A Tribute

Today is not a day for comic anecdotes, it is a day of great sadness. My husband and I were at University with Jon Egging, the Red Arrows pilot who died yesterday in Bournemouth. I didn't know him particularly well, but my husband was sharing a drink with him only a few months ago. It is a tragedy that has touched us all and our constant thoughts are with Jon's family.

So too are they with mine. It is at times like these that we are reminded how insignificant the little dramas are. I have two children and a husband who are alive and well. Full stop. It really doesn't matter who had the toy first,  or that someone left the tap running and now the bathroom floor is flooded. It doesn't matter if I'm late or one of the kids has fallen over and scraped their knee. They can wait and it will heal. All that matters is we appreciate every second of our lives.

May you rest in peace Jon. 

Boysterous and Girlggly

A few months ago I had a bag full of old tennis balls solely intended for the use of Rosie Dog. Today I couldn't find any left to take on our walk. I usually take two as notoriously one always gets lost in the hedgerow or the river. I am just wondering where all these tennis balls go? There must be a secret mountain somewhere. The same goes for my daughter's hair clips. They can't just disappear...

Even my friends that are the only female in their families say my son is one of the most lively boys they've met, which is a polite way of putting it. We were swimming with friends yesterday and whilst all the other children were messing around Boysterous was running up to the side of the pool, jumping into the air, curling into a tight ball and bombing the water. He'd then emerge, victorious, shouting: 'Again!'. He didn't grow tired of this game for a full 45 minutes by which time I swear the water levels had reduced by a few inches and most of it was on the sides. I did try to placate him, but from experience I know that once the fuse has been lit nothing will stop the bomb going off, and actually I was secretly proud of his dare-devilishness.

Girlggly has been acting all coy since spending a day with her intended yesterday. Despite him making it clear that marriage is not on the cards for the foreseeable future, her love-sickness was quelled by a solid five hours of his undivided attention. So today, the Wedding plans have been back in full swing; princess dresses have been designed and letters written to friends inviting them to the big day. When I told her that it is good to be so prepared but she will have to wait a few more years, she asked how many. I told her at least 25.

"Mummy, how many sleeps is that?"

We are all screaming!

Week four of the holidays and we're supposed to be having a quiet one but apparently that is not to be. My two children are at each other's throats, the dog looks depressed and Mummy is tearing her hair out. My son screams for a solid hour after waking from his afternoon nap and my daughter screams louder so she is not forgotten. 

After three hectic weeks so far, I decided this would be a calm one at home doing good, old-fashioned playing in the garden, baking and craft activities. A lazy week where we don't have to be anywhere by a particular time and we can stay in our pyjamas until ten o'clock and it doesn't matter. But by lunch-time my five year old is asking where we are going today and then gets really upset when I tell her we are just staying at home. I don't remember being bothered by such a day. In fact, those are the days I savour in my memory; the one's where you can let your imagination run wild and relish your freedom. Do today's youngsters just expect everything to be planned out for them? I say, just enjoy the days it's not. 

To me a day of nothing is pure bliss. We spend so much of our lives running from A to B and forget what is important. Like making chocolate fridge cake and being a princess...

And when my mum tells me that my brother and I never made such a fuss, she's lying. This week may feel hard, but next week I'll be willing the holidays to last just a little bit longer.  

Growing up too fast

What do the Summer holidays conjure up for you?

For me, it is the sound of lawnmowers, jumping through the sprinkler in the garden, days spent outdoors, having picnics, building dens, riding bikes, chasing butterflies and when there is nothing better to do, lying on your back watching the clouds.

I tried this with my daughter today. I told her that if you look up at the clouds, sometimes they will make a shape like an animal. "Look, there's a whale, and over there, a duck", I say.
"Yes. Duck", my son agrees.
"Don't be silly Mummy. It is just a cloud", my five going on thirty-five daughter replies. What happened to just being silly for the sake of being silly?

This isn't the first time my daughter sounds too mature for her tender years. When I was heavily pregnant and in pain, she would rub my back and tell me everything was going to be alright. If I'm over-tired and grumpy, she tells me I've got out of bed the wrong side today and I should have an early night. If I'm feeling sad, she tells me that I have a lot to be grateful for so I should be happy. If she's been watching television with her brother, she'll turn it off and tell him that they've watched enough today.

I still think of my two year old as my baby. He's the smallest in our family after all. But there is nothing like visiting a new baby to shock you back to reality. Compared to the newborn, my son was HUGE. I may not want to face up to it, but I am definitely out of that baby period. My two are growing up fast and there is nothing I can do about it, except sit back and enjoy.

Mummy, what colour hair does God have?

I find the subject of God a difficult one to explain. I am by no means an expert.

"If God is all around us, why can't we see him?"
"Well, God is a spirit which means he doesn't have a body. Just his soul is with us". (Mummy)
"Can he be with us and other people at the same time?"
"Yes. He is everywhere; the sky, the earth, the air, the flowers, the mountains, the animals, even you and me". (Mummy)
Eyes wide.
"He's in me? So he's eating my lunch too?" Mmm.
"Not exactly. But he is watching over you whilst you eat".
"So Mummy, how can God and Joseph be Jesus' father?"

Ah.

Welsh Rabbit and Spaghetti Carbanana

I love all these little chestnuts my daughter comes out with. Yesterday she asked me how clouds make rain. I launched into a lengthy description of the water cycle and precipitation which she listened to patiently. Then after digesting the information for a moment she told me that I was wrong. Apparently, clouds float around the sky until they see a plant that looks sad because it needs some water. Then they stop and out comes the rain.

I started a chocolate detox this week, Tuesday to be precise, so I have lasted five days so far. I'm wondering if they could bring out a chocoholics patch for those trying to kick the habit because I'm thinking about its smooth sweetness melting on my tongue approximately every 10 seconds. I'm also starving! Despite just eating dinner. I never really thought of myself as an addict until my husband pointed out that eating half a family bar a day is perhaps a little bit excessive. The problem is, on the tough days, I find a bit of chocolate helps take the edge off the tantrums. A banana doesn't really cut it. Anyway, enough really is enough, and until I can learn to eat a few cubes at a time, I am going cold turkey. I'm salivating just writing about it...

Mrs Mop

What was I thinking?

Two years ago when my son was born, my husband suggested we had a cleaner. I didn't take much persuading as nothing was getting done. But in a moment of martyrdom several weeks ago and in a bid to save some money, I decided to cancel the cleaner and do it myself from now on. I got a little bit carried away, as I also cancelled the wheelie bin and window cleaner the same morning. I must be mad.

Despite more superficial cleaning between the cleaner's fortnightly visit, at first I found the deeper cleaning experience hugely satisfying. I decided to clean upstairs one week and downstairs the next and this would happen on one morning each week. It felt good to be back at the handle of the vacuum again. I am a self confessed perfectionist and after working my way through three cleaners before finding one that was satisfactory I had had to learn to bite my tongue and lower my standards. Hence why I was enjoying returning my home to its former glory.

However, there were a number of factors I hadn't quite thought through:

1) Cleaning with a toddler in tow is a nightmare! My son loves to help, but hanging on to the vacuum making it pretty hard to push is not exactly helpful. Also, they are bored after one room, so it can take up to a week to clean downstairs, which means very little time off before the upstairs cleaning begins, which means, NO DAYS OFF CLEANING. EVER.


2) Wheelie bins have maggots in when they are full of nappies and it's summer time. I know they are only small, but they still make me jump up and down, shiver and run away. I always seem to hold my breath too as if I might inhale one.

3) You still have everything else to do! Cooking, gardening, walking the dog, paperwork etc.etc.

4) Window cleaning with an extendable pole thingy is harder than it looks, and you get very wet.

5) Cleaning is hard work. Boy, am I pooped! I have the upmost respect for cleaners cleaning a whole house in one go.

I guess the only compensation is that I now feel very virtuous. 

Goldfish and Wedding Vows

Wouldn't it be great if you could train your children like you do the dog? Rosie Dog was at dog school this morning and does practically anything for a piece of sausage. Sit, down, bow, stay, twirl, you name it. It does worry me though that I seem to have more control over my dog than I do my children. Not only does she do what I ask but there are also no screaming fits or tears when she doesn't get what she wants. If she is running towards a road, I call her and she comes (unless furry rabbits are involved). If I tell her to wait, she does. If I tell her to sit, she does, but all the time my children are running around like untrained beasts. She'll listen and look at me intently when I speak to her instead of ignoring every word I say. She doesn't push me away when I cuddle her and gets really excited when I suggest going out for a walk, even in the rain.

But, like any man or beast, she is not perfect. We were invited for lunch today (children and dog). Just like a classic children's story the kids amused themselves for hours with only the odd cause for concern, whilst Rosie played with her Jack Russell friend in the garden. All seemed well until she appeared dripping wet at the back door. It wasn't raining, so we trooped outside to find the source of the water. A tell tale puddle and paw prints beside the neighbour's coveted fish pond gave her away. I'm hoping one of the prized gold fish didn't become an early supper or we may not be invited again.

For several years now the master of the house we visited has held a very special place in my daughter's heart. So special in fact, that she already has their wedding and married life planned down to the smallest detail. Her dress is going to be 'knitted' by Grandma, they are going to live in a farm house and her intended is going to be a farmer. His parents will live one side whilst we live the other. They are going to have children and lots of farm animals and Chloe is going to do all the cleaning, (I'll have to speak to her about that!). They both have photographs of each other in their bedrooms and when they hug or kiss goodbye it is like watching an old married couple. Even after her first year at school as one of only five girls in a class of twenty-six, she is still loyal to her prince, as she calls him. I wonder what the chances are of this lasting and should I be planning my wedding outfit? Of all you bloggers out there, have any of you married your childhood prince?

Not so pearly whites...

Today I am feeling like the World's Worst mother. I took my five year old to the dentist as she has been suffering tooth pain only to find out she has an abscess and two decayed teeth which will have to be removed. In shock, I asked the dentist what has caused this to happen and he pointed at Ethan sitting in the buggy happily chewing on a fruit stick and said "That. Sugar". I was too shocked to say that they very rarely have that kind of thing and only for a special treat or if I really do have to keep them amused, like now.

Short of kneeing the dentist in the chest and brandishing a tooth drill over his head, I let his comment simmer for a few minutes. It was no good, the simmer turned to a rapid boil. I had done everything I could to keep my children healthy, including their teeth, and I was not going to be accused otherwise:

"May I just say that I resent being tarnished with the same brush that you obviously use for your other clients. I have done my upmost to ensure my children have a healthy diet and look after their teeth. My daughter has had regular dental check up's and drinks milk like there is no tomorrow. I do not like it being implied that this is due to parental negligence".

At which he looked rather taken aback and apologised about four times in a row.

Important lesson = Accusing or even merely implying that a woman is a bad mother may result in intense physical pain somewhere below the belt.

I have just purchased my daughter the mother of all electric toothbrushes (in pink). She is not going to be the first child with dentures...

Short Circuits and swords...

Little boys are dangerous, or mine certainly is! We've just returned from a fortnight's stay with Grandma and Grandpa and I plan to batten down the hatches and lay low for a few days in the vague hope it may prevent any further dramas!

Last week we visited a castle and on passing a stall selling toy helmets and swords, I decided that my two year old was now of a suitable age to play with such items in a relatively safe manner. I had been putting off the inevitable fighting role play for as long as possible and felt guilty I was depriving him of his natural instincts. Hey, we were in a safe environment, all the other kids had them and he had his big sister and three adults to keep him in check. I couldn't have been more wrong! With helmet on he pulled the sword from its sheath with film star perfection and immediately adopted a professional looking en garde pose. Where did he learn that? I can only assume it is embedded deep within his genetic make-up somewhere. Not wanting to be outdone by her baby brother, my daughter followed suit (this was after I relented and bought two sets instead of the one I originally said they could share. Huh, who was I kidding). A vicious dual then commenced around the castle grounds, up the steep steps and along the battlements. It was a sight both to adore and wince at. Of course it ended in tears and after being stabbed in the neck through the headrest of the car seat whilst driving home, the swords have mysteriously gone missing, although I wouldn't mind a go myself sometime...

The next major event occured whilst I was trying to have a half hour lie in, but, as usual, it was not to be. Ethan burst in, waddling along in his grobag and threw himself up on to the bed, knocking over my very full glass of water on the bedside table. The water cascaded down the wall behind straight into an electric socket. Chloe, who was downstairs watching some television, told Grandpa when the screen went black that the electricity must have gone off. She is well accustomed to her brother's antics. Anyway, Grandpa diligently dealt with the matter mopping up the water and drying out the socket and the electricity came back on. Having just read how dangerous this was on the internet, I am counting my blessings that he is still alive to tell the tale.