Tag Archives: lexi

Nursery Times

5 Oct

So,  the youngest of my brood has started nursery….with a bang!  We didn’t plump for the usual paint in your hair and play dough in your poo nursery, no, we went for the one that teaches degree level french before lunch.   With this nursery comes a new level of thoughts and anxieties.  The first one being the lunch box police.  Amongst the millions of policies that we have to wade through, there’s a wonderful document about what we can and cannot put in our little darling’s lunchbox.  The lunch as a whole has to cover every food group, cue a mini search on google and a mega melt down.  I carefully unpack the lunch I have made and say a little prayer.  The sandwich, ok well its good, its on seedy, as in with seeds not dirty old man seedy, bread and its got ham in it that will do, despite the fact she doesn’t really like sandwiches, then there’s the usual yogurt,  stringy cheese- which was evicted from the hello kitty lunchbox, the crisps were taken out and the chocolate bar was removed, oh heck there’s nothing left.  I rummage around in the cupboard and manage to scrape together a box of raisins and a ritz cracker and peel a carrot and a little fairy cake that I skillfully take out of its wrapper roughen it up a little bit and wrap it in foil…homemade.  I’m feeling content as I trot along to nursery and hand over the semi homemade fare, when I overhear a Mother tell the nursery worker that Django or whatever his face is, has his favourite lunch, the nursery staff  perk up as if there’s a notoriety with this child’s lunch,  Tango or whatever he is called is pushed by his mother to spill all and tell EVERYBODY what this fantastic lunch is, I’m still feeling good at this point, Lexi has a balanced lunch, her brain will grow, until Tango face tells everybody he has homemade Sushi for lunch.  I freeze as I’m signing Lexi’s name in the book and somehow scrawl across the page with the pen, Sushi?? who does that?? maybe she has a fancy exotic au pair that makes this stuff, yes that must be it, well I work and don’t have time roll rice in seaweed, that’s my reasons anyway, then the mother pipes up that she makes it all herself and she works. Humph she must roll the sushi with one hand and close business deals with the other, I can do that.

Then another mum comes bustling through the door and informs the staff that Spike’s lunch hasn’t cooled down yet and could they take immediate action to ensure that the food is cooled down, I snigger to myself, well maybe out loud and she looks at me, I had to fake something so I try a cough which sounded more like a shi tzu yapping, didn’t work, I fake a sneeze which makes two children cry and hide behind their mothers, I have to find out whats in this child’s lunch box , I need some ideas.  I’ve done as much signing in as I can and looking in Lexi’s work tray and Lexi said goodbye a while ago, I really  have no excuse to be here, in fact I’ve been there so long, my husband comes looking for me, he wants to know what I’m doing, the Mother’s want to know what I’m doing and the nursery staff want to know what I’m doing they all look at me expectantly like they are expecting a song or a dance.  I still need to know what’s in the lunchbox but there’s no conversation they are all looking at me, the nursery lady asks if she can help me, please god let something intelligent come from my mouth, I blurt out that I’m CRB checked and not a weirdo and then laugh manically, which automatically makes people assume you are a weirdo, everyone is smiling sympathetically and nodding, I’m looking around frantically for some inspiration and I see a poster advertising for parent helpers on the nursery trip, bingo! I point to the poster and say that, the nursery lady falls on me like I’m giving her a kidney or something, I somehow volunteered myself to help at the trip, then I get a round of applause and these mothers tittering and twittering about how they don’t have the time and how wonderful it is, I tell them I work but it falls on deaf ears, so now I’m a parent helper. But it still doesn’t answer the lunch question, until Spock, oops Spike , well to be fair he has got pointy ears, pipes up and begins to wail that he doesn’t like omelette, no way!! Who puts omelette in a kid’s lunchbox, I’m tempted to invite the kid round and ply him with drinks of coke and bowls of haribo, live life boy!  I leave the nursery quickly escorted by my rather embarrassed husband, he’s used to it by now.

A little later I’m queuing up to collect Lexi and am indulging in some earwigging and have to dig my nails into the palm of my hand not to laugh.  Bearing in mind I live in a small but affluent town, I’m a minority as I have no money ha ha, anyway, I’m listening to this woman wailing about something or other.  This woman is dressed head to toe in designer clothes, me, I’ve pitched up in my uni hoodie and jeans.  I hear the woman go round all of the queuing Mothers, apart from me,  and ask how much their “help” is, now I’m thinking she talking about a cleaner maybe.  No, she’s asking about Nannies and general dogsbodies that pick up after these spoilt women and their children.  One woman says that she pays 25k per year, the nanny has her own car, wing of the house and her own help, ok not the help bit but you get the gist, another woman chips in, trying to out do the other, with a 25.5K salary, a mercedes and a gym pass and a separate flat in the garden.  I can see the original asker beginning to twitch and you can see the gold plated calculator totting up amounts, she then announces that she will need, and get, according to her,  a part time job that pays 50k a year, at this point, my nails have almost gouged through my palm I have to resist the urge not to laugh and chip in.  Rather than one of the mothers giving this clearly clueless woman a reality check, they all begin nodding like nodding dogs and tell her that there’s plenty of part time work that pays that amount, silly me yes there are…on cloud cuckoo land.  I’m looking forward to hearing what her job is and seeing if its legal.

A week or so later, it’s nursery trip time and it turns out that a few of the mums have taken time out of their salon schedules to accompany their children.  We have been advised in the extensive letter about the clothing and the dreaded lunch, and this time I’m fully prepared. Or so I thought.  I’m packing Lexi’s lunch according to instructions and I’ve met the food group targets and even thrown in the odd whole tuna to make sushi and a  hen to lay a fresh egg for the omelette, in case I feel the need to make one for Lexi’s lunch.  I look further down the list and see that an ice pack is requested for the lunch, I have two choices, randomly in my freezer, I have a frozen bottle of water in a coke bottle, choice one, or i have a bag of mixed veg which could be decanted into a less conspicuous bag and would not highlight so much the lack of organisation that I have.  The simplest option would be the coke bottle, I could peel the label off and maybe wrap it in some wrapping paper and pretend its from cath kidston or one of those fancy boutique shops that are run by bored wives of bankers, I decide against this and go for the mixed veg option.  I put the mixed veg in a small bag and shove it in the lunchbox and off we go.  We are instructed to meet in the car park of the local farm and Lexi and I pitch up in our banger of a car and park it in between two chelsea tractors and walk towards the group of immaculately dressed mothers and children some in the same outfit as their parent.  I do a quick check, suncream, hat, shoes and lunch, we are there we are in.  We end up waiting in the car park for this one mother who comes with the help in tow and instantly three smart phones come out of three designer bags to call for their help who is probably back at the mansion ensuring the gardener is tending the bush (es) correctly, we wait a further 20 mins for the help to arrive, by this time, I’ve had two invitations thrust in my hand, one for a tea and couture afternoon and the other for a botox party, as I obviously need some help!  Anyhow whilst reeling from the invitations I turn to see my daughter attempting to board a coach that has nothing to do with our trip, she manages the first step and thinks shes on for getting a seat, the driver ushers her off the steps as she is preventing a large rowdy group of children from leaving the coach and she is fuming and attempts to board the coach again.  I try to ignore her and shake my head and tut and hope that as I’m a new parent they wont realise she belongs to me, she then screeches and starts banging the coach door which has had to be shut until the offending child has been removed, I look around for my help and realise that I am the help and have no choice but to help my daughter into the farm.  By now any help that needs to arrive has arrived and we are allowed into the farm, we are shown into a room and given various instructions about hand washing and petting of the animals and we are allowed to start looking at the animals.  The mothers all mill around in their little groups and I manage to tag along in one of them.  I notice a lady has a child called Mungo, instantly I begin humming the “umbungo umbungo they drink it in the jungle”  advert, out loud, but soon stop when the invisible daggers start piercing my lungs, clearly someone has done this before as she knew where to aim the daggers.  We are roaming around and Lexi becomes fixated with a large turkey who isn’t very impressed at being gawped at, I am terrified of birds and try to get Lexi to look at a goat but she’s having none of it, in the end I’m falling further and further behind and have to coax Lexi to the next section with some hidden sweets that I managed to smuggle in.  We get to the cow shed and all of the sudden i hear a high pitched shriek and Mungo’s mother has realised that hes gone missing and  we all begin calling out for him, I forget his name and start calling out Mango at the top of my voice, I go in search of him shouting out mango and I am attracting some rather strange looks, which are warranted, who honestly goes around shouting mango at a children’s farm.  Mango is found and we carry on until lunchtime.  We are shown into a shed and like oil and water, the mothers and their children separate and the au pairs move in.  I begin doling out Lexi’s lunch  and have managed to infiltrate a little mummy’s group and have been included in the conversation, admittedly it’s about private schools, but I can nod and agree like I know what I am nodding about.  The mothers are nibbling like little hamsters at some rivita thins and go on that that’s the only thing they are going to eat for the whole week as they are so fat and their personal trainer has told them so.

The conversation moves on to their children’s healthy eating and Lexi has a reasonably well balanced lunch which I have nicely laid out for her, one mother snorts at an item in Lexi’s lunch and gives her child some seeds and a carrot, undeterred by this, I proceed to say what a lovely diet Lexi has and everything is fresh and organic from the garden just like birdseye, when Lexi grabs her lunchbox from my hand and pulls out the bag of semi frozen mixed veg and it splits, showering the mothers with hard chunks of broccoli and squidgy peas, I have no choice but to act mortified and out loud exclaim how could such a thing get in her lunch box and how we only use that for injuries, I think I got away with it, but they didn’t speak to me for the rest of lunch, I sat back and ate a snickers instead.

We move to the animal handling section and my daughter is not known for her patience, she has to be first and will not take any other place, unfortunately she is fourth in the queue to hold a chick, I hope the thing doesn’t shit, Lexi is getting more and more impatient while other children are looking at the chick and each mother/help is pointing out eyes beak etc and every fricking feather.  Lexi decides enough is enough and launches herself at the bench, forces a space for herself and takes the little mat that the chick sits on and removes the chick from a child’s hand.  The chick is squawking for it’s mother, the farm person is shocked and I’m trying to release the tight grip that Lexi has on the chick.  We manage to get the chick on the mat and Lexi is stroking it and when she is told it is somebody else’s turn she grabs the chick and screeches no, I need to release this chick as I swear I can see it’s eyes bulging and everyone is looking at me and I’m sure it will shit in shock.  I have no choice but to unleash the jelly tots and wave them in front of her, this doesn’t work and the chick is going bug eyed, I get my phone out and throw it at her, she releases the chick and the mat goes on the floor and Lexi is swiftly removed from the tutting parents.  I hide in the portaloo and smoke an imaginary cigarette and drink an imaginary vodka.  The rest of the trip goes well with Lexi not lifting her head from my phone and before she knows it, she is back in the car seat and en route to home.

Funnily enough we were never invited to any of the get togethers that were going ahead through the summer/autumn…..Thank God!

Much Love x

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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

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