Tag Archives: coffee

New Town New Playgroup

14 Sep

HI!

It’s been a long time, for those that know me, poor you, will know why and those that don’t, count yourself lucky!  This blog is not about my tales of woes, its too long and boring and you would probably need to go to counselling afterwards.  No seriously this blog is exactly what it says on the tin, I’m a bit rusty but here goes….

We’ve been lucky enough to be moved to a lovely house in a lovely area, the type of area where you google earth it and see your little house surrounded by mansions that have epic swimming pools in their grounds, shit.  They have to let their guard down occasionally and let the riff raff move in to show they are doing their bit ‘for the community’.  As wonderful as this sounds theres no school place for Ryan (4, star of previous blogs), AKA they cant afford the 12:1 staff ratio for him, no that’s unfair he’s improved it’s only 10:1 now for his daily dramas.  There also isn’t a nursery place for the screaming dolly, Lexi (2, no doubt star of future blogs).

I decide to make myself known on the mummy circuit and try to make local friends, they have to speak to me first but that’s only a small detail, I will fit in I have a pair of uggs and converse surely that’s the golden ticket into the clique.   I scour facebook and find the group that I will inflict myself and my zoo upon, it’s quite apt as its called monkeys, great they must be aware of naughty children that you can’t blatantly call sods so you pat them on the head and call them monkeys instead, yay!

I arrived and join the queue to pay my mortgage admission fee, Ryan instantly darts off his location unknown until I hear a screaming child, Lexi is clinging to me like a baby monkey and refusing to give me the dummy that is vacuum suctioned into her mouth, mummy sin number 1.  I pay and I’m in, I feel like a virgin at a strip club.  I walk around trying to find a place to drop my carefully packed bag, I packed this bag with everything and for every eventuality to make me look organised and like a good mum, I cant carry the thing buts its all gravy.

I find my spot and look around smiling like a maniac in the hope of catching someone’s eye.  I need to ask if you have to pay for coffee but not sure if that would make me an outcast, i literally brought the admission fee and that was it.  I pick my way through the throngs of children and yummy mummies and reach the counter.  This one heck of a posh playgroup, they do filter coffee from a cafetiere and they have homemade cake, and individual bowls of cucumber and banana for the kids.  I try not to speak as my cockney accent always lowers the tone I also have tattoos which instantly makes everyone clasp their designer bags tighter than their  own children.

I get the coffee and retreat back to my camp.  I begin to survey the group and notice what everyone is wearing, there’s groups, I notice, some women are still power dressing, maybe lusting after their once successful career before their wombs twitched them into submission, some are dressed like mother earth all paisley and flowy, you can imagine them going home and digging up their dinner from their gardens, there’s the jeans and converse mummies, oh I look like one of them except my roots make my clean hair look like it hasn’t been washed for a month, oh well onwards and upwards.  Lexi begins to bitch slap an innocent looking nicely dressed little girl and I take that as my cue to begin a conversation…WRONG.  Move on to next victim except there’s no one on their own and I’m not approaching a group its like putting your hand in a nest of vipers.

I look at the toys and notice that every one of them had batteries in them that worked, this is posh, mega posh, my kids toys haven’t seen batteries since they were shipped out of Taiwan.  Lexi falls upon this dolly in a pushchair like she has never seen anything like it, cue super bitch top dawg mummy….”oh doesn’t she have a dolly? every girl needs a dolly, such a shame” and then walks off.  This woman is immaculate she must have a team that dresses her, she honestly pitched up to playgroup in a twin set, hair in a gorgeous bun type thing, make up is flawless.  My make up routine stretches to slapping some oil of ulay on my face in the hope it will harden and cement up the wrinkles.

I notice that there are lots of newborns and expecting ladies, oh my gosh I need those horse blinker things before my womb begins to twitch, I have just completed a degree I need to now complete an application form and complete at least one month of work before I can contemplate babies again- sorry husband I know we had “the talk” but I suddenly developed partial deafness at that time and must have mistook what you said :).

The playgroup is in a church hall, but this isn’t some ramshackle old hall, it’s a super hall, designed by architects, it has a dishwasher and eco friendly things.  It had a lovely little garden that backs onto a graveyard, I aimlessly wonder out there to try and spot at least one of my children and something catches my eye, it’s a bright yellow blob and it looks like its poledancing on a big cross thing in the graveyard, please god no, please tell me I didnt dress Ryan in yellow…..oh heck I did.  I did an olympic style sprint and hurdle over the fence and dragged Ryan back through the fence before he began to earn any money and plonked him in a wendy house, I calmly walk away smiling and rolling my eyes “kids hey” when all of the sudden Ryan remembers the rude naughty word he likes to use and leans out of the window and yells out that I’m an “effing punk”, ground please open and swallow me now!!  I’m ashamed to say I ran off and hid in the toilet and looked on facebook for a bit.

The rest of the time went reasonably ok and I managed to find some poor lady to speak to me and I’m pretty sure she wont be coming back in case she runs into me.

Oh and the ONE question I wanted somebody to ask me to check my status in life and the only time I have a pretty impressive answer no body does.  “what do you do?” I wanted to tell them what I am about to do so I could watch them shove it up their range rover pipe and smoke it but no one did, oh well a good excuse for next week.

Much Love x

Advertisements

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