Thursday, 20 December 2007
Monday, 26 November 2007
In town talking to Ana about what we had to do that morning.
Me: First we have to go to the Post Office, then the bank and then Iceland.
Ana: How are we getting there, by bus or train?
Me: Iceland the shop, not the country.
Ana's school are doing food from around the world for school dinners, last week was food from Asia and they were having Indian Curry.
Me: Are you looking forward to your Indian dinner at school?
*Ana starts making a whooping noise like a native american*
Me: Not that kind of Indian, people from India.
Ana: Will there be any cowboys there?
Whilst passing a rope swing some local kids had made in a tree with a loop at the end about 3 inches off the floor.
Ana: *gasp* Someone was hanged here!
While walking through a local graveyard Ana trod on a twig that snapped
Ana: *gasp* I just trod on a BONE!
I was talking to Ana about ages as her next birthday is the big 1 0 I told her that 10 is double figures and when she gets to 13 she will be a teenager until she is 20 and then she will be an adult.
'What will I be when I am 100?' asks Ana
'Really, really old.' I say. 'Anyway most people don't live to a hundred.'
She looked at me and said. 'Are you going to try?'
Thursday, 15 November 2007
Innocent looking lump of pink plastic and matted blue hair. Curse you!
You lay there looking inert, in-adamant, but I know the dark sinister truth. You rule my very existence!
Without you I would not have an ounce of peace or blissful sleep. For without you, Neigh Neigh, Pugpoo couldn't possibly sleep or get through the day without twiddling and stroking your nylon hair.
I watch you as you lay there discarded on the floor with an evil twinkle in your fake jeweled eye. Your time will come my friend, your time will come!
Because I have clearly missed the memo.
You are a big boy now, left home and everything. You're 36 not 6 years old, please act accordingly. I do not wear your shoes, underpants or clothes, hence I do not know where any given item is at a particular time. Especially pre caffeine intake. Also please refrain from asking me if something is washed. If is is not in your drawers or wardrobe chances are high that it hasn't been. If the item was not placed in the wash basket, but screwed into a ball and kicked under the bed then I can be 99.9% certain that it didn't get washed.
When I ask you to do something or to brush your teeth in time for the transport to school please do so without a huge flappy song and dance. Also flouncing and slamming doors is frowned upon. If I am raising my voice is it because you didn't hear my request the fist 70 times I asked.
Screaming is not a recognised form of communication. It does not get you the item of desire any quicker as it just serves to confuse my sleep addled brain. Changing volume, pitch and octave does not help. Also violence will not get your point across any faster. If I couldn't understand what the fuck you were screaming for in the first bloody place headbutting, kicking and bashing the crap out of me does not make things any clearer! I hope this has helped to clear up any confusion on the matters mentioned above and I look forward to ignoring you all hence forth
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
Do toy manufactorers do it on purpose? Do they snigger with glee imagining harassed stressed out parents clearly clinging to the edge of sanity rushing about trying to sorce the in thing toy?
Why can't they simply make enough to go around when they can predict that such and such will be the hotest toy this Christams?
Ana's latest obsession is Transformers and that is what 99.9% of her Christmas wish list consists of. Now I have not left things to the last minute as I have been looking for these bloody hunks of crappy last all of five minutes pieces of plastic since the end of September.
As sod's law dictates all the of ones Ana has asked for are out of bloody stock everywhere. Including online! I have clicked enough 'e-mail me when this product is in stock' buttons to make your head spin.
But wait? What's this? Praise the lord! Transformers in stock at my local Argos? Can this be true? Are they toying with me? QUICK! Click reserve, click it, click it damn you frozen fingers! *holds reservation number aloft and cackles in a slightly unhinged manner*
'LOOK!' Pugpoo squealed as she brought over a little wooden house she was playing with to show me, jamming it right into my defenceless naked eyeball!
As I doubled over in quite literally blinding pain a look of concern flashed across her face. Then she proceeded to bash me in the face with the little wooden house because apparently I still wasn't looking!
Now I have a headache!
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
Pugpoo my youngest daughter saw her first spider the other morning.
We were standing at the front door waving DD1 off to school when a medium sized garden spider dropped down on a thread and then proceeded to crawl along another thread to the corner of the doorframe.
'Wass that?' Asks Pugpoo.
'A spider.' I said.
'Spppppppiiiiiiiiderrrrrr.' Whispers Pugpoo.
'Say bubye spider.' I say waving.
'Bye bye!' Says Pugpoo.
I then shut the door and squashed the bugger !
Sunday, 4 November 2007
It was back breaking work getting everything done and the decorations set up and the kids were more interested in the toys in Ana's bedroom then anything else.
Anyway here's what the decorations looked like before the kids and some of the adults got to them.
Saturday, 20 October 2007
I received a letter this morning it goes as follows.
Please note that the letter is copied exactly including all spelling and grammatical errors
"Dear Mr and Mrs K *okay so according to the NHS my husband took my name when we got married*
As you know, I attended a meeting about Ana At H M School on the 12th September. *No, I didn't know as both yourself and the school completely failed to notify me that such a meeting was taking place Had I been notified I could have prepared a list of concerns for Ana's specialist to discuss with you, namely the self harming issue we have been asking you to contact us regarding for the past 6 bloody months!*
We have though about her difficulties and wondered if she may have a condition known as autism spectrum disorder. *Why you bunch of wank faced turds, so you have just sat round and suddenly thought about it have you? So the last 7 years of me telling you she has ASD and begging for an appointment you have just thought about this now? So all those times I mentioned ASD and you looked at me with the kind of expression you give and escaped mental patient as you tell me it's highly unlikely have been forgotten have they?* For us to be able to make the diagnosis, it is important that we consult with professionals in school to look at how a child is functioning within shcool, but equally important is to hear you perspective about how Ana functions with you and your family.
To do this, I would like to invite you to see me so that I can conduct and interview with you known as the 3di: dimensional, developmental and diagnostic interview. I can see you next week the 23rd October at 1500hrs."
So there we have it, not only do the NHS employ people that do not proof read their letters they have finally come to their senses and agreed to assess Ana for ASD. After 7 long years of begging!
Hence forth chili peppers shall be feared and dealt with thusly.
1. Retreat to a safe corner of the cage. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT take your eye off of your food bowl
2. Make yourself look as big as you can while putting as much space between yourself and the rouge pepper as possible. leaning to an almost horizontal position on your perch is acceptable and even highly recommended
3. Scream at said chili in a bid to frighten it off.
4. If the ensuing kerfuffle hasn't alerted the attention of your human slave drop to the floor of the cage and fain death.
Monday, 15 October 2007
It a huge difference, not to mention a huge learning curve parenting Pugpoo. My eldest daughter has special needs, so most of the mummy milestones were passed later then average and some sadly were never passed.
Today one of those 'you're not a mother until' moments were passed.
Whilst doing the weekly shop in Iceland Pugpoo clapped eyes on a large bumper packet of Jammie Dodgers. Of course there was no peace to be had as Pugpoo fluctuated between ear splitting screams to plaintive 'ere are's until the Jammie Dodgers were nestled neatly in the trolley and another was slowly masticated around in her chops.
We continued in blissful peace and upon finishing queued at till, serenaded by happy munching. That was until it was our turn to unload the shopping, Pugpoo suddenly decided she really didn't like Jammie dodgers and spat the chewed biscuit into my outstretched hand. I kindly woman unloaded my shopping while I attempted to help, one handed while cradling the pre-chewed Dodger.
Friday, 12 October 2007
After several minutes the words started to become clearer and I almost fainted in the street.
Pugpoo was counting to seven in Spanish!
Now one of Pugpoo's favorite shows is Dora the Explorer. I had no idea that she was actually paying attention to it, let alone learning something.
So for all those parents out there that feel guilty because they sit their children in front of the TV for five minutes of precious peace. You have it from me, TV is educational. I have now started counting to Pugpoo in French and her application to Mensa is in the post!
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
Here are a few recent examples;
The rain yesterday, the one day when Mother and Toddlers is on, the only place where you can have a free cup of tea and biscuit while Pugpoo learns that she is not the only being in the universe and there are bigger, uglier kids out there that hit back and it rains!
Birthday present hunting. The one present that my nephew has set is heart on and I have promised his mother upon pain of death that I will get him is completely sold out everywhere. So any readers out there that know where I can get a £9.99 Friction Action Roary Racing Car from, please let me know!
I have a bad back, I'm in a hurry and my daughter is screaming blue bloody murder. Of course that's the perfect time for Sainsbury's to require a rescan on all my shopping.
When lifting Pugpoo out of the trolley into her pushchair I discover she is sopping wet due to leaking out the side of her nappy (well, that explains the blue bloody murder thing from above). Did I bring a change of clothes with me? Did I heck as like, the one day, the one and only day since my daughter existence I have forgotten to take a change of clothes with me and she has an accident.
But wait, salvation! Mothercare has a sale on, I'll just quickly nip in there, buy some cheap trousers in the sale and clean her up. Bollox! There must have been a flipping baby boom during March 2006 because there isn't a single pair of size 18-24 months trousers anywhere in the shop. I have to settle for some grey cord dungarees in the next size up without leg poppers to help ease nappy changes. There's a queue at least two miles long at the till. When I finally get to the front I am told that this till is cash only as the card reader isn't working. This means I have to again, join another two mile queue at the other till.
Now dangerously close to extremely grumpy Pugpoo's nap time we rush off home. Only to be stopped every five minutes by a member of the blue rinse brigade so they can admire Pugpoo's blond curly hair that I have put into cute wee bunches this morning.
Get home needing a therapeutic rant on The Bad Mother's Club Forums only to find that they are down.
At least Pugpoo's rendition of inkle inkle ittle tar cheered me up
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
Yesterday I managed to put my back out continuing my run of luck during 'one of those days.' It all started early in the morning, with the lashing rain and steadily gained momentum when our entire bathroom blocked up, the sink, bath and even the toilet. Much to my surprise when I phoned our housing association I was told that the drains men were in our area and would be straight round.
Of course in they came, failing to wipe their feet and as usual Pugpoo was determined to be in the thick of things. With two burly men in our shoebox sized bathroom there was hardly enough room for an exuberant toddler so I attempted to remove her from the situation. As soon as I picked her up Pugpoo threw one of her 'I'm going to go as stiff as a board fits' and I threw my back out trying not to drop her.
But my luck was in because my dear husband had the day off work. Visions of myself laying on the sofa stuffing chocolate and sipping hot coffee while hubby was run ragged by the Pugpooey one quickly danced through my head. But, alas it was not to be.
Apparently looking after you child while your wife is crippled with agonising pain does not constitute a day off work.
So while my darling husband sat on his arse playing on his PSP I struggled on with the housework and looking after a whirling dervish on speed. Every so often he would look up and in a disapproving tone he would tell me to, 'sit down and rest, leave the housework for today.'
You know, your right! Why not leave the housework for today so that there's twice as much for me to do tomorrow? Because you're sure as hell not going to do it! Let's face it here, if I didn't do the washing up, bad back or not, we would quickly run out of clean cups and plates.
Now you wouldn't know it, but apparently child rearing can also be done from the comfort of the sofa, without even the need to look up from your PSP game. Even if your child hurts them self there is no need to rush to there aid, just shout to them to 'Come 'ere!'
Can you believe, I even had the audacity to ask him to feed his daughter a yogurt while he was in the middle of a game? How could I have possibly been so insensitive to his needs? God I'm a bitch!
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
Over this last week I have been thinking a lot about the conclusions we come to about life. Conclusions such as; going bra-less past the age of 25 only serves to give you sore nipples and saggy tits. Also the conclusion that since having my two daughters my tits have become progressively more depressed and downcast. Either that or my knees have suddenly and in explicitly become more interesting.
What about the conclusions you draw upon life after having children.
You spend all your time waiting for your little darlings to start walking and talking and once they do you'd wish they'd stop. Oh, those good old days when you put your baby down and they were still there when you got back.
Also don't have any hopes about those magical first words. Like it or not it is highly unlikely that your darling prodigy's first utterance will be 'mama' or even 'dada.' The first word your child will learn and put into effective use will be 'NO!'
"Come and get dressed.'
"Please! let mummy change your nappy."
"Please eat something. All you've had all day is a dry cracker and a handful of carpet fluff."
And my personal favourite, "Can mummy have a kiss?"
This will be closely followed by words such as "MINE!", "SHARE!" and "GIVE IT!"
While on the subject of children I have also come to the conclusion that children and dirt are supernaturally attracted to each other. Trust me, you could be in the middle of no-where and your child will manage to find the only pile of dog poo for miles around.
Never dress a baby in white, no really, don't do it. The moment you fasten that last popper you little cutie will muster a poo of titanic proportions which exits with such force you'll be wiping it from behind their ears before they go to college!
Then there's the things you never thought you would do until you hear the little pitter patter of goosesteps. Things such as picking bogeys out of a baby's nose, tickling out your constipated baby's poo with a cotton bub, catching spit, chewed food and vomit in you bare cupped hands.
"Quick sweety, spew in mummy's hands!" Just yesterday I caught myself sniffing some suspect brown stains on Pugpoo's clothes, just to ascertain what it was you understand. Thankfully it was chocolate!
Mother Nature is a cruel mistress. Just as you're starting to get your life back after packing off your first born to school she starts whispering in your ear. Wouldn't a baby be lovely. One more can't be that much work, go on, day time TV isn't that bad. Just look at all those cute clothes and baby things.
Don't believe it! Its all lies! What woman sits there and actively thinks 'my house is looking clean for the first time in 5 years, I've finally got some me time. What I could really do with is a whiny toddler running around tearing the place apart.' I was stupid enough to listen and it wasn't until I was 8 weeks pregnant that it suddenly hit me. Bugger! That's gotta come out of there!
Being ill. Somewhere it is written in the cosmos that while your family is suffering from the plague you will be well enough to wait on them and and foot as you nurse them back to health. Then exactly 24 hours after they have returned to work or school you'll catch it, but there will be no one to look after you. Wipe your nose, pick up your snot rags and do all that general fetching and carrying. Nope you have to knock back Beechams all in One and just, get on with it.
Life ain't all it's cracked up to be.
But let's no be too negative, there are many joys to life and sometimes it throws you an interesting curve and truly my life would be boring without my kids and husband.
Only last night as I was doing the washing up I heard the melodious screeching of my eldest.
"Mum! Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum! Pugpoo's standing on the sofa again!"
Only to hear seconds later.
"It's all right. The dog broke her fall."
The mind boggles!
Monday, 1 October 2007
I would sit on my arse all weekend playing on my mobile/PSP while my wife is run ragged cleaning and looking after the children, because 'I've been at work all week!'
I would come home from said work at 7pm and ask. 'What have you been doing all day, sitting on that computer?'
I would take any suggestion that things might be done other then my way a personal attack
I would drop my socks and pants by the side of the bed, not the wash basket and then ask. 'Why don't I have any clean socks or pants?'
I would wait until 9pm in the evening to hand my wife my jeans and announce that I need them. 'Washed and dried by the morning!'
I would refuse to change nappies, even just wet ones because I. 'can't handle that sort of thing.'
I would bounce my daughter on my knee for the total of 30 minutes each evening and then call myself a parent.
I would ignore my screaming daughter in the same room while my wife is desperately trying to get the washing up done then with out getting off my arse shout out to the kitchen 'what's wrong wiv er?'
I will at about 5:30 am while my wife is trying to grab a sneaky 30 minute nap on the sofa bring in my gurgling daughter, place her on the floor and then bugger off back to bed for at least another two hours.
After having said two hour lay in I will get up in a foul mood with a stinking headache and blame it on everyone else because they couldn't keep quiet enough while running around on eggshells all morning.
I would while my wife is trying to grab a nap insist on either talking to her or getting her to watch the ever interesting shows such as Pimp My Ride, American Chopper and Over'auling.
I would be greatly insulted if my said wife at that time did not hang on my every word.
I would sulk over everything and anything
I would have frequent outbursts of opinion that bare no basis in the real world!
I would at every opportunity open my mouth in public and leave no one in any doubt that I am actually that daft and my wife is only with me out of pity for all of mankind.
I would regularly bugger off up the pub to see my mates even though the last time my wife left the house without a child in tow was to have her wisdom teeth removed.
I would ask my wife. 'Are you all right?' 50 million times while she is 'trying' to watch the TV and then accuse her of being snappy when she says YES! for the 50 millionth time.
I would have complete control of the TV remote as my wife would much rather watch Stargate SG-1 again then the new episodes of How Clean Is Your House?
I would complain that the pets stink, but not offer to help do anything about it.
I would order in loads of greasy take away food to thoughtfully spare my wife from cooking and then moan that I have bad guts while farting loudly and smelling bad. Then not satisfied with gassing the house I would complain that my wife's cooking must be making me fat.
I would snore loud enough to keep the whole house awake and then when I eventually wake myself up I will accuse my wife of snoring.
I would phone my wife 50 million times while I'm at work and then wonder why she never finds the time to do the housework.
I would make a career out of stating the damned oblivious and pontificating.
I would also during every conversation drop in the sentence 'Come and suck my willy will you.'
When my wife asks me what I want for dinner I will say. 'whatever, I'm not fussed.' or 'whatever you cook darling will be alright. Only to say when she has slaved away in the kitchen a presented my dinner. 'But I didn't want that.' or 'I don't fancy that.'
Ball my socks up and stuff them down the side of the sofa. Then I would wonder why the hell none of my socks get washed.
Put empty bottles/jars/boxes and packets back in the cupboard/fridge/anywhere so that when my wife looks to see what shopping we need she thinks we still have all that stuff.
Expect my wife to magically know that I have taken money out of the account as well as expecting her to magically know at any given time what has been paid or is due to come out.
I would also expect my wife to remember all of MY family's birthdays and special occasions. I will also expect her to buy cards, presents, wrap them and then I would take all the credit.
I would accuse my wife of using my razor even though she waxes.
I would never EVER take it upon myself to rinse out a used cup/glass to make another drink I would always use another clean cup/glass because after all I don't have to do the mountains of washing up
When ever I was suffering from a toothache/headache/cold it would automatically be 10 times worse then any toothache/headache/cold that my wife and children have ever suffered form and would require me to announce so frequently while making a song and dance about having to go to bed because I steadfastly refuse to take any tablets and just get on with it.
I would also lead a charmed life.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
My life as a mother is such a glamorous one. No, really! There comes a time in your life when you can judge just how far down the slippery slope of domesticity you've slid by the numbers you have stored on speed dial. Gone are your friends and clubbing buddies, no more are the taxi ranks and take aways above those of your family. Instead your phone seems to only hold numbers of medical professionals and emergency contacts.
Today my speed dial most definitely got a work out. First thing in the morning, house a shit tip, I was as usual chasing Pugpoo's bare bottom around the living room trying to convince her that although the fresh air whistling past her most private bits does indeed feel nice she really needs to put a nappy on before our carpet starts to smell like a male public convenience. I finally managed to wrestle her to the ground and hoist her legs in the air ready to slip the nappy underneath when OMFG is that A TICK! Yes, a tick! My darling daughter has a tick on her leg!
Thus I put in my first panicked call to out GP and an appointment was made. Oh the fun we had, three abled bodied adults failing desperately to hold down and 18 month old child so she can have Vaseline slapped on her leg to make the tick drop off (which it did later), now why couldn't they just tell me to do that at home?
Everything calms down until Ana's eventual return from school with an itchy head. 'So and so wasn't at school today because they have N-I-T-S!' enthuses my eldest daughter 'And I have N-I-T-S too.'
'Don't be silly you're imagining it' I child, but never the less I have a look and what do I find? Yes, nits. Again another panicked rush to the doctors to get something to kill the buggers (kill my arse, they were still thrashing about on the comb after an hour marinading in the stuff).
So there you have it, I have since put in a call to our local council to have our home condemned as a health hazard. Meanwhile we wait for the next exciting development no doubt on the near horizon, worms!
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
Ever since my husband cleaned out the shed in the garden we have had a problem with monstrous spiders taking up residence indoors. For some reason they all make a B line for Ana's room, the only person here with severe arachnophobia! Last night one of them came tap dancing out from under Ana's tv unit in her room and did the shimmy shuffle across the floor in her general direction. In came mummy (because Vincent is useless with anything with more then 4 legs) with the hoover to the rescue.
Well I'll be fucked if it isn't MAHOOSIVE (and I'm not talking teenage yob gang material). I place the hoover pipe near the bastard as Ana turns the hoover on. It only bloody well runs away from the hoover and back under Ana's TV unit. I moved the unit, but no sign of the spider. Ana was in such a state by now that I even put my face on the floor and looked under the unit (If it had run at me I would have collapsed and convulsed on the floor).
Anyway spider now missing, I had to convince Ana to go to bed. we barricaded the gaps under the tv unit and sprinkle Ana's conker collection around the room (Spiders apparently don't like them) and she reluctantly goes to bed. Fast forward to about 3pm this afternoon when Shen our Labrador brings something over to me that he has in his mouth. He softly deposits the shrivveled carcass of the missing spider (unless there was more the one, which by the way doesn't bare thinking about) at my feet. I'm not sure how it died, as I didn't perform a post mortem. But I am pretty sure either Shen the daft dick loved it to death or it had a heart attack after it's near miss with the hoover. Anyway.
ALL HAIL THE SPIDER KILLER EXRTAORDINAIRE!
Sunday, 2 September 2007
Sadly my nan is now suffering from dementia and can no longer remember who most of us are. Except it seems my delightful children.
Ana having special needs can be brutally honest at times asked my nan if she remembered her husband that had recently passed away.
The conversation went something like this. Ana - Naaaaaaaaaanny, do you remember great drandrad? (she can't say grandad)
Nan - Yes Dear
Ana - He died. *dramatic pause* don't worry, you're gonna die soon too (said with a little more enthusiasm then necessary)
Friday, 31 August 2007
He is a cheap jointed figure from out of an airport playset that had long suffered at the hands of my eldest daughter and found it's way into the bin.
Only Faceless Fred survived (so call because his face rubbed off years ago) to surface again in a load of toys that had been banished to bath time play. This was where Pugpoo first laid eyes on Faceless Fred and it was love.
Wednesday, Faceless Fred went on his most dangerous and fear ridden adventure to date. While dancing on top of the fake (never used) 70's electric fire place Faceless Fred slipped and fell through the small gap at the top of the glass that houses the realistic plastic coal effect.
Cue the desperate screams for FED FED from Pugpoo as she pointed forlornly at Faceless Fred as he lay trapped behind the glass.
Daddy leapt into action and heaved the fireplace into his manly *cough* arms and turned it upside down while mummy coaxed Faceless Fred out with the handle of a wooden spoon.
Faceless Fred was soon reunited with a tear stained Pugpoo who calmly tossed him on the floor in favour for the wooden spoon.
Such are the whims of a 17 month old child.