Since the weekend life has been full of bizarre health and safety issues!
On Saturday we visited the boy's godfather and his family for their annual Summer BBQ. The Godfather (as he likes to be known) was wielding the tongs as all men do at BBQ time but, whilst chatting to his wife in the kitchen, I was surprised to see him come into the house, rip off a large (he'll thank me for the large reference - you'll see why in a moment) piece of tin foil and stuff it down his pants to fashion an aluminium codpiece.
"I always burn me nuts when I BBQ!" he declared casually and went back out into the garden.
Resourceful, inventive and very very funny. I knew there was a reason we picked him to help us bring up the boy!
The second incident happened yesterday at work. Well whilst leaving work. We have a long running issue with nesting seagulls in our car park. Brian and Sharon, as they have been named, are now the proud parents of a hatched egg and boy do all the staff know about it.
Brian, in particular, is a proud Dad and if anyone parks near his fledgling family or even walks past he swoops, screeches and shits on you in turn. Several staff members have been attacked with varying degrees of hilarity and distress and the situation is now so bad that we've taken to putting umbrellas up in the blazing sunshine to keep the birds at bay.
Last night I thought I'd got it sussed. I parked at the far end, well away from the birds home and recent nest and walked to my car along the adjacent road, only entering down at the bottom where the cars actually exit. No problems, I'm no threat to him down there, easy.
No!
Brian was watching me all the time I strolled back to my car. He spied me through the bushes and peeped at me through the trees. He was on to me. The moment I entered that car park he swivelled round and swooped towards me with deafening squawks.
I ducked. I ran. I shouted. I swear a little wee came out.
When I got to my car I was laughing so hard I text Ken and Barbie, who have also been attacked!
"Bloody Brian's just had a go at me!" I wrote.
They peed themselves too! Laughing at me!
As the birds are protected under the wildlife and countryside act there's nothing the company can do other than offer advice and issue a health and safety accident form for us to fill in about our "near miss",
"What do you think might have happened if the bird had attacked you?"
Ken wanted to write, "I may have been decapitated" but wasn't sure that would've been appreciated!
The last of the randomness was also last night at Zumba.
Once we got into the hall, Byron and I spotted a Rubenesque lady of ample proportions (and that's me saying this) in a strapless top!
A strapless top for gods sake! For a Zumba class! For any exercise class! I know it was a hot night but have a bit of common love! Firstly they don't do strapless sports bras and secondly she obviously had no idea how much jumping around you do!
Byron and I cast glances backwards at the girl. Should we tell her she's in for a bumpy ride? Or should we keep quiet and wait for the fall out (quite literally)? What do you think we did? We kept mum didn't we! This was comedy gold. And lets face it she was there now, she'd paid her four quid and she'd soon work it out. There was nothing we could do to save her now.
The music started. It's pulsating Latin beats rang around the sports hall. We launched into the warm up. That was all she needed to know. She survived the rest of the class in tact by virtue of the fact she hardly moved. She sort of swayed half heartily whilst looked red and confused and hitching her top up every five seconds. It was less of a work out more of an endurance test. The top won and she was rendered still. Even the stretches in the cool down evaded her. She won't be doing that again in a hurry.
So all in all it's been a strange and random few days, but what links all these things is birds.
A tin foil budgie smuggler, angry seagulls and a pair of tits on the loose!
Thursday, 30 June 2011
Thursday, 23 June 2011
The One with the Zumba!
You know how I've been bleating on about losing weight recently and getting shot of my baby belly. Well last night I took the first, Salsa like, steps to doing something about it.
I went to a Zumba class!
For those living in a box and yet to hear of this craze here's how the Zumba UK website describes it:
Zumba® is currently one of the World's fastest growing fitness programmes. It fuses hypnotic Latin rhythms and easy to follow moves to create a dynamic fitness program that will blow you away. Our goal is simple: We want you to want to work out, to love working out, to get hooked.
So what are you waiting for?
So what was I waiting for? After last night's work out probably an oxygen tent!
I realised, as I drove out to the class, that this was the first time I had engaged my poor old flabby body in any sort of vigorous physical activity since before I was pregnant. There was a time, BTB, when I was reasonably fit. I played badminton twice a week, did a regular yoga class and lots of walking. Even when I was pregnant I kept up with the yoga and did aqua natal classes as well, but since the arrival of the boy I seem to have exchanged feeling the burn for feeding me biscuits!
The opportunity to try Zumba came when a colleague at work, for blog purposes to be known as Byron, said would I like to come along. So armed with a bottle of water and some old workout clothes I found in the bottom of a drawer that still mercifully fitted me, I arrived at the sports hall not quite knowing what to expect of the class or myself!
I have no co-ordination you see and in times of stress, confusion or speed I can't tell my left from my right! On the first of my three driving tests I went the wrong way twice because the instructor intimidated me so much!
I also have a tendency to just trip up for no good reason! I have never felt so old as I did the day I slipped over in Debenhans and they wouldn't let me leave the store until a first aider had seen me. What was doubly embarrassing was I used to work there and as I lay prostrate on the floor with my shopping strewn around me people kept coming past, recognising me and stopping for a chat. Once you start having falls in public places you may as well get the blue rinse and surgical stockings out because the end is in sight!
With all this in mind and to quote Simon Callow in "Four Weddings and a Funeral", once I got on the dance floor "I feared lives may be lost"!
All day at work Ken and Barbie said the thought of me doing Zumba was hilarious! I have to say I agreed with them. Byron described it as "going to Zumba with Miranda Hart" such was the firm belief that I would either fall over, trip someone else over, knock a speaker flying or at the very least, at some point, make a complete tit of myself.
Disappointingly, for comedy purposes, I didn't do any of these things.
What I did do however was have a great time!
I surprised myself that I could keep up with the steps and the music and yes I was red in the face, sweating and needing a drink after every song but so were most people. The hall was packed with ladies, and two very game guys, of all shapes, sizes and abilities. I was comforted to realise I wasn't the biggest girl there, nor the least co-ordinated! I did have a sense that the top half of my body wasn't talking to the lower half though because as soon as I got the leg work right my arms flailed about like a bad Kate Bush impression or if I got my arms co-ordinated my feet went on strike.
But arms and legs were nothing to what hips, tummy and bum were doing. They were having a party all on their own. At one point we had to shimmy and then rotate our hips in a figure of 8, belly dancing style, whilst turning around. That was too much for my brain to take in and I became an over enthusiastic puppy dog trying to chase it's own tail. I was wobbling in places I'd forgotten I had and I swear my arse was still jigging up and down for a full 10 minutes after the last track had finished.
I checked the BBC News website to make sure there wasn't a story of an earthquake in Suffolk!
At least the instructor didn't shout out complicated phrases to describe the moves, she just pointed in the direction we were supposed to go and my legs, arms and swivelling hips sort of vaguely followed her.
I must have been doing something right as today I'd lost all feeling in my legs, arms and hips and normality was only resumed after two hot baths and a large G&T!
Apparently Zumba is Spanish slang for "to move fast and have fun". I have some British slang terms for it too now but I'm too much of a lady to put them on here!
I'm going next week though and not just because it's an excuse to have a relaxing bath and a gin when I get home....
I went to a Zumba class!
For those living in a box and yet to hear of this craze here's how the Zumba UK website describes it:
Zumba® is currently one of the World's fastest growing fitness programmes. It fuses hypnotic Latin rhythms and easy to follow moves to create a dynamic fitness program that will blow you away. Our goal is simple: We want you to want to work out, to love working out, to get hooked.
So what are you waiting for?
So what was I waiting for? After last night's work out probably an oxygen tent!
I realised, as I drove out to the class, that this was the first time I had engaged my poor old flabby body in any sort of vigorous physical activity since before I was pregnant. There was a time, BTB, when I was reasonably fit. I played badminton twice a week, did a regular yoga class and lots of walking. Even when I was pregnant I kept up with the yoga and did aqua natal classes as well, but since the arrival of the boy I seem to have exchanged feeling the burn for feeding me biscuits!
The opportunity to try Zumba came when a colleague at work, for blog purposes to be known as Byron, said would I like to come along. So armed with a bottle of water and some old workout clothes I found in the bottom of a drawer that still mercifully fitted me, I arrived at the sports hall not quite knowing what to expect of the class or myself!
I have no co-ordination you see and in times of stress, confusion or speed I can't tell my left from my right! On the first of my three driving tests I went the wrong way twice because the instructor intimidated me so much!
I also have a tendency to just trip up for no good reason! I have never felt so old as I did the day I slipped over in Debenhans and they wouldn't let me leave the store until a first aider had seen me. What was doubly embarrassing was I used to work there and as I lay prostrate on the floor with my shopping strewn around me people kept coming past, recognising me and stopping for a chat. Once you start having falls in public places you may as well get the blue rinse and surgical stockings out because the end is in sight!
With all this in mind and to quote Simon Callow in "Four Weddings and a Funeral", once I got on the dance floor "I feared lives may be lost"!
All day at work Ken and Barbie said the thought of me doing Zumba was hilarious! I have to say I agreed with them. Byron described it as "going to Zumba with Miranda Hart" such was the firm belief that I would either fall over, trip someone else over, knock a speaker flying or at the very least, at some point, make a complete tit of myself.
Disappointingly, for comedy purposes, I didn't do any of these things.
What I did do however was have a great time!
I surprised myself that I could keep up with the steps and the music and yes I was red in the face, sweating and needing a drink after every song but so were most people. The hall was packed with ladies, and two very game guys, of all shapes, sizes and abilities. I was comforted to realise I wasn't the biggest girl there, nor the least co-ordinated! I did have a sense that the top half of my body wasn't talking to the lower half though because as soon as I got the leg work right my arms flailed about like a bad Kate Bush impression or if I got my arms co-ordinated my feet went on strike.
But arms and legs were nothing to what hips, tummy and bum were doing. They were having a party all on their own. At one point we had to shimmy and then rotate our hips in a figure of 8, belly dancing style, whilst turning around. That was too much for my brain to take in and I became an over enthusiastic puppy dog trying to chase it's own tail. I was wobbling in places I'd forgotten I had and I swear my arse was still jigging up and down for a full 10 minutes after the last track had finished.
I checked the BBC News website to make sure there wasn't a story of an earthquake in Suffolk!
At least the instructor didn't shout out complicated phrases to describe the moves, she just pointed in the direction we were supposed to go and my legs, arms and swivelling hips sort of vaguely followed her.
I must have been doing something right as today I'd lost all feeling in my legs, arms and hips and normality was only resumed after two hot baths and a large G&T!
Apparently Zumba is Spanish slang for "to move fast and have fun". I have some British slang terms for it too now but I'm too much of a lady to put them on here!
I'm going next week though and not just because it's an excuse to have a relaxing bath and a gin when I get home....
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
The One with the Midsummer Casserole
Today is Midsummer's day, the longest day of the year!
I could argue that other days, when the boy has been playing me up and screaming the house down have felt like the longest day of my life let alone the year but technically and meteorologically it is today.
It just doesn't "feel" like Midsummer though. The sky is grey, there's a threat of rain, the breeze is less warm and barmy more chilly and crazy, and to compound the "Are you sure it isn't March?" feeling I've made a beef casserole and put it in the slow cooker.
Not very summer cuisine is it!
In my defence there was an admin mix up on my part yesterday, when I thought I'd got mince out of the freezer for Spaghetti Bolognese and realised too late that it was braising steak instead. Such is our love, in the Random Household, for Spaghetti Bolognese that I had to hold the steak off until today and go out and buy fresh mince! You see once I had it in my mind we were having Spag Bol I needed Spag Bol!
Apparently the worlds favourite food now is pasta: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-13760559,
and I can't say that surprises me. I adore the stuff! I'd eat it everyday. In fact on holiday with Lemon Cake Lady, Lemon Cake Hubby and Lemon Cake Son we played fantasy last meal and mine was Spaghetti Bolognese. It was questioned as too ordinary, too everyday for a last meal request but in my humble and random view, a fine Spag Bol, with plenty of pasta, parmesan on top and garlic bread on the side, can be a triumph of culinary delight if done right.
Having discovered in the last couple of years that I am 1/16th Italian (a fact of which I am very proud and explains a lot about me, dark hair, likes too cook in a vast pot for everyone, loves pasta, pizza oh and glass of red wine anyone) my love of really good pasta has grown and grown. What does surprise me about the BBC article is that after Italy the second biggest consumer of pasta is Venezuela! I thought it'd be the USA or even the UK but no. I've never been to South America, maybe I should take a trip?
Luckily the boy loves pasta too. He's pretty much eating what we have had the night before now (chilli con carne and spicy curries excluded) so for this I am most grateful. He is after all 1/32nd Italian and I'd be mightily stumped if I couldn't give him a bit of chopped up cannelloni for his lunch.
So today's casserole is filling the house with warm and tasty aromas and cheering me and my nostrils up as I look up at the gloomy sky above.
It might be Wimbledon, it might be the height of British strawberry season, the last of the asparagus may still be clinging on and I know on Midsummer's day we should be having a BBQ or poached salmon with salad but give me my slow cooker and a comforting casserole any day of the year.
I might even pop a bit of pasta in it. You know, just for a change.....
I could argue that other days, when the boy has been playing me up and screaming the house down have felt like the longest day of my life let alone the year but technically and meteorologically it is today.
It just doesn't "feel" like Midsummer though. The sky is grey, there's a threat of rain, the breeze is less warm and barmy more chilly and crazy, and to compound the "Are you sure it isn't March?" feeling I've made a beef casserole and put it in the slow cooker.
Not very summer cuisine is it!
In my defence there was an admin mix up on my part yesterday, when I thought I'd got mince out of the freezer for Spaghetti Bolognese and realised too late that it was braising steak instead. Such is our love, in the Random Household, for Spaghetti Bolognese that I had to hold the steak off until today and go out and buy fresh mince! You see once I had it in my mind we were having Spag Bol I needed Spag Bol!
Apparently the worlds favourite food now is pasta: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-13760559,
and I can't say that surprises me. I adore the stuff! I'd eat it everyday. In fact on holiday with Lemon Cake Lady, Lemon Cake Hubby and Lemon Cake Son we played fantasy last meal and mine was Spaghetti Bolognese. It was questioned as too ordinary, too everyday for a last meal request but in my humble and random view, a fine Spag Bol, with plenty of pasta, parmesan on top and garlic bread on the side, can be a triumph of culinary delight if done right.
Having discovered in the last couple of years that I am 1/16th Italian (a fact of which I am very proud and explains a lot about me, dark hair, likes too cook in a vast pot for everyone, loves pasta, pizza oh and glass of red wine anyone) my love of really good pasta has grown and grown. What does surprise me about the BBC article is that after Italy the second biggest consumer of pasta is Venezuela! I thought it'd be the USA or even the UK but no. I've never been to South America, maybe I should take a trip?
Luckily the boy loves pasta too. He's pretty much eating what we have had the night before now (chilli con carne and spicy curries excluded) so for this I am most grateful. He is after all 1/32nd Italian and I'd be mightily stumped if I couldn't give him a bit of chopped up cannelloni for his lunch.
So today's casserole is filling the house with warm and tasty aromas and cheering me and my nostrils up as I look up at the gloomy sky above.
It might be Wimbledon, it might be the height of British strawberry season, the last of the asparagus may still be clinging on and I know on Midsummer's day we should be having a BBQ or poached salmon with salad but give me my slow cooker and a comforting casserole any day of the year.
I might even pop a bit of pasta in it. You know, just for a change.....
Monday, 20 June 2011
The One with the Painted Nails
Many years ago, before I had the boy, a former work colleague, who had children herself, remarked on my painted nails. She said you could tell I didn't have kids as I'd had time to put polish on!
In reality I rarely painted my nails. It was always something I aspired to do but came well down my "to do" list (I have a "to do" list! - classic Homer Simpson line), so it seldom got done.
She saw painted nails as a symbol of spare time. Something frivolous and fun. Not something, with a young son, she had time for. I remember thinking that I was sure she wished she did have time for it. She was actually jealous and I thought what a strange and small thing to be jealous of when you have a child. She probably thought I didn't do any housework either! I didn't, but that's not the point!
I wondered if, when I became a Mum, I'd feel the same?
Recently two of the girls at work (for blog purposes to be known as Ken and Barbie ) have been experimenting with nails colours. When I go in they seem to have changed their shade to another trendy summer hue and it looks fantastic.
Neither Ken nor Barbie have children yet but I didn't feel envy at their time and effort spent in themselves. I just thought I fancy having a go!
So I did. I got a new nail colour, some base and top coat and dug out my nail files. Lets face it once the boy is in bed I only mong on the sofa in front of old episodes of Friends and Fraiser, so I might as well paint my nails and let them dry as I watch TV.
Friday night there I was, my shimmering new gold shade at the ready, a glass of wine and the new series of "Eight Out of Ten Cats" to chuckle at!
I love having painted nails. They make my fingers look longer and more elegant. It makes me feel good. More polished, if you pardon the pun.
And there was an unexpected bonus to this flight of frivolity on my part.
I have been trying for weeks now to cut the boys finger nails. He squirms, he wriggles, he screams and runs away. He wants the scissors, he wants his hand back, in short he wants nothing to do with the process at all.
His nails were sharper than a set of chefs knives and twice as deadly!
Today, ready for his morning nap and slowly winding down on the chair watching "Show Me Show Me" he became fascinated with Mummy's coloured nails!
"Ohhhhhh!" he said
"Pretty?" I said
"Hmmmmmm!" he said
Watching the gold catch the light and pretending to file Bear Bear's paws he let me cut the finger nails on both hands with little fuss! Result! Happy boy, happy Mummy.
My mind turned back to my former work mate. She used to do all her housework before she came into the office. She be proud as punch that she'd put two loads of washing on, hoovered everywhere and pressed her clothes for the week before 8 O'clock! Back then I was having a good day if I was out of bed by 8 O'clock! I'm thinking now she was misguided. She should've got the polish out yes but I'm not talking Mr Sheen!
My advice is iron less and paint your nails more.
I may have an ironing pile the size of a small country but I'm a better mother for it.....
In reality I rarely painted my nails. It was always something I aspired to do but came well down my "to do" list (I have a "to do" list! - classic Homer Simpson line), so it seldom got done.
She saw painted nails as a symbol of spare time. Something frivolous and fun. Not something, with a young son, she had time for. I remember thinking that I was sure she wished she did have time for it. She was actually jealous and I thought what a strange and small thing to be jealous of when you have a child. She probably thought I didn't do any housework either! I didn't, but that's not the point!
I wondered if, when I became a Mum, I'd feel the same?
Recently two of the girls at work (for blog purposes to be known as Ken and Barbie ) have been experimenting with nails colours. When I go in they seem to have changed their shade to another trendy summer hue and it looks fantastic.
Neither Ken nor Barbie have children yet but I didn't feel envy at their time and effort spent in themselves. I just thought I fancy having a go!
So I did. I got a new nail colour, some base and top coat and dug out my nail files. Lets face it once the boy is in bed I only mong on the sofa in front of old episodes of Friends and Fraiser, so I might as well paint my nails and let them dry as I watch TV.
Friday night there I was, my shimmering new gold shade at the ready, a glass of wine and the new series of "Eight Out of Ten Cats" to chuckle at!
I love having painted nails. They make my fingers look longer and more elegant. It makes me feel good. More polished, if you pardon the pun.
And there was an unexpected bonus to this flight of frivolity on my part.
I have been trying for weeks now to cut the boys finger nails. He squirms, he wriggles, he screams and runs away. He wants the scissors, he wants his hand back, in short he wants nothing to do with the process at all.
His nails were sharper than a set of chefs knives and twice as deadly!
Today, ready for his morning nap and slowly winding down on the chair watching "Show Me Show Me" he became fascinated with Mummy's coloured nails!
"Ohhhhhh!" he said
"Pretty?" I said
"Hmmmmmm!" he said
Watching the gold catch the light and pretending to file Bear Bear's paws he let me cut the finger nails on both hands with little fuss! Result! Happy boy, happy Mummy.
My mind turned back to my former work mate. She used to do all her housework before she came into the office. She be proud as punch that she'd put two loads of washing on, hoovered everywhere and pressed her clothes for the week before 8 O'clock! Back then I was having a good day if I was out of bed by 8 O'clock! I'm thinking now she was misguided. She should've got the polish out yes but I'm not talking Mr Sheen!
My advice is iron less and paint your nails more.
I may have an ironing pile the size of a small country but I'm a better mother for it.....
Sunday, 19 June 2011
The One with Fathers Day
Today is Hubbies second Father's Day as a Dad.
Much like myself with Mother's Day, this time last year we were still in sleepless night territory and yet to get our heads around actually being a Mum and a Dad! So his first Father's Day passed him by somewhat.
This year Hubby is feeling the love much more. Or he would have done if, not half an hour into his lie in, I hadn't had to call him to take over early morning milk and breakfast duties with the boy as a sinus headache had kicked in and my eyes had turned to piddle holes in the snow!
I went back to bed with tablets and a cold flannel on my forehead like some 1930's film drama queen and when I awoke the boy was having his morning nap and Hubby was cleaning the bathroom ready for the arrival of Granddad Ah Oh and Nanny P.
Bless my Hubby, he never complains (well rarely, depends on the footie scores to be honest) and always gets on with stuff around the home and with the boy with good humour (again depends on how dirty the bathroom is and if there's cricket on the radio but you get the idea).
So this is my Father's day tribute to the boy's Dad. Not only is he the best father in the world but the best husband in the world.
One of my strongest memories of the day the boy was born was when we were back on the ward and I lay there with the lower half of my body still in shock and the upper half of my body desperately trying to cope with the loss of the lower half!
Hubby picked our new baby up from the crib and held him in his arms, with tears in his eyes he looked at me and said
"Thank you. This is all I ever wanted. To be a Dad."
I cried too and I'll never forget that look between us. Love, joy and sheer panic!
So today I'm thinking about people who no longer have a Dad or never had a Dad. I'm thinking about all those single Mum's who do an amazing job being both Mother and Father to their kids, for whatever reason life has given them this challenge, and knowing that, it isn't just that I couldn't do it alone, I couldn't do it without Hubby!
Much like myself with Mother's Day, this time last year we were still in sleepless night territory and yet to get our heads around actually being a Mum and a Dad! So his first Father's Day passed him by somewhat.
This year Hubby is feeling the love much more. Or he would have done if, not half an hour into his lie in, I hadn't had to call him to take over early morning milk and breakfast duties with the boy as a sinus headache had kicked in and my eyes had turned to piddle holes in the snow!
I went back to bed with tablets and a cold flannel on my forehead like some 1930's film drama queen and when I awoke the boy was having his morning nap and Hubby was cleaning the bathroom ready for the arrival of Granddad Ah Oh and Nanny P.
Bless my Hubby, he never complains (well rarely, depends on the footie scores to be honest) and always gets on with stuff around the home and with the boy with good humour (again depends on how dirty the bathroom is and if there's cricket on the radio but you get the idea).
So this is my Father's day tribute to the boy's Dad. Not only is he the best father in the world but the best husband in the world.
One of my strongest memories of the day the boy was born was when we were back on the ward and I lay there with the lower half of my body still in shock and the upper half of my body desperately trying to cope with the loss of the lower half!
Hubby picked our new baby up from the crib and held him in his arms, with tears in his eyes he looked at me and said
"Thank you. This is all I ever wanted. To be a Dad."
I cried too and I'll never forget that look between us. Love, joy and sheer panic!
So today I'm thinking about people who no longer have a Dad or never had a Dad. I'm thinking about all those single Mum's who do an amazing job being both Mother and Father to their kids, for whatever reason life has given them this challenge, and knowing that, it isn't just that I couldn't do it alone, I couldn't do it without Hubby!
Thursday, 16 June 2011
The One with the (Rare) Comedy!
I'm in need of a laugh at the moment. I've not felt I've been coping too well with mine or the boys moods and June is proving to be a bit of a washout (I know we've had a drought and it's good for the garden but it's not "I want to run about in the park" toddler friendly)
So inspired by fellow blogger Karen Cannard http://therubbishdiet.blogspot.com/ and her post on Facebook today that her mind was on comedy I give you all this rare (and I mean that in every sense of the word) and random example of radio comedy from the early 1990's!
Here's something chocolately that won't pile on the pounds. With apologies for the dodgy French accent (especially to my readers in France). And yes it is me.....
So inspired by fellow blogger Karen Cannard http://therubbishdiet.blogspot.com/ and her post on Facebook today that her mind was on comedy I give you all this rare (and I mean that in every sense of the word) and random example of radio comedy from the early 1990's!
Here's something chocolately that won't pile on the pounds. With apologies for the dodgy French accent (especially to my readers in France). And yes it is me.....
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
The One with the Sudden Switch
If I didn't know better and that it is medically impossible, I'd say the boy had PMT!
He's fine one minute then whinging the next rising to a full crescendo of screaming devil child after that and then..ahhhh... relax... back to smiles and giggles through the tears. The speed of these sudden switches is mind blowing and rivals even my worst mood swings at "that time of the month".
I'm assured by books, other mums and t'internet that this is normal at his age and due partly to teeth (isn't everything) and frustration at wanting to communicate more than just, car, ball, keys, door and bath. For everything else there's random pointing and grunting.
But is it possible the terrible twos have started at 15 months?
He surely knows his own mind does our boy and I've noticed has a growing awareness of himself, his needs and his independence! This is all fine but it doesn't help me when, after a mammoth struggle, I've finally managed to strap him in his highchair, but hungry and helpless he won't eat a bite until he's got "that thing" he so desperately wants and is frantically pointing too but I can't decipher what on earth it is!
According to one of my books the way to fend off these tantrums is to give a toddler a feeling of control over their life by giving them a choice within a choice.
"Would you like to wear the red t-shirt or the green one?"
"Would you like to go on the swings or the slide first?"
This, so the theory goes, will help them feel they do have some say in their day and it isn't just Mummy saying no all the time.
So once the boy is in bed tonight I thought I'd give myself some choices within choices to help me take control before my life slips away in an endless stream of "no you mustn't do that"!
"Do I want Mighty Meaty or Ham and Pineapple when I call Domino's tonight?"
"Shall I have a chocolate bar or a piece of cake for dessert?"
"Glass of red or a gin and tonic?"
There's something to be said for this choices lark and who am I to argue with a theory in a baby book!
Right while the boy's having a nap shall I spend money internet shopping or do the housework?
What do you think......
He's fine one minute then whinging the next rising to a full crescendo of screaming devil child after that and then..ahhhh... relax... back to smiles and giggles through the tears. The speed of these sudden switches is mind blowing and rivals even my worst mood swings at "that time of the month".
I'm assured by books, other mums and t'internet that this is normal at his age and due partly to teeth (isn't everything) and frustration at wanting to communicate more than just, car, ball, keys, door and bath. For everything else there's random pointing and grunting.
But is it possible the terrible twos have started at 15 months?
He surely knows his own mind does our boy and I've noticed has a growing awareness of himself, his needs and his independence! This is all fine but it doesn't help me when, after a mammoth struggle, I've finally managed to strap him in his highchair, but hungry and helpless he won't eat a bite until he's got "that thing" he so desperately wants and is frantically pointing too but I can't decipher what on earth it is!
According to one of my books the way to fend off these tantrums is to give a toddler a feeling of control over their life by giving them a choice within a choice.
"Would you like to wear the red t-shirt or the green one?"
"Would you like to go on the swings or the slide first?"
This, so the theory goes, will help them feel they do have some say in their day and it isn't just Mummy saying no all the time.
So once the boy is in bed tonight I thought I'd give myself some choices within choices to help me take control before my life slips away in an endless stream of "no you mustn't do that"!
"Do I want Mighty Meaty or Ham and Pineapple when I call Domino's tonight?"
"Shall I have a chocolate bar or a piece of cake for dessert?"
"Glass of red or a gin and tonic?"
There's something to be said for this choices lark and who am I to argue with a theory in a baby book!
Right while the boy's having a nap shall I spend money internet shopping or do the housework?
What do you think......
Saturday, 11 June 2011
The One with All The Comedy
If I ever went on Mastermind, which isn't very likely, but if I did, my specialist subject would be some kind of comedy or comedian. Well lets face it if someone can win when they answered questions on episodes of Doctor Who I could go on quite legitimately with "The Life and Work of Morecambe and Wise".
I love everything about comedy. I love the laughter. The beautifully crafted writing of some, the sheer silliness of others. I'm equally happy with biting satire or groan inducing pun.
I love making people laugh and by equal turn love to be made to laugh myself.
I also love to read about comedy, it's history, comedians lives and careers and the nuts and bolts of what makes things funny. Currently I'm reading "Born Brilliant - The Life of Kenneth Williams" and this morning with the boy we watched a Heroes of Comedy on Tony Hancock. Well I say we watched it, I glanced at it occasionally whilst reading Go, Dogs Go for the 4 millionth time and playing cars and space rockets with the boy.
Stand Up comedy is often cited as the hardest and loneliest profession there is and nothing is worse or lasts as long as the silence of an audience who just don't get it. Believe me I know. I once did a show written by aspiring local actor/comedians, myself being one of them. For three nights my stand up routine went down well but on the fourth I died on my arse! I decided then that my comic ramblings were better suited to the page than they were to the stage!
But however hard making people laugh is it's never really been acknowledged as a serious artistic genre. Whilst actors and sportsmen are lauded and awarded comedians are often over looked.
But today that all changed. Arise Sir Bruce Forsyth. Knight to see you to see you Knight!
(I can't lay claim to that gag I saw it on Twitter earlier today but that Tweet bears a repeat). It's not the most popular choice in the Random Household, particularly with Hubby as he witnessed a run in Sir Brucie had many years ago with a member of Harrods staff when Hubby worked there and has loathed the man since - not one for second chances my Hubby!)
But for me this marks a watershed in honours for humour. I always felt Ronnie Barker missed out on the knighthood he deserved as did Bob Monkhouse and of course the geniuses that were Morecambe and Wise.
So now a precedent has been set I hope it doesn't stop at the twinkling, tap dancing toes of BF (stand for something else with Hubby that does!)
So arise Sir Ronnie Corbett and Dame June Whitfield, Sir Roy Hudd, Dame Victoria Wood, Sir Eric Sykes and Sir Ken Dodd.... ah maybe not, a little locally difficulty with the Inland Revenue might have blotted his copy book, but you see where I'm going with this.
Let's show our living legends the respect they deserve before we lose them and thank them for all the laughter, giggles and guffaws.
Laughter is so much more than just entertainment, it's medicine, respite, escapism and joy. I know I couldn't live without it and when the boy is creased up at me playing peak-a-boo there's no more beautiful sound in the world.....
I love everything about comedy. I love the laughter. The beautifully crafted writing of some, the sheer silliness of others. I'm equally happy with biting satire or groan inducing pun.
I love making people laugh and by equal turn love to be made to laugh myself.
I also love to read about comedy, it's history, comedians lives and careers and the nuts and bolts of what makes things funny. Currently I'm reading "Born Brilliant - The Life of Kenneth Williams" and this morning with the boy we watched a Heroes of Comedy on Tony Hancock. Well I say we watched it, I glanced at it occasionally whilst reading Go, Dogs Go for the 4 millionth time and playing cars and space rockets with the boy.
Stand Up comedy is often cited as the hardest and loneliest profession there is and nothing is worse or lasts as long as the silence of an audience who just don't get it. Believe me I know. I once did a show written by aspiring local actor/comedians, myself being one of them. For three nights my stand up routine went down well but on the fourth I died on my arse! I decided then that my comic ramblings were better suited to the page than they were to the stage!
But however hard making people laugh is it's never really been acknowledged as a serious artistic genre. Whilst actors and sportsmen are lauded and awarded comedians are often over looked.
But today that all changed. Arise Sir Bruce Forsyth. Knight to see you to see you Knight!
(I can't lay claim to that gag I saw it on Twitter earlier today but that Tweet bears a repeat). It's not the most popular choice in the Random Household, particularly with Hubby as he witnessed a run in Sir Brucie had many years ago with a member of Harrods staff when Hubby worked there and has loathed the man since - not one for second chances my Hubby!)
But for me this marks a watershed in honours for humour. I always felt Ronnie Barker missed out on the knighthood he deserved as did Bob Monkhouse and of course the geniuses that were Morecambe and Wise.
So now a precedent has been set I hope it doesn't stop at the twinkling, tap dancing toes of BF (stand for something else with Hubby that does!)
So arise Sir Ronnie Corbett and Dame June Whitfield, Sir Roy Hudd, Dame Victoria Wood, Sir Eric Sykes and Sir Ken Dodd.... ah maybe not, a little locally difficulty with the Inland Revenue might have blotted his copy book, but you see where I'm going with this.
Let's show our living legends the respect they deserve before we lose them and thank them for all the laughter, giggles and guffaws.
Laughter is so much more than just entertainment, it's medicine, respite, escapism and joy. I know I couldn't live without it and when the boy is creased up at me playing peak-a-boo there's no more beautiful sound in the world.....
Friday, 10 June 2011
The One with the Inner Confidence - part 2
I didn't know what to expect. I'd gone along with an open mind and an eagerness to change. I figured if I didn't read up too much about what might happen I could just go with the exercises and my head and heart would feel free to embrace what might happen. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic flower, touch it and the bloom has gone! That's your actual Oscar Wilde that!
So basically in a state of ignorant anticipation I went to my inner confidence appointment armed with notepad, pen and diary and nothing else but a desire to feel better.
I only wish I bought a box of tissues too! I had completely underestimated how much emotion I would feel and display in the two and a half hour session.
We talked, we laughed, I cried, I felt better, I felt angry, I felt hopeful. We explored my past, present and future, my relationship with others, with work, with family, with my body and most of all with myself.
We did quiet visualisations where I felt calm and mediative and physical exercises where I feel hopeful and excited and stuff where we found my Inner Child and I hugged her and told her everything would be ok - just like a Mum would.
That was the one that got me crying!
But in a good way. I was releasing anger and frustration and years of pent up emotion.
I felt a sense of freedom. And I felt confident.
That's not to say that one session will fix a lifetime of bad habits and holding onto old shit forever, so I fully intend to have some more I'm so exhilarated and enthused about the whole process, but this is a start.
And sometimes all you need, especially when you're feeling lost, is somewhere to start.....
Want to know more about Confidence Coaching with Charlotte Green. Go to http://www.gotosee.co.uk/practitioner/Inner-Confidence-for-Women-Life-Coaching-Confidence-Coaching-NLP-Ipswich-Suffolk.htm until Charlotte's re-designed website goes live in June 2011 (www.InnerConfidenceForWomen.co.uk) when you will be able to visit the website for information on coaching and NLP as well as articles and information to help you to build your confidence.
Charlotte Green - Confidence Coach
Inner Confidence for Women
"When you believe in yourself, anything is possible"
Inner Confidence for Women
"When you believe in yourself, anything is possible"
Tuesday, 7 June 2011
The One with the Inner Confidence - part 1
This afternoon I'm going for a session of confidence coaching.
Don't laugh! Honestly, behind this random exterior I'm not very confident.
I used to be, a long time ago, but life and motherhood has knocked it out of me. So a good friend, who is a professional confidence coach and specialises in working with women, is giving me a taster of what she can do whilst trying out some new techniques and exercises she's recently learnt.
I'm actually very excited about finding out what's inside me (apart from two bits of cake and four cups of tea)!
There's a lot talked about journey's, especially in the popular media. You can't switch on ITV without someone in tears talking about their journey, usually from everyday life straight into instant fame and back to obscurity again but not before they're gone via "I'm a Celebrity (no you're not) Get Me Out of Here" as one last ditch attempt at getting back into the public eye!
Motherhood is a proper journey, not a Simon Cowell singing contest, but it's sometimes a lonely one. Don't get me wrong you all know I love being at home with the boy but on rainy days when you're stuck indoors and all your friends are at work, with nothing but a 1 year old and CBeebies for company you can do one of two things, either go out of your mind or start to retreat back into yourself and lose the will to go out and do things for you. You don't bother putting on make up, you wear clothes but they don't match they'll just "do", after all they're only going to get dirty anyway, it's lunchtime before you realise you haven't cleaned your teeth. It's a downward spiral of "as long as the boy is clean, happy, fed and in co-ordinating clothes with matching socks" it doesn't matter about me.
But it does!
As the boy gets older I'm noticing he is much more aware of my moods. If I'm down or cry he looks worried and concerned. If I laugh, he laughs. We can't underestimate the effect a mother has on her child. If he grows up to see a Mum who isn't confident, who doesn't care about her appearance, who forgets to eat then stuffs herself with cake because it's past lunchtime now and she's starving but only has two minutes then he'll grow up not appreciating a women's worth to society, to family and mostly to herself.
So I'm doing something about it.
And you know, just making that decision has given me more confidence already. So much so I've got lipstick on!
The session is at 3pm today. I'll keep you posted......
Don't laugh! Honestly, behind this random exterior I'm not very confident.
I used to be, a long time ago, but life and motherhood has knocked it out of me. So a good friend, who is a professional confidence coach and specialises in working with women, is giving me a taster of what she can do whilst trying out some new techniques and exercises she's recently learnt.
I'm actually very excited about finding out what's inside me (apart from two bits of cake and four cups of tea)!
There's a lot talked about journey's, especially in the popular media. You can't switch on ITV without someone in tears talking about their journey, usually from everyday life straight into instant fame and back to obscurity again but not before they're gone via "I'm a Celebrity (no you're not) Get Me Out of Here" as one last ditch attempt at getting back into the public eye!
Motherhood is a proper journey, not a Simon Cowell singing contest, but it's sometimes a lonely one. Don't get me wrong you all know I love being at home with the boy but on rainy days when you're stuck indoors and all your friends are at work, with nothing but a 1 year old and CBeebies for company you can do one of two things, either go out of your mind or start to retreat back into yourself and lose the will to go out and do things for you. You don't bother putting on make up, you wear clothes but they don't match they'll just "do", after all they're only going to get dirty anyway, it's lunchtime before you realise you haven't cleaned your teeth. It's a downward spiral of "as long as the boy is clean, happy, fed and in co-ordinating clothes with matching socks" it doesn't matter about me.
But it does!
As the boy gets older I'm noticing he is much more aware of my moods. If I'm down or cry he looks worried and concerned. If I laugh, he laughs. We can't underestimate the effect a mother has on her child. If he grows up to see a Mum who isn't confident, who doesn't care about her appearance, who forgets to eat then stuffs herself with cake because it's past lunchtime now and she's starving but only has two minutes then he'll grow up not appreciating a women's worth to society, to family and mostly to herself.
So I'm doing something about it.
And you know, just making that decision has given me more confidence already. So much so I've got lipstick on!
The session is at 3pm today. I'll keep you posted......
Sunday, 5 June 2011
The One with the Posh Magazines
I do love a good magazine. Now good can mean anything depending on my mood. A foodie mag, some celebrity gossip, fashion, short stories and writing or lifestyle and home.
Proper girlie escapism all of it.
The thing about a magazine is if you're feeling a bit low you can have a treat for £2 or £3 quid that doesn't contain any calories and no guilt or harm done.
Or so I thought!
But last night I had a meal and long conversation with two great girlfriends about what is expected of women and mothers into today's society.
The pressure to "have it all" is immense, whether we want it or not. and this isn't helped when we are bombarded with not only unrealistic images of beautiful women in amazing clothes looking, slim, tanned and stylish, but unobtainable homes full of fabulous furnishings, relationship advice and really really expensive stuff that possibly the cast (and I use that term loosely) of Made In Chelsea can afford but is well out of my price league.
In one fashion magazine I read recently in their top 20 fashion must haves for the week were two handbags at £709 and £249 a pop, some ragged looking pumps that seemed ready for the dustbin at £190 and a £655 top that works "just as well with jeans as it does with a pencil skirt". For £655 I'd want it to wash, tumble dry and iron itself!
Then there's the lifestyle advice. Lemon Cake Lady gave me some of her posh magazines to peruse before they went to the recycling and it was like reading about a different world. There was an article on children toys with a play tea set made of bone china for £229! There was a survey on when you last had an orgasm (that was easy, it was in Sainsburys two weeks ago when Chocolate Mini Rolls were buy one get one free) and recipes for after work suppers with friends! Amazingly they didn't include beans on toast or calling out for a pizza!
It was like the magazine form of watching Nigella Lawson or a Richard Curtis film where everyone is impossibly glamourous, successful and live in posh parts of London with interesting and quirky friends!
Quite apart from the articles the adverts are just as bad. If J-Lo is to be believed as a successful working mum she can wear a pristine white towel and shave her legs in her enormous walk in shower , then run on the beach with her twins, wrapped in a cashmere sweater and bikini bottoms then put on a sparkly dress and sing at a pop concert all because her brand of razor makes her a goddess. Yeah that's an average day for me in the Random Household. I do that all the time. Well I would if I ever got time to shave my legs! It's been so long I'm expecting Springwatch to call any day to ask to do a feature on the family of Starlings that have nested in my leg hair!
If I ever do get round to doing them I'll no doubt be disturbed by either Oscar wanting to be let in or out of the house, the boy wanting me to read Go Dogs Go for the millionth time or hubby needing to come in a use the loo!
So all in all if women's magazines are to be believed we should all have successful careers and float about in expensive clothes by designers no one's ever heard of whilst playing tea parties with our beautiful, well behaved children on the beach and cook gourmet meals for friends whilst shaving our legs and having multiple orgasms.
No problems. As long as that all translates into working in a normal office in a £4 top and £12 trousers from the supermarket that have dribble, snot and sweet potato on them then coming home to the boy who is more excited to see my car keys than he is me and cook fish fingers and beans for tea standing in the kitchen with my hairy legs that have wildlife in them and going to bed so exhausted you're too tired to even say orgasm let alone have one!
If that's the case then I don't know how these magazines sell because having it all is a doddle......
Proper girlie escapism all of it.
The thing about a magazine is if you're feeling a bit low you can have a treat for £2 or £3 quid that doesn't contain any calories and no guilt or harm done.
Or so I thought!
But last night I had a meal and long conversation with two great girlfriends about what is expected of women and mothers into today's society.
The pressure to "have it all" is immense, whether we want it or not. and this isn't helped when we are bombarded with not only unrealistic images of beautiful women in amazing clothes looking, slim, tanned and stylish, but unobtainable homes full of fabulous furnishings, relationship advice and really really expensive stuff that possibly the cast (and I use that term loosely) of Made In Chelsea can afford but is well out of my price league.
In one fashion magazine I read recently in their top 20 fashion must haves for the week were two handbags at £709 and £249 a pop, some ragged looking pumps that seemed ready for the dustbin at £190 and a £655 top that works "just as well with jeans as it does with a pencil skirt". For £655 I'd want it to wash, tumble dry and iron itself!
Then there's the lifestyle advice. Lemon Cake Lady gave me some of her posh magazines to peruse before they went to the recycling and it was like reading about a different world. There was an article on children toys with a play tea set made of bone china for £229! There was a survey on when you last had an orgasm (that was easy, it was in Sainsburys two weeks ago when Chocolate Mini Rolls were buy one get one free) and recipes for after work suppers with friends! Amazingly they didn't include beans on toast or calling out for a pizza!
It was like the magazine form of watching Nigella Lawson or a Richard Curtis film where everyone is impossibly glamourous, successful and live in posh parts of London with interesting and quirky friends!
Quite apart from the articles the adverts are just as bad. If J-Lo is to be believed as a successful working mum she can wear a pristine white towel and shave her legs in her enormous walk in shower , then run on the beach with her twins, wrapped in a cashmere sweater and bikini bottoms then put on a sparkly dress and sing at a pop concert all because her brand of razor makes her a goddess. Yeah that's an average day for me in the Random Household. I do that all the time. Well I would if I ever got time to shave my legs! It's been so long I'm expecting Springwatch to call any day to ask to do a feature on the family of Starlings that have nested in my leg hair!
If I ever do get round to doing them I'll no doubt be disturbed by either Oscar wanting to be let in or out of the house, the boy wanting me to read Go Dogs Go for the millionth time or hubby needing to come in a use the loo!
So all in all if women's magazines are to be believed we should all have successful careers and float about in expensive clothes by designers no one's ever heard of whilst playing tea parties with our beautiful, well behaved children on the beach and cook gourmet meals for friends whilst shaving our legs and having multiple orgasms.
No problems. As long as that all translates into working in a normal office in a £4 top and £12 trousers from the supermarket that have dribble, snot and sweet potato on them then coming home to the boy who is more excited to see my car keys than he is me and cook fish fingers and beans for tea standing in the kitchen with my hairy legs that have wildlife in them and going to bed so exhausted you're too tired to even say orgasm let alone have one!
If that's the case then I don't know how these magazines sell because having it all is a doddle......
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
The One with the One Year Anniversary
Well I've been blogging for exactly a year today!
Something that was started on a whim while the boy had a nap has now become a big part of my life and, the last few weeks aside where I haven't been on line due to a combination of illnesses, decorating and holiday, I have come to love my weekly or even daily random rambles to you all, all over the world,
When I started I didn't know if anyone would read it, let alone respond, but now I have followers and people regularly tune in as it were, I belong to blogging sites to promote my work and I've even ventured into the tweeting world of Twitter. I've made friends and found support in tough times and laughs in good times.
My blog has become my outlet for creative juices, rants, raves and of course randomness!
So as I sit here, watching Britain's Got Talent (not this year it hasn't!), with a gin and tonic and Oscar curled up beside me I'm reflecting on my first year of blogging.
It was always my intention to talk about being a mother at 40 and that's pretty much what I've done, after all that is pretty much the main focus of my life and therefore my blog but I hope on the way I've made you laugh or maybe even cry sometimes.
So now I'm embarking on my second year of blogging as a 41 year mum and I hope to keep you all my loyal readers and gain many more.
I'll try to keep it exciting, funny and most of all random....
Something that was started on a whim while the boy had a nap has now become a big part of my life and, the last few weeks aside where I haven't been on line due to a combination of illnesses, decorating and holiday, I have come to love my weekly or even daily random rambles to you all, all over the world,
When I started I didn't know if anyone would read it, let alone respond, but now I have followers and people regularly tune in as it were, I belong to blogging sites to promote my work and I've even ventured into the tweeting world of Twitter. I've made friends and found support in tough times and laughs in good times.
My blog has become my outlet for creative juices, rants, raves and of course randomness!
So as I sit here, watching Britain's Got Talent (not this year it hasn't!), with a gin and tonic and Oscar curled up beside me I'm reflecting on my first year of blogging.
It was always my intention to talk about being a mother at 40 and that's pretty much what I've done, after all that is pretty much the main focus of my life and therefore my blog but I hope on the way I've made you laugh or maybe even cry sometimes.
So now I'm embarking on my second year of blogging as a 41 year mum and I hope to keep you all my loyal readers and gain many more.
I'll try to keep it exciting, funny and most of all random....
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