Monday, 31 October 2016

Twatty mum blog ideas

I am not going to lie, life has taken its toll on me a little. I have a deadline for this blog, and I have started to resent it. G is away, the children are reacting to this, I feel alone in my task as sole parent and really I am struggling to cast a light note on my daily events. I will not break, I have got this, and all of that, but it does mean that I want to tell someone to fuck off at least once a day. Look it is half term, I am allowed to moan a little bit!
So what do I do? I mean my daily amusement source (the children) is fit for Facebook posts, but it aren't beefy enough to write a blog post about. I mean I ramble at the best of times, but there has to be a limit.
I decide to do what I have never done (because I am OH SO original, and amuse myself enough with my own ridiculous thoughts), I google, 'mum blog inspiration'. And there it is '31 Fresh Blog Post Ideas'. I am willing to overlook why 31? It is a very random number. It becomes so much more apparent with reading this piece that maybe it was chosen as a random number to try and appear 'zany' or 'off the wall'. Two things that it is NOT.
I am going to only focus on a few points. For you the reader, this is the best way!
  • NUMBER ONE: From the Grandparents perspective - Ok, so with G being away my parents are helping out as much as they can. It has been only two weeks, but around about 80 per cent of this has involved tricky negotiation between my children and their grandparent(s). So for example, they do something to piss me off, I let it go. They then do the same thing a few more times and I will deal with the situation. Either naughty mat, downstairs play ban, a basic bollocking. You know, all the shit that I probably should not be doing as a parent. They ordinarily don't listen, I force some sort of weak apology out of them and then we all get along with whatever we were doing before. When dealing with this situation with grandparents present it seems that I somehow have to appear as the perfect parent, straight out of the perfect parent book. I mean this is my own parents we are talking about, they do know me? But I feel like I am on show, having to prove my parentage. Also I sort of feel sorry for my children. It is usually Rufus too, the loveable rogue, having a shit fit again for literally NO reason. I can see the judgement in their eyes, 'oh well you weren't like that as a child'. 'You need to be tough with him'. 'Don't give in' and so on. It is all in all just exhausting! (Grandparent disclaimer....Aside from this they have a healthy relationship, whereby they all run rings around their grandparents hearts!)
Right so back to this blog madness. a suggestion on here was that the children could write a letter to their grandparents. So it would go...
Q: Grandma, can I have a biscuit
A: No, you've just had three and it is lunchtime soon
Q: Grandma, but I am hungry, can I have a, something out of Evelyn's bag. But I need something from her bag, I want it, I want it, I really, really, am hungry for Evelyn's bag.....
Well you get the picture.
  • NUMBER TWO: The fun meal we planned together as a family - I need to just repeat and shout that one....THE FUN MEAL WE PLANNED TOGETHER AS A FAMILY!
Seriously! Unless the planning was throwing all of the children in the car to go to Macdonalds, there is no such thing! (Even then, there is usually a problem with something that Ronald himself has planned with their meals!) The list of requirements, choices, dislikes (lucky no allergies) goes on. Sometimes all a carrot has to do is be cut wrong and all hell breaks loose!
  • NUMBER FOUR: If our House could talk! - Let's not even get started on that one.....moving swiftly on!
Very swiftly!
  • NUMBER SIXTEEN: photos I took all by myself (children) - In a way this would be amusing/hugely depressing if taken by myself as a parent. They would all be pictures of my children, sometimes I would appear in a selfie with one or more children, pictures of food, a picture of a night out I once had where I remembered what I once was, a shit ton of pictures from WhatsApp groups, endless first day of exercise 'shame myself pictures' so that once I have done the diet/done the phys I can look back and see just how much weight I have lost, loads of 'stevvvvvvennnnnnn' videos done for amusement by myself and a friend of similar mental ilk, and screenshots of postcodes for soft play. There that is my life! And it is also the reason I don't Instagram! 
If we were actually going to talk about pictures my children have taken, I would just like to paint a picture of their tiny little brains. This evening when I came up to tell them to go to sleep and to keep their talking down a bit (constant fear of Evelyn waking up), I stopped to listen outside. They were talking about boobies, and that Mummy has boobies (this was hilarious), that Daddy does not have boobies, but what if Daddy did have boobies (this again was hilarious) and that they did not have boobies, but what if they did have boobies (yeh you guessed it, hilarity!) Okay! 
Yes so if I was to present a beautiful blog piece of pictures my children took all by themselves they would of their nostrils, feet, top of heads, never full face, and certainly never a smile. A lot of screenshots of various wobbling icons with the delete 'x' hovering like death over things on my phone I forgot that we're there, youtube screenshots, pictures of shit paintings, or stickers from those games where it directly saves into your camera roll even though you have denied access a thousand times.
That, there ends my not very exhaustive review of this ridiculous blog ideas post! Some mum wanker, somewhere is feeling pretty cool about herself after writing this, sat resplendent in how wholesome and thoughtful she is. Beaming at the congratulatory comments that are rolling in.  I am also sure that her eldest child probably has just drawn a massive and graphic sudacrem cock on her bathroom wall, I mean one of her points was a 'joint home renovation project'! Twat!

Wednesday, 21 September 2016

That Mr Tumble....he has death in his eyes

So this is going to be pretty no holding back on my behalf. Thoughts straight from my inner self. I am going to lose some of you along the way, I am ok with this. It has to be this way. Unless you are Mr Tumble and you basically want to sue me for making defamatory statements, in which case I take it all back and this was all written by Hector!

This is my actual appraisal of CBeebies. I have had close to 5 years intensive research. In a passive aggressive fashion, I haven't really had much choice over feeling the way I do about a lot of this. I thought that my time, my CBeebies sentence was over. But now Evelyn has taken interest, and the whole terrible cycle of viewing has commenced. I am aware that the TV could just be turned off, I could climb up to the highest shelf in the house and get the play doh down, I could go along to some mums groups (shudders), or crack on with some dreadful messy play. (I am kidding obviously about the messy play, that is never going to happen!)

The main offending lineup......

Bing. Most common to be brought up in a Mum rant. My main concerns are, what is Flop? Where are  Bing's parents? Why does he not dropkick Bing? Why do these 'kids' all have carers? Where are all of the parents gone? Did Bing kill them all? Have they merely all run away, unable to live this life. My other main problem with Bing, is whilst Rufus watches this, he somehow morphs into Bing! The same whining, irritating tone. 'its a Bing thing', no your child is just being a little shit, tell him/her to snap out of it immediately.

Show me, Show me. More specifically the presenters. Chris and Poi. See the boys never watched this, but Evelyn seems drawn in, so my views are still fresh and less imbedded. I like to imagine that these two actually despise each other. In every alternate breath they are uttering depraved insults at the other. When the camera cuts, Chris trips Poi over, and she manages to (like the little ninja she is) get in a swift upper cut to the balls.

Mr Tumble/Justin the franchise. How is this guy even allowed near children. He is creepy at best. Potentially wanted in various eastern countries.

Mr Maker. Now I have daily eyebrow paranoia, but this mans face though! Definitely goes under the name Julie at the weekend. His eyebrows are plucked within an inch of their life. I imagine a regular manicure too. Also on a side note, how has CBeebies got the budget to send him all over the world to show children everywhere how to make a rocket out of a tampon?

Topsy and Tim. Two children I would never ever want my children to hang out with. Also Eastenders Mum needs to get a grip and stop being so bloody chipper about everything. Why can't she just roll her eyes once, just once, when she is requested for the thousandth time to entertain her children.

Get well soon. Not so much Doctor Ranj, who is on closer inspection literally tiny!? I can get past this. I can also get past that the 'children' he helps are weird yellow puppets with disproportionately large heads. It it his sidekick, Nurse Morag who offends me. I think she is supposed to come across as bubbly, helpful and caring. to me she comes across as conceited, self-assured and sanctimonious. Aha, the joke is on you Nurse! You don't know everything! You are advising weird bobble headed puppets, they don't have health needs!

Grandpa in my pocket! I mean, who at CBeebies towers thought this was a good title for a kids show!? Wrong

Mr Bloom. His swagger, his talk out of the side of his mouth 'northerness', his interest in weird puppet vegetables, and his inability to maintain eye contact don't sit well with me. I think that I read somewhere that he isn't even from the north? Also that he was going to be on Hollyoaks? Also, perhaps more worryingly, a lot of Mums seem to fancy him?

So to conclude, most of these programmes (and others) really follow a pretty annoying motif. Whether it be Thomas, or Mike the Knight, or Chuggington they just do not listen. They have a task, they don't listen to what they are told to do, they fuck it up, then they have to get all their friends to drop everything they are doing to help them. Then at the end they get patted on the back and told how good they are! It is NO WONDER that children everywhere are the way they are!

I am hopeful that Evelyn's interest may dwindle, mostly because Hector has learnt how to use the remote to its full usage. Mostly, the voice command function which means he can ALWAYS access youtube Kinder Egg, Tinkerbell toy, playdoh, Transformers. And there is nothing wrong or weird about that tv is there?

And from the kitchen I can be generally heard humming 'Postman Pat, Postman Pat, Postman Pat,  is a great big twa.......'

Thursday, 25 August 2016

Lone parental responsibilities

First day back of lone parentage. As a precursor to this rant, I warn of not mixing my words in any way and to referring to my children as bastards (apart from Evelyn, of course never Evelyn!)

I feel sorry for G as he has said that amongst other things today he has swimming pool circuits, survival training and pt 😷.
Today was always going to be hard, baptism of fire back to reality. I, however, have dealt with Evelyn deciding to pull off her nappy before doing her morning poo (teething as well!) Literally not knowing what to do (I even found myself lamenting 'I just don't know what to do......' to the boys who were sat on the sofa watching frozen, literally not giving a fuck!) I decided all I could do was put her in the bathtub. At least there the shit couldn't be ground into the carpet anymore. I swiftly realised the dress she was wearing was going to have to be destroyed (even if was only because I was never going to be able to look at it again or be served a reminder of this event!) so I quickly grab some scissors to cut it off of her. At this moment I catch a glimpse of something in the corner of the bath (it is a tiny bath) a gigantic spider. There was no time, she could've grabbed it in her shitty paws, or it somehow may have realised the grave situation it was facing and try to flee (most probably in my direction and immediately into my hair) the shower was out and set on boiling to quickly disintegrate it down the plug. Evelyn got cleaned and redressed and I left the house fairly promptly, feeling unsure as to what had actually just occurred, but sure I definitely needed to leave the scene.

Since then the boys have taken the baton of basically being little bastards. Constantly not being satisfied with anything, being taken to a friends for a pizza play date (they have obviously  decided they no longer like pizza?!), fighting with said friends girls, destroying anything they can get their hands on, developing a newer insatiable thirst for anything the other has their grubby (not shit stained like their sisters, thank god) hands on, Rufus's voice seems much more penetrating today, maybe it's the humidity. He constantly has a red sweaty brow, maybe this is causing him some discomfort, or maybe he really does just see everything as a competition that he feels he is losing. Since getting back home and needing a bit of a rest and Evelyn a sleep I have said that they are to play in their room (where approximately 150 different of their toys are, and in fact as of later on all of their toys will be.) So far they have bounded back downstairs for reasons of needing a wee, needing a drink (both fairly valid) needing dory, needing to tell me something, needing to see if it is raining (it was and the washing was out, fuck!) needing to see if daddy was back, needing to see who I just talked to (I'm sat in silence.)

The message of them needing to go upstairs and play has sunk in now. It sounds like there are five of them up there, so it's hard to work out exactly who is doing what but someone is clearly running a train around the walls, potentially whilst thudding their feet. There is the constant mumbling humming an undefined, indescribable song (that is defo Hector). There seems to be something bouncing and also something being dragged?! They are potentially somehow lost (it isn't big enough to get lost up there, I've tried!) as there is a lot of Rufus calling out for Hector. But they for now are up there.....

I'm sort of catching a rest with Evelyn napping next to me on the sofa when she is rudely woken by a Woody doll (his batteries have never been changed and we bought it for Hector) announcing that 'this town ain't big enough for the two of us' and that marks the end of any sort of resting for today.

Well ain't that the truth.....

Sunday, 12 June 2016

Sink or Swim,

I have always thought of swimming as more a survival thing than a fun thing to do. Maybe my introduction to it at an early age explains why. See, my parents don''t swim, in fact my Mother holds a deep phobia of water. Being anywhere near it makes her anxious. I 'learnt' to swim at Primary School at about the age of 8 or 9. Everyone else seemed to be able to swim, including the deaf girl and the girl with the hole in her heart! But not me. A ghastly Maths teacher named Mrs Child was tasked with  the job of teaching me. It was basic, it was survival.....I was dragged around the pool by the drowning hook until i started to kick my legs and 'swim'. I hated that woman, and still do to a degree!

So, today I was feeling rather charitable towards the boys. Hector's ongoing saga with his eyes is playing on my mind somewhat. Weirdly it seems to manifest itself as guilt. I feel guilty that he has the problems he has, and that I can not actually physically take them away from him. Anyway, so last night in a weaker moment I asked him what he wanted to do today and swimming was the response. Well, you can imagine my face!

I googled and picked a leisure centre close by, in fact it was a bit of a smart gym kind of place. I had a quiet word with myself whilst getting ready, and did what any mother would do....drew on my eyebrows and started to pack four thousand bags of towels and what not that is needed for such an escapade.

See, I really don't like swimming, and I know that when you take your children it isn't 'swimming' as such. At this age, I am not expected to swim lengths with them. It is worse. This is water play. Splashing water in my face, at any given moment, a water spray fountain will go off unexpected renching you through. YOr worse, a bloody wave machine will go off! Yes, I know i am in a swimming pool and getting wet will happen. I don't like it though.

In fact I will go a step further in explaining why I don't enjoy the experience. It is invariably too cold, the water that is. However, no matter how cold the environment once crammed into a family cubicle with four other bodies, you literally go into heat overload. I must also dwell on the facilities some more on my rant of dislike. There is a strong chance that whilst in the changing rooms, you will step on other peoples pubes/piss/shoe dirt/did I mention pubes? All of this whilst trying to shoehorn yourself into a swimming costume. Or worse, trying to get it off. Like superglue fastness a wet swimming costume is near impossible to remove. The joy of trying to remove said item with a mild amount of dignity and fairly stealthily so to avoid both your sons staring and shouting loudly about where my willy is, and if there is any milk in my boobies!? Then there are the lockers, for which you can never find enough change for more than one locker at a time. They are too narrow, and when opened will ALWAYS spill out your pants/socks/ any other item of clothing you don't fancy sitting in whilst sopping wet from the gross floor. Shower before you go in.....that will be more standing in other peoples pubes then, no thanks. Shower when you get out....more pube standing, and also soap scum from people actually having full on showers. Lets move on.

Once in the pool, obviously the boys go berserk. Screeching so all turn to look...oh great, my attempts of an inconspicuous pool entry have been shattered. Streaky fake tan and a badly fitting swimming costume... I almost want to shout out to everyone that I am only on day 4 of the 30 day shred, and i have had three children in four years! In fact this brings me onto another thing. Swimming costumes. Who designed these things. I have a fairly long body so mostly the lower half of the entire costume will be inside my vagiba. This is not a good look, especially when children are around. It is also NOT comfortable. I did muse these thoughts to G on the way to the swimming pool. His only advice was to not go down the water slide. He found this amazing funny. Maybe not so much after he was forced to take the boys down said slide about 10 times in a row. Anyway, a huge divergence, back to my point....children. Children in swimming pool environment seem to devolve into basic mode. They are unable to do anything but splash (to which I am pretty much sure is on purpose as they know I am the one who looks like the arsehole shouting at them to stop a bloody swimming pool!) Other faculties they lose are the ability to hear, see, or speak normally. All communication is on a screeching high pitched basis, and repetitive. Very repetitive in fact, the same thing over and over....slide, slide, slide, bubbles, bubbles bubbles, look, look, look etc.

Then there are the people there, a mixed folk. The sporty mums who wear sport swimming costumes, who 'love' it (I guarantee that no woman loves this experience that much!) The pervy dads - on reflection maybe they aren't pervy, but more akin to my way of thinking and just look shifty as they don't want to be there and there are too many women with ill fitting swimming costumes on. The guy in the jacuzzi today was DEFO a perv though, and G nearly sent me through to him like an awards swingers party but with only two people there. Luckily I saw said pervy Dad, and lowered myself back into the pool. There is the token fat dude. Not just fat, but like epically obese. The hairy dude. The one who everyone swims wide around, just in case of coming into contact with the hair. There is usually one overly hot mum who wears a phenomenally inappropriate bikini (there wasn't there today, more the shame!)

So, today we took them swimming. It was not good. It will happen again in a few more months when I feel a better mother than I feel right now. As I said, swimming is more survival to me. And so is Motherhood. Survival that is. And I do what I must for the children to be happy, and also myself to exist. So, for the record, next swimming playdate....dont expect an rsvp.

Saturday, 4 June 2016

Car crash farms, and gatecrashing BBQ's

So we had already had an eventful day. A trip out to town where the boys were very good! FYI, Paperchase, however lovely a shop - literally turns into a living hell when you apply two young children! Anyway, once we had escaped the rubbers, pens, lunch boxes, dinosaur stamps, snow globes and all other possible pointless purchase, I felt like they needed a little bit of 'them' time.

 On the drive back I spotted a sign for a 'rare breeds farm' sounds like it may be worth a punt. It's half term, I should really be doing something like this I thought. I put my own personal preference for avoiding these places at all costs aside and as the sun came out, I thought, yes, this is going to be good. Entrance was promising, once out the car the boys started to chase a gaggle (see, look at my nature knowledge!) of geese. It was a bit pricey but I got discount so I splashed out and bought two bags of animal feed. Immediate disappointment.

A couple of desperate sheep, some suicidal chickens and a forlorn looking highland cow. It wasn't rare, it smelt bad (not just farm bad, like disease bad), it looked shabby. A few accents of bright graffiti tried to give it some weird street edge, why they thought this would work with it being a farm essentially catering for young children. There were, however, a huge number of massive trampolines dotted about the place which quite frankly the boys were more than happy with. We dumped , literally, the two bags of feed with two lonesome ponies. A chase of a peacock, a fruit shoot and a bag of wotsits later (also for the record Rufus does NOT like these cheesy snacks, and is most offended if presented with a bag of them - a fact that all of the diners at the cafe there were left in no doubt of!)
I was quite grateful that the staff were weird. The lad at the cafe fitted the expected mould when I asked what drinks he had for kids - the response (with a wink?!)' oh I'm sure I could do something with some milk?' Those who know my unfortunate face will be able to imagine the look?! I was, I think more bemused at the wink rather than questioning what in the hell he was planning on doing with the milk.

Anyway we left, exhausted. We drove home in near silence. We came home and returned to the default setting of sitting and watching a disney movie.

G returned, also exhausted after a pretty epic week at work. He, however had to go to a works BBQ. I may have mumbled something about this new job not being very family friendly, as I threw around some homemade pizzas that were mine and the children's tea. He left. I continued my monotonous routine. But, tonight, instead of wrestling Evelyn into her babygro, all whilst asking, begging the boys to just be quiet and stop fighting. I put them all into the car and drove to the BBQ. It wasn't completely spontaneous, there was a vague invite there. I knew no-one (apart from G obvs). There was wine, which I accepted, again....and again....and again (you get what happened) See, whilst I've been living here I haven't really had much social occasion. I think I have regressed so deep into living this mental life and being so open and lucid about how bonkers being a Mum is I forgot. These people, most of them were not parents, they were what I was before, they were normal. They were not going to ask me about my breastmilk, or my periods, or baby poo, or competitively drill me on child development. The main source of questioning seemed to circle about the lack of sleep, and how did I do it. I was open...I fear too open. My response was along the lines of 'well, I find, that I lost my shit so long ago, what is now, just seems normal?' accompanied with a slight deranged cackle. The thing is, it all seemed to go down very well, as did the wine.

Poor G was demoted to basically watching the children. They also provided a fair bit of crowd entertainment. Hector stood up in front of everyone and tried to execute the jokes he has learnt recently. His favourite is 'what do you get when you put a witch on the beach? A sandwich!' He also tried to make a speech. This was thwarted by G. Between the two of them, Hector and Rufus chased, hugged, kissed, pushed and screeched at the only other child there, a particularly cute little girl. There also was a rabbit escape at one point which I am fairly sure was down to them also.

We were there for a couple of hours. We made our mark. We left. Again in silence on the way home. The day after I did enquire as to what G's work colleagues thought of me. He joked (I don't think it was a joke though)
that I swore a lot, but was really nice. A fairly accurate and fair epitaph I think!

So I think from all of this, I think I fit in somewhere between the mentals down the farm, and the people who I used to be one of at the BBQ? A sobering point that occurred to me whilst nursing my hangover in Waitrose, surprisingly not the most middle class thing that i have ever said!

Saturday, 28 May 2016

It's my birthday...I can have a mild hangover by 3 o'clock in the afternoon if I want to?

Today I turned 36. It sprang on me a little like my children did this morning well before the agreed 'lie-in' time of 8.00am! Every birthday previous hasn't really made me feel any older. Now, now seems different. Like a sober tapping on the shoulder of reality that I am on a slippery slope to 40. And then, well then I'm like as old as my parents. I'll clarify my childish musing. I don't have any real recollection of my parents until they were in their 40s. And your parents always seem old don't they?

Anyway I digress! So I was forcibly removed from my bed at something rude o'clock. Excited boys, excited Evelyn (she sensed a second round of breakfast most probably) and an excited husband. A real effort had been made by all - G had decorated the whole house and baked me a birthday cake, Hector and Rufus had managed to not open any of my presents or cards or pop any balloons, and Evelyn had managed to just be Evelyn! We sort of tumbled through the early morning, presents, cards, birthday cake breakfast (the shred is recommencing after the bank holiday!) and then we were off to Bath. Specifically to stuff our faces courtesy of Jamie Oliver (to repeat the shred is recommencing after the bank holiday!)

I didn't let the miserable woman who took my booking dampen my spirits. After all I was in for a free bottle of prosecco and a free pudding! I knew my rights, if it's yer birthday that is what Jamie will give you! I didn't even let the boys constant fighting annoy me (this was on the way there, on the way back I really let it annoy me, like really!)

Cut to Jamie's! Our waitress was very unpersonable! This doesn't help matters when dining out with the three children! We really need personable! To help mask the disappointment and dismay at the noise and potential mess that will result in us being there. See the boys are fairly easy to contain (as long as Rufus isn't in one of those moods) but Evelyn has now found her voice she can just take off screeching without warning. The table of two ladies next to us wanted to leave as soon as we sat down. There were a few raised eyebrows as the drinks were brought out and my personal ice bucket with prosecco was placed down for me. I mean, I would've shared but G can't handle even the taste after an extreme Prosecco night got out of hand a while ago, and also we needed him to drive). So without much ado I got 'Mum pissed in the afternoon' pissed! I took too many selfies of myself with my children, I loved them, I wanted to sit on my own table without them, I gorged on too much pasta and too many desserts, I spilt water, I walked into the gents loo's by accident. It was a mixed affair! But good!

Leaving the restaurant I immediately regretted being mildly incapacitated. It was hot, the children were tired, Evelyn needed to sleep. The last thing I should have done was to attempt to spend some birthday vouchers in a well known department store. Well no, the last thing I should've done was take  Evelyn in the pram into said well known department store. Stairs, everywhere. An actual inescapable maze! Now it would have been easy to work this out and leave but you know, did I mention the prosecco? So after a while of going around and around a little like a hamster in those stupid balls....I approached a member of staff working at a franchise desk.
Me 'hi, could you tell me where the jewellery is please?'
Smartypants staff  member 'erm, yes madam, it is here' (gesticulating to the crap necklaces hung up on the cash desk)
Me (distainful sneer at the tat that had been offered) ' I meant the actual jewellery?'
Smartypants staff member 'oh well it is all around the store......(and she added this to piss me off I'm sure) if there is anything specific you would like me to get then I could?' (Ok maybe she was in sober reflection just being nice, but anyway!)
Me (hugely tempted to name several random items and send this lass on a wild goose chase around the store) 'well how am I to get about in this shop? The stairs are everywhere?
Smartypants member of staff  'oh well you can't! Not with that!' (Pointing at the Bugaboo, along with Evelyn who was staring straight back at her!)'

I was pretty tempted to do a Pretty Woman moment and start 'big mistake-ing her' but I'd have looked like a ropey, pissed Julia Roberts so I opted for walking off muttering about the ridiculous stairs and what would hey do if I were in a wheelchair!!!

So yeh, sorry about that, but I just wanted to rant, as when I left the shop and tried to recall the story to G it was all lost as the boys had become fixated on finding the 'balloon man'. This then pretty much took over the rest of the trip. We didn't find him, we found another balloon seller but didn't fancy spending just over a tenner on a balloon guaranteed to never even make it to the car. So Rufus went full force into a tantrum. His blonde curls (it was humid) turning to custard yellow against the violent red of his face! The good thing about Bath is that there are so many tourists milling about that really there is no judgement. Luckily we found a weird outside  play place near to the car park. A very odd situation in the middle of the plaza. A huge bit of fake grass with a massive, like climbable massive, fabric dog (for future reference this IS the shit kids go crazy for!) and a couple of big cushions scattered around the edges (seemingly for dads to sprawl out on).

We let them play, throwing themselves off of the top of the dog, burrowing themselves and other children with some of the massive vacant cushions, we even didn't lift a finger when one of the cushions 'burst' and then started splurging out polystyrene balls all over the green grass. Hector running gayly around scattering the balls screeching 'it's snowing, ITS SNOWING!' His voice twisting in pure ecstasy! I chuckled loudly when the 'Security Attendant' ran into the emergency and grapple this injured cushion from the children. It was a fair fight and someone's Dad broke it up and the cushion was retrieved.

The car journey as I've said was horrific, the boys high on sugar, and me falling victim to a mild, hot afternoon hangover. I shall not reminisce it.

So that was that! All done for another year! I must admit, and I don't like to admit that often, but I am the luckiest person. My family are awesome. Even when playing the 'train game' in the car - which basically involved Rufus repeatedyl twatting Hector over the back his head. I love them. And Evelyn, well she is Evelyn so literally perfect. And G - well he is whatever I said he was to me in the car on the way to Bath that made him get a bit of dust in his eye!


Wednesday, 25 May 2016

Disco, disco, disco........

Today was Hector's school disco.....he is 4. He possibly has more of a life than me. This makes me feel awesome!

So I was hoping to go to said disco to sniff out some worthy material for here. This idea was scuppered by two factors. One being I have succumbed to some illness after being up North for a long weekend. And two, my husband is a PTA wanker (I say this with love, obviously!) so he had to go down and help out. I did ask him for some good goss but as per usual he was too nice a person to cast massive judgement and seek out awkwardness.

I did drop Hector off and felt a little bad that the 'cool' Star Wars T shirt that I picked out for him was maybe not upto the dress code. It was honestly like a child black tie event. In fact one kid in the queue did have a full on suit on, with waistcoat to boot! Lots of little girls in dresses (some a little revealing!) I envisaged Hector to come back and look like he had been to a 90s rave. He did not disappoint. Sweating, glow sticked, high on sugar and sporting what I thought was an injury (it was a spiderman logo apparently) he came home and did not stop talking until bedtime! He told me he was disappointed there was no 'Gummy Bears' song played (anyone that knows this song maybe able to imagine about 40 little kids going mental running around a school hall) but they did play the 'Lego' song which saved the day.

Meanwhile, I did feel sorry for Rufus, who after dropping off Hector basically loud cried all the way home (I can not emphasis just how loud his loud cry is! It literally stops me from being able to actually see straight!) He cried all the time I tried to find the Sherman and Peabody DVD, all the time I couldn't find any sweets (damn me for eating them one bored evening!) and all the way upto locating some glow sticks of our own! We then had a little rave of our own (I didn't tell hector, but we DID have the Gummy Bears song) which I think really slotted in well with Evelyn's bedtime routine!

Anyway, all children are asleep now. Hector still looks as though he has a head injury, Rufus has glowstick whip marks on his chin (our rave did get pretty intense) and Evelyn, well Evelyn is just Evelyn!

And now to eat the remains of their sweet bags that have been thrown across the living room floor.