Hibernation

2 Oct

I haven’t blogged in a while as I have started my new placement and final year at uni, for those of you that don’t know me personally, I am a student social worker…feel free to start hating me now and booing at me like a pantomime baddie I know I’m as bad as a traffic warden!

I’ve spent the last four weeks, nodding, smiling and pretending I know what I’m doing. This blog is kind of going to be a bit flitty between placement land and Ryan land so bear with me.

Placement starts well and I’m asked to attend a big networking meeting conference type thing.  All’s going well, im sipping the gratis coffee and shoving biscuits down my neck as I am starving.  I feel my phone vibrate in my bag so I casually open my bag and blindly root around all while holding court to a group of people about being a student and a parent and I feel an odd shape.  I can’t work out what it is so i quickly look and to my horror i find the inside music box thing of iggle piggle.  Now  this thing is very sensitive you’ve only got to look at it and it tells you that “yes my name is iggle piggle”….oh heck.  I can’t think straight and i panic, we are asked to take our places so i sit and shove my bag under my seat and out of the way.  I’m still stressing but I’m thinking It will be ok. To the side of me there’s a woman that keeps waving her legs round like a windmill and every time she moves i squeeze my bum cheeks even tighter- whilst being good for my bum muscles it’s not good for my stress factor.  I’m sure I can feel her edging closer and closer to the bag.  The meeting starts with introductions, I’ve planned my name and title and run it through in my head and feel that I sound mildly professional, I’m happy and good to go, windmill legs is getting very fidgety, maybe she’s  excited about telling everybody her name ooookay.  Oh its my turn, the whole rooms looking at me and I’m just about to speak when windmill legs has some sort of spasm and kicks my bag and before I have the chance to speak iggle piggle does it for me.  My bag launches into the theme tune from iggle piggle “yes my name is iggle piggle…”  I leap up and shout “no no no” over the music which makes me look like a loon, to make it worse no one sees the funny side to this except me.  Any funny quips elude me and all I can do is say my name and title as originally planned and sit down.  I’m sure windmill legs did it on purpose I think she was jealous of my top, the bitch.  The rest of the meeting goes iggle piggle free and is mind numbingly boring but it had to be done.

My placement is at a performing arts college for students with learning disabilities and I have to say it is fabulous.  I have had a few hiccups though.  Every Wednesday I take part with the students in a street dancing workshop.  I cannot dance for toffee, I either look like I have a pole up my rear lady garden or I look like I’m having a seizure, but I give it a go.  The instructor has a fantastic sense of humour and is really good she actually treats me like one of the students which is good for me, not so good for the poor students who are meant to be looking up to the staff including me for help and guidance.  At the end of each session we have to do what’s called ‘the circle’ I’ve since re-named this with permission to ‘the circle of doom’.  We are all in a circle bopping along to the street music and we each in turn have to do a dance in the middle in front of the baying circle.  I watch everybody else do their bit and I’m hoping the instructor has over looked me, although she can’t miss me I’m wearing a bright pink hoodie.  She points at me and the students start chanting my name and clapping, in I go.  I have no clue what I’m going to do as the music is something I’ve never heard of.  So I do what every idiot does, I pull my leg up from behind me put my crooked arm behind my head and start hopping manically around the circle, which I hasten to say has now changed from a circle shape to more of a get out of the way shape.  I do this for a few hops before my leg threatens to give way and then I go into some strange arm waving Kate Bush style dancing before retreating back to my space, the students thought it was great and I’m sure I saw a few of them copying it as they left the session and laughing, I’m sure they were laughing at how well they copied it because my dance was hard to copy.  I must see if they want me to teach them properly!

At my placement, there’s a south African man there and over lunch we were having what I thought was a relatively intelligent conversation about his home country.  I didn’t do geography at school and I was quite naughty in lessons and spent a lot of the time entertaining the wall in the corridor outside of the classroom.  So here we are chatting away and I get on to the subject of crocodiles.  I calmly ask him if he checks the trees before he walks under them in case of crocodiles, he looks at me incredulously and asks for confirmation of what I just said, I repeat it and then go on to say does he check the trees in case one of them has climbed up the tree with their little stubby arms to jump out on unsuspecting prey.  After he nearly bursts something laughing he very politely tells me crocs cant climb trees, oops.   I then remember having the same conversation with a lovely friend of mine a few years ago and chastised myself for not remembering.

Ryan, my now three-year old pickle has started nursery, something I have been excited about but  scared for the poor teacher.  Ryan and I went in for an hour the day before so he could get a taste of nursery.  All is going well and I’m chatting to another mum and then the teacher and Ryan is settling in very well.  It’s time for the children to play outside and a big thing is made of the children putting on their coats and wellies.  Two things that I haven’t got with me.   I quickly eject Ryan into the garden coat less- I mean it was only spitting with rain what’s the problem he’s gets wetter in the bath.  The teacher booms across the playground to me and asks me where Ryan’s coat is and I have to make up some long-winded story about how we dashes to the car to get here etc etc.   He has to borrow a coat to which he takes great fancy to and assumes that it is now his coat.  The rest of the time goes ok until I have to take the coat from Ryan, we start with a low-level paddy like a dog growling just to warn me that he will bite.   I’m using my gritted teeth parenting style whilst thinking in my head what a little git he is.  I have to shoe horn this coat from him while he is thrashing about on the floor- tantrum status updated from low-level to mount Vesuvius level.  I’m thinking I am going to have to beg or even pay the teacher to have him back into the nursery the next day.  I drag him out of the classroom and straight into the path of the headteacher- who I have to say when we had our tour of the school I didn’t actually realise she was the head, I thought she was a teacher that had been harassed so badly by high school kids that she had gone into supply teaching but only in primary schools!  She makes some bizarre comment about  what a lovely boy Ryan is, this is while he is doing a lovely gymnastic floor display and then sidles off.

My eldest son, the huffer puffer, was being hollered at to get his behind out of the front door quickly a few weeks ago and in the process he whacked his toe.  Yes this hurts and hurts and yes he did complain, but he was still managing to walk to school and do sports and the usual bits so I didn’t think too much of it.  Admittedly he did complain on and off about it hurting.  I do have to point out at this stage that instead of being called Bradley he should have been called Peter as in the boy who cried wolf!  He came out of his youth club thing on Thursday really complaining about his foot, I was in my pyjamas driving him and his mate home and I was literally ready for bed.  He seemed really upset so I looked at the bloody foot, it looked slightly swollen and he revealed to me that he was playing football and had kicked the ball and his foot hurt really badly afterwards.  I decided to take him and told him that there better be something wrong with it otherwise I would make something wrong with it as I was in no mood to sit in casualty for hours.  All of this was said in jest as I would never hurt him purposely….!  We entered the department and as usual there were no seats and the place was heaving.  I’m trying not to let the steam of fury escape from my ears and remind myself that I am a responsible mother.   We get called through and placed into another waiting room like a farmer herding cattle.  after the obligatory two-hour wait we get to the triage stage, at this point even the nurse wasnt convinced of an injury, but we have to wait another hour, the doctor then comes in and she was sure nothing was wrong- this does not help my mood as they now decide Brad/Peter needs an x-ray sorry couldn’t they have x-rayed  at the triage stage?  but that’s too much like common sense.  Just as we are packed off to x-ray so are another family and it was like a race to get to the x-ray department.  Poor Brad/Peter is hobbling along and I’m marching off in front and trying not to let the family get in front of me but I have to let this one go and poor Brad/Peter has lost me and I’ve turned several corners and almost have to turn my phone sat nav on to get back to him.  While we are waiting the mother of the other family tries to engage me in chat and tries to gauge whose child has the worst injury.  She concludes that her son with the hurt thumb is so much more badly injured and will need extensive physio and treatment and my son is a cry wolf-er..we will see.  Was it wrong at this point to want to win this battle?

Brad/Peter has his x-ray and we had barely got back to his cubicle when the doctor appears, I’m waiting for the usual “it’s badly bruised” and “lots of rest” but when she produces a piece of paper to draw the injury you know you’re in shit!  Brad/Peter- ok I will let him off now he can be Brad, has broken his foot!  Oh my goodness me, I’m normally the mother that takes their children to casualty at the slightest thing only to sit there for hours to be told that there’s nothing wrong and the one time I decide to wait it’s actually serious.   After several different opinions on how to proceed treating brad’s injury they decide to send him home but to come back the next day to see the physio.  Long story short we have to wait until Thursday before we get a  final verdict, he is currently on crutches and being a pain!  Ryan thinks the crutches are guns and is shooting things off of shelves, items from the fridge and the sensitive T.V. screen deep joy.

I did see the other mum whom I was in competition with on the way out and her son was being told the badly bruised routine and I have to say she looked sick when she overheard Brad’s diagnosis because I know she was listening because I always do!

Final thought to end this rather long blog, which I hope was worth waiting for, this is actually longer than one of my uni essays,  Would I really be a good social worker or shall I just write blogs for a living? lol

Much love xx

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Photo Time!!!

10 Sep

So the time has come again for the travelling con merchants A.K.A Pixi foto to travel along to my local boots and entice me with their lovely looking perfect children adverts.  I can always hope that my kid’s photos will look like that, but sadly they look more like garbage pail kids by the time I’ve wrangled them into the basket or flower pot that the clueless photographer wants them to pose in.

I didnt actually realise the photo people were there until I was calmly sipping my costa letting Ryan run wild and the baby chomp on a chocolate muffin just for some peace.  Now I’ve seen the photo people I instantly want some photos, the normal sensible voice in my head was reasoning with me, that I never like the photos, Lexi-Nicole looks like shes been dragged through a hedge backwards, and they always make her look ginger.  I have nothing against ginger hair at all but Lexi isnt ginger shes blonde and brown.  The reasoning in my head stops and I come to and find myself standing first in the queue waiting for the girl to come back off of her break.  How sad and desperate do I look being first in the queue.

Up until this point Lexi-Nicole had been an angel, she had had a sleep and was happy and smiley, Ryan however was being a hell child.  I am just about to put Lexi on to the stage thingy when she errupts in this vile screaming  and pulling of her pig tails.  I laugh this off and the photographer looks nervous.  I plonk her down regardless and she manages to smile, I catch sight of one of the photos and realise that one of her pigtails isnt straight, I cant leave it I have to have straight equal ones otherwise it will bug me for the rest of my life and I will have to stop looking at the photos because of it.

Now a queue is forming of competitive mothers with their kids dressed in their sunday best and have beautiful hair.  Lexi now looks like an advert for the NSPCC, her hair is a mess, she has teething spots on her chin and a lovely green nose, cue baby wipes, I’m doing the best I can with the baby wipes but lets face it they cant perform miracles.

The stage is set for Lexi’s next pose and she seems ok and other mothers are looking at her and saying shes cute and I am so desperate to have a nice photo.  I sit her down and all seems to be going well, when all of a sudden she does a back flip off of the stage thingy and lands in a heap on the floor, oops im sure I was holding her tightly enough, the onlookers gasp and I grin Basil Fawlty style and pick her up and she seems to be ok.  My cheeks are burning and the pressure is mounting and I resort to making ridiculous noises and playing very silly games like the photographer just to get her to actually look at the camera, I look like a complete twit.  Ryan is screeching in the buggy because he’s seen a toy that he wants to play with, despite having it at home. My soon to be 12 year old huffer puffer son just stands there playing on my phone and huffing with embarrassment.

The photographer them puts some headphones on Lexi and I have to bite my lip not to screech at her about the pigtails, they are off centre and not aligned at all.  I have to let it go because the witch is actually smiling and we have a nice ish picture- I don’t really like photos with props in them but im prepared to let it go.  Then the photographer produces the basket, I know for a fact Lexi is not going to sit in it but I will give it a try.  I put her in it and she starts screaming and trying to climb out of it, I start singing row row the boat and I am half tempted to start shaking the basket, for effect of course, but manage to refrain.  The photographer is pulling out all the stops getting toys and teddies out but Lexi is not impressed, she is really going for it now and screeching like a witch.  The photographer tries one more time and just as she is about to press the button Lexi literally throws herslef out of the basket like some one jumping ship and the photopher gets a lovely picture of her bum and legs, just like her mother and oh definately one for the mantle piece.  I hastily throw her into the buggy along side her wild brother grab my paperwork and vaguely listening to the prices before making a hasty retreat.  I so want a private veiwing of these photos, I dont want to be humiliated in the middle of the shop floor with these photos.  You can imagine them at the developing center “oi mate come and have a look at these, you’ve got to laugh, only a photo a mother could love” oh the shame.

I would love to have a look at some of the photos though, just out of interest.  I mean some of them are gorgeous without a doubt but then there’s the ones where you actually shudder and wonder what their parents were thinking.

One last thing as I know my lovely husband reads these faithfully to make me feel better- Darling I got Lexi’s pictures done today but casually forgot to tell you until you have to pay for them 🙂 love you lots jelly tots.

Much love xx

It’s been a while!

4 Sep

I havent blogged in a while partly because we have been really boring and poor and not done anything, but also due to the fact that  my keyboard was on the the recieving end of a ‘top of the range’ orange squash spa day! People pay thousands for these spa treatments, Ryan does them for free.

In my blogging absence Ryan has had his birthday. I have very mixed feelings about this, the first reason is feelng a tad gutted, when people used to ask the ages of my children I used to enjoy the raised eyebrow and look of admiration when I mentioned that I had a 1 and a 2 year old aswell as an 11 year old. ‘wow 1 and 2’ they used to say ‘I dont know how you do it!’ I used to shrug them off with some ridiculous comment about something or other.  But now when I say a 1 and a 3 year old it doesnt have any effect at all, boo hoo.  My other mixed feeling is one of suprise that he has actually managed to make it to three given the things that he has ingested, (a toilet duck gel disc from the inside of the toilet, 3 ibroprufen tablets, food from the bin, my cooking), inhaled, (his latest habit  is emptying any aerosol he can) and touched (he was bitten by a monkey in a zoo, touched the hot grill that he turned on without me seeing) wow I’m a walking advert for good parenting-Not!

I do have to go briefly back to the toilet duck incident because the conversation between me and NHS direct was quite amusing, I first ring them and go through the meningitis questions even after me telling them what has actually happened.  I then get on to the issue in hand and tell her that he’s swallowed this thing and her first question was ‘what colour is it?’ what colour!!! what is she doing on the other end of the line filling out a lifestyle questionnaire on my behalf? or comparing notes on what colour she buys? Anyway I tell her that its green and she informs me that the green one is harmless and that at worse he may foam at the mouth, at this point I turn to look at Ryan who is drinking baby bath, so if he wasn’t foaming at the mouth before he certainly will now.

Ryan’s birthday passes without incident i.e. me not daring to take him out because I don’t want to end up telling him off- not on his birthday!  The following day we go to the zoo, where we are very privileged to be invited behind the scenes and are able to feed and touch animals that members of the public aren’t.  This because my sister is a zoo keeper.  I am very much looking forward to this day but am very nervous about Ryan,  I mean what if he goes on the rampage in one of the cages, or gets bitten because he is being a bit over zealous  with an animal, or has a massive tantrum and refuses to leave the cage- I’m willing to leave him in a cage but not sure the zoo keeper would cook for him in the evenings, he would be great entertainment value and may attract millions of people from overseas…oh Lord! I’m running away with myself.

We get to the zoo and are let in through a side gate which doesn’t go down well with the big queue of people that have obviously been there a while.  We look around the zoo and I make lots of ooing and ahhing noises to try and keep Ryan interested for more than a split second, I have to say the zoo is amazing.  We are then invited to feed the lemurs, very exciting until I ask the zoo keeper whether they spit or not, she is very tactful and reminds me that they are in fact llamas, oookay moving on.  I really wasn’t very sure how Ryan would take to these very excited animals and I find myself holding my breath and running through all sorts of situations in my head and wondering what  I would do.  We enter the cage and told to sit with our backs to the gathering crowds outside of the cage.  I’m sure I feel some knives sticking in my back but I can’t be sure.  The Lemurs are wonderful and prance around enthrallingly and climb on our laps like cats and are very accepting of the poking, prodding and stroking that they are being subjected to, anything for a grape, and Ryan is being amazingly good and he is feeding them how he should be.  Behind us however, people are shouting things at us, one man was asking what they felt like and one woman asked how we got in there and silly me just looked at her and said I didnt know! Of all of the things I could’ve made up, I could’ve been a russian princess that wipes my bum with 50 pound notes, I could’ve been a lottery winner, but no I’m a gormless wally that didnt know how she got into a highly protected cage!

We then go on to feed the Giraffes who were So lovely but very slow in Ryan’s eyes, they were taking too long to come over and eat our carrots and branches, so Ryan starts launching the carrots at them which suits them perfectly as they don’t have so far to walk! Another twit, who is watching us do this  shoves her unsuspecting child into our area and gives him a random twig to try and feed the Giraffe.  After a lot of polite  telling her to shove off by the keeper she finally gets the hint and claims that she is being racially abused by the zoo because she has the wrong colour skin! Good luck with that law suit love.

Ryan by this point is showing signs of strain and  fortunately for me he falls asleep in the buggy alongside his sister.  We go into to cuddle the penguins which is wonderful and I’m sort of glad Ryan was asleep because one of my imaginary scenarios was Ryan going for a dip in the penguin pool and me having to wade in to get him!  We then go and  look and hold the tarantulas and i almost turn blue due to not breathing through fear in case this spider decides to jump in my hair- well its does look like a bird’s nest so I couldn’t blame it.  I was also scared of dropping it because their abdomen is filled with fluid and it would burst open if it would drop and die- no pressure there then!  We are just leaving when I notice a door that says ‘Ops Room’, given my latest obsession with Call of Duty Black Ops I had to have my picture taken with this door, two words- sad loser.

The rest of the visit passes without incident and Ryan hasn’t caught Rabies or Mange or anything else from his wild behaviour so I consider that a success.

Apart from the usual floor mopping incidents in supermarkets I have nothing more to report, I know I’m boring.

One last thought though before I sign off, there’s the ‘Terrible Twos’ which is a great excuse for wild behaviour and the ‘Fearsome Fours’ another label to mutter at astonished memebrs of the public whle you are dragging your child away. But what’s the name for the threes? I was kind of hoping that once the clock struck 12 on his Birthday he would turn into an angel and the ‘terrible Twos’ would disappear- silly me. So what do I call his behaviour now, I could still say terrible twos and hope they dont question me. Answers on a post card or even in the comments box below please lol.

Much Love xxxx

The Dentist!!

27 Aug

I’ve had a pretty uneventful week, hence the lack of blog, this partly due to the fact I am too scared to take Ryan out he is behaving like a rabid dog at the moment….however, we did have a trip to the dentist….

I decided to be the good housewife and Mum and register all of us into the local dentist surgery, I was feeling all good and glowy and told Lush who promptly told me that he wouldnt be stepping anywhere near the dentist- something which I know is untrue because he likes to drive the car and kind of doesn’t trust me at the moment as I hit it twice last week :/, I then told my huffy puffy eldest who pretty much agreed with Lush, not a good start.  The day eventually arrives and my eldest manages to dodge going to the dentist as he is visiting his mega cool or ‘awesome’  Uncle.  We arrive in the surgery which is in this nice new building and you need a sat nav just to find the room.  Ryan instantly sees this as a cue to mis-behave, I am trying to fill out the millions of forms for all of us and also trying to tell the stuck up little madam behind the counter that not only had she misspelt the  names  but also got birthdates wrong.  I am doing my best to look like a Mum that has it all together and start grinning manically like Basil Fawlty while Ryan starts to destroy the very compact waiting room.  They first call Lush – who said he wasnt going to be there! into the room and I settle down with one of those fancy home magazines and pretend I’m reading it when really I am hiding behind it as I know that Ryan is being naughty.  Lexi is happily chewing a mangy looking book- all good for building up her immune system and Ryan decideds to take off down the very long corridor, I play the super nanny game and tell him to come back and offer him consequences and bribes all through gritted teeth, Lush’s appointment seems to go on forever and Ryan has now taken to opening some very unsafe looking windows- the word stressed doesnt even cover how I am feeling at this point.

They finally call Ryan in and I whisk him into the chair and tell him that he’s going on a ride and the mans going to count his teeth etc etc but Ryan is refusing point blank to even open his mouth, even the dentist resorts to bribing Ryan with some stickers, that’s not working and I am getting desperate and I stupidly tell Ryan if he’s a good boy he can have some sweeties!!! omg what an idiot, I hear lush snort in the waiting room and I am praying the dentists chair will suddenly malfunction and fold completely up with me in the middle, who offers a child sweeties in the dentists room?? its like when I produce a bottle of formula milk at the breast feeding group, its not the done thing.  Happily enough Ryan suddenly becomes willing and dutifully opens his mouth and the dentist dives in, I hold my breath because I know what’s coming, I don’t tell the dentist what’s coming because he is a total stuck up moron, who is rude and told me I needed to play with my children more… sorry I thought I was at a dentists not a parenting workshop,  Ryan decides he has had enough of the dentist and promptly clamps his mouth shut with the dentist’s  finger still in it!  Being the wicked witch that I am, I pull Ryan away from the dentists just so Ryan’s teeth dig in a bit more ha ha its called Karma dentist man!  While I am revelling in this, I forget that its my turn next and he could very easily exact revenge.  I manage to rescue the finger and try to look for signs of blood but fail.  Ryan is then escorted out rather briskly and I take my turn.  I am literally in the seat for 20 seconds- enough for him to count my teeth- full set and then I’m off.  The dentists doesn’t like us because we have a tax credits card and he cant make any money, so he tries to sell me and Lush and appointment to see a hygienist who quite frankly only does what the dentist should do in the first place.  I politely decline and tell him his pictures that he’s shown me of rancid looking mouths and teeth are very nice, just to get away- very nice?? what must that man think of me now?  Needless to say we shall not be returning to that dentists and we have probably been blacklisted by every dentist in Surrey.

Anyway must go as its Ryan’s Birthday today and I had this strangely bizarre thought and wish that now Ryan is 3 will his ‘terrible twos’ magically disappear and he will suddenly turn into an angel child that doesn’t scratch brand new t.v’s or break 5 playstation 3’s  4 months, or doesn’t leave the freezer open all day, or tip my lovely new soap or shampoo down the sink, oh must stop I am ranting- not a good look!

Much Love xx

The Weekend

22 Aug

My weekend starts with very good intentions, for example not sitting on my bum all day,  just most of it and I plan to indulge in my latest addiction, playing Call Of Duty with my son – who says I dont spend quality time with my son ha!  I have this massive pile of clean washing to put away, I would like to say iron and put away but my laundry works on a need to know basis – this NEEDS  an iron but you KNOW  it’s not gonna happen!  I also have a big issue with socks in my house, so much so I now have a big ikea bag full of odd socks and spend most of my rush hour in the morning searching through this bag to try and find two socks that look vaguely familiar to each other. I mean whats wrong with men wearing pink socks I think its very metro sexual!

Anyway, I embark on an excavation mission to firstly discover if I still have a bedroom carpet and secondly to find out if there is a bottom to the washing pile- which I’m sure there isn’t as I’ve never found it.  Although when I do start to reach what I think may be the bottom of it it’s like going shopping again without spending any money, I re-discover clothes that I forgot we all owned its fantastic and the children look less like refugees which is a look I personally struggle with every day, whats wrong with my zebra pyjama bottoms they pair very nicely with my Uggs for a quick visit to waitrose, when I got out like this I look like a mother duck leading my little family because oddly enough no one will walk with me, they chose to walk several large paces behind – losers!

I’m slowly clearing the bedroom stopping briefly to flick thorough magazines, I have to see if I’ve read them or not don’t I? and finding books that make me look intelligent when in truth I probably only bought the thing to show someone in a shop that I could read, I mean of course I can read russian can’t everyone?  I’ve managed to clear a nice circle impressive enough to look like I’ve done something and then go and get the hoover, I’m on a roll now, I’m stomping up the stairs with the space ship looking hoover when all of a sudden I trip and land on top of the thing, Ive landed on top of better in my life but onwards and upwards.  I find this piece of plastic that snapped off of the hoover during our encounter and for the life of me I cannot find where it came from, this gives me a good excuse to sit down while I try and figure out where I can shove it  and pray the thing still works.  It does and I only manage to hoover up a few items that im sure don’t matter whats a few screws from the bed matter between friends?

I carry on my rampage through the flat and do my usual admin on facebook, and I decide enough is enough and costa is calling me.  Kids are ready, I’m ready – let’s go, if only it was that simple.  Ryan the two year old has decided otherwise, he wants to watch Mickey Mouse and decides to scream and commando crawl all over the pavement, people are looking and tutting and commenting and I’m swearing back at them and making outrageous statements about how they can’t have children because they look too square to have even had sex etc etc, I might aswell have rolled around the floor with Ryan.  I manage to drag him along the road as I can’t quite get him in the buggy in a public place as it would look like I am beating him up and there’s no suitable alley ways to do this.  We go around the shops as best we can and we get to Morrisons where Ryan always has massive Wobblies, I don’t know what it is about that shop!  He’s floor mopping and screaming until he about to vomit and I just smile nicely at all of his spectators.  A lady taps me on the shoulder and tells me she doesn’t know how I’m coping with him and I just ruefully smile and tell her I am going to kill him when I get home, I don’t think she shared my sense of humour as she took one look at me and almost ran off, oops.

I go over costa and by this point I have had enough and I try to get in the door using my bum as a battering ram and trying to line up the buggy perfectly as there is literally no space either size for errors, as I’m struggling with the door there is this moron the other side, I’m halfway through the door and he is trying to get out but is completely blocking my path, and people and myself are asking him to move.  I turn and advise him to move and warn him that the contents of his tray are very hot and would make a very nasty stain on his clothing and would you believe it he still doesn’t move, Ryan is getting very impatient and decides to shove his way through and barges into the man sending him a little off-balance so I then seize the opportunity and shove him a little more and he drops his tray and trips, and I just calmly run my buggy over his hand and join the queue.

The rest of the day passes from one tantrum to another and I look forward to the moment when the kids go to bed – its like taking your bra off at the end of the day oh the relief!

Yesterday was family visiting day at my Mum’s.  This wasn’t just any ordinary family this was my Great Aunt and Uncle who make the queen look like a chav.  As much as I was looking forward to seeing them I was dreading how my wild children would behave.  We get to my Mum’s and I see she still hasn’t removed breakable items, the cat or anything else that would cause a drama.  My Mum’s accent has suddenly changed and everything is ‘super’ and ‘absolutely wonderful’ and she tells me my hair looks  fabulous.  This I know is a lie because I forgot to do the other half of it.  The front sections of my hair were curly and I got called away to attend to some child disaster and kind of forgot to do the rest, so I had to make sure that no one stood behind me, although I did see my Mum wince when she realised that my tattoo was on display for the world to see. That will get her back for all of the years she used to force me to wear Laura Ashley dresses that matched with hers and make me speak like I had something in my mouth whenever we visited these people.  She tries to brief me on subjects to avoid and how to speak etc and I tell her to piss off and I will do what I want which I know sends her into a spiral of fear!  I don’t know why she’s worrying about me its the kids that should be the concern.

The relatives arrive and Ryan uses saliva as a greeting and Lexi just gives them the death stare – great start.  We all sit down to lunch and Mum serves this green soup with a big pear floating in it – you had to see it to believe it.  I taste it and realise its got Stilton in it, yuck yuck, Ryan tries it and tells me that it tastes bad, Brad my eldest wont even entertain it and Lexi just looks at it and cries.  My Aunt launches into the how wonderful her grandchildren were at my kids age and how they would eat french delicacies and I couldn’t resist and told her that the kids ate american delicacies, my mum darts to the kitchen for cover and my Aunt asks what these american delicacies were, I told her burger and chips…..silence…. you could almost hear a pin drop or the pear plop in the soup!  The main course was this long pork thing with rhubarb, I manage to pick out some bits for the kids to eat – which they don’t and I try to eat myself, my Aunt is full flow about private schools, moving house, her grandchildren and a programme called 2012.  I’ve never heard of this programme and I launched into a tirade about how I don’t agree with the 2012 games and my reasons why and they all look at me, I stop and retrace my speech in my head and I’m sure I didn’t swear, my Aunt then pipes up to tell me that her husband is on some big decision-making committee about the 2012 games and how he had been very influential in ensuring that the games came to London…ooops la la la.  Ryan breaks the silence by running past us all with my mum’s purse and none of the contents still in it.  I chase after him and I try and recover everything and as of yet I havent had a phone call to tell me otherwise.  When I get back they are all cooing over an unimpressed Lexi who is holding court in her high chair, she then lobs her dinner at my Aunt and I just laugh, I didn’t know what else to do.  I try and eat my dinner as quickly as I can in the vain hope that everybody else will too so I can get the whole ordeal over and done with, but no, chat chat chat, and then the photos come out.  Have you ever been shown a picture of someone or something so horrid that you have to put your best lying face on and think of something constructive to say?  well that was me yesterday, she showed me a picture of her granddaughter and I can honestly say this girl looked like a cross between Lady Gaga with short black hair and Dracula, I was actually so scared I kept staring at the picture I could tear my eyes away – cue constructive comment from me…’lovely wallpaper’ my Aunt looks at me incredulously and pleads at me to notice the girls lovely shoes and face and outfit I just nod like the Churchill dog  on the advert and cant help but announce that she looks like someone famous but i cant quite put my finger on it, apparently I’m to email my Aunt when I remember who it is, that will be a fun email.

We leave the dining room and go into the living room and talk about several truck loads of crap and I continue to make my mum cringe and put my foot in it and I am really enjoying my self, Ryan had had a little sleep and was much more on form.  I am being complimented on the children and I am lapping it up and telling them all sorts of crap about how I wont tolerate swearing and bad manners etc.  We are then asked to pose for photos, oh pissing marvellous, We are all asked to say cheese and Ryan promptly shouts out piss off!!  The photos just as this was happening must’ve been priceless.  Ryan then launches into all of the words that leave my mouth everytime I drive and I am praying for the sofa to swallow me whole.  After the photos I can’t leave quick enough although I would’ve loved to have been a fly on the wall in their car on the way home!

 

Anyway must dash, Ryan is trying to cut his willy off with a pizza cutter!

 

Much love xxxxx

Stay and bitch ooops my mistake, stay and play!

16 Aug

After staying up until 3am this morning playing call of duty with my lush, I decided I was too tired to watch the children make a mess at home but it was ok to let them make a mess at stay and play.  It was a summer extravaganza today because they were staying open later past their usual 11.10 lockdown, very exciting, we are told to ‘bring lunch!!!!’  I look in the cupboard and instantly feel like old mother hubbard, there’s not much in there apart from a few well meaning boxes of raisins, a fruit puree pot whose lid is bulging and on the verge of explosion and a packet of malted milk biscuits that no one likes because you can actually crunch the salt in them- best save those for visiting plumbers, rat men, sky engineers and people that think they visiting the museum which I happen to live abouve but are actually in my flat- our living room serves as a good prop for what a bombed house in the war looked like.  Anyway, I’m racking my brains to try and find something that could pass as a lunch to take to stay and play.  I manage to rustle up a jam sandwich on lovely granary seeded bread, I cut it up into bitesize bits and then have a ten minute fight with the stupid flipping clingfilm- I mean who invented such irritating stuff, it knows I’m in a hurry and it choses to stick to itself and then go into a ball, and then when I finally have finished swearing at it and get it straight it tears in a massive diagonal strip ending in a tiny point.  I wrap the sandwich up and go to pick it up and it falls out one end of the clingfilm parcel, I am seriously swearing and annoyed and running late, I look around in the kitchen cupboards to see if there was one of those smug little plastic sandwich sized boxes anywhere with the little clippy lid that screams out “look at me, I store everything in these boxes, my fridge is an organised haven of little plastic boxes with labels on”  but sadly there isnt, I do however cast my eye upon a left over plastic cup from a party, great, storage problem sorted.  I ram the sandwich into the cup and then sellotape a clingfilm ball over the top- go me.

I throw the kids at their car seats and off we go, only having to return home the once to get a beaker and a dummy, which is very good for me as its usually third time lucky of leaving the house before I finally have everything I need.  I enter the stay and play hall and survey the little groups of mums in each area of the hall, theres the costa yummy mummy group, the breast feeding group, the polish group, the italian group and the ‘I’ve got a child from hell and I am going to ignore it’ group.  Ok, I dont really fit anywhere into these groups except maybe the child from hell group.  I mean I did breast feed for about two days and I have the up most respect for people that do but sadly I always manage to upset a particular mum everytime I brandish a bottle of formula milk.  The costa group is out after the subway incident (see previous blogs) the polish and italian is obviously out, I mean I can blag my way in and out of most things but foreign languages are a no no, I only know polish swear words and the name of a drink, not a good conversation starter really.

I decide to plump for the breast feeding group and hope that Lexi-Nicole doesnt want her milk.  Its going well and we are all idlly chit chatting away, when all of a sudden this random child appears from nowhere, does a strange dance in the ball pit, licks his lips, slaps his bottom, wiggles it and then skips off.  We all then start looking round for the Mother of this strange child and I think Ive spotted her, this woman is hula hooping in the garden whilst clapping and licking her lips, oooh this is funny so I start telling the little group that that must be the child’s mother as look at what shes doing and we all have a little giggle and a laugh and one of the group makes a comment about the child and his mother, when all of the sudden I feel a tap on my shoulder, oh shit oh shit, it’s the woman sitting next to me, shes not part of the breast feeding group but shes just there, I fix a smile and she points out my son who is playing rather nicely with strange dancy boy, I then ask if strange dancy boy is hers and she confirms this, oh God quick Sarah think of something positive to say, quick quick quick, all I could say was ‘nice socks’, NICE SOCKS???? where oh where did this come from, I could’ve said nice hair, or jumper and enquire where she purchased such an item or nice face, anything but nice socks????, fortunately for me my daughter is making a hasty exit for the door which should’ve been my cue to leave and I have to go and get her.

A little later on Ryan is set upon by this nasty little devil child and has a large lump on his head- Ryan that is not the devil child, if the devil child had the lump you could mistake it for a horn that starting to come through a bit like the teething process.  I then have to go out into the garden to supervise, unfortunately for me, devil child belongs to a yummy mummy but I couldn’t remember which one until he makes another poor victim cry, and yes, you guessed it its subway incident mum- shit.  She trots up to me, I swear underneath her posh clothes shes got hooves and legs a bit like that half man goat thing from the Chronicles of Narnia, shes probably got the hooves painted a nice metallic shade from the nail bar.  She asks me how my Pak Choi was, oh lovely I reply, very invigorating, invigorating??? its not a flipping power shower, its a mangy looking vegetable that I thought you could sling on the George Foreman.  We just laugh it off but she knows that I dont know what to do with it.  I had to get one back I just had to, but what….?

I happen to go  past the yummy mummy group on my way to the coffee bit and I spy Narnia mummy’s bentley of a pram, all gleaming and nice, I kick my one away out of sight, dont want her to have any more ammo.  One of them sees me looking at it and thinks I’m Jel, which I’m not, I make out I’m checking my phone and announce to her that someone was giving one of those away on freecycle as it was such a cumbersome item and told her that no one wanted it because it was such a nasty pram, and to my amazement they all started joining in and slagging the pram off and laughing at the effort it was to take it to the shops blah blah, I was in full flow, the poison was flowing nicely when they all freeze, shame my mouth doesn’t, as Narnia woman is standing right behind me listening, lovely, she then goes into how her and hubby researched it and it was the most expensive pram on the market and only the best for her child etc etc, she then casts her eye over my pram and asks me how much I paid for mine, I replied it was free and she dug back and asked if it was from freecycle and I replied no that it was new from mothercare and it was free because my last one I had problems with and I  got a new one plus I got to keep the other one which I sold. She then snorted and turned away.  Oh no, I’m not having this, and my lip starts to curl and my coffee cup slips out of my hand and on to her pram, oops, I’m sure this was an accident as I was concentrating on my curling lips and not my hand, but I couldnt be sure, cue sharp exit to the other side of the hall while shes mopping up and almost crying, please God dont let me bump into her again.

I’m happily minding my own business and poking people on facebook as you do, when another child comes up to me wearing this t-shirt which I swear said ‘Genitals at work’, he then turns and runs off, I sit there for a while digesting this and wondering where I can get one of these T-shirts and start to giggle, well in a sciency sort of way someone’s genitals were at work to produce the model of that t-shirt.  I just have to check again and start chasing this boy around the hall just so I can look again, he starts looking scared and I start looking crazy but I have to see it again, not the genitals coz that would be weird but the t-shirt.  He runs up to his mum and she looks at me quizzically and I’m just about to say about the t-shirt when she starts speaking in polish to me.  I put two and two together and think that they must’ve sold this t-shirt to her for a joke, you know like you teach someone that can’t speak English well, a rude sentence like’ I want to shag your mum’, but tell them it means ‘lovely day’, I have to tell her, it would be so bad if she didnt know, so I start waving my hands and gesticulating towards the boys t-shirt and saying about it and she tells me its lovely isnt it? erm it might be lovely for a student to wear but not a little boy but how do I tell her?? I mean how do I tell her what genitals means without pointing to my own and looking like a complete pervert, so I come up with the ingenius idea of using a translator app on my phone which I downloaded when I was bored, I typed in genitals and it came up with some word so I showed it to her and fortunately for me she started laughing, ok, going well so far, but then the boy approaches again and I point to his t-shirt and then my phone, but as I think shes putting two and two together I re read the t-shirt and it doesn’t say ‘genitals at work’ it says ‘genius at work’, oh bloody hell, in my defence its in funny 3d writing and all swirly and I’m tired.  I laugh it off and make some cuckoo noises and twist a finger at my head and run off.

Random thought just to finish this off, would tiredness be an excuse to get away with all sorts? imagine what we could get away with and just put it down to tiredness…..ohh the possibilites.

much love xxxx

Bring and share!

13 Aug

Soooo it’s Birthday BBQ time at chez mothers, great I say to myself remembering the last BBQ when Ryan was this cute little baby that just cooed and vomited, now I have this rampaging two year old and his trusty sidekick sister. Yuck.

 

The day starts fairly well, all the kids up and dressed, I find Lush takes longer these days to get dressed, only kidding.  I am getting to my mum’s on the train which I am kind of nervous about and have packed my trusty can of hairspray incase someone gets jealous of my screaming kids and wants to take them away and I can do my hair and go partying, no its for self defence as I dont think a  C Beebies magazine holds much clout these days, it used to when the Teletubbies ruled the world but I just don’t think Rastamouse cuts it really.

I’ve managed to get me and the kids on the first train and I’m waiting for the thing just to hurry up and shut its doors before I tell Ryan any more lies about the train not moving until he’s sitting still and how its doesn’t like naughty noisy boys etc etc.  It finally moves off and I haven’t even got to the first stop before I have to crack open the first bribe of the day, a packet of crisps, both kids are shovelling them in and im forcing a few more in their traps just to make sure the noise stays inside them.  We get off at east croydon and I mill around some random platform trying to look like im clued up and travel like this all the time down to my london office in my cosmopolitan life, in reality im looking very chav like with my uggs and tattoo out on display, go me.  I finally work out which train is mine and which of the 15 carriages I am allowed to go on and actually arrive at my destination as half of them get ditched and go running off down some other track and end up who knows where.

Im just settling into my seat when I notice her, yummy smug mummy with her uninterested husband and her kid whose named after a racing driver.  I can tell shes smug, she’s got a travel guide to Venezwala nestling in her lap, I mean seriously! she could’ve at least had an Hello! magazine to finish the picture off.  Her husbands ugly so that’s one nil to me already.  Things are going ok, we given each other the once over, the nod of the head and the smile, I’m still one up though.  Then the snack war starts, she gets out raisins, I get out a banana, racing boy starts spitting raisins out like droppings from  a rabbits bum my kids are happily chomping on their banana- well so yummy mummy thinks.  The thing is, she cant see my kids as the buggy is turned away from her,  whats really unfolding is that Lexi is creating a face mask and Ryan is kneading it like it’s  playdough.  Racing boy starts screeching so she gets his expensive looking juice filled expensive beaker out, oh, look at me producing water filled beakers, doesnt matter that they were bought from morrisons its still got water in it, ha!  Racing boy doesnt want his beaker and throws it awww shame, Lexi and Ryan are just pouring it over themselves but yummy mummy doesnt know.  She produces biscuits and looks at me,  I get out some mangy organic looking thing that even the pound shop has stopped selling because they are so nasty, but the packaging looks like its so good for the kids that it makes oxygen look like poison, Racing boy gives her a biscuit shower, Lexi gags and retches and Ryan whimpers I just cough loudly to disguise this.  Then she decides racing boy needs lunch, so she gets him bib and reaches into the bag and gets some tiny pot of ready made, shop bought goo, she thinks shes got me stumped but im already on it, shovelling yoghurts into the kids mouths and telling them how good they are in my children’s tv presenter’s voice, oh I’m on one now.  Meanwhile, racing boy has kicked up an almighty stink because he cant hold the spoon and feed himself because she doesnt want his million pound clothes getting stained.  She looks at uninterested hubby who just stares blankly back and says ‘I dont know what to do hes hungry and he has to eat’, im just staring with my hidden eye that all mothers have according to the folk lore that I have made up to tell my kids that I am always watching them.  Well I just have to offer advice, it would be rude not to, I gave her a spare spoon that I had, made it look like I had loads and could afford to brush away hundreds a week to desperate parents,  and lo and behold racing boy is so occupied at trying to get some food on his spoon he doesnt realise shes sholvelling it in.  She has to be grateful to me now  Oh I think I have won this match, bingo, ha ha.  Maybe she should get a travel guide to Croydon next time.

 

Anyway, after the train we have to get on the bus, and I run into advice and opinion giving hairy faced granny.  She tells me I’m cruel for giving the kids water in their beakers, I swiflty tell her that its too early for their daily vodka as it would knock them out too early and I want to get drunk tonight and need them asleep. Oh I’m on form today.

 

We get to mum’s, she’s running round like a blue arsed fly and I’m busy slyly tidying up and hiding what Ryans been doing.  The DVD player has been attacked and some flap thing has fallen off, so I  hide it, and hes found a lovely selection of pens to play with I just turn and go out the room,  well white walls look like paper!  All her guests arrive and its lovely to see some familiar faces and have a laugh and a chat.  One friend in particular bought mum a couple of years ago this strange ethnic looking wooden statue of a woman bent over and what looks like a massive penis growing out of  her stomach, it has a lovely shiny gold end to it (!). Mum hates this thing but has to have it on display as the friend visits a lot.  Im gaily chatting in the garden ignoring the kids and syphoning the punch when all of a sudden Ryan comes out with the penis statue and using it like a walking stick and banging it on the floor and mums friend (the purchaser of the statue) comes dashing after him. I throw the punch at the table and just run, knowing whats happening next, I grab Ryan and the penis statue and go into the living room and attempt to put the statue back, Ryan has other ideas and grabs it back, a tussle ensues and out of the corner of my eye I see that the statue has somehow twisted and is on the verge of snapping, mums friend is watching all of this but I don’t think she’s seen that its about to snap.  Ryan then sees something else and manages to let go and I put the statue back in its place and sit right in front of it so no one can see the damage, when she eventually goes out of the room I manage to run past with the statue and hide it up stairs, not before secretly rejoicing with mum in the hallway at the demise of the penis woman.

Mums churchy friends arrive and they scare me, I don’t dare look at them in case they try to convert me or their eyes burn at the amount of sin I’m oozing out of me.  One of them brings their child who is unbelievably worse than Ryan.  He’s slightly older and and bigger and  is dressed head to toe in a dinosaur costume, I’m all for children expressing themselves and all that so I let it go.  It all starts well and everyone’s all happy and noddy and gooey eyed over how the kids play nicely and give little pinches on the cheeks, I give a sharp dig with my eyes of course at  boy who told Ryan he can’t play with his own toy, I give the usual rolling of the eyes while muttering ‘boys’ and tutting to the rapt audience who want to see how its dealt with. I snatch the toy and play with it myself and the two boys cry, man I’m good at this parenting lark, but at least it dissolves the situation nicely.  Later on Ryan is showing dino boy all of the naughty things he does at nanny’s house and dino boy is joining in nicely, hooray Ryan isn’t going to get the blame hooray!  His sock and sandled parents roam aimlessly in and out pretending to give a crap and avoiding anything that involves them having to have contact with dino. Nice.  Ryan steals the wing from the dino costume and this big robust boy just dissolves into a million tears I am just about to step in via a quick swig from the punch bowl, when I notice that dino boy has stolen something from Ryan that Ryan can’t reach so he took the wing as he was trying to climb up the boy to get it.  Upon closer inspection I realise that Ryan has in fact ripped it, OMG,  The parents are gathering up their bibles and what not and are about to walk out the door, so I quickly tuck the wing in the back of the costume and hope it doesn’t fall off anywhere near me., while I’m tucking it in I make it look like a little friendly pat on the back so the parents think I’m nice, she wont think I’m so nice later on tonight when she’s sewing it back on ooops.

 

Random thought just finish things off, how did the person that made penis woman statue a) get the idea and b) get the model to pose for it, it really is the biazzarest thing.

 

much love xx