I went to our local Pizza Express for lunch with the kids together with Not Quite Next Door and her kids. On route I managed to miss a turning with a last minute panic about which way to go. Ended up on a ten minute detour, followed by Not Quite Next Door in her car, around West Bridgford. The highlight of this detour was Daughter’s announcement that this would never happen with Daddy driving.
Getting lost between Wilford and West Bridgford is quite impressive given how long we have lived here for and how many times we have been to Pizza Express! Due to the power of tablets distracting the kids (don’t judge it is so much easier than trying to referee whilst they bicker) we managed to have a civilised chat.
This afternoon I took Son to his swimming lesson. Due to missing a crucial turn (again) we ended up a couple of minutes late, but made most of the lesson. However I seemed to spend most of the swimming lesson either plucking him out of the deep water as he thinks it is funny to just leap away from me, or trying to explain that he can’t swim and pick his nose at the same time, which was a sentiment he did not appear to agree with.
Someone recently commented, a bit harshly in my view, that looking at my car was similar to the image of a bomb hit street in Syria when there is what is left of a car by the side of the road! I have only ever had a couple of minor skirmishes in car parks when I’ve lost a row with the odd concrete post which had the cheek to jump out at me.
The last time we went swimming was on holiday. Son announced in the changing rooms loud enough for the whole park to hear, that I had my ‘big boobies out’ whilst I was changing.
Friday night we had a battle of the wills showdown. Son was excited at dinner and was wanting to get down from the table, then return to nibble. Having told him off several times, by the end of the meal, I put my foot down and announced that he was not leaving the table until he said thank you for his dinner and asked permission to leave. I was quite proud of this demonstration of discipline. Son then stared me straight in the eyes and announced he would sit there, ‘for-eba and eba’ (which is how he pronounces ‘forever and ever’). I kneeled next to this chair to make sure he didn’t get down. Husband snorted his best wishes, whilst faintly trying to hide his laughter and Son and I had a standoff. I won, of course; although by the time he gave in, my knees were starting to ache and I had begun to doubt the wisdom of having decided to pick this particular battle. I confess to feeling a tad smug when he uttered the appropriate words before leaving the table, slightly subdued.
The other day I wiped Son’s nose and we examined the rather impressive bogey in the tissue that I had removed. I was pleased he looked cleaner for a couple of seconds; son just looked irritated, as he announced, ‘I was saving that!’ I can’t think of one good reason why anyone would want to save a bogey, but apparently Son can. I decided not to enquire as to the purpose that he was saving it for, as candidly I suspect it was for consumption.
Poor Son, I’ve told him a few porkies this weekend. My deception includes closing all the curtains and blinds whilst it was still light, to persuade him it was genuinely bath time. Last night I had put him to bed and then he heard the front door open. I swear he has an alarm on that door that only he can hear. True to form, his eyes flew open and he demanded to know who had come or gone. I knew that it was Husband taking Daughter and Niece J to the cinema to watch Beauty and the Beast, but he is too young for it. Frankly I thought the trailer looked a bit dark even for Daughter. I didn’t want the screaming ad dabs from Son for having missed out on a trip to the cinema, so I told him the girls had been naughty so Daddy was taking them for a walk in the dark. Pffff the problem is he felt sorry for them, so it quickly spiraled out of control and I ended up reading another story as a distraction!
The other night after I got the kids tucked up in bed I sat in the lounge watching TV and working on my laptop, munching on a few chocolates (maybe that’s why the scales haven’t gone down this week). Suddenly I heard the familiar noise of Daughter ambling down the stairs. I panicked before quickly hiding the chocolate wrappers under some papers just before she walked in the lounge. Daughter had decided I should give up chocolate for lent. I didn’t agree to this, but nor did I want to give her the smug satisfaction of catching me in the act. Instead once she’d gone I had another chocolate, just to be rebellious, then gleefully secreted the wrappers in the bin.
Afterwards it dawned on me that I was sat in my own house, at the age of 39, hiding chocolate wrappers from a 7 year old and I felt a bit foolish.
Yesterday I came home from a couple of days working in London having meetings with the lovely Posh Pal. After the first day of meetings, we retired to a wine bar to share a bottle of wine. I was busy moving the candle on the table to make room for the wine, when I suddenly heard Posh Pal yell, ‘WTF am I doing?’ I looked up to find Posh Pal had poured wine into the wine cooler rather than the glasses and that was the first glass of the night!
We ended up in a trendy Thai tapas kitchen in Soho with Barrister HH. Soho is an interesting place, with classic theatres, trendy bars and restaurants, next to sex shops, complete with the odd crack addict wondering around.
Sometime after midnight I stumbled back to my hotel room. Although that is rather an exaggeration. More accurately I returned to my pod. The night before I had proudly told Husband that I had found a bargain hotel on Fleet Street, much to his amusement when he saw the photo. Fortunately I don’t suffer from claustrophobia.
Yesterday was the wedding of the lovely Cousin L. She genuinely looked like a fairy princess and was truly beautiful. At the wedding the ceremony was lovely, but slightly tense at times whilst the family all tried to ensure that Son kept as quiet as possible and didn’t disrupt the ceremony. Fortunately he was not the only small child, so the general pressure to keep kids quiet was spread amongst a few of us. Baby cousin E is only 18 months old and was sat in front of us. During the key moments of the ceremony Cousin E could be faintly heard saying ‘oh no’ and ‘ah oo’ with perfect timing.
Son flitted between sitting next to us and Grandad who was over the side aisle and a row behind us. At one point I had to cling to Son’s suit jacket to stop him from attempting to pole vault over the pew. to get back to Grandad. At one point I thought I’d seen a gunk of ear wax, which I naturally couldn’t resist trying to remove with my little finger, but to no avail, so I quickly gave up and temporarily forgot about it .
Once we got outside the church I remembered the gunk in Son’s ear and had another look. To my horror it looked like a small pearl had been inserted deeply into his ear. We attempted first aid of Grandad trying to tip him upside down and shake him a bit to try and dislodge it, much to the clear delight of Son, but it clearly wasn’t going to budge. Decided that as it wasn’t bothering him at all, he was happy and clearly not in any pain, that we’d continue to enjoy the wedding and take him to be fixed the next day. The rest of the wedding passed without any glitches and we all had a lovely family day.
Son and I slept over at Granny and Grandad’s house. Son woke up in the night, saw it was me he was next to, shouted, ‘eeuugh not you’ before scampering off to join Grandad and Granny in bed. I admit that in the middle of the night I don’t look at my best, but frankly I thought his reaction was a bit over the top.
Once we got up this morning we took Son to A and E, where a lovely Nurse Practitioner extracted what transpired to be not a pearl, but a small bead from Son’s ear.
We had asked Son what was in his ear and how it got there and he just looked at us like we were talking a foreign language and/or that we were addressing someone else entirely. Quite how it got there and more to the point why Son thought in any way it was a good idea will remain beyond me. I just hope he doesn’t decide to do it again!
Made it for my first run in my new gear this evening. Given that I had dragged Daughter all around the sports shops at the weekend, I got her some running gear as well. She was as keen as me to try it out. At 7.30 we set off, proudly sporting our new running clothes.
Unfortunately we didn’t make it out of the estate before I tripped up a kerb and sprawled all over the pavement grazing my hand and hip. Daughter barely managed to stifle a snort of laughter before helping me up. We womanfully carried on and Daughter bless her treated me like a partially sighted person for the rest of the run, helpfully shouting out obstacles like ‘twigs’ so I wouldn’t trip up again.
We hadn’t got far before Daughter announced she was desperate for the loo and so we had to nip back. I jogged on the spot outside whilst she went in to nip to the loo. She came out munching Haribos informing me that running makes her hungry. No doubting whose child she is!
We set off again and in total managed 0.8 miles. Not a bad effort for a first run out. Everyone starts somewhere.
Day 2 of eating healthy today and I’ve managed to stay on track. I’ve managed to head off my normal set of excuses to slip, which tend to include things like:
· The kids are getting on my nerves;
· That was a difficult client/phone call etc.;
· I’m tired;
· I deserve it;
· What’s one X going to do to me;
· Oh well I’ve done it now, may as well as also eat….;
Hip and hand are a bit sore now!!
I’m going to get fit and healthy it just has to be done. I weighed myself the other week, having been to the toilet and even trimmed my pubes and the scales were not kind; in fact there were unbelievably rude. My 40th is looming around the corner and my arse has frankly got lardy. Time to positively do something about it. I’m not convinced about going back to Fat Class though. The Fat Class leader and I are not destined to be best buddies. I am going to use the Fat Class principles, but weigh myself in the privacy of my own home.
I started this process yesterday and Daughter and I went shopping for some proper running trainers and clothes. I also had my hair cut and coloured so feel more human about myself and collected my new glasses which I like.
I arrived home and Husband dutifully complemented my hair, but appeared to fail to notice my new glasses. I challenged him to look carefully to identify what else was new and he asked if I had waxed my chin. Frankly he is lucky to still be alive let alone married. For the record there is nothing wrong with my chin!!
I was going to go for a run this morning, but surely only fanatics run in the rain.
Yesterday morning Son woke up in a grump, attempted to insist that I produced his Grandad for him out of thin air. When I failed miserably to achieve this, his next strategy was to insist on wearing his favourite T shirt which was dirty having been worn the day before. As a compromise, on the basis that otherwise we would be late, he agreed to calm down and get ready if I let him take it with him. He therefore walked into nursery clutching his dirty laundry, much to the amusement of his key nursery lady.
Parents evening for Daughter last night. It went as expected; she is excelling in Maths which is her passion, is a happy girl, who loves learning and soaks up new information like a sponge. Interestingly her strengths and weaknesses at school match mine at her age. I asked her teacher about her behaviour and the teacher looked at me like I was speaking in a foreign language, before telling me Daughter is apparently a pleasure to have in the class, as if she was surprised I would ask the question. We are extremely proud of her, as always.
I didn’t want to take the kids to parents evening as last time Husband was away for parents evening. I took both kids with me. Daughter sat nicely to wait, but Son didn’t really understand what we were doing there and started running around and playing up. Other parents (especially those that only had girls) started giving me the eye and pulling ‘the face’. I swore I’d never take them again.
Husband was away yesterday and Over the Road kindly offered to look after the kids whilst I went to parents evening. Son this morning woke up speaking with a broad Yorkshire accent imitating Over the Road, telling me the ‘car was broken’ which was hilarious.
Took the kids to the dentist this morning. Even for an 8.30 appointment they still manage to run late. I had prepped Daughter to repeat that they only had sugary snacks as a treat. She was still muttering ‘sugar is just an occasional treat’ as we walked into the surgery. The kids love going to the dentist. I think the main attraction is the water cooler in the waiting room that they can help themselves to. 5 glasses of water each later, unsurprisingly they need the toilet. Son announced to the waiting room he needed a wee and a poo and that he was going to do a big one like a snake. Delightful.
Pancake Day today. Unfortunately we seemed to have a bad batch of mixture and they seemed to just turn into a blob in the middle of the pan. I tried to tell the kids they were pancake parcels, but they weren’t fooled and patiently asked when their Dad was home. Bless them for not moaning about it.
Last year Chris was away and I made ace pancakes. We filled our boots with savoury and sweet pancakes and still had some mixture left over so we had some fun with the spare ones. I tossed them higher and higher until one hit the ceiling and I managed to catch it on my head when it fell down. Son laughed so hard he clutched his stomach and fell over!
We are in the process of potty training Son. He has gone the last 3 days without any accidents so perhaps we have made a breakthrough. I hope it is normal for a nearly 3 year old to find all things bottom related absolutely hilarious. Breaking wind is apparently particularly funny. He has self-devised a little fart dance to celebrate breaking wind, which includes him wafting his arms around to spread the scent. A delightful treat for anyone in the room.
This year the kids went to the Church nativity dressed up as sheep. According to Daughter she is far too old (age 7) to go as an angel, which is what the little girls go as. I suggested she went as a star, but was told she was ‘not special’. So a sheep it was. Who knew there was a hierarchy of coolness for nativity characters?
Part way through the performance, Son started to wiggle his bottom, which is the start of the fart dance. I caught his eye and sent him a silent but menacing stare, before hissing ‘don’t you dare’. This was apparently all the encouragement he needed to announce proudly, ‘I’ve trumped Mummy’. I am sure the rest of the congregation was delighted to hear this news.
Not long later I thought he announced ‘Poo, poo’. Given that we are at the early stages of potty training, I felt I had no choice but to jump up and discreetly ask if he needed the toilet. I thought we were about to get some realistic stable smells. He looked confused, as then was I, until Granny realised he was shouting ‘moo’. Given he was dressed as a sheep, but was mooing, it was frankly a confusing situation for all concerned.
“It hurts when I wee” was mumbled at me in a slightly challenging tone by Daughter before going to bed. It is surprising how many random body parts hurt her when she has either just been told off or it is bedtime. Selfishly my mind flipped to my diary for the next day and I wondered how I was going to fit a trip to the doctor’s into my schedule. I wasn’t convinced it was sufficiently serious to merit her missing school the next day. I therefore concocted a cunning plan. The doctors open up afternoon appointments at 12 noon for urgent appointments. If I rang at 12.10 then I wouldn’t risk being offered an appointment until after 5.30 which meant I could still go to work as normal and then pick both kids up and somehow make it to the doctors on time.
Daughter subsequently reappeared back in the lounge, long after she should have been asleep to announce that she had identified why it hurts when she had a wee. The toilet paper in the bathroom was apparently not as thick and as cushioned as the sort Daddy normally buys and it was rough on her bottom. I felt a mixture of relief that we didn’t need a trip to the doctors, irritation that she was not yet asleep and disbelief that own label toilet paper would have such an effect. To cover said irritation I promised to have a word with Daddy about the appropriate softness of said toilet roll and sent her and her delicate bottom straight back to bed!
I remember the last time she pulled a similar stunt and I took her to doctors. The doctor sent us both to the bathroom to collect a urine sample from her. I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to get her wee on my hands and rolled up my sleeves. What I had not prepared myself for was that in her head she was on the toilet and therefore it was perfectly acceptable to do a poo. Fortunately I realised what was happening just in time before I caught it. Daughter thought the entire incident was so funny she nearly fell off the toilet laughing so hard. From memory the doctor could find nothing wrong with her that time either.