Tag Archives: Ryan


22 Jan

So, in a bid to become more organised at home in the run up to me beginning my new job I decide to embark on a new routine.  Instead of the the usual rush in the morning which consists of snoozing for an hour instead of 15 mins, ironing the school uniform on a towel on the kitchen counter and throwing together a packed lunch, I decide to be a normal Mum.  On Sunday nights, instead of chilling out and socialising on Facebook, I begin the excavation of the under stairs cupboard to find the ironing board in the hope I still possess it and that it didn’t move out during one of our many house moves, deep joy! I find it, it looks like its been mauled by a hungry Alsatian but nevertheless I shove the oddments of foam back into the rips and we are good to go.  I also begin my battle with the strip of wonder web as my efforts never seem to survive the wash.  I should really sew but unfortunately I’m a jack of all trades (well some) and master of none.  I can knit and I can cross stitch but I cant sew hems , sorry mum I know you’ve shown me numerous times but I just nod and pretend I don’t get it until you’ve done all of the sewing that needs doing and then I suddenly get it, until the next time.  Anyway, back to the wonder web, the ironing is sizzling nicely and spitting out lumps of limescale through the steam holes, I’m good to go.  The first pair go nicely and there’s only about a half an inch difference between the leg heights but whats that between friends.  The second pair is also coming on nicely until I try and put my hand through to turn them inside out and realise I cant and I have rather cleverly wonder webbed the leg together, whilst this is going on the iron is nicely melting through the roll of wonder web that is innocently sitting minding its own business.  After scraping the gloop off the iron and salvaging minute strips of wonder web and patch work bits together to form a strip I finally manage to get the trousers looking acceptable….for another week.  I get into the habit of doing the packed lunch the night before and I admit I’m feeling smug that I’m so organised and we are getting to school with time to breathe rather than screeching at the teacher to ‘hold the door’ from across the playground. So its good.

This week, however, things slip.  The children were behaving like exhibits from the zoo and by Sunday evening I was exhausted and in no mood to fight with the wonder web so I let it have its victory and let it high five itself in the kitchen drawer, that’s ok I’m the bigger person.  Monday night, still feeling scarred from the Monday morning rush I vow not to allow that to happen again.  Out comes the ironing board now sporting a new accessory or wonder web gloop and looking stylish I have to say.  I plug the iron in and notice, like me, the lights are on but no-ones home, even a few swear words aren’t helping I even treated it to some nice smelling water in the hope it may take pity on me, but no.  Oh heck what do I do? I have five pairs of trousers all with the hem half hanging down and ripped, I could cut them off but I have a wonky eye and what may look straight to me the highways agency would put a hill gradient warning sign up.  I’m left with no other choice but to get the stapler out and staple the hems, it looks kind of unnoticeable if you are standing miles away, I’m happy with the result and developed a new technique.

Keep the staples in mind for this next bit.  Today is Ryan’s take a parent to school day, apparently I pass as an acceptable parent and come into the school.  Ryan is beaming and telling all the children who I am and teachers are smiling and nodding, its all going well.  We all go down to assembly and one of the other mums comes up to chat in a whispery sort of way and its a pleasant chat as chats go, we’ve done the obligatory fake compliments about each others kids even though I didn’t know which one she was pointing to so I made a non-committal comment about a jumper and it was gratefully received.

Ryan is sitting so well in assembly and I’m really pleased and he keeps turning round and smiling and blowing kisses etc etc. But then it suddenly stops and hes found something more interesting than me to look at.  I notice that he begins to pick at something and takes great measures to recover the victim of his pick, he then brings it up to his face to examine it more closely.  I can’t work out what it is and he wont turn around any more so I have no idea what it is.  He then begins to fidget and nudge his friend and point to his mouth.  At this point Ryan then turns to me and I see staple embedded into his lip somehow, I cant get to him discretely without stampeding on several rows of children and causing broken limbs, I’m at a loss as to what to do.  The child next to Ryan begins to scream as if Ryan’s eyeball has fallen out and is lolling around on his cheek, then a whole row of children start screaming and pointing.  The teacher rushes over, the assembly stops and everyone is staring.  I feel myself being ‘comforted and squeezed’ by chat mum and I just stare, by this time the staple had been removed and there is no damage, but then the questions begin.  ‘Ryan, where did you get this from?’  please don’t answer please don’t answer, I have to do something to stop the horrible truth emerging, but what, a dance? a song? oh heck I don’t know.  I begin half lurching half skipping across the hall to Ryan almost flying in fact, and I randomly start to clap,  this doesn’t work and the teacher is demanding to know where he got it from, I think she is going to launch a full health and safety investigation and call the health and safety executive in and shut the school down until the source is identified, if the source is identified two crimes will be uncovered.  The first crime is that I pinched the stapler complete with staples from my Mum, sorry Mum, and secondly my poor laundry skills will be exposed.

As I begin to act like the wounded party and start to say to the teacher that there’s no harm done and do the ‘kids’ whilst rolling my eyes thing I hear Ryan, clear as day, ‘It came from my clothes’ me: ‘ha ha oh Ryan you are funny’ Ryan: ‘it did Mummy, look  there’s lots of them in my trousers’ Cue gasp from the gathered crowd.  Me: ‘My goodness me! these are new trousers who could have possibly done this? Ryan still continuing to examine his trousers dutifully points out more of my crimes on the other trouser leg.  I try to steer the conversation back to the assembly topic but it’s not happening.  I realise that people are still waiting for a forensic analysis as to how the staples met the trousers, I have no other choice but to blame my husband (sorry Lush, I really am), people instantly begin the rolling eyes ‘husband’ routine and I’m in the clear, phew, well I’m in the clear at school but when my lovely husband reads this which I know he will, I will be back in hot water.  Fortunately he is a good man who tolerates alot, he has to, he’s married to me!

Several lessons learnt today, Children never have your back and will always out you, I have always taught him to tell the truth so I can’t argue with this.  I don’t think this organisation thing is working out for me and lastly I have though of a new hemming technique, Superglue anyone????

Much Love xxxxx


The run up to christmas

15 Dec

Its that time of year again, it crept up too quickly, I’m sure last week I was filling up the paddling pool in the garden for the wild children.  Every year I vow to be organised, just for once I want to be THAT person that puts the fear of god into people by being the first person to send a Christmas card to them, I have some seriously organised friends, the wonderful ones that send birthday cards on time and Easter ones and moving home ones, I’ve moved house so many times recently I wouldn’t have blamed anyone for photocopying the original moving home card and just doling out a copy each time, times are hard I get that! I realise that I’m not organised in the card sending department, but this year I have checked the final posting day (one better than last year) AND I’ve bought the cards, whether or not anyone will get a card before next Christmas is another thing.  I feel like I’ve totally achieved something when I post it in a letter box, I feel like high fiving myself and doing a glory lap round the post box to victorious music playing and confetti and glitter streaming down from above, wait sorry got carried away, back to the serious business of Christmas.

On the theme of vowing to be more organised, we decided to get the kids presents relatively early.  The danger of this is that they grow bored of the character that you bought every item of- in our case fireman Sam, so over the past few weeks I have cunningly been sky plussing fireman Sam episodes and putting them on at every opportunity, Ryan the naughty 4 year old has worked out how to use the computer and has found a fireman Sam shopping page and every few minutes I hear the familiar ‘can I ‘ave it mummy’ I take a deep breath before I view the latest must have item and say a silent thank you when I see his finger jousting at the screen displaying what is tucked away upstairs.  We did have a small breach of the Christmas present stash, I was alerted to this fact when Ryan appeared beaming from ear to ear,  rather than complimenting Ryan on his lovely smile, my instant thought was one of fear and a questioning as to what deed he had done.  He produces a present, my eyeballs almost fall out of my head and then we embark on a ridiculous tom and Jerry chase around the kitchen and the living room, whilst chasing him I am trying to think of an excuse as to who the present could possibly belong to.  I finally manage to get him and wrestle the present from his clutches, he then asks who the present is for, err right  ‘well Ryan the present is for the poor children’ phew I did well, I’m just removing myself from the tom and jerry catch scene smiling and commending myself on my quick thinking, ‘Mummy, who are the poor children, where do they live, can I see them’ oh gosh, now I’ve opened up the can of worms.  I find myself describing a scene from Annie, where all the beds are lined up and the girls have nothing etc etc. Hoping the curiosity has been satisfied I once again begin my retreat, ‘Mummy, can I speak to the poor children’ ‘No darling they don’t have phones’ ‘Can I go to their houses’ ‘No darling they don’t have their own houses’ it continues on and we go into their clothes and their messy hair and shoes.  I need to stop this conversation before he thinks we live in Dickens times.  The conversation is bought nicely to an end by Ryan’s sister who has kindly undecorated the Christmas tree and is wearing all manner of decorations, cue another tom and jerry scene.

Ryan has recently started school after a long process of appeals and my poor facebook friends being subjected to my constant whingeing about him not having a school place, I bet they all praised the Lord when I announced that finally my foot stomping, screeching and sob storying had gotten him a place.  Bear with me this story does go somewhere.  We go and view the school and its lovely and fine and Ryan is given a start date.  When he arrives for his first day, unfortunately his eczema has flared up rather nastily on his face.  He looks like an abused child and its awful and the more you try to explain to the teacher the more you look guilty.  For the first few days I stand alone in the playground and then a few of the mums begin to saunter over to get the goss, which is fine, I can deal.  One afternoon I am standing in a small group of above said mums and the children begin filing out of the classroom.  Ryan is one of the first out, I’m not sure if this is engineered by the poor exhausted looking teacher who cannot bear to look at him for another second or just his eagerness to look at his beautiful mummy.  I stay and listen to one of the group conversations and have a little laugh to myself, really, if picking the right pair of Uggs is all you have to worry about then I suggest you read a book or something.  Ryan is tugging at my sleeve and really wanting my attention, the conversation stops and I turn my attention to Ryan who points at one of the children in the group and rather loudly says ‘Mummy is that one of the poor children’  my smile freezes on my face I notice the mum put a protective pair of hands on the prospective ‘poor’ child, I stupidly ask Ryan why he asked that, he then points down to the shoes and proceeds to inform me and the group that he must be a poor child because the shoes are ruined and dirty and have holes in them.  Not content with this, he then turns to another poor child and informs me that this child must also be a poor child because he has ‘bad hair like a girl’.  I make my excuses and run dragging my accuser away.  I don’t think he will be getting any party invitations any time soon and I don’t think I will be invited to the cosy ‘mums get together’ which was billed in the email as , ‘ an evening where we can get together, get to know each other,  let our hair down and have adult talk’  I don’t think my sort of adult talk would be acceptable in this group, they didn’t even know what fifty shade of grey was, I hope they don’t ask me to tell them as I haven’t read it.  I must be in the 1% of women that haven’t read it.  I read the first 50 pages and quite frankly got bored, been there got the t-shirt etc, in fact it was the t-shirt I used to….must stop!!

The presents have been bought- not wrapped but bought, the cards are waving at me from the top of my dishwasher, what else have I forgotten?? Oh the actual day with the food and crap that goes with it.  I thought about who to invite, last year we invited some people who would’ve otherwise been alone and some family and it was lovely.  This year these people are no longer lonely as they no have boyfriends/girlfriends which is fab news, this leaves family….the only member of our immediate family on both sides that we are speaking to is my mum and she is on thin ice!! But it’s our first Christmas in our new home and minus a few tragedies and heartaches we aim to have a good time, a personal goal of mine is not to screech at my mother who very kindly informed me today that she would rather have a present than my Christmas dinner!

I wrap (ha ha  did you like that one) this rather not very funny and up to my usual standard blog up by wishing you all a very merry Christmas.  I for one will very much be looking forward to waving this year goodbye- well that’s if we make it to Christmas, we may all be wiped out just before it, what a bloody waste I’ve bought presents and by that point I may have actually sent cards, hang on that’s a perfect excuse for not sending the cards, ‘so sorry I thought we were all going to be mind controlled by the things I’ve seen on Stargate sg1 so I spent my time usefully by watching the episodes so I know what to expect and then maybe I can educate and become a leader of our new population’. I knew I should’ve been made a queen.  Goodbye to a horrid year, for those that know me personally can relate to my eagerness to start afresh and I know that some of my friends will also share the same desire having lost loved ones.


Much Love x

New Town New Playgroup

14 Sep


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


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

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