspired against me dressing my son in a dress too and refused to work) when needs must. Crazy face courtesy of insisting on saying cheese with gusto.

The concert was so lovely and I only caught him picking his nose once (his new hobby) and fortunately he was far from the only one.
And for 30 entire minutes 39 3 and 4 year olds actually were angelic.

Too bad it didn't extend to the two year old I had to take along.

So That's Where Snow Comes From

2008-12-08T20:27:00.002Z

This morning Thomas gave us an extensive discourse on where water comes from as only a 3 year old really can.

So I asked him if he knew who made the snow (I like to be topical you know).

'Yes' He promptly replied.

'Santa and Jesus'.

I couldn't help but think the world would be a sublimely nicer place if Santa and Jesus were responsible for everything, not just snow.

What Exactly Goes On In Those Little Brains?

2008-12-05T19:57:00.000Z

A couple of days ago as Rob pulled onto the drive Eli started yelling with excitement "Poo-Daddy, Poo-Daddy!"

Thomas corrected him and said "No E-I (which is exactly how he pronounces his name, I am doing you a phonetic favour here) it's not Poo-Daddy it is Who-Daddy."

I'd like to take this opportunity to correct them both.

It is actually Ho-Daddy, Ho-Daddy and if you have no clue whatsoever what I am referring to then you obviously have been deprived of the 217 hours of Backyardigans that parenthood has forced upon me.

The Ho-Daddy reference is from the Surf's Up episode. I totally recommend it BTW. Anyhow that is a massive tangent so I'll get back to the point.

Eli responds, "No Daddy is a giant like mummy!" (I'm 5 feet 10 inches hardly giant proportions but I guess to a little person it could appear that way so I won't take offense, much.)

"NO daddy is bigger than mummy because he is the boss!"

How on earth did my three year old form such a politically incorrect opinion? I'll have you know Rob is neither the boss of this household (or anywhere else really) or even taller than me.

I am an actually an entire inch taller. So there, Thomas. I must be the boss if height is the only requirement.

As if that wasn't a treat enough last night when I thought both my boys were sleeping somewhere around 10pm Thomas unexpectedly shouts my name out. He didn't sound upset so I chose to respond from my seat on the sofa (the benefits of dwelling in a teeny tiny house) wondering what he could be wanting at such an hour when he should have been in a peaceful slumber for hours.

His response?

'I am getting big boobies like you'.

Cue near death by laughing fits for both Rob and I whilst Rob explained that boys don't have boobies.

And for the record I think he is the first and no doubt the last person to ever use the word big in connection with my boobies.

Because we all know when God was handing out the boobs I was obviously in the queue for a zippy metabolism instead.

A girl can't have everything.

The Most Wonderful Time of The Year

2008-12-01T21:10:00.000Z

It actually snowed this morning (about 37 snowflakes to be exact but hey, snow is snow!) and it just seemed far too perfect to not get festivities under way.

Eli about to throw the bauble at me because he could make it 'stick' to the tree.

So excited for Christmas this year!!

My little elves getting the job done.

On a side note the Eli monster is officially out of his cot and in a bed (our house is 100% baby kit free, hallelujah!). He even slept through falling out of bed on night 2 and slept this morning until 8:30 (we can only hope it wasn't concussion related). Joy! Here he is sporting his new haircut courtesy of Joel and the most random hairdressing technique ever.

SO proud of their efforts! (Please note we have never been to either the Hard Rock Cafe or Copenhagen, T Shirt courtesy of Thomas drenching himself whilst washing his hands at school today.)

Obviously I let them have free reign and decorate the tree to their own preference.

Which was of course to cluster all the baubles in one preschooler high area.

So of course I stripped it bare and decorated it beautifully when they were tucked up in bed.

Here's hoping they never notice the difference!

If Only

2008-11-30T08:22:00.003Z

Friday night I found myself at a loss.

I had nothing specific I actually wanted to do.

My choices were these:

Tackle the ironing pile, this I hasten to add isn't my actual pile of ironing mine is at least neatly-ish folded awaiting it's date with the iron (my house doesn't contain an unhealthy collection of pictures of Roses either I assure you, floral and I just do not gel).

Or watch this movie which was taking up precious space on our Sky+,
It shouldn't take Einstein to figure out I chose the latter.

I just want to say that should my marriage to Rob come to an untimely end either through some tragedy or the fact that he scarpered with Catherine Zeta Jones or Liz Hurley when the opportunity presented itself I want to marry Matthew McConaughey next.

Due to my lack of diligence in the ironing department he'd no doubt be forced to exist in a shirtless state.

But I could live with that. It's not a big deal.

Seriously.

Wanna Hear a Good Joke?

2008-11-26T22:40:00.002Z

What's a pigs favourite snack?

Popcorn.

What do you mean you don't get it and you're not laughing?

Apparently you have to be about 3 and three quarters to fully comprehend the true hilarity of this joke.

Also Thomas finds the joke can be endlessly revitalised by swapping the word pig for just about any other type of animal imaginable should the laughter start to dry up using just pig.

Yes it is a chore to force out a sincere laugh to a non funny joke 213 times a day.

Fortunately he is always guaranteed a laugh in this house because Eli thinks finds the word popcorn highly amusing indeed.

Too bad he has no clue what popcorn actually is.

The Best Money Ever Spent

2008-11-23T09:43:00.000Z

At Thomas' school they have a book club where you can buy really lovely books for discounted prices and the school makes commission on their sales. So when I indulge in my book purchasing addiction really I am just helping his school raise funds. See, I am totally selfless like that.

I ordered this one with the Christmas season sneaking up on us for the discounted price of £4, reduced from £12.99. You gotta love a bargain like that right?

I have really fond childhood memories of watching the short movie adaptation of this book at Christmastime and feeling fully festive.

The beautifully presented hard bound version of the book in it's super snazzy presentation case I bought also came along with a CD reading of the book.

Tonight after their bath we read some stories and then I asked Thomas if he'd like us to read the Snowman book (Eli and I had read it earlier while Thomas was at school) but he was so impressed that it came with a CD of his very own that he wanted to listen to it.

So I took the CD player in their room, tucked my boys up in bed, switched off the light and pressed play.

Silence followed, as did sleep.

And that my friends is priceless.

What a Charmer

2008-11-21T12:00:00.000Z

In a recent post I mentioned Thomas in connection with the words 'chronic constipation'. Thankfully those days are long long gone. They were not happy times.

My (maybe vain) hope is that my boys will have such incredible senses of humour when they're older that they will see the very funny side of my having shared such intimate details of their bathroom habits years previously.

If not? Well I guess it'll just be too late and they'll either have to live with it or else legally change their names and move far away from me and my Internet ramblings.

You can see now why I'd prefer the first option. I am pretty attached to my little chaps after all.

But anyhow, very occasionally for old times sake Thomas will take a walk down constipation memory lane (so to speak) and take himself off to sit on the toilet for an hour or so. I'm not complaining my life is pretty low maintenance while one of the kids is on the loo watching the day go by with no real intention or need to poop. Eventually boredom sets in and he gets down and returns to whatever he was doing before the urge took him. I consider it a gift of sorts. Like a self inflicted time out that he gives himself.

Recently before boredom had the opportunity to set in I had to use the bathroom and for those who are mothers you'll no doubt sympathise that bladder control sadly isn't what it once was. So I asked Thomas is he would temporarily take a break from his non-pooping so that I could quickly use the toilet.

No!

But I'll only be a minute.

NO!

(More urgently) Please Thomas I'll be really quick.

My said no. You go outside in the park like those dogs do.

Can I just take this opportunity to apologise to whoever has the good fortune of marrying my firstborn because apparently a boys toilet is his castle and there is just no parting him from it.

Even in an emergency.

Obsessed. Strictly Speaking.

2008-11-17T20:39:00.004Z

I have added yet another addiction to my list.

Joining the ranks of chocolate, Pepsi, Blogging and laminating is my current obsession, Strictly Come Dancing. (That'd be Dancing with the Stars for my US readers. Pretty much the same show even including Len & Bruno but much more traditional in format, you know us Brits we love tradition.)

I got slightly engrossed at the very end of Season 4 back in 2006.

I was an avid viewer of season 5 last year.

This year I admit I am a truly obsessed super fan.

Phew, feels so much better to say that out loud. Well in type anyhow. I watch the show on Saturday, I watch the result show on Sunday and every week day I watch the behind scenes show to see who is dancing what on Saturday and how they're getting along.

See I really wasn't exaggerating when I used the word addicted, was I?

Looking back to how this addiction may have started I can look back no further than my first ever viewing of Dirty Dancing, at the tender age of 11 I got to watch it at the cinema despite being 4 years too young for the age 15 certificate. Lucky for me the light of good fortune favoured me because my mum worked there so I just sneaked in the back and stood completely enthralled watching the whole thing. What girl didn't want to be Baby? And who didn't want to marry Johnny? Patrick Swayze you will always have a special place in my heart (and probably a few billion others).

After the first viewing I was totally hooked. I remember watching it on video over and over and over again. Even attempting to write all the dialogue down in script fashion (though I got bored on about scene 4, I was lazy it would appear even then). I wanted desperately to be a dancer.

But I was missing one particularly vital thing.

Any sense of coordination.

Being somewhat statuesque in build, well maybe that's too generous, a more apt term to describe me would be gangly.

It's true, I admit it. I am gangly. At 5' 10'' I have arms that are longer than most women's legs and hands that truly are bigger than most boys.

I was never gonna be a dancer. Aerobics is too challenging a feat for my level of coordination let alone actual dancing where you're supposed to look refined and elegant while you do it.

But still in my heart I want to wear those divine gowns (even the really immodest ones) and have gorgeous hair and make up and wear those dainty heels.

But in reality even one of those gowns wouldn't distract from my truly hideous varicose vein on my left calf (courtesy of pregnancy number 1), even if I managed to get my pig trotter type feet into dainty heels there is no chance I'd actually manage to walk in them, never mind dance. I don't even remember the last time I wore heels, at least 10 years, I have none in my shoe collection. Victoria Beckham would be utterly appalled.

But that is why Strictly Come Dancing brings me such tremendous joy. Ordinary celebrity people get to fulfil my fantasy. Some are excellent and some are appalling (which entertains me to a completely other degree I have to tell you) but they are dancing and every week I feel a little bit fulfilled just from watching them.

Oh and the eye candy in tight pants and shirts split to the waist really doesn't hurt either.

Letters, Laxatives & ?

2008-11-12T08:29:00.003Z

Dear Thomas,

Lets make ourselves a little agreement. From now on unless informed otherwise by your good self I'll just assume that you would like every toy on every advertisement you see between now and Christmas. Not having the same conversation 3681 times every day will help keep me on the verge of sanity which I'd greatly appreciate.

I have to say when you told me you wanted that shampoo for Christmas, that was a low point.

I think you might have fallen over the materialistic edge of Christmas. I think it is time to overdose on our nativity books to get you back on track.

Love mum

*******

I am intrigued by the laxative effect playing with cars appears to have on Eli's bowels. Without fail if he plays cars for longer than a few minutes it kicks his intestines into overdrive. If only we had known what we know now when Thomas suffered with excruciating constipation for 18 months. Ah well, you live and learn.

*******

Not to brag (well maybe a little) last night I got Christmas wrapped up and all stored in the loft. The kids were beginning to get a bit suspicious of odd shaped packages appearing around the house. Only 4 more presents to buy. Yay!

******

Dear Sweet cute brown eyed but incredibly devilish Eli,

If you could not throw a massive tantrum every single day when we have to leave Thomas at school I'd really appreciate it. Especially on those days when just ten minutes before I was picking you up from playgroup after a 3 hour stint where you got to do all the exact same things you are so enamoured with at Thomas' school, on those days I find your behaviour beyond unreasonable.

Frankly I could live without my hefty daily dose of humiliation. Nobody else's younger sibling gives an ounce of resistance about leaving. Clearly you are trying to make up for them all.

I don't really appreciate the fact that everybody stares like we're a car crash as I have to physically remove your screaming, crying self from the building while all the parents are no doubt thanking their lucky stars that you're not their child and the staff are probably making a mental note to look for new employment by January 2010 when you'd be in their class.

Come on kid, give me a break.

Love mum

*******

Tonight we start choir rehearsals for our Carol service at church. I signed up immediately. Don't get me wrong I am not a great singer. I know that. But still I can be found in my car belting the hits out like no ones business. But if nothing else at least my paltry singing talents will make the rest of the choir look good. Plus biggest bonus of all I have to it on the stand in church for the duration of the Carol service, so when December 21st rolls around I will have a child free church experience. Bliss!

*******

Crash! Bang! Wallop!

2008-11-10T20:32:00.005Z

I'm not gonna lie to you.

The truth is I am not a very good driver.

I didn't even make any attempt whatsoever to learn to drive until I was 26, (not so uncommon here with the extortionate pricing and terrifically fabulous public transport systems, in fact lots of people never ever learn to drive).

I was not a fast learner. Throw some organic chemistry my way and I can figure that stuff out no problem, clutch control? Reversing around a corner? Not so much.

It took 20 months and 4 test attempts (one of which I kept a secret from everybody because I couldn't bear to confess I had failed again!) before I actually finally passed. At which point I was convinced I would remain in learner status forever. One of my tests I actually managed to fail whilst pulling out of the test centre in minute 1 of my test (not as easy as it sounds you know), apparently it is dangerous to set off on a road without indicating first. What's the big deal? Nobody got injured.

I stopped keeping track at 40 lessons when it just became too soul destroying to keep tally any longer, which sadly was only about 5 months into my driving tuition marathon. At £18 a lesson it takes no Einstein to figure out I spent literally thousands of pounds learning to drive.

My driving instructor was even a guest at our wedding. How many people can claim such a thing? But it is the sad truth. I spent so much time with the lovely Jo that around the time we got married she and I were firm friends. She probably knew more about me than most of my close friends and of course she was more than happy to attend considering I was probably her main source of income at that point in her career.

It really should come as no surprise that right after I finally passed my driving test my instructor got herself a brand new car and expanded her business to employ 2 more people. I'm telling you, I totally funded her expansion plans with my incapability to master the skill of driving. I hope she is appreciative.

In the time since I passed my test and could legally drive. I have had numerous incidents with posts in car parks, all of which have been yellow and have resulted in me having to scrub the evidence off the car before Rob saw it. Once I even did this kneeling on the pavement in the rain whilst 8 months pregnant.

Now though it is a different story altogether, if I hit a post I leave the paint on my car. My car is 11 years old. Streaks of yellow paint are the least of my cars problems. Plus I like to think it adds a little dash of character.

I once had the misfortune of a bus not seeing me overtaking and pulling out into the side of my car, leaving just a couple of scratches. I was pregnant with Eli at the time and bus drivers happen to be notoriously grumpy and rude and the outburst from that rather antisocial one sent me over a hormonally charged edge to crying wreck-dom.

I have been known to stop at traffic lights on green. Initially it only happened when I was pregnant but it would seem the brain decay has worsened of late because I caught myself doing so a few weeks ago and pregnancy was definitely not responsible.

Today though I rear ended a car on the way home from the supermarket. The first accident involving another car that was 100% my fault. He braked. I slammed on my brakes. My brakes did not engage, not even a tiny bit. Resulting in me bashing right into his cars backside. So I guess officially it was my brakes fault not mine. I wish that made me feel better.

Miraculously no damage occurred to either vehicle which leads me to suspect my car has super powers of some kind because at 11 years old plain good luck is the only thing holding the pieces of the car together. But she will not die. She is a fighter.

Ironically the car I hit turned out to be a driving instructor teaching a (most like terrified now) pupil to drive. I can only hope the victim of my failing brakes turns out a better driver than me.

And lets face it that really wouldn't be a terribly difficult accomplishment to achieve.

Out For the Count

2008-11-08T10:48:00.003Z

I think we all know how much I enjoy moderating my comments.

I'm so easily pleased, I know.

The last few weeks I have been utterly baffled.

Blogger has lost the ability to count correctly.

My two year old can count to 14 all by himself.

I am expecting Blogger to be slightly more intelligent than Eli.

Is that really too much to ask?

What am I rambling on about you wonder?

Without fail I always have one more comment than Blogger informs me I have.

At first I thought Blogger was just having a bad day.

I sympathised, we all have days like that after all.

Lately I am having a few (thanks kids!).

But weeks on the madness continues.

You know what the worst thing is?

Sometimes when it says I have no comments to be moderated if I click on moderate comments lo and behold there is a single lonely comment anxiously waiting acceptance.

What is the world coming to when even Blogger is keeping secrets and lying to you?

See this is exactly why I am concerned about my children's future.

A deceitful blogger account is surely just the beginning of the end.

Remember, Remember the 5th of November:Fireworks & Festivities

2008-11-06T08:06:00.007Z

Last night was no less than our most random British celebration.

Bonfire night/Guy Fawkes night.

Yes, that cheery celebration of catching those crafty catholic conspirators who plotted to blow up the Houses of Parliament with gunpowder way back in 1605 when frankly gunpowder was the best option you had for attempting to blow up British government or anything else really.

That Guy Fawkes fella was the chief conspirator and so therefore greedily gains all the glory by having the whole evening named after him.

Luckily their plans were foiled and they had the pleasure of death by being hung, drawn and quartered. (The good ole days were fun, right?)

So in memory of the occasion us Brits unite for some Fireworks and of course generally food.

When I was a kid (forever ago) we used to make our own Guy's out of old tights and clothing stuffed with newspaper and fling him on the bonfire during the nights festivities, you know, just for fun.

Bonfire night has had mixed reviews from our kids thus far. Year one at 10 months Thomas was enthralled and delighted, Year two he was terrified and Eli was oblivious, Year 3 we decided to skip it entirely (which is practically treasonous behaviour) and this year we just planned to attend our church shindig which some bright spark (no pun intended) had arranged for Friday night.

Friday night is 2 days too late for Bonfire night.

But we figured we could get away with it because fireworks have been sporadically going off now for weeks and fortunately our kids are too young to pay any kind of attention to a calendar. Phew!

Alas I didn't take into account that both playgroup and school would be whipping them into a fireworks night frenzy yesterday (thanks for that British educational system) Thomas came bounding out all over excited that today was the big day and we could have a bonfire and fireworks.

I explained that we were having ours on Friday instead at church with all his friends. He reacted like I just told him Santa doesn't exist coupled with a future without TV.

Yes, that badly.

Fast forward a few hours and we were in the in laws garden. Rob had been to Tesco to get us some family friendly fireworks. (I have to admit all fireworks are spoiled forever to me now. Having spent 4th of July at Disney's Magic Kingdom nothing can top that. It was seriously firework heaven. Everything else is just a bit lacking in comparison.)

Impressive I know!
One little boy who is thrilled regardless.

So you may recall we have two kids.

One of which practically emotionally blackmailed us into the whole impromptu fireworks fandango.

Where's Thomas you wonder?

Well this will be our firstborn indoor with grandma because after the very first lame firework he announced 'I want to go home now!' Typical.

So I'll leave you with a cheerful little ditty we used to sing as kids at this time of year,

Guy, Guy, Guy,
Poke him in the eye,
Put him on the Bonfire and let him die.

Charming, no?

Well That's Not British!

2008-11-04T09:00:00.000Z

I recall when I decided to join the classics book club over at 5 minutes for books that it'd be just the incentive and motivation I needed to read all of those books that a person really should read before they die.

I figured with all the novels of Austen, Dickens and Hardy alone we had a good few years worth of titles to trudge our way through.

So when I saw this last months selection was A Tree Grows in Brooklyn I thought to myself 'WHAT?' I came to the sad realisation that I am a patriotic literary snob, a fact that I had never previously discovered about myself. How could this Betty Smith woman and her book that I had never heard of in all my life be regarded as a classic?

How could it be in the same league as Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre (even if it was a bit of a yawn-fest)? I almost opted out. After all nobody cares if I play along or not. But then I saw the selection for January was Hamlet. I am most definitely skipping that one.

Now don't get me wrong I don't mind some Shakespeare, the fellow was an odd looking genius and I have spent many a day visiting his hometown of Stratford Upon Avon but please oh please spare me the Monarchy and spare me the tragedies. I love Shakespeare for his comedies and his comedies alone (truly you have to watch Much ado about nothing if only for Keanu Reeves in leather pants and not a stitch else).

So not wanting to slack off for two months I decided to read A tree grows in Brooklyn. I put my British literary snobbishness aside and dove in.

The result?

Never have I been both so depressed and so inspired by the same book.

I loved it.

I also have to admit it was a welcome relief to read it after the wordiness of those Austen and Bronte chicks.

I found the character of Francie enchanting from start to finish.

I love that Sissy reaffirmed to me that we can judge people for their actions but their hearts may make them better people than we actually are.

I loved too that I came to the realisation that parenting isn't about being perfect. It is about doing the best we can to make our children's lives better than our own. Though I may not be able to meet every single one of my children's needs perfectly if I do what I can it will benefit them and they in turn will benefit their children.

As one generation passes and another is born new opportunities abound and families are the vehicles for these opportunities.

Generally when I read I give the book away when I am finished (or else our house would be a library by now) but this one I am keeping in my permanent collection.

The selection for next month is Charles Dickens:A Christmas Carol (to be read by December 2nd) so I'll happily be resuming my British literary snobbishness for that. Why not join in?

Giving Thanks at the Wrong End of November

2008-11-03T10:02:00.006Z

I may not be American and I may not officially recognise the Thanksgiving holiday as such but today I would feel beyond ungrateful if I didn't give just a little, but very specific thanks.

I am eternally thankful for the inventor/creator or the portable DVD Player.

Yesterday we had a 5 hour trip to take with the kids to a family baptism.

Anything beyond an hour these days requires a family sized pack of sedatives to ensure we all survive.

So we may have borrowed the DVD players without asking from the in laws house while they were away.

We may have even had to listen to Aristocats and Cars simultaneously, but that was a joyous and welcome treat in comparison to the whining, grumping and pouting we usually have to contend with. (Besides isn't the Cars soundtrack pretty cool? Or is that just me?)

I now know what is going on my list to Santa.

It may not be very indulgent but anything sanity preserving has to be the best gift EVER!

Dear Santa.....

2008-11-01T09:43:00.007Z

Halloween and Rob's birthday both behind us we enter into my territory.....

Christmas.

Having pulled out my Santa card on Thomas weeks ago I am gutted to admit the novelty has started to gradually wear off. Santa's all powerful gift control no longer makes my 3 year old stop in his naughty tracks. I guess naughtiness is just more alluring than gifts to this child. (Lucky me when he is older).

Last week was half term from school and Rob was away in Scotland with work so the kids and I went to stay at my mum's where I got to share bunk beds with Thomas. (I am actually thinking that bunk beds are the way forward, having returned last night and slept in my own bed I sadly missed the bunk beds. I am thinking we need some for our room. All the convenience and company of having Rob close by but without the inconvenience of his cover hogging and trampolining style turning over, maybe I'll just have to suggest it.)

Anyhow during such visit we ended up in a shop that sold toys. To which Thomas reacts by requesting one by one each and every toy on their shelves. To which I respond like I always do, "well we can't buy any right now because if we do Santa won't know what to bring you" the combination of too many late nights at nanny's house and pure greed resulted in him not being completely satisfied with that response.

Finally he was happy to buy nothing if we could write his list to Santa right away when we got back to Nanny's house, just to be sure he didn't forget anything that he really needed Santa to bring him.

So I present to you our gift lists to Santa.......

Thomas: (FYI 'mash up' is what the boys do with their dad roughly translates as wrestling)

Diego Rescue Pack

Golden Coin Maker (thank you Nickelodeon for putting this idea into his head BTW)

A Game with Monkeys

A new DVD of a stagecoach

A mash up stage

A jigsaw with an animal picture

A water squirting game

A kicker man to mash up

A mash up turtle

New pictures

New Plates

New Door

Teapot

Peppa Pig Ball (Previous 5 are due to him getting slightly distracted and just naming whatever he saw as he looked around Nanny's house, he does the same thing in his prayers, very entertaining to get an inventory of his bedroom each night)

Brand new white car (which I am hoping is actually for me)

Fire shooter

Fire engine

Peppa Pig house with beds

A shop

Eli:

Dora Back Pack

Diego Rescue Pack (not that he's completely obsessed or anything)

So there we have it.

So now that it is officially Christmas I am off to break out my Frank and Bing CD's and the kiddo's are watching Mickey Mouse's Once Upon a Christmas as I type.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Happy Halloween from my favourite Pumpkins

2008-10-31T19:23:00.002Z

Wordless Wednesday:Return from a Trip to the Park With Dad via a Muddy Puddle or Two

2008-10-29T08:00:00.001Z

Why it's Worth the Expense of Buying Things Pre-Assembled

2008-10-27T20:42:00.004Z

A month or two ago (yes I am somewhat behind in my blogging I admit it) my mum popped up on a Sunday afternoon. The boys were thrilled to see she had not only brought Grandad Fred with her but also a trampoline (or tampoween as Eli pronounces it in his slightly Chinese accent) of their very own.

1 trampoline,

2348 pieces,

Some pretty vague instructions,

1 missing piece,

1 faulty bolt,

4 adults,

1 severely blistered and bleeding finger,

1 potential heart attack,

1 possible hernia,

1 angry outburst,

Several red faces,

A couple of short fuses,

2 excited boys,

A few hours longer than we anticipated.........

Totally worth it!

Woof Woof! Who's There?

2008-10-24T20:13:00.006+01:00

A few weeks ago our family expanded literally overnight. To say Rob wasn't thrilled initially would be an understatement and a half. But slowly our new addition has grown on even him. You see Rob didn't grow up with a dog for a pet. I did. So I knew exactly what to expect.

Our puppy as he likes to be called is seriously beyond cute.

He loves to jump up on your lap and gently rub his head on yours.

He likes sitting with his face as close to yours as possible whilst panting in your face.

He adores when Thomas throws a ball for him and never tires of chasing it and bringing it back.

He likes to eat his food straight off the floor with his mouth. No bowls required.

He makes the sweetest little woof woof sounds...ever!

Here he is the dog we have always longed for.......

Yes, worry not, it is Eli you are eyes are not deceiving you.

But for now he is simply our puppy (most of the time) and there is just no convincing him otherwise!

The Lucky Winner of 2855 Calories is......

2008-10-22T16:17:00.003+01:00

Aided by my rather lovely assistant, Thomas, this morning I put all 39 names of those who had commented on my giveaway post in time into one pumpkin bucket and let my firstborn pick the winner.

A 5 minute task that he happily enjoyed for a whole two hours afterwards.

Small pieces of paper + bucket=Hours of entertainment for a smallish child

Anyhow, I digress the lucky recipient of my chocolate stash is Jen at Mommablogsalot, who I know will get plenty of help devouring it all.

Though if it were me I wouldn't share at all.

I'd fob the kids off with some raisins and enjoy the chocolate fix in peace.

Enjoy, Jen!

Thanks for playing everyone.

Nutritional Advice from a Three Year Old

2008-10-22T08:05:00.004+01:00

Sunday was Rob's birthday and we were at the in laws for Sunday lunch.

I found myself starting a familiar conversation with Thomas.

"If you don't eat all of those carrots you won't get any cake."

Which we were all secretly hoping would be the outcome seeming as my mother in law had whipped up a super yummy looking chocolate fudge cake in honour of the super spoilt birthday boy.

"Carrots aren't for boys!"

And before I could respond,

Very matter of factly.

"Carrots make boys sick!"

Well you have to give him an A for effort, right?

But he did eat all his carrots that day, and managed to do so without getting sick.

If only I had chocolate fudge cake on hand for bribery every day.

Check back later for the result of my giveaway.

Why Does the Yummy Stuff Always Have the Most Calories?

2008-10-20T20:48:00.005+01:00

My mum came to visit last week, all week long. Delightful.

It turns out though sadly enough, that my mum is a really bad influence on me.

As if those hellions at Cadbury weren't making my pursuits to unearth my abs difficult enough with their yummy and delicious produce (the bars intended for my giveaway are sitting less than 2 metres away from me and screaming EAT ME!!!!! as I type), but I will NOT succumb.

Pause for essential brushing of teeth. Cheers Pammy!

Having my mum here is such a rarity that I totally and happily justified to myself that it was more important to spend time in her company than to exercise. I can exercise double the norm when she's gone I told myself. So all week I exercised just once.

I also justified eating all kinds of things I really shouldn't have because it would have been beyond antisocial to hang out with my mum and not consume 4000 calories every day.

I even only trekked to school to collect Thomas twice, terrible, considering that walking is my fallback exercise when I am slacking off. My mum recently had a bladder/bowel prolapse fixed and is still in take it easy mode so I used her recovery to justify driving to school. After all it is a huge novelty to be picked up from school by Nanny. I couldn't have deprived my child of such a novelty. That would just have been cruel.

My failure and regression dawned on me midweek and I figured I could either get my life in order right away or wait until my mum left. The glutton in me speedily decided it would be far more worthwhile to just start anew when she left.

So I even managed to squeeze in a trip to the Krispy Kreme drive through in Manchester (which my friend Becky told me about in response to my KK post) during our evening out for Rob's birthday and followed it up with a scrummy Lamb Bhuna. Perfection.

Mum is gone now (we miss you!!) and reality blows. Our house is still stocked with goodies galore from her visit but I have to turn over a new leaf and start again. I feel both tired and grumpy from lack of exercise coupled with sugar detox.

So here is to the start of the beginning and fingers crossed no more slip ups.

Saving the World a Chocolate Bar at a Time

2008-10-17T09:49:00.004+01:00

Lucky you! I am feeling inspired.

Partly by those (slightly greedy) souls who suggested a giveaway, and partly by the fact that for the last few weeks I haven't been keeping on top of my blogging etiquette.

My Google Reader overfloweth and I have a trillion emails to respond to.

Thinking I haven't stopped by in a while? You are not alone I assure you.

But I will catch up I always do, I am far too nosey/intrigued not to.

So therefore I introduce to you my lucky readers, my Cadbury inspired giveaway.

The incredibly lucky and honoured winner will receive one of each of the new ultra healthy Cadbury bars. Obviously I am looking far beyond the sugar and the fat here and focusing on the cold hard facts.

Cranberries? Hello antioxidants and super healthy urinary tract.

Apricots? Hello to a nicer source of Iron than Spinach.

I am all about improving your health (actual bars will appear larger in real life).

With the holiday season just around the corner I will even throw in a few of my other favourite bars, because lets face it the less chocolate there is in my close vicinity the less I am able to actually eat.

So all you have to do is leave me a comment before Tuesday 8am (English time of course) and you'll be included in the draw.

You don't have to have a blog or even a google account to leave a comment and if you don't usually comment feel free to do so (which includes most of my family and the British Isles). Plus if you're reading my blog surely I should be reading yours so feel free to unlurk and share your link you lurkers.

From someone who has recently eaten her body weight in these bars this is truly an opportunity not to be missed.

The Cadbury Conspiracy

2008-10-13T20:41:00.004+01:00

I am off the wagon.

Last week I only exercised 3 times though I did do the hike to school 6 times.

Remember how I said I broke my chocolate purchasing habit?

Well it seems in these times of financial hardship Cadbury just couldn't survive without my custom.

So those bigwigs at Cadbury must have had a top secret important meeting to discuss how to entice me back.

I was out shopping recently and saw the unfamiliar wrapping so glanced to see what is was....

My first instinct was yucko!

Why ruin some perfectly delicious Cadbury chocolate (and I mean the the REALLY good British stuff not that other stuff that masquerades as Cadbury in the USA) by inserting cranberries and granola? A travesty.

But then fast forward to Friday evening and a trip to the in laws house and in response to a request from his grandson for treats my father in law (a chocolate lover/devourer) returns with an entire box of the new pretend healthy chocolate bars, as well as some others that he gave to the kids.

He offered me a bar. I was intrigued and it was free so I took it.

It would have been rude to refuse, right?

Sadly, it was delicious.

So in an attempt to maintain his own waistline he asked me to do him a favour and sent me home with 6 more bars.

Six bars that barely lasted me until Sunday lunch.

In my somewhat weak defence Cranberries are actually a super food and just think of all the good I'm doing my urinary tract.

Plus with the rate I am devouring them I am assuming I can now count cranberries as one of my five a day.

I guess every cloud really does have a silver lining.

Healthy Week?

2008-10-10T08:21:00.000+01:00

This week is Healthy Week, not here of course but at school. Each day has a designated topic and activity. Monday was Move it Monday, Tuesday was Taste it Tuesday and then I guess I lost interest in the letter they sent home after that because I only remember that today if Fresh air Friday. I hope I didn't miss anything particularly exciting on the other two days.

Bearing in mind that Thomas would happily exist on a diet of bread, cheese and yogurt (well in addition to crisps, chips and chocolate of course but surely that is a given) I knew that Taste it Tuesday was unlikely to be a big hit with Thomas.

When I arrived I saw they had a display of all kinds of exotic fruits and a plate next to each fruit for the children to taste. Thomas just looked at it as he walked in and grimaced like he was being offered pure arsenic. Outrageously they had even put jam on the crackers they usually serve at snack time in an attempt to be more 'healthy' and up their fruit intake. I didn't want to point out that jam is actually loaded with sugar which surely defeats the healthy part? Nobody likes a party pooper so I kept my mouth shut. Thomas was disgusted that his crackers had been smeared with red goo and refused to eat them he later assured me.

So I left him there knowing full well Taste it Tuesday would be wasted on him.

Well until I picked him up and was informed that today he had tried something new.

Paint.

Yep, on Taste it Tuesday my three year old rejected all offers of fruit and attempted to eat paint instead.

His teacher loudly informed me in front of all of the other parents (whose children don't attempt to snack on paint and looked on in horror) and enquired if this is something he frequently does at home.

(Imaginary response) "Yes, all the time. You see he is a really picky eater and so we're just relieved to get him to ingest something other than bread, cheese, yogurt or McDonald's alternatives. So we serve it up by the pint. He really seems to like it!"

Seriously.

He was only getting into the spirit of Taste it Tuesday after all and nobody can accuse him of not wanting to join in.

Though he has informed me that paint isn't very yummy.

And for the record neither is play dough.

Enduring to the End

2008-10-07T10:38:00.000+01:00

This month for the Classics book club at 5 Minutes for Books the book of choice was Jane Eyre. I was really excited to read it because I actually never had. Which admission completely stunned my mother in law as she rates Jane Eyre as the best book written ever. How could it be that one as reasonably well read as myself could have been so unfortunate as to have never read from the pages of Jane Eyre?

I live here in Yorkshire and where the Bronte's are from, Haworth, is really close by. So having adored Wuthering Heights as a teenager (oh Heathcliff!) I have felt almost like I have been living on hallowed ground. But only the lazy type of feeling not the actual type of feeling that has ever motivated me to get off my backside and take the 30 minute trip to Haworth and enjoy all that Bronte country has to offer.

Several chapters in I was gripped. My very own mother used to threaten to send me away to boarding school as punishment for my misbehaviour as a child which naturally terrified me to my inner core but somehow along the way I have romanticised just how wonderful life in an orphanage/boarding school would actually be. I have pondered on how great it must be to have such close kinship with your fellow boarders and the unity that would result from existing on a diet of mouldy bread or burned porridge and sleeping three to a bed. Or maybe I have just watched Annie one time too many?

As Jane survived Lowood and matured I was sad that she chose to leave but was excited to accompany her on her adventures in the big wide world.

It was at this point in my reading that my sister in law happened to enquire how I was finding the novel and decided never to speak to me again as I described Jane Eyre as dull. The middle chapters are seriously long and needlessly drawn out.

Mr Rochester was a very sad replacement for Mr Darcy in my mind (as I had just read Pride and Prejudice) and I found him strangely creepy and not at all attractive (Yes, I am shallow thank you very much!). Flirting with a young girl half his age, insisting on calling her his pet or his elf. I once very briefly dated a guy who insisted on calling me pumpkin, pet names like those should be outlawed, seriously. They're just plain wrong. Then he proceeds to occasionally call her Janet even though she never once refers to herself as anything other than Jane. If her name were indeed truly Janet Eyre I feel sure that hideous Mrs Reed woman would've been calling her it from day one rather than a kindly shortened version of her name. I was desperate for whole chapters on end for Jane to spout out, 'Hey Mister, I am neither your imp, elf or pet and the name is Jane, you humongous buffoon' sadly it never came. Gutted. Such a comment would really have brightened up the narrative.

By far my biggest concern at this point in my reading was what on earth was in existence and maniacally laughing on the third floor that relentlessly bites and knives people? I started to seriously wonder if Charlotte Bronte was some precursor for Stephen King.

But Rochester & Eyre are almost united before the creature on the third floor is exposed as his actually legal but slightly crazy wife and Jane takes off with no money or possessions for fear of being kept as his mistress on the continent.

Which results in the highly unlikely turn of events that she randomly wanders for three days seeking food and shelter and is eventually taken in by St. John Rivers and his sisters who end up actually being related to her and she happily shares with them the fortune she inherits from one of their Uncles.

St. John tries to coerce Jane into marriage saying some of the most blunderous things that no man should ever say to a woman 'You were formed for labour, not for love...', yep, because compliments like that will have the ladies lining up to marry you. She continues to refuse his less than tempting offer.

She randomly hears Rochester's disembodied voice and returns to Thornfield only to find it burned courtesy of the crazy wife on the third floor who jumped to her death from the flaming ruins. Jane discovers Rochester was badly maimed in the fire and left blind and without a hand. She of course finds him and it is the stuff Disney films are made of. Like a modern(ish) day Beauty and the Beast. Except she isn't exactly beautiful and he isn't exactly a beast.

But it goes without saying they live happily ever after and he even regains vision in one eye just to make everything fine and dandy.

So what I am trying to say in essence is......next time I consider reading Jane Eyre I will just read Pride and prejudice for 5,321,213th time instead.

The Best Advice Ever Courtesy of Pamela Anderson Lee

2008-10-06T12:00:00.005+01:00

I know that those who know me well probably imagine (and rightly so considering my track record) my quest for fitness was a flash in the pan and that now I am much more wisely investing my time sitting on the sofa with my feet up eating chocolate bars with such frequency that I must be sadly misled that they are fat free (if only, right?). What other explanation could there be for the lack of progress reports in my endeavours to be Looking Fine by 2009?

Truth is I just didn't want to bore the world (or myself) with monotonous posts on a weekly basis saying essentially the exact same things.

Here cometh the truth:

I still adore my cross trainer. Truly. I can watch TV and do my 3.5 miles in the cosy comfort of my very own bedroom every single day. Well maybe not every single day because that was a tad OTT so I have settled on 5 days a week, which is a 500% improvement on the rest of my life.

I can both see and feel the progress I am making. My abs aren't so far away anymore. Yippee! Not that you'd be able to tell in a million years of course because my body is currently hiding beneath numerous layers of clothing in an effort to combat the hideously gloomy wintry weather.

I have a disease. The extra 1.5 miles I do on the trek to get Thomas from school has become something of an addiction. One day Rob was going to collect him and I actually persuaded him to walk so I could go along too and another day I had to collect him in my car because Rob needed me to be back quickly and I actually felt both sad and disappointed that I couldn't walk there. Such thought processes cannot be healthy surely? There is just a massive sense of achievement about hauling my newly toned backside up a hill whilst pushing a 2.5 year old toddler. It just makes me feel like superwoman.

On my last trip to the supermarket I broke my biggest bad habit. I didn't buy any chocolate. Getting the kids in bed and devouring chocolate has been a massive part of my routine since day 1 of Thomas sleeping through the night. My little well deserved celebration at having survived another parenting day. I decided now if I am hungry in the evenings I can have an apple (talk about being indulgent) or at best a bowl of cereal. Lucky me!

But this week I came across the best advice ever whilst reading a magazine when I was supposed to be working. The unlikely source of the advice? Pamela Anderson Lee.

Major paraphrasing here but she said in essence if you feel tempted to eat something you shouldn't and will regret it later, go brush your teeth, and I have to agree with Pammy here (which is something I never imagined saying) but it works a treat. I couldn't even consider eating those crisps or drinking my Dr Pepper when my teeth were freshly clean and minty fresh.

Try it, it just might revolutionise your life.

But if it doesn't blame Pammy, not me!

Let Me Educate You

2008-10-04T11:48:00.003+01:00

What do the following pictures of models that Thomas created at nursery clearly have in common?

Well quite obviously they are all speedboats.

What?

You didn't get that?

Don't worry me either, but Thomas has kindly overlooked my stupidity and corrected me (with sheer disgust) so it's only polite for me to do the same for you.

Au Revoir

2008-10-02T20:02:00.004+01:00

I am officially in mourning.

You know life can be hard and I do try to maintain a cheery attitude, true as it is, most days I fail.

Like today when on the traipse home from school I saw my three year old headed towards dog poop. Not any ordinary dog poo but diarrhea dog poop! I guess the fact that it was diarrhea confused him and made him lose control of all the 3 ounces of sense a three year old possesses because before I could scream 'hand sanitiser' I saw him bending down. I almost managed to avoid the catastrophe, but only almost. I grabbed his coat by the hood and yanked hard in a manner that could have been categorised as child abuse, but it was after all an emergency. His fingertips had barely reached the excrement but small brown circles of dog faeces were evident.

I didn't have any baby wipes to hand and when I explained it was dog poo and shrieked 4 verses of 'what were you thinking?' it turns out he thought it was a stone. Yep, I always got muddled between a stone and dog diarrhea. Happens all the time. Easy mistake to make.

So now I will forever be known to those who have the downhill route home from school as the hysterical mother of that boy who puts his hand in dog diarrhea. Charming.

But that is only part of my trauma....

You know I waited all summer long for summer to make it's appearance.

It never really made it.

I know I shouldn't really be complaining though because we by far had the best of the weather during our family holiday.

1 entire week without rain, big-flaming-whoop!

Then Autumn came and for the first 5 majestic days I enjoyed the beauty of the change in seasons. Seeing the leaves turning brown and falling from the trees, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sunshine.

This I could get on board with.

Then as quickly as Autumn had arrived it had departed.

Not to be a grump (well maybe a bit!) but Winter has now officially arrived. I have been cold and I have been rained on more than I would like and it is only October 2nd. I am seriously considering homeschooling my children so that I don't have to brave the elements for the next 7 months (and partly to avoid the unenviable tag of dog poop mother). Why oh why does Thomas' school have to be up an enormous hill (well it feel enormous at least to my unfit self) and why does the wind always have to be blowing downhill just to make my journey all the more depressing? Of course on my descent the wind fails to blow at all. The wind it would seem is in conspiracy against me.

Yep, that's right. We may be lucky enough to enjoy all 4 seasons here in my homeland but for some unfathomable reason Spring is 4 months long, Summer a week or two at best, Autumn even shorter in length than summer if such a thing were imaginable and Winter 7 eternally long months.

So faced with the choices of eating my body weight in chocolate to make me feel better and hibernation I decided to choose the latter.

I'll be seeing you all in Spring.

And the sun had better be shining!!

Monday Musings

2008-09-29T07:49:00.006+01:00

It seems like a while since I have actually blogged, in reality it was only Thursday, but whatever.

Firstly, having recently remarked that I never get spam in my email inbox it seems this one opened a tidal wave of epic proportions. This week alone I have been busy winning both the British and Australian lotteries, I have become beneficiary to millions and millions of pounds due to numerous deaths of obscure relatives I have never heard of or met. Plus on top of that kindly strangers are frequently offering me the opportunity to put all of their gazillions in my bank account while they leave their homelands and move westward for a cut of their cash. Clearly the light of fortune is shining on me brightly right now. Well, either that or I need to change my email address.

Secondly, Eli is happily settled at playgroup (HOORAY!). His teachers tell me by his second session it was like he had always been there. Sadly that did not save me from the look of complete horror I received at his first session from his key worker (who was brand new) when I explained he would bite someone if he got into a scuffle and it wasn't sorted out immediately. She won't be nominating me for any parenting awards that is for sure.

Thirdly, last Monday in celebration of having successfully offloaded Eli at playgroup for 3 hours I hit the supermarket with Thomas (I know, I know how to have a good time don't I?). Having purchased all my groceries without having to reprimand or bribe anyone I headed to get petrol. I was filling up my tank with £1.09 litre/£4.36 per gallon (Yes that is like $8 per gallon, don't feel so hard done to now do you?) when my phone starting ringing. My gut instinct immediately told me it was playgroup calling and that Eli had bitten some unsuspecting child and that he'd been expelled on his very first day. In a state of panic I finished up and found my phone. To my great relief it wasn't playgroup calling, phew! 5 minutes into my journey I heard something on the roof of my car, I glanced into my rear view mirror only to see something flying through the air and hitting the car behind me. Confusion turned to clarity as I realised in my Eli induced panic I had forgotten to put the petrol cap back on and had left it on the car roof. Yes, I am that stupid!

Apparently I am just not satisfied with paying ridiculous money for petrol, I want to fill up and let it freely evaporate into the atmosphere just so that it can be as costly as possible. I had to go to the Peugeot dealer and attempt to buy a new one. After having explained my story to 2 rather amused men I was informed they didn't actually have one in stock so had to go elsewhere but I finally found one. It made for a rather frenzied 3 hours (I didn't even end up with time to bring Thomas home for lunch before dropping him at nursery so he had to make do with a feast of crusty french baguette in his carseat, dry and with no juice to wash it down) without Eli rather than the calm and serene and leisurely time I had envisioned. Fortunately Wednesday was vastly better.

Fourthly, when Thomas arrives at school it is lunchtime for all the kids who are in full time schooling aged 4-7. That means 250ish kids are playing in the playground merrily enjoying their freedom. Three weeks into dropping Thomas off he still without fail says 'The boys and girls are so happy I made it' as we pull up, yep my three year old is in such a happy state of thinking the world revolves about him that he has interpreted their high spirits as simply the whole school being thrilled that he, Thomas Siswick, has arrived for his 2.5 hour stint that takes him into zero contact with the rest of the school.

Lastly, I am wondering when we will walk home from school without the following conversation. We get to this alleyway about 5 seconds from our house where once about 7 months ago there happened to be some dog poop. We now frequent this alley on a daily basis and without fail as soon as we enter it I hear, "where that dog poo go?", "It's gone Thomas that was a really long time ago, someone cleaned it up.", "Who clean that poo, why?" seriously have we nothing better to discuss than the disappearance of some 7 month old dog poo? Maybe I'll have to consider a new route home or talk someone into letting their canine friend poop there because apparently all is just not right in the world if our alley is a poop-less place.

It's the Reason for the Season

2008-09-25T15:11:00.000+01:00

I know the secret.

I have discovered how to positively encourage good behaviour from my eldest child.

It may well still be September.

I may have already been using this technique for two weeks.

The technique?

The power of Santa.

Never did I imagine the thought of disappointing Santa would have such a radical effect on a three year olds behaviour.

Fortunately for me he is naive enough to believe I have Santa's number in my mobile phone and can call him to discuss behavioural issues any hour of the day.

Fortunately for me I just have to utter the magic words 'What would Santa say.....' and angelic peace is restored.

I can only hope the magic lasts through to December.

And I can only wish it worked on my two year old.

But in the mean time I am feeling festive already.

Without Prejudice

2008-09-23T15:12:00.001+01:00

One day I found myself here only to find a review about Pride and Prejudice. I was excited to see it was all part of a Classics Book Club and before you could say 'Mr Darcy' I was all signed up.

The deadline for reading Pride and Prejudice had already passed but I knew I could squeeze it in and have the next book (Jane Eyre) read on time (October 7th) so I indulged myself.

I love Pride and Prejudice it is the literary equivalent of pulling on your snuggliest PJ's, sitting in your most comfy chair and having a humongous mug of hot chocolate with like 40 sugars. It is pure comfort reading at it's best

I had been attempting to recapture my adoration for Mr Darcy-Firth so I figured this was as good a place to start as any. I have seen the BBC adaptation so many times that when I read the text it is those very same characters I see in my mind.

Pride and Prejudice has long been a favourite of mine for the following reasons:

Why use 3 words to make your point when you could use 27 (true of all the classics)?

2. You have to love a bad boy don't you? And P&P has two. I just cannot help myself Wickham fools me every time with his dashing good looks and pleasing words and the fact that he is in the Militia. I always hope somehow he'll surprise me and not turn out to be the shallow monster he really is. Then we have Mr Darcy, who the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which tuned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud, to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him , well, we all know how that turns out, happily ever after.

3. I think I would have truly loved to live in the setting of Pride and Prejudice. Sure I would have missed denim and electricity but doesn't it just seem a wonderful life to fill your hours with reading, walking, chatting and the occasional ball?

4. I can't help but alter between smiling and grimacing whenever I read of Mr Collins (Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man; you know he is, as well as I do; and you must feel, as well as I do, that the woman who married him cannot have a proper way of thinking.) and his smarmy nature, his refusal to accept Elizabeth would not choose to marry him and his devout adoration of that old beast Lady Catherine De Bourgh.

5. Mrs Bennett a woman of mean understanding, little information and uncertain temper. To give her an ounce of credit she was concerned about the welfare of her and her daughters should her husband pass away but all the same I would be thoroughly mortified if she were my parent. For which reason I find her highly entertaining. Her lack of thinking before speaking and inevitably saying the wrong thing in the presence of the wrong people never ceases to be amusing.

6. The Spice Girls think they invented 'girl power' but they are sadly mistaken. It was Jane Austen in her heroine Elizabeth Bennett instead. I applaud Lizzy for standing up for herself endlessly and so articulately to boot. I wish I were half the woman she was back in my dating days.

In essence it is a witty and romantic love story and what is there to dislike about that? So if you haven't read it, slap yourself around the head and go get a copy.

You will not be disappointed!!

The Grino Goes to School

2008-09-21T16:30:00.000+01:00

Remember not so long ago I was harping on about Thomas starting nursery and not feeling ready for that stage?

Well I really need to clarify, it wasn't the thought of him being gone 12.5 hours a week (I was excited about that for both of us I assure you) that pulled on my heart strings it was the fact that he is getting bigger and more independent all the time and I just simply can't keep up.

For goodness sake he was just born and he is already 3 and next time I blink he'll no doubt be fully grown and leaving home (see how I completely bypassed the teenage years there? Yep, I am in denial and we're 9 years away). Time betrays me every day by going too quickly.

Two weeks in he adores Nursery School but every day I collect him he seems just a little bit smarter and a tiny bit bigger. I have to admit though the last two weeks I have revelled in the wisdom of my decision making skills by choosing to send him in the afternoons. We have happily idled away our mornings waking at 8:30, breakfasting at leisure and dressing sometime before noon. It has also been lovely to have quality time with Eli every single day.

I have been feeling like life is pretty much perfect.

Then on Thursday I got the most terrific phone message ever. It was Thomas's old playgroup calling to say that they had Eli on their waiting list to start in January (the next term after he turns 2.5) but because they're familiar with him and he is used to the environment would I like to start him a little bit earlier, like on Monday????

YES I REALLY REALLY WOULD!!

I was so excited by the prospect I had to listen to the message 4 times to get her number to call her back. I returned her call and made sure she knew that he wasn't potty trained (and I have no intentions of attempting him being so) and that he wasn't 2.5 yet. She knew both things and they were still happy to take him. Hooray!

So on Monday and Wednesday he will be attending playgroup. I am thrilled for him and even more so for myself.

Back when I made the slothful decision to send Thomas in the afternoons I knew when Eli started playgroup in January he would be going in the mornings.

You know what that means? It means I could have had 6 beautiful hours to myself, every single week. But in some obvious attempt to win some Mother of the year contest I actually decided to put the kids before myself (could I be more motherly?) and have them go at alternate times so I could have quality time with one while the other was busy at school/playgroup. That has to be award worthy, seriously.

I was elated at the prospect of him being a big boy and attending playgroup right up until I climbed into bed on Thursday night. I lay there waiting for sleep to come and my head filled with thoughts.

What if it turns out like that time I helped out and took Eli along?

What if he bites someone? (Always a possibility where Eli is concerned.)

What if he is just too young?

What if creates poop art there?

What if they discover his double butt and think he's a bit odd?

Eli is my baby. He may well be 2 and 4 months but he is my baby.

He is our youngest and he is starting playgroup and becoming independent.

I had my babies close together and every day felt 47 hours long and it felt like they would be babies forever. But now neither of them are babies.

I felt sad.

I knew the day was coming but January seemed so far away and so much more manageable.

Think of me because tomorrow (slightly reluctantly) I become the mother of two big boys.

The Bad Parenting Chronicles: Episode 8

2008-09-19T14:53:00.004+01:00

On our very leisurely stroll (is there any other speed in the company of a 3 year old?) back down the hill from school with Thomas in tow we have to pause at every single flower bearing weed we pass.

This wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that most of the school are actually following us down the hill and Thomas walks considerably slower than them all. I am sure we are a common cause of frustration. (We must be annoying because slow walking infuriates me beyond measure, of course I have just traipsed up the hill to collect Thomas with Eli to push so all I am fit for at this point is a slow trundle downwards, so I can overlook it).

At every weed he stops and stoops down and very slowly picks me off a flower and hands it to me saying 'That's for you mummy', it is sweet I admit (plus these are the only flowers I ever receive so it'd be rude to be ungrateful). But by our journeys end I have more flowers (that are actually weeds) than I know what to do with.

On arriving home the other day I emptied the contents of my pocket into the bin by the door giving it very little consideration.

Later on Thomas approached me with the flowers in his hand and a look of grave concern on his face,

"My find these flowers in the bin mummy."

He looked so sad and almost betrayed that I did what I had to....

I lied!

"Oh no Thomas they must have fallen out of my pocket by accident into the bin, thank you so much for finding them for me."

He handed them back to me with a look that indicated that he'd accept my answer but that he wasn't completely convinced it was the actual truth.

I placed them on the desk and he frequently came to check they were still right there and not accidentally discarded.

I guess in future I'll just have to remember to conceal them a little bit better because I think he's getting to the age where he is suspicious I might not be 100% honest.

Dishonesty, now that's is something you have to be proud of teaching your kids (drips with sarcasm).

The Day I lost 15.2 Million Dollars

2008-09-17T19:46:00.003+01:00

On Monday I was checking my email and amazingly I get very little spam so I was surprised to see an unfamiliar name in my inbox. Intrigued I opened the email and read intently.

You'll find my thoughts in italics and brackets.

From: Law***** CHAMBERS
To: carolsiswick@yahoo.co.uk
Sent: Monday, 15 September, 2008 21:19:33
Subject: Attn:

LAW***** FOO (Seriously, does anyone with the surname Foo sound trustworthy? I'll answer that, NO!) & ASSOCIATE SOLICITORS & LEGAL PRACTITIONER

Dear Carol Siswick,

I have an obscure (good choice of word Mr Foo) business interest to share with you. It's understandable that you might be a little apprehensive (Oh no, not at all, it's perfectly normal to get random emails from legal folks after all) because you do not know me (fair point). I am Barrister Law***** Foo (Foo? May I suggest a name change. I think you'd be taken more seriously in legal circles with a less amusing name), a solicitor at law and personal attorney to my late client Mr. Raymond A. Siswick (who I have never heard of and doubt exists), a nationality of your country, He died in March 2005 as a result of heart condition.

My deceased client made some fixed deposit valued 15.2million United States Dollars (Woohoo!), in a finance firm here in Malaysia (So likely that a British man would deposit 15.2 million dollars and in Malaysia of all places). Upon maturity legal responsibilities, I have been given deadline mandate by the Bank Management to provide the next of kin and beneficiary to the fund hence failure to that (Oh, well that is obviously me then being that I have been a Siswick for five years and only by marriage), the fund will be confiscated and declared unserviceable by the Bank (now wouldn't that be a tragedy?). Regards to this, I have exhaustively made efforts to locate the next of kin/beneficiary, or any relative of my deceased client (and you assume email the best way to achieve that? May I suggest Facebook? You''ll find plenty of Siswick's there. Though Rob did appreciate his email from you also), which was not successful (May I suggest that is because your 'client' is a figment of your imagination?). My purpose of contacting you (is to no doubt scam me out of my life savings which would amount to about £4.63 a present) is to seek your consent and to present you to the bank as the next of kin/beneficiary of my late client's fund since you have the same last name and country origin.

MODALITIES:
I want you to know that I have had everything planned out (Oh I am sure you have Mr Foo) so that we shall come Out (I don't believe that letter O needed to be a capital) successfully. I will prepare you with the necessary document that will back you up as the next of kin/beneficiary to the fund inter alia that will enable onward transfer to your local account (you mean the account you're hoping to withdraw my life savings from?) in your country. We are going to adopt a legalized (is that fancy talk for fraud?) method in the whole matter that will protect you from any infraction of the law (somehow I don't believe you). There is a reward for this project (tempt me, tempt me)and it is a task worth undertaking.

However, if the proposal does not conform to your ethics, please do accept my sincere apologies. If on the contrary, could you kindly open a correspondence with me, after which I shall furnish you with more information on this transaction.

Please write me direct at l.l******88@yahoo.com.

Best Regards,

Barr. Lawrence Foo
(Attorney at Law) Esq.

And that is how I sadly lost 15.2 Million Dollars. But managed to avoid having my bank account assaulted by a naughty man who hoped I'd be greedy/stupid enough to fall for this whole spiel.

Oh and Mr Foo may I recommend you add a letter L to your name. I think the surname Fool is far more fitting.

The Great Krispy Kreme Controversy

2008-09-16T07:45:00.001+01:00

During my visit to London on Saturday I had a little spare time for shopping. Obviously this involved buying absolutely nothing for myself but something for the kids.

I also found out that you can take the mummy away from the kids but you just can't take the kids away from the mummy. With every cry or call for a Mummy I heard I couldn't help but instinctively turn around expecting it to be one of my boys. I guess there just isn't a parenting switch we can turn off for such occasions.

But I did come to the happy realisation that there is a Selfridges in London and Selfridges just so happen to have Krispy Kreme outlets.

I love krispy Kremes. Who doesn't?

What is not to like?

100% Sugary deliciousness in every bite.

I remember fondly my first encounter with a KK. The store by Arizona Mills Mall Summer of '99. (Next year is our 10 year anniversary no less.) I almost kissed the kind employee who explained to me that every customer gets a free doughnut. I inhaled my glazed ring doughnut in oh, about 2 seconds, and was instantly hooked. No doubt I went on to eat 4 others.

Fortunately for both my ever slowing metabolism and I Krispy Kremes are far from mainstream in the UK. I sadly don't happen to live close enough to any of the locations to justify frequent doughnut purchasing trips. If I did I assure you I would, most likely daily.

So you can imagine my elation as I suddenly remembered I was in KK territory. I practically floated to the store and there before me was the most beautiful display of doughnuts ever known to man. (At this point I have been KK free for seven long, loooong years). I stood and tried to figure out in my mind how many doughnuts I could actually eat before I'd be violently ill. I decided on two but knew perfectly well I could devour ten, easily.

I took my precious purchases and sat and thoroughly enjoy every single mouthful.

Bliss!

Worth every single penny.

As I came down from the heady heights of my extreme sugar high I realised in the cold light of day that I just spent £1.35 per doughnut. That is almost $3 a pop.

I essentially just spent $6 on two doughnuts and knew my money would have gone so much further in the US. Plus to add insult to injury here in the UK there are no freebies for customers whatsoever.

So next time you're at Krispy Kremes enjoying your freebie please think of me because no doubt I subsidised it by paying an extortionate £1.35 per doughnut.

And you are welcome!

(Krispy Kremes opens in Leeds Feb '09, I envision far more frequent trips occurring!)

The Week I Fell in Love With My Cross Trainer

2008-09-15T19:29:00.003+01:00

The unlikely has really occurred.

I actually enjoy exercise. (Those are 4 words I never imagined ever typing!)

Dare I say I even look forward to it? Seriously.

Obviously after the first 2 minutes I am cursing myself for torturing myself so but I carry on regardless!

Me and my pal the cross trainer have truly become BFF.

Out of 12 days I have exercised 9. Giving myself Sundays off (it being the day of rest and all) and Saturday I was up for London at 5:15am so by the time I got home at 10pm I was destined for one thing and one thing only.....sleep!

I have been trekking 3.2 miles a day, which my new Europe-ised mechanical friend informs me is 5KM. I even walked one day to get Thomas from Nursery School which adds a couple of extra miles to my tally too.

My goal is to walk and collect him every single day, but with the seasons changing my greatest desire right now is hibernation.

I am no longer wheezing myself through exercise and the following two hours like a 60 a day a smoker. I think I may actually be getting fitter.

I am feeling toned and have more energy. As for my abs they remain MIA.

I know they are in there somewhere and I am not giving up until I find them.

Why I Love My Job

2008-09-12T20:27:00.005+01:00

Tomorrow I am going here....Well not exactly to the Houses Of Parliament and good old Big Ben but to London nevertheless.

Did I mention that I am going alone?

As in without children.

Well, not exactly alone. It is actually a work trip so I am going with 11 other people.

All of which are adults.

All of which (hopefully) will not require me to change their nappies, fill their juice cups, get them dressed and hopefully none of them will insist on sharing my dinner.

No pushchairs (strollers, figured I'd through in a translation there, you're welcome), no face wiping, no mummy bag.

I do have to get up at the horrifically early hour of somewhere around 6am which I could live without I assure you.

But I do get to sit on a train for 2-ish hours and read completely uninterrupted. (I'm certainly hoping these work people aren't gonna be requiring conversation from me, surely the fact that I am there is enough, right?)

Did I mention too that we're going to see this?

Yep, Disney for grown ups!

I have seen it before but who cares?

A day off is a day off and it's all free!

The One Where I Get Sentimental

2008-09-11T14:08:00.005+01:00

Recently I read 'for one more day' by Mitch Albom, it had been stashed under my bed for months and months where I keep my vast collection of unread books. I love Mitch Albom's books (if you haven't read Tuesdays with Morrie or the five people you meet in heaven you really must) but they always give me so much to think about and reflect upon, and to be honest in my life right now which is best described as utter chaos I have little enough time for actually reading. Thinking and reflecting are luxuries I definitely don't have time for.

But I pulled out for one more day and I was hooked within minutes. As I read one line struck me deeply and has been on my mind ever since,

And I realised when you look at your mother, you are looking at the purest love you will ever know.

Isn't that just perfectly true?

As I have pondered I have thought about how grateful to my own mother I am, and how it wasn't until I had my very own children that I realised finally, fully and completely, how much she actually must love me. Ever since I experienced a feeling of love so deeply overwhelming that there are no words to actually describe it, as I held my very own infant in my arms (even if they were a bit on the hairy side) and felt love grow and mature I have felt both humbled and amazed to realise that my mother had had those exact same feelings of love and dedication for me every single day of my life.

I thought about the pure love I feel for my boys and how everyday I am amazed by this unconditional love I have for them, (and they're both at totally unreasonable ages and push my love to its limits at times) and the amazing beings they are.

As they both grew inside me and I felt the first flutterings of life a relationship began that I never imagined could be so wonderfully powerful.

I know I will never be a perfect mum and I know they will never be perfect children. Neither of those things exist, anywhere. We can but do our best.

But my love for them will always be pure and in my eyes they will always be perfect.

And it Has to Happen on My Shift?

2008-09-09T09:53:00.003+01:00

I don't think I have mentioned that this week all week long Rob is off work.

You know what that means?

Yesterday I got to sleep in until 9:30! Yay! (Of course Eli didn't want me feeling too rested and happy so decided to wake up randomly for two hours in the middle of the night but I got to sleep til 9:30 so who cares, right?)

Yesterday consisted of a trip to the Kids Museum, going to the supermarket with an equal ratio of adults and children (a real luxury), getting a £75 parking ticket and watching Federer destroy Murray at the US open (So not worth staying up past midnight for I assure you!).

Today we were woken at 8:30 by Eli. Rob had arranged to go visit his sister Helen down South because she had her 4th baby, Sophie, weeks ago and we haven't had a chance to meet the newest addition before now. So he was up and out the door with Eli in tow by 9am. (Good luck on 6 hours in a car with Eli today Rob!)

I stayed here with Thomas because it is his first 'official' day at nursery today and he has football training later which was rudely cancelled on Saturday because Friday involved so much rain that apparently we had a months rainfall all in one day. This irks me somewhat because a months rainfall is surely sufficient, but, no, it continues to rain and rain and rain. (Get used to comments like this they'll be coming frequently between now and Spring I assure you.)

So, Thomas decided to wake up at 9:15 (that's why he is my favourite, just kidding) and came and clambered on my knee enquiring where Eli and Daddy were. Then the waterworks commenced. Thomas it appears had his heart set on meeting baby Sophie today too. Which came as no big surprise because my boys try to bring home any baby we ever see. I managed to cheer him out of it with excited talk of Nursery and football and settled him finally happily with the Backyardigans and his breakfast.

Then a few minutes later he approached me just sobbing. I figured he just felt sad because his dad was gone, he is a bit sensitive by nature after all. He kept saying something that I couldn't understand through the muffled cries.

Then I got it.

'One is missing'

Now I just needed to ascertain what exactly was missing. No easy task because he has taken to carrying and hoarding ridiculous amounts of anything everywhere he goes.

So I followed him back to the living room.

He approached the fish tank.

I held my breath, hoping he'd keep walking.

He didn't. He stopped, turned, looked at me. Crying all the time.

He said, pointing, "My fish (insert sob), one missing, (sob), look 1, (sob), 2 (sob), 3 (multiple sobs), one gone".

At which point I had to explain that Squidward got very sick and has now gone to live with Heavenly Father.

I chickened out and avoided use of both the D word (dead) and burial at sea (down the toilet) as he was upset enough.

So note to Rob. If you're gonna have a week off work at least have the courtesy to be home when our sensitve and emotional 3 year old comes to a realisation that one of his/your fish has passed away.

Even if it does take him 9 days to come to that particular realisation.

Operation: Abs Reclamation

2008-09-07T19:27:00.006+01:00

Have I ever happened to mention that I am 5 feet 10 inches tall?

And that I have pretty consistently weighed 125 pounds my whole adult life.

(You have got to love good genes, thank you gene pool!)

And that I have never been on a diet.

(Courtesy of a super zippy metabolism)

And that I have never had to cruelly convince myself that Diet Coke is just as lovely as the sugar and calorie loaded Regular Coke.

And that as far back in life as I can remember I have eaten at least one bar of chocolate per day (except whilst pregnant with Thomas when I abstained for the whole pregnancy, but that is a whole other story) but generally more.

You hate me right now, right?

Well times are a-changing, sadly.

When I had Thomas I was back in my regular clothes the very same day (thought to be fair I didn't have to resort to maternity clothes until the 32nd week of pregnancy). A fact that was utterly disgusting to most people, apparently some people find it deeply offensive if you effortlessly get your figure back post baby.

In contrast, when I had Eli less than 12 hours later I was back at home and my mum came to visit and truly one of the first things she said to me was 'Well looks like you'll have to do sit ups this time'. (Yes, I am still holding a slight grudge about it in case you're wondering).

I did do sit ups in a bid to locate my abs that were seriously MIA.

But I quickly got bored and gave up. Sit ups it turned out weren't really all that fun and progress was made painfully slowly indeed.

But then something truly appalling happened.

My metabolism rudely started to slow down.

Not drastically by far but enough to make me realise that if I wanted to continue to live a lifestyle filled with regular coke and chocolate bars I might actually have to get my backside off the sofa and raise my heart rate above 60 bpm occasionally.

An incredibly painful conclusion to come to for one with a serious allergy to all things exercise related.

Then Jen posted a challenge on her blog:

I was in total agreement that it was a terrific idea and that I would simply cheerlead from the sidelines (because we don't generally have cheerleaders here and Bring It On made it look lots of fun).

Then Rob and I were getting ready for a rare trip to the cinema actually together for once (I know, crazy!) and I tried on a top that I hadn't worn in a while and looked down and saw my stomach, the stomach of Carol when she is 3 months pregnant. Sadness and hormones quickly turned to horror.

Horror induced a chain of reactions that had me committing to reclaim my abs, ASAP!

So I invested in one of these contraptions which frankly I can't help but feel looks like some apparatus worthy of a torture chamber but it will help me in my voyage of abs reclamation.

Being 5 feet 10 inches and 125 pounds I have always looked healthy and dare I say fit? Truth is though courtesy of my metabolism I haven't had to endure regular exercise since leaving school. My fitness levels are no doubt on a par with 80 year old's worldwide.

The energy my boys have has no limits and I owe it to them to be fitter. Day 1 of reclaiming my abs 15 minutes in I was almost victim of death by asthma attack. But moving on to day 3 I already feel much fitter and better. But with about a gazillion long miles to go.

When I am huffing and puffing and breaking a sweat and my new mechanical best friend is informing me I have successfully burned an entire 97 calories, suddenly that chocolate bar doesn't seem so tasty.

And truthfully I don't know whether to be overjoyed about that or depressed.

Why 3 is the Magic Number

2008-09-05T05:15:00.001+01:00

Just lately I am loving this boy.

Not that I didn't love him before but right now I really absolutely totally love him.

He makes me laugh without fail every single day with his weird and wonderful ways.

Whether it is catching him peeing into a bucket in the bathroom whilst stood actually right next to the toilet,

Whether it is him asking me whilst pointing to his face, "Do I have something right here on my face next to my beard?"

Whether it is going into his room at 10pm to find this,

Allegedly he lost something under his bed. (For like 5 days in a row.)

Or the fact that he has to sleep with both of these, what you can't see what they are?

Well one is a Huddersfield Town FC bear that his dad got him as a baby and the other.....

......well, the other is this, a pile of bookmarks commemorating the 10th anniversary of the Preston Temple.

Bishop actually gave them to me and asked me to give them to the children in primary but before I had a chance Thomas found them in my bag and has been sleeping with them regularly ever since.

Shh don't tell Bishop.

Last week he randomly came to a knowledge of borrowing.

Borrowing to a three year old is a dream come true. It means you can enjoy something you like but doesn't belong to you. On Sunday his teacher at church had bags and bags of things with her to keep the little ones entertained and when I went to collect Thomas he was holding what had to be easily 20 items. I explained that we had to give them back because they were his teachers and he curtly replied 'It's OK mummy I just borrow them', his teacher being one of the nicest people on earth couldn't say no and neither could I but I did manage to persuade him to only bring home 5 things.

Which included this dog, 3 used wedding cards and a truly hideous picture of Rob and I at a wedding in our pre-parenting years. All of which he insisted on sleeping with also, obviously.

I love that he now takes a genuine interest in other people now.

How work good mum?

How your run good dad?

It really just never ends.

Some days he'll approach me with his sad face and I'll enquire what's wrong and he'll just say "I miss Lucas" even though they have been in Utah now for a month.

If he happens to be in the garden when our neighbours come home he'll be sure to hold them up in enquiring about their day. I'm sure they really appreciate it.

I love that he has started football training and passionately loves it despite having the concentration span of a fly.

I adore seeing how his brain works, last Sunday he asked me "But who draw those pictures of Jesus?" referring to the the ones on our wall.

Stumped for an explanation fitting to a three year old logic I did what all good mums do. I directed him with his question to his dad.

He asked his dad.

His dad paused considering his answer and then replied, "I did!"

Thomas was completely content with that response.

I know that being 3 isn't a perfect age by far and we do have our moments I assure you. But at this point I am focusing on the positives and the fact that Eli is not so far behind and whatever Thomas can throw at us as a three year old will surely be vastly eclipsed by Eli when his turn comes.

That I would bet on.

Beating the Teacher

2008-09-03T20:17:00.002+01:00

Thomas officially starts Nursery School (which is essentially just preschool but attached to an actual school) next Tuesday. I am extremely excited for both him and myself. At his nursery school prior to starting you have a few visits to the school to familiarise your child with the new environment and then right before they actually start the teacher kindly comes to your house to bond with the child on their territory.

Nice, right?

Well I just don't buy it. The real reason they come (though they would never of course admit it)? To totally check us out. They will learn more about our family dynamic from 5 minutes in our house than they would in a whole year of drop off's and pick up's in the classroom. But to be fair she could have just saved herself an unnecessary trip and simply googled me instead. I'm sure my Bad Parenting Chronicles would answer many a question as to what kind of parent I really am.

We are SO not morning people in this household so you can imagine how utterly thrilled I was to get our letter informing us that Thomas' teacher would be visiting us at 9:45am. I started preparing days in advance, cleaning my house, tackling the laundry pile, putting all the jigsaw pieces in the correct boxes like my life depended on it.

But still I was at a major disadvantage. Kids dressed, fed and clean and the house repaired and beautified from the destruction wrought upon it by the kids since waking time all by 9:45? Impossible.

Panic really set in when Rob's cousins wife called to ask me to follow her to a garage to drop her car off while it got fixed and take her home again. Understandably she didn't want to sit all day at some stinky garage with her 2 month old baby. So I of course agreed (semi-reluctantly) and hoped beyond hope that if we set off early enough, 8:45, I could make it there and back in plenty of time to meet the teacher.

I had no clue where the garage was or even how far away it was. I had visions of missing our appointment and being forever branded that mother who didn't even care enough about her child's education to stay in and meet the teacher.

I also had a fear growing within me that my exhaust could fall off at any moment. I had recently had part of the exhaust repaired due to a rusty hole that pretty much made me sound like a rally driver wherever I went and the mechanic said everything else looked pretty sound. But when my car had to go to another garage for another reason (this happens apparently when your car is 10 years old) that mechanic told me that my exhaust could fall off at any given minute. I got the impression he was just attempting to scam me because, well, I'm a woman who knows, erm, zero about cars. So now whenever I go anywhere I live in total dread of leaving the exhaust somewhere on the road behind me.

But lo and behold we managed to be dressed, fed, clean and the house looking as presentable as a house that has two little boys dwelling within in will ever look all by 8:45. (Mostly I concede due to the fact that Eli horrifically woke us up at 6:45 requesting Lightning McQueen.) I did get Katie to the garage and home again. Even better I did manage to achieve all of those things with the exhaust firmly attached to my car and I did make it home by 9:30.

Thomas has been eagerly anticipating Miss Hoult's visit all week long. Though he insists on calling her Mrs Fault. This is becoming a bit of a problem for me because when I have to address her I can never actually remember which is her actual name. I sense at some point I am going to call her the wrong name and no amount of explanation is going to convince her of my sanity.

At 9:55 she still hadn't arrived. Thomas could hardly contain his excitement and had his face and hands firmly pressed to the window (that I had laboriously cleaned of all hand prints and saliva previously) seeking a glimpse of his teachers car.

She did eventually arrive and we had a really splendid visit. Well, right up to the point where Thomas said "Mrs Fault come see my bedroom my mum just cleaned it all up" so that shattered the illusion that I worked so hard to project that we dwell in a house of harmony and orderliness.

I feel sure we made a wonderful first impression.

But tomorrow is another day.

Tragedy Strikes

2008-09-02T21:19:00.003+01:00

Back in April as you'll recall we added two new additions to our family. We bowed to the pressure from our three year old who had developed such a need for a pet that his weekly highlight was viewing the corpses at the fish counter on our trips to the supermarket. Sad but true!

So enamoured was Rob with our newest family members that the week after he went out and got us two more.

For the last 5 or so months Spongebob, Patrick, Squidward and Mr Crabs have blissfully swam in the depths of Bikini Bottom in their Spongebob Square-tank.

Thomas sadly remained far more impressed by Tesco and their selection of fish than his very own pets. But worry not because the fish had a very special place in Rob's heart and were not at all lacking in love.

Rob dutifully fed and cleaned them.

Rob happily conversed with them. Well as much as you possibly can when communicating with fish.

Then at the weekend disaster sadly struck. I came in from outside only to be informed that Sqidward had passed away. There he was floating limply on the waters surface.

Rob having a far greater emotional attachment to them than myself was too sad to dispose of our fishy friend, so, I promptly gave him a burial at sea (aka down the toilet).

Farewell Squidward, you shall be missed.

But most likely only by Rob.

Because 5 days on the kids still haven't even noticed there is a fish missing in action.

The Booker Prize? Not So Much

2008-09-01T20:27:00.004+01:00

Well this is the place to be today if you're looking for a recommendation or two. That is of course if you're all finished with the Twilight saga because apparently I am the only human being on God's green earth who hasn't succumbed (yet!) to the literary talents of that Stephanie Meyer woman.

So this is what you really should be reading....

1. Because you never know when your shopping cart ID skills may come in handy. They'll be begging for you on CSI with your newly acquired skills for sure.

2. Because it is always wise to be prepared
3. Because apparently they're not happy with us eating their relatives
4. Because it's cheaper and less scary than a boob job (I can only assume this must be endorsed by Victoria Beckham)
5. Because if you can learn to live with your crazy buttocks you can wave exercise bye-bye!
6. Because if someone was kind enough to write such a book we should at least be courteous and read it. (Please publishers everywhere do not make an Old Tractors and the men who love them calendar, particularly one involving any kind of nudity!)
And finally, 7. Because think of all the money you'll save on knitwear, Christmas gifts and vacuums. We are living in a credit crunch people!
So which do you want to read first? Be sure to let me know.

I can pop over to Amazon and start my Christmas shopping early.

Holy Cricket

2008-08-30T11:37:00.001+01:00

On our street there are just the two houses, ours and our neighbours.

As far as neighbours go they are really terrific. We have no complaints at all. Not like at our first house where the guy on the right walked his cat on a lead umpteen times daily or the blokes on our left gave us reason to believe they were most likely drug dealers. (Not that we're judgmental at all.)

A year ago our current neighbour also became our Bishop. Initially I slightly panicked. Living your lives in such close proximity to your Bishop really helps motivate you to get kick started on the road to perfection I have found.

We soon realised we were not under scrutiny at all and after the worlds worst tantrum we found out that although their house was really close they couldn't even hear the shrillest of toddler screams. I also came to the realisation back in April that they must not hear me either on my worst parenting days when I have been known to raise my voice on occasion because I got called to be the Primary President at church. Hooray for soundproofing I guess.

At times we have had a closer relationship with our Bishop than anyone probably ever should. Like for instance the hot summer day that I was sitting on the loo to pee with the bathroom window open and I happened to sneeze, then following my sneeze I heard the words 'Bless you Carol'. Seriously? That is closer than anyone needs to be to their religious leader right? (I'm sure he'd be mortified to know I was actually in the process of urination at the time, almost as mortified as I am to admit it).

Our boys have a great fondness for Bishop and his wife Judith and their three older sons and frequently stop them given any opportunity for inane conversation about the random contents of the three year old brain. They are really great sports and we appreciate their patience and kindness no end.

Yesterday I could hear Thomas chattering away to Bishop so after a while I went outside to say Hi and make sure he wasn't being unnecessarily bothered. As I stepped out I saw Thomas swinging his yellow cricket bat all around no doubt injuring himself or his brother was inevitable.

Bishop said he needed a word with me and then with a big smile recounted how Thomas had just confessed that I hit him with the cricket bat.

There are times when your neighbour being your Bishop has it's disadvantages it turns out after all.

The truth is I have never hit Thomas (or Eli for that matter) with a cricket bat, plastic or otherwise.

Well I hadn't but maybe I will now!

I Confess.....

2008-08-27T21:35:00.004+01:00

I hate to admit it but I honestly don't think all babies are cute.

I really don't.

I especially do not think that most newborn babies are cute.

Either I don't see what other people are seeing when they look upon an infant or else other people are simply telling lies.

I actually think that lots of babies make ET look actually rather cute.

I have said to people 'oh what a cute baby' and really meant 'Heck, your gene pool just played a terribly cruel trick on you, that is an incredibly ugly baby'

I am not proud of myself. (Honestly!)

I've heard people say every mother thinks her own babies are beautiful.

Not me.

When I first saw Thomas I desperately wanted him to be cute.

My first thoughts?
'OH NO his eyebrows and hairline merge'

Should I have been allowed to bring him home from the hospital or reproduce further?

Probably not!

But I was and I have. The latter being just as hairy as the former.

What More Can I Tell You?

2008-08-26T20:29:00.000+01:00

BookMomma over at Hot Wheel Hacienda tagged me to do this Meme, apparently I haven't shared enough of my personal business lately so here I am bearing my soul yet again.

1. What is your favourite quotable line from a movie?

I love It's a Wonderful Life.
I adore when Clarence tells George:

'Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends'.

2. Who is the most famous person you've talked to?
Just kidding.

But a girl can wish right?

I hadn't realised until now that I have pitifully never rubbed shoulders with anyone exciting.

I need to get out more clearly.

3. How many bags of potato chips (crisps) are consumed at your house per month?

Far too many, darn delicious fried crispy potato's, how we all love you in the Siswick House.

4. What foreign dish do you prepare from scratch and serve?

Do Lasagne and Risotto really count?

I do love me some coconut chicken curry too but Rob isn't so keen so it is a rarity.

5. What is your favourite section of the supermarket?

Our local supermarket recently installed those delightful self checkouts and that is now my absolute favourite part of the supermarket ever. There is something truly satisfying about making all of your purchases go beep, beep before you pay for them. I fear there is an unfulfilled checkout girl screaming to escape within me.

6. What was your high school's team mascot and colours?

Sadly we don't indulge in either tradition here in England. It is a sad sad place.

But fortunately we do have High School Musical to give us an insight into what it is really truly like.

The Best Invention Ever

2008-08-24T18:04:00.003+01:00

I know what you're thinking how could I ever possibly single out one individual invention and give it the high acclaim of being the best invention ever?

It's true I'll admit there are a gazillion and one inventions that have improved my life immeasurably and if I have to endure another old lady at church telling me the tale of how easy life is these days for us mothers because back in her day there were no washing machines and they had to wash their clothes laboriously by hand and blah, blah, blah and so on I swear I think I will honestly spontaneously combust.

Yes I get it. I do. Life was immensely harder a generation or two ago but in those days they didn't have to contend with kids high on sugar or who knows what else that is contained in every item my child actually wants to eat without putting up a fight that has them bouncing off the walls from time to time.

Old ladies my life is hard too! Yes I have indoor plumbing and 3 televisions (2 of which we have lost the remotes for, now that is true hardship) in my house. But even these blessings come with their own disadvantages. Cleaning up pee residue left by boys and having to endure Max & Ruby is no walk in the park either I'll have you know.

Anyhow back to the point. Best invention ever?

Seriously....

Baby Wipes.

Now I had been considering this post for a while and then for 6 days our hot water boiler was broken and on day 1 I almost convinced myself that hot water totally eclipses baby wipes at the top of my best ever invention list.

For 6 long days we were showerless (unless we wanted to risk hypothermia) I had actually been sick so I hadn't showered for a day or two before that. I'm disgusting, I know! We had to resort to icy cold washes and washing my hair in the cold shower bent over double. It was so cold I had to come up with the ingenious idea of using my shampoo and conditioner simultaneously (apply shampoo get the bubbles bubbling then add a generous slathering of conditioner on top of the bubbles then rinse but do not repeat as needed in case you're wondering). It may not have been the best care for my hair by far but it vastly reduced my scalps exposure to the icy cold water spray.

My head is currently still thawing thanks for asking.

You know what got me through our hot water famine?

Baby wipes.

I for sure was never gonna expose my body to a subzero showering experience and baby wipes saved the day. They and they alone made me acceptable to be out in public.

Baby wipes have entirely revolutionised my life. There is truly no end to the uses these handy wipes have. I use mine for everything and anything.

Cleaning poo? Check.
Cleaning baby vomit? Check.
Cleaning toys? Check.
Cleaning windows? Check.
Dusting? Check.
Cleaning inside of my car? (thanks Rob) Check.
Cleaning leather sofa? Check.
Cleaning laminate floor? Check.
Cleaning all surfaces? Check.
Cleaning poop art of the walls? Check.
Cleaning the bathroom? Check.
Removing my make up when I am too bone lazy to take 8 steps to the bathroom? Check.
Styling my kids hair? check.

When Thomas was smaller and had somewhat crazy hair (though perfectly tame hair in comparison to Eli) we didn't wet and brush his unruly locks we baby wiped them into place and it worked a treat, honestly!

The multipurpose nature of the baby wipe has not passed my oldest child by. Recently I was off elsewhere baby wiping something clean no doubt and on my return I saw this sitting on the sofa watching Peter Pan. On enquiring what on earth was going on he replied:

"Well my feet hurt mummy and the baby wipes are fixing them."

See, absolutely no end to their uses. Though I haven't tried them out personally for hurting feet Thomas assures me they are very effective.

Now if the old ladies wanna spin me a tale about how tough life was without baby wipes that is one I am willing to listen to over and over (without fear of spontaneous combustion) because life without my baby wipes is completely unimaginable for me.

I'm telling you Best. Invention. Ever!

Happily Reunited

2008-08-22T18:15:00.005+01:00

Our beloved laptop finally returned to our homestead on Thursday morning. The virus completely removed, well actually virtually everything removed but still we were happy to have her back nonetheless.

For 4 days we were completely Internet free. It was almost like losing an arm. But not nearly so dramatic.

I was forced to find new sources of entertainment, time wasting and procrastinating the ironing.

Fortunately for me our loss of laptop coincided beautifully with the Olympics.

I dedicated many an hour to cheering on team GB and was thrilled to witness our greatest number of medals ever (yes we are generally a nation of gross underachievers), and it's not even over yet!

Roll on London 2012 (but not too quickly because I am not so excited about getting 4 years older) when we get to watch it at a reasonable time of day for once.

Without access to Google Reader I had to resort to the lowly alternative of reading an actual real book. So I found myself delving under our bed where I hoard all new books that I buy. (Does anybody else collect unread books? Just me? Righto!) Anyhow I pulled out 19 Minutes by Jodi Picoult and read and read and read and I loved it. If you love Jodi like I do you will not be disappointed I promise.

With Rob computerless he was forced to end each working day early which obviously was a huge hardship for him. So we utilised some of our time by taking the boys for way overdue haircuts. We figured it a more sensible ratio to go two on two, reducing the risk of me getting tag teamed by the toddlers. Especially after the drama last time I took Eli.

So they used to look like this

Now Eli looks like this.

We managed to get through the ordeal with relatively few tears. Though being the drama lover that he is he did cry out 'Ow-Ow' or 'Ouch' with every single snip to his precious locks. He also threw in a few whimpers of 'Daddy no hurt me!' too.

Thomas now looks like this.
Excuse the complete trance-like almost gormless state of both boys. They were fully engrossed in a critical point in an episode of Go Diego Go when I pulled out the camera. All attempts to bribe them to look into the camera by offering chocolate sadly failed.

Yes, I am that kind of mother.

Wordless Wednesday: Getting His Grump On

2008-08-20T09:00:00.000+01:00

Unthinkable Happenings

2008-08-18T17:43:00.002+01:00

Saturday night I couldn't sleep.

After tossing and turning for hours and being forced to listen to Rob's deeply sleeping sounds I had had quite enough.

I got up.

There was nothing on TV.

I headed to the computer.

The computer booted up and I snuggled into my blanket.

I looked at the desktop and noticed it was different than usual.

Then as it finished booting up the desktop informed me that the computer had been infested with a virus or spyware and I needed to install antivirus or anti spyware software quickety quick.

It was an emergency.

I am no computer whizz I assure you but I downloaded antivirus software and before it even had a chance to run the computer shut down completely.

Then magically it started to reboot and I thought all was going to turn out OK after all.

It didn't.

The desktop remained a different colour and although all the icons appeared nothing was clickable. Not a single file could be accessed on the computer. The computer I feared had been sadly murdered by this virus.

A tragedy.

I couldn't exactly wake Rob up with the less than cheerful news that his computer had come to a tragic end in the middle of night. So I waited until morning.

Currently our beloved laptop is en route to Scotland to Velux head office to see if the IT department can resuscitate it. Who knows when it will be coming back to us or if we'll be welcoming a brand new replacement in it's stead.

So in the mean time we are completely computer-less.

So if you're wondering why I'm rudely not commenting on your blog or replying to emails this is the reason.

I have discovered that I can blog from my mobile phone which is from whence I blog right now. But alas it is like sending the worlds longest and most annoying text message and it is no doubt rather pricey too.

But I just wanted to provide an explanation as to where I am.

A Super Sad Realisation

2008-08-16T19:45:00.003+01:00

You know as a teenager I could sleep like no ones business. Obviously I always stayed up far too late (I was a teenager after all) but I could sleep until lunch time with total ease. I have to admit I really loved it.

I could never comprehend why older people were up so flaming early when they had no logical reason to be, no kids to look after and no work to go to. Nothing pressing requiring them to leave their beds at some disgustingly unnecessary early hour.

As I got a bit older I still loved my quilt as much as life itself and on the days I could get away with it I would happily slumber my days away.

Then responsibility took over and my slumbering was confined only to weekends because earning a living required me to get my backside out of bed all week long. (Being a grown up is rubbish like that!)

Then I had a baby and sleeping in became almost as unlikely as winning the lottery.

Then I had another baby straight after and I had to reluctantly admit defeat. There would be no more sleeping until noon for me until the kids were older, even if I were sick or had been up all night keeping someone else company.

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to sleep in one morning. I smiled sleepily as Rob left our bedroom to entertain our offspring who have yet to realise how truly delicious sleep is. (Well generally they sleep 12 hours but I'd prefer they slept longer or I get to bed two hours earlier, the former being more likely than the latter.)

Then I lay there and tossed and turned and dozed but never actually fell asleep.

So I got up and started the day thinking nothing of it.

Fast forward to today. A repeat occurrence of the above. I snuggled under my covers for 40 minutes loving the cosiness and feeling cocooned in a wonderful snuggly world of warmth.

Willing sleep to come.

Sleep never came.

So I reluctantly got up.

My children have seriously damaged me. They have caused the part of me that can sleep like a champ to short circuit. I fear it is unrepairable.

Without even realising it I have become one of those older people who cannot sleep past 8am.

Could I be more devastated?

I am officially in mourning for my loss of ability to sleep soundly for more than 8 hours.

Yet another unexpected product of parenting that I didn't know I had signed up for.

I should have read that small print.

Let Him Eat Cake

2008-08-14T17:30:00.003+01:00

You know how middle children are always droning on about how neglected they are?

How there are no pictures of them growing up but a trillion of both older and younger siblings?

How they got to wear nothing but hand-me-downs (my sister can tell a lovely tale about wearing my brothers Y-front pants but with the hole sewn up) but the next child got all new things just like the firstborn did solely because everything was completely worn out by the time the middle child was through with it.

I suspect most middle children actually think they were adopted because after all that is surely the only logical explanation as to why there is very little documented evidence of their existence prior to starting school.

This I cannot relate to.

I am the youngest child in my family. I loved being the youngest. Being the youngest by 5 years was even better. Sure my siblings would rather have lost an appendage than have to play with me (allegedly I was annoying) but I got quality time alone with my mum every single day while they were at school. Plus by the time the youngest comes along the parents have both more money and more time. Life for me was pretty good I have to admit.

Having had several friends over the years who had middle child syndrome to varying horrifying degrees I committed myself to always treat all my kids equally. Now I currently only have two kids so how hard can it really be?

Really hard it would appear, because I just found this unfinished post from Eli's birthday.

Yep, Eli's birthday that was in May. Two and a half months ago.

Poor kid isn't even a middle child yet and already he is neglected. No wonder he spends most of his life in a state of rage and anger.

As if this wasn't bad enough at the age of 26 months there are zero, yes zero pictures of Eli in our house. If you were to come to our house and not be familiar with us you would instantly assume we have just the one child. Just Thomas. (Though those pictures haven't been updated since Eli was born either.)

Whereas the first months of Thomas' life were celebrated with almost daily photo shoots, Eli's first months are documented in about 15 pictures.

Eli's baby book remains both incomplete and abandoned.

Eli has been frequently subjected to hand-me-downs.

So I figured I'd document here for all to see. That Eli is loved. Just as much as his brother.

Contrary to all the evidence that would make it appear otherwise.

He had a great birthday. Reaching the 2 year milestone weighing 28 pounds (50th %ile) and measuring 88cm/34.6 inches (75th %ile)

Just wanted to make that matter perfectly clear so that when he is suffering with middle child syndrome (which is surely gonna come eventually) and suspecting he was actually in fact adopted.

I can direct him right here for the truth.

We love you Eli (I promise!)

It's My Blog and I Can Write What I Want to...

2008-08-12T20:45:00.001+01:00

I think we all know that I love to blog. I make no secret of it.

I love that I can write about whatever I want, completely uncensored and best of all I like that nobody can interrupt me while I do so.

Brilliant, right?

I don't mind at all that endless strangers the world over (yes, I am kidding myself a tiny bit) can come by and read about whatever I am considerate enough to share that day.

I have been known to whine (just the once and that was practically forever ago) that the majority of readers fail to comment. Anyone that blogs themselves will know that comments are the icing on the blog cake so to speak, and we all know how much I like cake. (Unless it's ginger cake of course, ginger cake I can live without.) But I have made my peace with that. If you comment that is super dooper great, if you don't that's fine too, but just know I won't like you so much.

From my very first blogging day I have had comment moderation enabled. That way I get to see who has commented and what delightful things they had to say and I then get the option to either publish or reject. I always publish my comments except for a couple of mishaps along the way where I rejected completely and honestly by accident. One of these mishaps involved 2 comments from Rob and he has never commented since. Can anyone say hold a grudge? (Come on Rob take the higher road and forgive me.)

From day 1 I also disabled search engines from finding my blog. Well, until the curiosity got to me and I started to wonder what people would actually have to Google to turn up right here (that is a whole other blog post in itself believe me) and I freely admit I have had my share of unwanted attention.

So this post goes out to the other people who arrived here by way of Google and commented on my blog and I chose to reject what they had to say to me.

Why did I choose to delete it?

Because I can.

I have the power.

So to half the population of Wales (who clearly have nothing better to do than search the Internet for critical things people may have said about their language) who responded to my post about our recent stay in Wales and gave me several lengthy and insightful lectures on the origins of the Welsh language and how it is purer in form than English. Those Welsh folk are fiercely patriotic (and evidently not big fans of the English) I have found. I thank you all but I reject you.

To the person who googled snakes in bed (seriously?) and then left me a comment telling me what I had just shared was an urban legend and they hoped very much that I was simply attempting to be entertaining because apparently an Anaconda couldn't eat an adult human due to the shoulders being wider than it's jaws could physically stretch and was kind enough to attach a link or two so I could re-educate myself more thoroughly on a snakes actual dining etiquette. I remind you that I never once said the snake actually ate her or even attempted to. I am not personally acquainted with this snake but I am willing to concede it may have been a snake with a low IQ that was shamelessly unaware of it's inability to swallow adult human shoulders. I thank you also but I reject you.

And finally to who can only be described as Matthew McFadyen biggest fan who was ever so offended that I dared have the audacity to suggest Colin Firth was a far superior Mr Darcy (which he is) than Mr McFadyen would ever be. I thank you for your opinion (as utterly incorrect as it is) but I reject you.

I beg of you no more silly interruptions.

Because after all it's my blog and I can write what I want to.

Randomly Me

2008-08-10T18:21:00.004+01:00

Jennie at Beehive and Bird's Nest tagged me to share six random things about myself.

Oh goodness, only 6?

Then I got to worrying about how random they really needed to be.

Random but informative?

Random but amusing?

Or Random to the point you think (most probably justifiably) that I am a crazy person?

Well I shall have to let you be the judge of that.

Here goes (I am embarrassed already BTW):

1. Christmas.
I LOVE Christmas. I really, really love it. As soon as the temperatures begin to drop (so that is pretty much any day here) and the evenings get gradually darker I start feeling it, the good old Christmas spirit. Rob (aka The Grinch, though he has vastly increased in Christmas enthusiasm since we had kids) has me on a Christmas curfew. I am not allowed to make plans or mention said holiday until after his birthday on October 19th. When October 20th hits I am finally allowed to let the Christmas in. I have been known to eagerly crack out my Bing & Frank CD's that early. But in general I am not a fan of Winter and so Christmas is an incredibly welcome distraction from all the gloom and incessant rain going on outside. Plus gifts and the fact that it is completely acceptable to eat your own body weight in chocolate are rather lovely perks also.

2. I cannot whistle, do handstands or cartwheels, roll my tongue and to top it all off I have horrific balance.

I was simply not assembled correctly. I completely blame my parents. They probably owe me hefty amounts of compensation for the embarrassment my lack of these fundamental life skills has caused me my entire life. Maybe I'll look into that.....

3. I cry when I laugh.

Not just a tear or two either but a full on cascade of tears that would push any waterproof mascara to it's limits. I don't even need to be laughing at anything particularly funny, even mildly amusing set the tears a-flowing. A tear streaked face is not an attractive look, it is a wonder that anyone ever consented to marry me.

4. I like Cricket.

This is something that has come as a surprise even to me. Rob loves cricket (and pretty much every other sport in existence) and so living in the same house and the fact that some of these matches go on for 4 long days I have been exposed to more cricket than most women could bear.

But instead of complaining (which was obviously my first instinct) I figured that I may as well embrace the cricket and at least attempt to understand it. After asking Rob the very same questions at least 40 times I now have a pretty sound general understanding of what is going on. In fact I can be found watching it when Rob isn't even home, but then truly anything is an improvement on Max and Ruby.

Though the fact that cricket players no longer look like this

but instead more like this has really aided my concentration.

5. I have never voted

I haven't 'tis true but now at the grand old age of 32 (will it ever become less painful to type those numbers in reference to myself?) 14 entire years since I have been of age to vote I have had a political awakening. The cause of this awakening you may wonder? Well nothing less than a combination of Robert McAllister from Brothers & Sisters and the current American Presidential Election. So next time the opportunity arises here I shall indeed be voting and hopefully that will be the end of Gordon Brown.

6. Post shower or bath I dry myself with hairdryer

I don't know when I started doing this and it is not a fact I freely share. Well until now when I shared it with the universe. I love baths, the hotter the better. We sadly don't have a bath in our current house but we do have a super whooshy shower. There is nothing worse (maybe that's a little dramatic) than leaving a hot bath or shower. No matter how hot your house is you always feel really cold. I detest being cold. I feel cheated that of all warm places on earth God could have sent me to dwell he sent me here to England where if we have 30 sunny days out of 365 we regard it a pretty good year. Pah! So to rectify the coldness post showering I warm myself thoroughly with my hair dryer.

I highly recommend it, honestly.

So now that I have fully exposed myself you had better comment before I end up in a corner in the foetal position wondering why oh why I had to be so honest!

Oh Mr Darcy What Have You Done?

2008-08-09T09:06:00.004+01:00

Every girl that ever had the incredibly good fortune to see the BBC adaptation of Pride & Prejudice in the mid 90's (and hundreds of times since, obviously) must hold in their hearts a very special place for Colin Firth as Mr Darcy (sorry but that Matthew MacFadyen fella just doesn't compare at all).

Who could watch without being consumed with envy for that lucky old Elizabeth Bennett?

Who didn't secretly wish he uttered to them 'In vain have I struggled, it will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.' (Well I'm actually hoping more than just me had that thought or else I am gonna look a tad crazy.) So in my mind Colin Firth and Mr Darcy became one and the same person. Completely inseparable.

So imagine my despair at having to see my Mr. Darcy-Firth in another role when I wanted to go see Bridget Jones Diary.

I'm not gonna lie it was slightly painful to come to the realisation that Colin Firth had a life beyond Mr Darcy. That he didn't just sit around at home constantly in Jane Austen-esque apparel, brooding.

But, all was redeemed when as Mark Darcy he says these very words. 'I don't think you're an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother's pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever is in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences... But the thing is, um, what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you, very much. Just as you are. '

And my adoration was maintained. (Despite the reindeer jumper).

So then he became to me Mr Darcy-Darcy-Firth and all was right in the world.

So last night I went to see Mamma Mia. I hadn't actually wanted to see it but I went along to see what all the hype was about. I came away effected three fold:

I will hear Abba songs in my head until the very end of time and maybe considerably longer.
Bless that man for his courage but Pierce Brosnan should never ever be allowed to sing (it's really not very 007 is it?) I was embarrassed for him, not just a little embarrassed either but embarrassed to my very inner core. The kind of embarrassment where you can't even look at the screen or sit still in your chair.
Sadly My Mr Darcy adoration has now unexpectedly expired. Having seen Mr Darcy-Darcy-Firth decked out in a 70's style Bee Gee's inspired get up (containing more Lycra than a man should ever wear) dancing extremely happily to Abba without any utterance of words such as ardently or just the way you are led me down a road I really wasn't prepared for. My adoration is now officially over.

A sad day indeed.

Excuse me while I go watch Pride & Prejudice for 6 hours in the vain hope that I can salvage the magic.

Sweet Nectar

2008-08-07T19:13:00.001+01:00

The Young Women (12-17 years) at Church have been raising funds for their Summer camp. Last week they made jam.

Strawberry Jam, my absolute favourite!

I haven't shared it. Not even a tiny bit. I have even managed to keep Eli the food vacuum at bay.

Fresh and plump juicy strawberries in a sweet and sticky syrup.

Within hours of purchasing it I had happily scoffed down 7 slices of toast with lashings of butter (because really what is the point of having butter if you don't spread it on good and thick?) topped with this sweet sweet nectar.

Now this is no ordinary jam. It is THE most delicious strawberry jam ever. Which is just as well because to cover costs and make a profit it is no doubt the most extortionately priced jam I will ever buy.

It was so worth every single penny.

Though my waistband may have to agree to disagree.

And the Winner Is......for Once, The Mummy

2008-08-05T20:30:00.007+01:00

Remember our Poop art issues?

(As if you could possibly ever forget. I know those pictures burned a permanent impression in many a blog readers mind.)

Well after he found several new opportunities to create various new masterpieces (fear not no photographic evidence included in this post!) I was at my wits end.

So I resorted to what I hadn't done for over a year.

I put him back in vests.

Who knew you could even buy them in his size?

The little monkey can no longer happily delve his hand into his nappy and let his creative juices flow. We fought this battle and for once I was victorious!

Yes, he looks really ridiculous. (But also kind of cute!)
Yes, he may very well collapse from heat exhaustion from wearing an extra layer under his clothes with it being summer and all.
But my walls are poop free and frankly it is worth the risk!