Roaringly Random

I think my day starting sliding sideways first thing when I tried to tip my tea bag onto the remains of my now defunct Poinsettia - I've heard teabags make good fertiliser and I would be interested to see if this one can come back from the dead - but the teabag decided to fall onto the windowsill with a squelch instead. It took me mere moments to put down the teaspoon and grab a cloth but before you could say 'monkey' there was already a light brown splat-shaped stain on the snow-white windowsill. Continued rubbing with ever coarser cleaning implements only served to take off the paint. Bugger. Still at least the splat's gone. Hmm, white Dulux immulsion on a kitchen windowsill, who said the previous owners spared no expense doing this place up?

There followed a major tantrum from Poppet who I generously allowed to lie-in through the school run after none of us slept until 2 this morning on account of her uncontrollable night-coughs. Actually, I lie: Pickle slept. That boy could probably sleep through an earthquake once he's off, unless the earthquake hits at 7am on a non-school day in which case he'd already be half an hour into his first game of Minecraft :-)

Apparently my generosity was all wrong, though, and I ended up with a door-slamming, arm waving, Mother-hating, 'It's not fair' Kevin the Teenager soundalike instead. The joy... was deep.

So I took her to school.

One rather dull day of housewifing later - I think I lost the will to live on aisle 5 in my local Tesco midway through the afternoon. Not sure why I bothered when Nobby's staying out at a two-day meeting tonight. But it was handy parking for the post office, another energy-sapping mind-numbing dreadful place where I always seem to be only person actually wanting to *post* something. All too soon the brats were back and that's when the bewildering string of randomness continued.

Apparently Poppet is now 'back on' CocoPops. She declared herself 'off' them just after she opened the last packet some weeks ago but I kept the box for some brave and optimistic vision of future family Crispy Cake making which naturally never materialised since my kids only enter the kitchen when the sound of their grumbling tummies is drowning out the television. When she finally tired of waiting for me to serve her food and drinks on the sofa (what did her last slave die of? Oh, I remember - disobedience) she actually hauled her butt of the sofa, pretty random in itself, and went and looked in a cupboard. She found the CocoPops, poured out a large bowl, and happily troughed away.

Pickle came to chat to me in the study later on and spied my stack of Billy Connolly videos. (They emerged from the same box as the Star Trek collection; I'm sure Billy is happy to boldly go where no-one has gone before...)

'That's that Bob Connolly from Garfield,' Pickle exclaimed, 'he's Scottish isn't he?' He then stunned me by putting on an impressive Scots brogue and shouting,

'My bottom's incredibly itchy!!!'.

I was so taken aback he had to do it again. Now I'm using it as my ringtone.

So then came one of those not so random moments, like those ones in French shops when the whole aisle is deserted until you stop to examine something that catches your eye and suddenly three professionally-sharpened French elbows are in your ribs to beat you to the treasure. It may seem random but it is actually a measurable phenomenon; try it. I was on the Skype to Rose, who is in Paris funnily enough and could keep you entertained for hours with the elbow thing, when simultaeously someone knocked at the front door, the phone rang, a text beeped and Poppet announced she was still hungry.

Poppet helpfully picked up the phone in spite of my dramatic and I thought rather convincing mime of drawing a finger across my throat to warn her to leave it. No-one who knows me uses that number and sure enough, when she handed over the receiver and headed off to answer the door some random Indian voice on the end of the line asked me,

'Have there been any accidents in the last three years?'
'Excuse me?' I said, 'what accidents? Who is this?'
'Have there been any accidents in the last three years?'
'Er, I have no idea what you're on about but hang on a minute there's someone at my door' I said as I flung the phone onto the table and chased after Poppet before she started serving tea and biscuits to any Jehovah's Witnesses.

Luckily it was Pickle's guitar teacher and in another totally out of character act for him, he came right off the computer unbidden and bounded into the front room for his lesson. My gob was well and truly smacked.

After I'd picked my chin up off the floor and returned to the phone I was greeted by a dial tone. Finally a cold caller who knows when she's flogging a dead horse. I wonder if she believed me about there being someone at the door?

So I returned to the kitchen and merely Skype-texted with Rose whilst at the same time cooking a sausage casserole, burning a cheese sauce and mopping up a puddle of water that randomly weeshted out of one end of my hand mixer and onto my new Ugg boot.

Consequently I had to quickly wipe off my Ugg boot and check the hand mixer was still working. Of course it wasn't working. Well, not until I switched on the plug at the wall. Der. Though I reckon I can be forgiven for slipping out of the habit while I've been residing outside of the Nanny state. I'm still adjusting to the good old British belt-and-braces approach to safety. In France and Hungary they are quite happy for you to operate all things electrical without the aid of a wall switch and I suppose I grew accustomed to it. After all, neither child managed to fritz themselves by inserting a knitting needle into a socket - you may think they'd be hard pushed to find a knitting needle in my house but trust me, they're capable.

All the while my newly updated i-pod was blaring tunes out of the stereo I've had for ten years without realising I could hook an i-pod up to it until last week. The final random act before I reached for the gin bottle was some song coming on called 'Cowboy Dreams' which I have no memory of ever buying. Interesting song though, with a random 'Yippy-ki-yay' chucked in about halfway, to which my spontaneous, pavlovian response was something obscene that rhymes with 'brother-pucker.' After that I had an overwhelming urge to settle down with a Gordon's and watch Die Hard.

Maybe lack of sleep is to blame for such a wacky day. Tonight's plan is kids down by 8, bum on sofa by 8.30. Surely, bar the dog offering to scratch my back for a change, no more strangeness will follow??? Hope springs eternal.

Work and play

I've had a man in today. He's been doing shelves. It's nothing to worry about, poor chap had to listen to almost my entire i-pod which includes a nauseating amount of 80s throwback tunes and some dark Depeche Mode so I guess I'm lucky all my new storage is actually straight.

He's coming back tomorrow to replace the front door. I'd better learn how to tune my radio and fast.

We booked a family Easter break to Brussels with Nobby's airmiles. Found a lovely apartment to rent near to the Grand Place - last time we were there Poppet was just a large bump under my jumper and I wasn't permitted to indulge in any beer, blond or otherwise. I think I may have to do something about that this time.

We told the Pickle he can get mussels in Brussels. He flexed both his arms and asked, breathlessly, 'Really?!!'

Boys to Men

My kids love sleepovers. They've been doing them since they were quite small because we've always been a little short on babysitters while we lived abroad and sometimes farming them out to stay with their friends was the easiest solution for nabbing a night out with Nobby. Easiest for me of course, I think Rose did the first one and ended up with all the kids in one room as they were too excited to be separated and she felt obliged to sleep with them in case of any trouble in the night. I'm amazed she ever offered again.

Of course palming your own kids off on others means you have to return the favour and we certainly do our bit. Though Nobby still greets the news that we have small guests with a little bit of head holding, some shoulder-sagging and a couple of 'oh no's. I can't say I blame him; despite the up side of being banned from all contact with the child in question in case I embarrass them in front of their mate, there is the down side of the endless showing off when they emerge in search of refreshments and the inevitably very late night.

One time Poppet was still up chatting at 3am, but of course it was all her friend's idea , probably had a gun to her head, or at least a 'stay awake or I'll tell everyone at school you still wear Hello Kitty Pjs'. As a parent you're torn between the usual bellowing 'Go To Sleep' across the landing or more polite interjection, just in case little friend has a sensitive countenance. I once looked after the daughter of a friend of mine who never, ever raises her voice and is as unhurried and placid as a sloth on Valium. One of mine did something typically spectacular to raise my ardour, probably something either dangerous involving pillows or messy involving chocolate knowing my two, and caused me to shout. The poor little lamb burst into tears of fear and bewilderment until her big sister informed me 'My mother never shouts.' I'm not sure I'd truly believed it until then. Whatever she's got I want some.

Anyway, Pickle had a sleepover this past Friday night. All went well and they spent the obligatory 5 hours between home-time and bedtime ensconced in a game in his bedroom, only coming out for a bit of sister-baiting and grub-munching. I often find the guest is incredibly well behaved when they come here. Perhaps that's because I have the word 'ogre' tattooed on my forehead? Or Pickle's wound them up with stories of how I reduce small children to tears with my shouting. Naturally he'll have embellished and totally left out the part where he sat on the dog, chucked half his breakfast on the floor, mislaid each and every essential part of his uniform and THEN decided to tell me about the homework he'd forgotten to do.

They even went to bed quite easily and I only had to re inflate the airbed twice. The drop-off next morning was another matter though. This is what was supposed to happen:

I text Mummy and check what time she wants her son back and can we save her some time by dropping him off on our way into town. She texts me back yes, 1pm at his grandparent's house would be great. I do the drop-off at the agreed time and we all gaily drive off to town for a mooch.

Now here's what actually happened when you take the women out of the equation and add a couple of curve balls:

I text Mummy to check when and where to drop her son. She confirms 1pm at his nan's as Mummy herself is away for the weekend.

Suddenly Poppet announces she's not feeling well and I find out she has a temperature of 101 degrees and won't be going anywhere. Poppet starts to wail that she really is well enough to go to New Look and can't possibly take nasty medicine and go back to bed.

Nobby valiantly steps up and loads the boys into the car at 12.55 with much 'have you got everything?' checks and heads for the drop-off.

Little friend's Dad arrives on my doorstep at 1pm to collect now absent son. I tell him he'll be at his nan's in about 30 seconds, he says 'Good because he's being picked up there at 1 pm for a day out.'

Nobby texts me at 1.15pm to say they are in the queue for the car wash, still with little friend in the car because he wanted to see what it was like. I have no numbers for Nan, Dad or person sitting waiting at Nan's house so desperately text Mummy to let people know there is a delay.

Nobby delivers little friend to his nan's at 1.35pm, person picking him up is cold and distant.

Nobby texts me at 1.45pm to say he's discovered little friend's coat, school bag and lunch box in the back seat of his car.

Next evening Mummy texts me to ask if I've seen her boy's school shirt and jumper.

Still, it would have been a boring weekend without all the shenanigans, at least you can rely on the men to entertain.

And in that vein here is the joke from the lovely Mr Pickle (all his own work apparently):

A teddy bear turns to his mate and says 'Are you hungry?' and the other bear says, 'No thanks mate, I'm stuffed.'

Barbies and Borstal

Ah, Saturday at last. And a clear weekend with no running around for once. Lots of tea and pottering about is on the cards. Since its finally warm enough to stay outdoors without needing to be wrapped in more layers than a royal wedding cake.

Poppet has today presented me with two things. First a cough with accompanying fever, making her entry into the school singing contest next week rather questionable. But at least it meant I had to skip shopping today for which my bank manager will be grateful.

Secondly I now have 4 of her Barbies that she has dressed up in their best outfits. I am not sure why. During my relentless clearings out whilst we've been moving I've been trying to surreptitiously chuck out all things Barbie to try and reclaim the space under her bed. Actually, I've never really warmed to the collection of leggy, blonde party girls with gravity defying tits and a wardrobe to die for. I think Rose had the right idea all along when she banned them from her house. I'm not sure how I got sucked in to buying so many of them and decking them out with enough plastic furniture and accessories to rival ToysRUs. She managed to part with a few bits to a friend's little girl but there's still a veritable sorority house going on taking up two crates. Still, she's putting in good practice for her career in fashion design and we have named my new dollies Pandora, Florence, Titania and Amelia. They are currently having a girlie sleepover on my windowsill, watching the world go by.

Tiggy is also watching the world go by, and intermittently trying to chase it down and catch it. She is driving us mad at the moment, constantly creeping upstairs while we're not looking to lie on the bathroom floor gazing at the guinea pigs... and drooling. Once she's been shooed downstairs with her tail so far between her legs she could use it as a scarf, she waits till we're out of sight again then helps herself to a bit of sofa. I thought the kids were naughty but this dog is seriously taking the mickey. Bring back Dog Borstal I say and hand me the choke chain.

So I embarked on a massive spring clean yesterday to tackle the puddles of dog hair collecting on my soft furnishings and the trail of sawdust across the bathroom floor, landing and children's rooms. And Nobby is on hutch-erecting duty so we can move our newest family members outside now the sun finally put on an appearance. Nobby doesn't mind: he had a new cordless drill and screwdriver for Christmas so any opportunity to make like Handy Andy and he's well happy. We are planning to take on the garden tomorrow since we haven't actually been in it for more than five minutes since we bought the place. Tiggy's been busy there though and first order of the day will be flipping a coin for dog-poo duty. Nice. I reckon I've done my bit having scrubbed out four toilets and the far reaches of the bin-cupboard yesterday but I know that won't hold much water with his lordship.

See, I did get a treat this week, a night out with my brother to watch Star Wars in 3D. Since it wasn't actually filmed with 3D in mind it wasn't quite as exciting as I'd hoped, but then my previous experience includes all things Pixar animations where stuff flies out of the screen so you feel you can touch it. Sadly Ewan McGregor stayed firmly on the screen , though I wouldn't have minded a feel. (!) But it was good to watch one of my fave flicks again, despite being unable to regard Queen Amidala in a regal light since I discovered her name is French for tonsils. My bruv had only previously seen one film in 3D so he was far more impressed. His first child is still cooking so he's not had my opportunities.

Well its time to take Poppet's temperature again; she's watched two episodes of Dr Who, the film Robots (only 2D, she hates 3D specs), painted my nails turquoise and now declared herself bored. Those Barbies may come in handy after all - some lessons in hair-dressing might pep her up... (insert evil laugh and sound of snipping scissors, mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha)

Back on the blog

I have been inspired by Emily Carlisle who blogs her 'extreme parenting' on More Than Just A Mother. She could have nicked her last post straight out of my brain. So it's time for me to start making the effort to blog again, bringing you a glimpse of my view of the world and the delights of coping with repatriating a family that's been travelling for seven years.

Better watch the Nobby-bashing though. I've only been updating Facebook recently, which he doesn't subscribe to (both literally and conceptually: 'Its just gossip. I don't do gossip.') and he's unwittingly copped a load. For today I'll let Emily Carlisle do it for me.

So quick update since last blog roughly 4 months ago. We've moved house again - despite my endless clearing out and best efforts with a crowbar and a monkey wrench, we couldn't wedge anything else into the old place. So we packed it all up again and moved a mile up the road to somewhere bigger. Aren't we flash. We also buy a new car once the ashtrays are full. (!)

Yesterday I unpacked the last box which I guess means we are officially and terminally moved in. I just can't think where the last 6 months went. Or my bank balance. If anyone finds either of them can you pop them in the mail please?

Tiggy the dog has now developed arthritis and instigated our initiation into the world of UK vet bills and pet insurance, both of them being eye-wateringly costly though the latter will find whatever excuse it can not to pay out making it also fist-clenchingly annoying. Hopefully she'll only need one £550 x-ray.

But since we like chancing our luck we've added Bob and Eddie to the menagerie, just for sh*ts and giggles. And let me assure you, they produce a shedload of sh*t. At least with them being guinea pigs it's a lot simpler to scoop than Tiggy's. I'm still not sure why I caved to Poppets relentless pleading for more guinea pigs, given our appalling track record with the species, I hope I'm not going to regret this.

Dog and guineas met for the first time yesterday - luckily through metal bars or else I think there may have been carnage given how the dog went rigid and started quivering, much the same as when she spots a squirrel blithely hopping across the lawn. She's become obsessed with worldwide extermination of anything smaller, cuter and furrier than herself. (We still haven't had a squirrel pie yet but she put in a good chase after a rabbit the other day). I really hope I'm not going to regret this.

Pickle is now the proud owner of a shiny red electric guitar, with amp. If past experience is anything to go by, he will shortly announce his early retirement from super-stardom to concentrate on his Minecraft inventions, so I have taken pre-emptive action and engaged a home tutor so he can't 'forget' to go to the lessons. They were thumping out 'Wild Thing' by the end of their first jam last night and Pickle has declared his teacher 'cool' so I am optimistic.

I'm still housewifing, though I have been to a job interview thank you very much. Sadly unsuccessful. I think I blew it with Mrs Sock the sock-puppet which may have been too babyish for Year 4; I need to get with the vibe - British kids seem to be a whole lot more streetwise a whole lot younger compared to where I've been teaching. I've noticed some changes in my own kids. Pickle isn't so cuddly on school premises, preferring a nonchalant 'yo' as greeting rather than a fifty yard run up followed by a leap into a koala grip. And Poppet is developing an interest in boys... uh-oh.

Nobby is happy and just got promoted, hurrah! so our travels are well and truly over, hurrooh :( I took a wee jaunt over to Paris last weekend to catch up with Rose and Peony and see how many Frenchies I can offend with my rapidly declining language skills. Just to be different though, Rose and I were given a carafe of red wine by a French couple sitting next to us at our favourite sushi bar when they realised they couldn't finish it. Extraordinary. Later on I was witness to some blatant queue-jumping, classic body-shrugging and pointless road-rage so I soon felt at home again.

I'll leave you with a lovely picture of my final unpacking.



Average price of a VHS cassette when the Star Trek collection began: £14. Current value of all tapes, each containing 2 whole episodes of Start Trek: £0. Look on Nobby's face when he came home and saw it again after 3 years safely boxed up in the basement: priceless.