A very special man...

This weekend has ended on a very sad note.

I sincerely hope that the friend I am writing about forgives me if she ever reads this - however I think it is poignant and worthwhile remembering how precious life really is.

A friend of mine lost her husband this weekend. He was the love of her life and understandably she is devastated. Sadly I can not get to where she is in order to support her, however I know that she has valued friends around her at this incredibly difficult time.

Suddenly other issues no longer take precedence when you realise the pain that someone else is going through. They pale in comparison.

It reminds me that there is only one life and we must always endeavour to enjoy it, because we really don't know what is around the corner.

For my friend and her children, I want you to know that I am thinking of you and your family. You are very special, and he was an incredibly special man.

Love you xxx

No apologies required...

I have had a little bit of a revelation today.

The revelation came via Facebook, from a friend in a very hot country. She is a very close friend, if not in distance then in emotion and she is intuitive, warm and very kind.

I respect her not just because of who she is and the decisions she makes, but also the way she empowers others to do more than they ever thought they were capable of.

I have seen her in action; I have seen people walk away after having had her support and kindness, and feel more than better about their lives and their future. She is very special and very much one of a kind and I am incredibly lucky that she chooses to have me in her life.

It was she, whilst chatting about life and the universe this morning, that reprimanded me in a way that only she can do.

"I really like your blog", she said, "It's inspiring. But can you do me a favour?"
"Absolutely," I say...wondering what was coming next...signed autographs perhaps for the children...opening a new supermarket with some very large scissors...
"Stop apologising for being you."
"Oh, ok. Sorry". I say

She went on to say that a good friend had said this to her recently and she was passing on the advice. She said we all do it, especially women, but we really shouldn't and it made me think very hard today about how and when I do this.

I have another good friend who I have known for nearly thirty years who would probably agree with my friend in the hot country. I am fairly sure that she also sees that I spend much of my life saying sorry for decisions I make, or the actions that I have taken.

Now don't get me wrong, sometimes I do have to apologise. Sometimes I have hurt people through my actions and I have often made wrong decisions in my life that I haven't thought through effectively.

However what my hot country friend is referring to is the way I apologise for just simply being me.  I can not help who I am, I can not change the way I react to situations - they are often borne through life experiences or childhood dilemmas. I am not as confident as I look and secure in how I behave, hence my rush to say to myself and others, "I have no right to feel that way, no right to believe and no right to be cared for."

We all try to be the best friend, the best mum or dad, the best lover, husband or wife...and I know my imperfections with regards to any of those categories that I fit into. However, the point is that I do try my best...I may not always succeed but who ever does?

I need to continue trying to do my best, and stop apologising for doing it. We all have the right to feel things, the right to believe and the right to be cared for. No one is more important than us, no one has more right to be cared for...we are all equal.

I will keep her advice in the back of mind the next time I go to say 'sorry', just in case I really don't need to be...just in case it's just me saying 'I apologise for being me'.

I am what I am...

Morrisology...

According to my friend J, all Morris Dancers should be banned as an illegal substance.

She says there is something about a group of men dancing with handkerchiefs and bells which is quite rude, and really really not right.

We are discussing this issue over a Chinese meal and a little Champagne in order to celebrate me passing my Basic Motorbike training today.

We have discussed other issues; such as lube and sticky bodies...which lube is washable, and which one may take at least three showers to remove...and we have discussed other phobias in general.

But Morris Dancers? Really?

She is quite adamant about it. Apparently she has a genuine phobia of them and the rest of this evening, we have according to J, all been a bit mean and completely insensitive to her irrational fear. We have treated her to an impromptu dance with the serviettes and an old stick from the garden and C's husband has youtubed a special clip of them for her...just watching her pain was laughter enough for us.

She really hates them. She feels what is the point of a Morris Dancer...what are they here for? She sees them as the devil incarnate, and said they are as bad as Al Queda...she thinks they are a cult, like Scientology. Therefore anyone involved in such a heinous act would be a Morrisologist.

Seems a bit harsh doesn't it?

Anyway, more importantly I have ticked off another thing on my list for my year of being forty. I was, as you can imagine, rather chuffed to have passed my Basic Motorbike Training today and I am looking forward to the next stage.

I am beginning to feel that my list will not see me through to my 41st birthday, and I will run out of things to achieve.

Perhaps I should add Morris Dancing to my list...alas I fear my friend J would disown me forever.

Traumas...

The last twenty four hours have seen two mini traumas, that involved hobbits and their mother...

At about six thirty last night, Spider-Man gleefully informs me that he needs a fancy dress costume for today...my heart just sank.

Every mother has had this at some point, be it a cookery class the next day that requires a specific spice that no one has ever heard of or a 3D model of Sputnik, complete with astronauts for science class...it is a heart stopping moment, knowing that the class of wine you had planned is about to remain in the fridge.

Spider-Man needed to go as a character from the Roald Dahl stories and books, thankfully he chose something relatively easy, and didn't ask to go as the BFG or Grandma from George's Marvellous Medicine...he went as Charlie Bucket from the Chocolate Factory.

So ripping up an old shirt, dressing him in very short trousers he went to school pleased with his large chocolate bar and winning Golden Ticket - phew, I didn't fail completely, however I would be very surprised if the chocolate bar actually arrives in class...

The second trauma was Spider-Man getting stuck in the toilet this morning.

At about 8.25, just as we were having the usual fight of teeth cleaning, shoes on, coats on, in the car mantra...I hear screaming. Now sadly, this doesn't tend to raise much of an eyebrow in my house, however when accompanied by Batman shouting 'Mummy, help!!!' In a much higher octave than normal, it normally sends me running.

Spider-Man was very distressed. He had managed to lock the toilet door and couldn't get out. It took me some time to actually calm him down with his fear and panic of being stuck near the white telephone for the rest of his life.

Eventually with some coaxing and very simple instruction he was free...the hug he gave me when emerging was akin to a few miners after being stuck down a mine shaft for 24 hours.  Clearly being that close to the bath was a traumatic event for any hobbit.

I am hoping for a peaceful evening now...well at least for the babysitter.

Life is complicated enough...

I am getting stressed.

I have a complicated issue that I am unable to resolve, until possibly it will be too late. It is thankfully, not a life or death situation, but nevertheless it is causing me some angst and I am proving to be a bit of a failure at resolving this issue. Perhaps it is best just to say it then we all know what we are dealing with...

Underwear.
There, I have said it out loud. Underwear...practical, sexy, crotchless, lace, French, thong...
What makes it sexy?
What makes someone feel good, or from the other side of the coin, what makes someone else 'think' you look good?(Besides ten pints and a curry)
How can one or two pieces of clothing turn you into a sexual goddess?

To be honest, I really don't think it can. That is after all, quite a lot of pressure that you are placing on this tiny piece of relatively delicate material...(If you pardon the pun)...

'I will put you on,' says girl to French knickers, 'and I will instantly become sexier and he will desire me.'

Hmm..see my point?
It's not easy trying to imagine yourself as sexy or desirable to anyone and in my case, someone will require their beer goggles.

I have to buy some underwear. It is important, not only for how it will make me feel but also for how it will look. Consequently I have found myself skulking, yes skulking, in ladies underwear departments thinking that I have no real right to be there...looking wistfully at barely there garments trying desperately to see how I could make something look good on me.

I can not imagine myself in any of them without feeling clumsy and awkward. 

My other dilemma, is what denotes it to be sexy in the first place? Some people prefer black, others red...some like lace, some like all in ones...the list is bloody endless, so how do you know what makes it special? What is one man's junk, to another man's treasure as it were?

There is so much choice out there that I really am going a bit squiffy eyed with designs, patterns, underwire and colours...I have become an underwear freak! What is my issue? Is it me or the bra?

I think it may be that I am at fault here. The knickers have done no wrong really and millions of other women do this without even flinching, so what is the problem I have?

Sex appeal is the shortest answer I can give you. Somebody said to me recently that women need to ooze sex appeal, they need to find their inner sex goddess and embrace it...the trouble is, I think mine is still eating four doughnuts and a slice of pizza for lunch and won't be back for some time.

I find it very hard to see myself as anything more than I am. I do not believe that I could make anything look good, so when I look at clothing or underwear I do not see myself doing it any justice.

I am being as honest as I can here...I sincerely hope that you won't beat me over the head with a 36DD padded bra, because that won't help...I just need to find where that bloody sexual goddess has gone and get her home in time.

The pleasures of vanilla...

With the craze that is apparently still sweeping the nation, of the phenonmenon of Fifty Shades of Grey, 'Vanilla' seems to be the buzz word of late.

Now for those of you who are unsure about this expression, as there may be still be some who haven't reduced their standard of reading; vanilla is a term that is used when describing something that is plain, simplistic or something that doesn't deviate from the norm...so vanilla sex, would be straight normal sex rather than any add-on's!

Catching up with work email on a monday morning, sipping coffee and most importantly hearing the gossip of the weekend, two work colleagues and I were shooting the breeze over their recent antics.

My female work colleague has recently met a fella. She is now a few dates in and things have just started to get a little bit more interesting. In fact, she herself experienced vanilla sex over the weekend, whilst my male colleague who is a little further down the line than her, regaled us with his story about how he had managed to scare the boyfriend's cat whilst taking his fella at the kitchen sink.

I feel that that story may require a blog all of his own, nevertheless cat lovers can be rest assured that George the cat is now seeking therapy from the RSPCA.

With the current climate of 'Fifty Shades', there is an assumption that vanilla must equal boring sex. Yet talking it through this morning we happily came to the conclusion that vanilla sex was actually more sensitive, intimate and kinder than any other flavoured sex.

Not that any of us had anything against sex that may be more adventurous, however unsurprisingly it turns out that life isn't all about that and that on general acceptance we all agreed that vanilla was a preferred option.

'It means that the pheromones are in sync', said my male colleage knowledgeably.
'Really?' I asked, how does he know that?
He shrugs, 'It's like knowing that a man will be good in bed, you have to complete the nipple test.'

Sorry, what?

He proceeded to inform me that a man will never be any good in bed if his nipples aren't sensitive, they won't feel the full emotion or benefit of good sex, therefore they can never give it themselves.

Really?
My female colleague concurred, 'Oh I agree completely. there always has to be a nipple test.'

Have I seriously lived on another planet all my life? Am I the only one who has never even considered, let alone observed the nipple test?

I really wish I had known this snippet of information many years ago - partly why I am sharing it here on my blog, just in case there is anyone else out there who has lived on the same planet as me...I truly wouldn't want you to make the same mistake.

So, essentially vanilla doesn't mean boring, (well certainly where sex is concerned anyway, I have met people that I would class as vanilla, who are as boring as hell.)

We are embracing vanilla as the new black, as the way to move forward in a trusting relationship and as the way to show someone how you really feel.

However, I am fairly sure that vanilla with a nice healthy dose of raspberry ripple, strawberry sauce and a sprinkling of nuts on the top wouldn't be sniffed at either...

Anally retentive...

Of all the things that I have discussed thus far on my blog, one I haven't quite yet broached is the road less travelled...

I have a very good friend who this afternoon has inspired me with today's blog. Drinking coffee in my kitchen the subject matter came up...she has recently had this experience so she seemed to be the best person to quiz.

Now to be honest there is something that makes me wince like I am sucking a lemon when considering the thought of anal sex.
I mean, really? 

Does this make me a prude I ask her?
"Good god no, I mean it's not really what it is there for is it? Let's be honest...' She continues, 'I mean, I doubt Adam and Eve did it....or maybe they did.' she ponders briefly.

I sip tea looking at her, 'I don't recall that lesson in bible study. Hmm, today children we shall learn about Adam taking Eve under the tree of Forbidden fruit...notice children how Adam is utilising the back bottom, rather than the front one.'

Dear god, imagine the parental complaints!

So what is the attraction then? I need to ask some men, but alas I have no man to ask today...and I have already discussed leather fetishes with my dad today and I think this one might just tip him over the edge.

The male angle is fairly obvious...but the girls? 
My friend informs me that it is pleasureable. She says that it is a nice feeling, but certainly wouldn't have said that she was turned on by it. 

So would she do it again?
'Oh yeah, because it's about their need as well and something that would make them happy.' She continued, 'after the initial shock of feeling like my insides were going to split, like the sensation of having a big poo...' she pauses for effect and you just know I am wincing and crossing my legs right now don't you?

'...then you get used to it and it get's easier.' She looks at me expectantly.
I have to ask, 'Is it not messy?'
'Nope, not at all, but be aware of the after effects.'

After effects? Do I really want to know this?
Yes, you're right dear reader, I do.

She smiles at me, 'Your bloody arse hurts the next day and it feels weird when you go to the loo.' She is slightly triumphant with the expression on my face.

'However, ' she adds as a final warning, as if I needed anymore. 'I believe that there are two things you must be aware of before commencing such an act. Firstly use plenty of lube just to ease the way, and secondly under no circumstance, never, ever in any way shape or form, give a blow job afterwards.'

I think I will stay a prude. 

Trust...

Someone broke my trust this week.

I am not going to get all high and moral about it, but inevitably it has destroyed a friendship.

I have several friends who are currently all feeling the effect of trust, and what it means to them and those around them.

It is true that it takes a long time to build up a trusting friendship/relationship and only a moment to knock it down; but also those who have been so deeply hurt find it very hard to trust again.

I know this is all common sense to most of us, however it is on my mind hence the blog this evening.

The friend who broke my trust will never be allowed back into my life the way they were, if at all; I am someone who is very black and white about such things.

However, never trusting a particular someone again is a different issue to allowing someone else in your life. How do you move on and take the plunge again?

I have a beautiful friend. She shines from inside and is one of the most caring and warmest individuals I have ever met. She is more than worthy of someone special in her life, but admits that she doesn't know where to start when it comes to trusting someone again.

How do you move on from the emotional pain?

I believe that it is because she hasn't met the one who will show her the way; that the one who she will completely trust again is currently busy, but he will soon be at her door and all of those worries will go away. How could it not happen she has so much to give and deserves the real thing.

I also have a couple of other friends who have just embarked on a possible new relationship. They are enjoying the buzz and the excitement, but something always allows self doubt to creep back in and self esteem to question themselves time and time again.

They are also beyond worthy of feeling love and affection again, and they will find their way again...but self doubt, and the concerns of 'can I trust him/her' surface constantly.

As a friend I can only remind them that they are special, that there is nothing to fear but fear itself. That sometimes you really just have to embrace the possibility of something good, rather than walking away because of fear.

Sadly my crystal ball is not working for my friends, but my heart tells me that he/she is good for you, and until now I have to believe that they want to do the right thing for you.

Take each day as it comes...don't presume the worst, or the negative of every situation. You are all unbelievably special, and there is no reason not to let that person in...so they too can see how special you really are.

Simple pleasures...

I was given some flowers today.

They arrived today just before 8.30, so that I was able to enjoy them before I headed off for work. I think the person who gave them to me felt that I needed something to make me smile, and smile they did.

Fresh cut and from their own garden, they were given with such a lovely smile, it was impossible not to feel better about things.

They were small, wrapped up in a little posy and given to me by one of the hobbits classmates. This delightful six year old felt that she wanted to cheer me up, as after all I only had boys at home and they would never pick me flowers...although they have picked me daisies on occasion.

It was such a nice moment that I felt quite honoured that this little girl had chosen to take time and pick some flowers from her garden for me, taking a moment to think of someone else.

It really is the simple things that we do that make a difference to other people. It doesn't have to be a grand gesture, but just telling someone that you are thinking of them can make a heck of a difference to their day.

A six year old girl taught me a valuable lesson today, so I am passing it on. Just tell someone you are thinking of them...

Confessions of a window cleaner...

I had the joy of working from home this afternoon.

I am completing an online course, and unfortunately I can not do it from work due to the security settings. So have been allowed to do it on my home computer.

When I got home I found the window cleaner outside in my back garden.

You'll be pleased to hear that he was actually cleaning windows, and wasn't sunbathing or sniffing my smalls on the line. Now that would have been just rude if not weird.

He's a nice chap our window cleaner. He is cute and has a Jack Russell called Archie who is equally as cute.

I made him a cup of tea, cos I am good like that, and we shot the breeze for a while. Now surely window cleaners have seen some sights...

He smiled at me, knowingly.

Thankfully our window cleaner is a happily married man, but yes he has seen some things in his time, although he was too much of a gentleman to divulge. Instead, he talked about taking his wife away for a romantic holiday and we discussed where he could take her.

It was nice to talk to a guy who was still in love with his wife and wanted to treat her the way she deserved.

It was great to hear a man talk about how he appreciates what he has when they have it, rather than when it is gone; or even when they can't have it.

Many of us have been a victim  of unappreciative attention. The assumption that they don't have to work for it, or try very hard once they have their partner causes enevitable separation.

So kudos to my window cleaner, for being one of the few that actually mean what they say.

Glitter and stars...

Well I am reliably informed that I am a misery...and that it is way time that I found my mojo and stopped damn well moping about.

I am aware that there have been other things going on my life, which has led to poor blogging and an incapacity to eat properly, however my friends are right. I need to pick myself up from my boot straps, (or purple DM laces) and sort it - now.

So without hesitation and much ado...here is, I hope a more cheerful and wittier blog than has been of late.

There has been a blog before about 'grass on the pitch'. In fact I am surprised at how many people have emailed after specific sexually related blogs, to offer their advice or confirmation that they indeed do the same as I have wondered about.

Sperm being used as a face cream was one...am so impressed girl! You know who you are, and I am not only impressed that you have done it and done so for many years, but also that you shared that little snippet with me. I promise not to reveal your identity...well, not unless I get very very drunk!

However, grass on the pitch actually caused some debate and discussion.

There were some that simply liked to leave it grow wild and embrace the Pygmy village that it had become, whilst others liked to trim and add some glitter and there were others who proudly informed me that they whip it all off with a razor or waxing as soon as a tiny hair peeked out of a follicle.

I have asked many of my friends in order to debate this more carefully. I have to know my options you know...

Now I would love to give you statistics and inform you of the percentages, but I feel that to actually do a survey across my girlfriends might increase their concern and worry about me on a daily basis, therefore I feel it is best left to general conclusions.

Those who like to leave it to as nature intended, I am impressed by your general swampiness. Does everyone remember or know who Swampy was? He was the Eco warrior who lived underground in some form of protest...and I am fairly sure he never shaved anywhere. I have to say, the thought of letting go completely wild doesn't really thrill me, but I admire the lady friends of mine who do. I neglected to ask them if they did the same with underarm hair...

Those who trim - now that seems fastidious doesn't it? A little snip and shave here just to keep it all tidy and neat. So nothing peeks out from out the bikini or swimsuit line, or in my case my giant Bridget Jones knickers....a girl has just got to hold it all in!

These ladies confessed to a bit of decoration on occassion, and apparently you can get a bow or some sort of decor for any type of event. I think some nice Christmas lights should be on the cards actually, although I dread to think where I would put the pocket battery.

Then of course there are those who embrace the soft skin and take it all away.  They fall into two categories, the Shavers and the Waxers.

Now waxing as we know ladies, ensure for a smoother result and lasts longer. But this is where I confess that to those who do wax, I tip my hat to you. It is bad enough even considering waxing legs or eyebrows, but waxing the girly garden just sends shudders down my spine and an involuntary wince like I have just eaten a whole lemon.  F**k you are brave women!

Those who shave have reliably informed me that it requires regular maintenance and in the early stages a shaving rash. That doesn't sound too attractive does it? Apparently all quite normal until the skin gets used to being shaved there on a regular basis. However, I can only imagine that it would look a little unpleasant when getting down with the new man.

I can only suggest what a few of my friends advised on one drunken evening, if there is a rash - decorate it.  They came up with a few alternatives, slap a bit of glue on and roll yourself in glitter; or complete a dot to dot to see if you could come up with something imaginative...I however don't have access to those things in my house...the hobbits don't generally play with glitter. However, if I decide to take the plunge I could always use the tiny stars from their star charts....

September the 17th...

So, September the 17th is marked in my diary as a day that should be put in a box and buried six feet under.

Under the guise of bravery I went to work today, after having some sad news last night. For very personal reasons I won't go into that here...don't curse me, but sometimes there are some things that really can not be blogged about.

However, life does indeed go on and it's pretty much time that I pulled myself together and got on with living it; with or without the presence of someone else. Sometimes we just have to accept that we have no control of our destination or what happens on the journey. Missing someone is painful though, and I am really quite tired having spent time missing the hobbits, and now missing other people who have become very much an important part of my life.

So, I wasn't really expecting today to be much cop after all...and although there were bursts of sunshine throughout the day, most of the time it rained...on me.

Added to my sunny misdemeanour was a broken shoe that made me walk like I had clown shoes most of the day, and a bad tooth.

In fact I got so used to picking my foot up deliberately to avoid falling arse over tit with my poorly shoe, then when I finally managed to change my shoes it felt weird. Like I had had an operation on a club foot, and was all new again.

The tooth alas needed more treatment. Those in the know will be aware that I am absolutely terrified of the dentist. Not just, 'oh yeah, I don't like the dentist', but screamingly, tearfully terrified.

I have cried at the hygienist before and screamed apparently while under sedation. Yes, I said sedation - any serious work that has to be done, the dentist has to knock me out or I might bite his bloody finger off!

The dentist today was very gentle, probably read in my notes 'finger biter', and proudly informed me that I was the owner of an abscess. Wow, really? You don't say? Can I sell it on eBay?

Sadly there isn't much market value for second hand infections, so I am now dosed up with painkillers and antibiotics. No wine for me for a while then.

Apparently I require root canal work or the tooth removed. Hmm...root canal work...the word root is not really selling it me, can I have option number three?

There is no option number three. She said 'we'd like to save the tooth if we can'. I envisage tiny teeth with placards and banners pacing outside.

To be honest I don't care...I will purée my food if need be and drink through a straw as there is no way on this damn planet that they are doing root canal work. To make it worse she told me it was a complicated and long procedure. Actually she shouted it out after me as I was running down the hallway.

So September the 17th,  you are an arse...let's hope the 18th is mildly better, because anything is better than feeling like this.

Happy Birthday...

 Have had post party hangover today, and post party long walk to clear said hangover.

It always amazes me however, how much people change under the influence of a few hops or grapes.

What is it about alcohol that makes people become more aggressive, moody or completely uninhibited? I am sure that there are plenty of studies about, but watching forty odd people at a party get louder is actually quite fascinating.

We all think that the decisions we make when we are under the influence are the best ones to make, at the time; and I am not talking about whether to have Indian or Chinese takeaway on the way home.

The dreaded mobile telephone invention has a hell of a lot to answer for, and others can become more judgemental in their behaviour towards you.  Is it that when we are drunk, we genuinely become more honest, without recrimination until the following morning?

Friends have been lost in the fog of alcohol and wars probably started...not at least to mention, families created!

There wasn't too much heated debate going on last night, and thankfully a hell of lot of general singing and dancing...a good night had by all...I hope.

I look forward to the next one, and a very Happy Birthday to T and A...who are are simply, fantastic.

Pre party blog...

Just to warn you, I am going to a party tonight.

The hobbits will be safely ensconced in friends house, so I have an all night pass...and I plan on using it.

Therefore this is a pre blog...before the drunk blog at about three am....or after midday tomorrow after the hangover has eased.

I have a feeling, that tonight's gonna be a good night!

Cool mum...

Well, as many of you are aware today was the day that I took my motorbike theory exam.

Needless to say I have had a feeling of impending doom for about a week now, and yesterday and this morning my anxiety levels hit a record high.

I couldn't sleep last night, and I told pretty much everyone I knew not to message me with good luck and even turned the mobile phone off for good measure.

Over the top? Possibly. But I could just about focus on the task that was to be, let alone thanking people for their thoughts...

I got to the test centre in good time, and they allowed me to go in a little earlier. Which was probably the best thing to do rather than waiting in the waiting room, chewing my nails and holding back the urge to fart or vomit.

The test centre guys were very nice, and they led me through where if you don't know you complete a multiple choice question set of 50 questions, and a hazard test.

I did take my time....but oh my god, there were some things that I really hadn't revised, and clicking the mouse on the hazard test I was terrified that I hadn't clicked enough or on one film too much.

Thankfully, as I came out to collect my information, the guy didn't keep me waiting and quickly informed me that I had passed.

Bloody big beaming smile across my face, followed by hugging the guy.
He smiled too, and said he didn't mind hugs, so I gave him another one just for good measure.

Woohoo!!!!  Happy singing all the way home in the car.

This evening we then took the hobbits to MacDonalds to celebrate, though I think B and I will celebrate with wine later...and who should we bump into, but the bike test guy from around the corner.

It was fate.  He is also going to a party that B and I will be going to soon, and said all the other guys will be there as well from the bike school and will be more than happy to chat about my next stage. The Compulsive Basic Training part.

It feels like it is coming together...and when I finally get my hands on my bike, I will definitely be posting a photo.

Hobbits are very excited about going on mummy's bike...and I may, albeit just briefly, be a bit of a cool mum.

Lost balls...

The evening has deteriorated.

Some of my most favourite people in the world are here with me this evening, providing me with some blog inspiration - as they always do.

Thankfully hobbits are asleep, or at least pretending to be, because the wine and chat is flowing.

Initially the evening did not start well... J has lost her balls.  Her balls were posted by our Ann Summers rep of three weeks ago to an address and they never arrived.  The emphasis here is 'an address', rather than her or my specific address.

We have worked out that they have gone to four doors down, where happens to live  a group of mechanics.

Needless to say we drew straws at who would be the one to go down and retrieve said parcel.  However, I think the person who drew the shortest straw needs more alcohol before they go and ring the doorbell.

We have also had a very healthy discussion about shaving, anal sex and durex playgel. This is beginning to feel like a normal night at my house.

L suggested that the girls put the playgel on the end of our noses to check out our reactions. Sadly, B, C and myself had absolutely no reaction whatsoever, J was the only one and managed to give herself a little bit of a thrill to keep her going for the evening.

B and I even resorted to trying it on two specific areas which we had hoped would make a difference, however I think it was more windchill than any major result.

Bit of a shame really...hope we haven't wasted three quid!

A less than naughty blog...

Evening all.

I had hoped to bring you a more saucier blog this evening, alas my source of sauciness is otherwise engaged. Therefore, the naughtier blog will have to wait...for now.

Well, I have to confess the last couple of days have been emotionally draining to say the least. Thankfully, not directly related to my life, but because of the course I have been on for work.

I have been on a course about suicide.

Sounds cheery doesn't it? Thankfully, not about how to do it but how to prevent people from doing it. Alas, the natural theme of the course explores what experiences you have had...consequently resulting in some emotional memories.

In fact, I am all educated up this week. I have just started another online course for work and I have, of course...the imminent theory test on Thursday.

Perhaps it is in my horoscope that I am in educational mode this week; the moon lies with the stars that specifically represent learning. Well, at least let's hope so, then I may just pass.

I have already mentioned how nervous I am about my test. I know that I have been driving for 23 years, however, I have no faith in my abilities, and am aware that I can hide my dunce hat well.

So will get back to the revising, before my short term and long term memory fail me completely.

In the meantime, I hope my saucy, norty source is up for a chat tomorrow night...you know who you are...call me baby, I need inspiration!

Pants...

Ok, I need help.

I am pants at revising, pants at retaining information unless it's which Superhero wear his pants on the outside and just pants at reading symbols.

So this information doesn't really bode well for my theory test on thursday.

Help!!!

I have a book...which I am still ploughing through, and I am completing an online test on a nightly basis...of which I am now improving on. However, I went into a small panic today thinking, maybe it's the wrong test!! Maybe all the questions I have revised it won't have.

I am going to fail - I have a feeling of impending doom - no really I have, even more than normal.

How can I be that dim? It's not rocket science after all...I should know most of it bearing in mind I drive a car.

So thursday evenings blog, may indeed be a tad sad - just warning y'all now.

Little boys...

I am having a slumber party...well at least that is what it feels like.

I have five boy bodies scattered around the house and chosen bedrooms.  Alas so far, no one is asleep, do you think it may be a long night?

B is working tonight, so her boys are bunking down with my hobbits...we have staggered bedtimes, sung songs and threatened fates worse than death if no one is asleep by eight, however they are still going.

I reason, that they will have to sleep at some point.

It has pretty much been like that all day, and at one point there were six young boys in the house all doing their own thing and vying for attention...luckily I did have help and support at one point. A very worthy opponent.

It has been a good weekend for many reasons, and although having six/five boys running you ragged all day can be exhausting at the end of the day, I actually don't think I would have it any other way.

Long may it reign!

Looking up...

Well, tonight I am off out on my own.

No girlies or hobbits, just me... I feel this freedom may just go to my head, and I may end up in a nightclub dancing until the wee early hours to rave music, and a gathering of teenagers....just for fun you understand.

Alternatively I may meet someone and take a romantic stroll along the beach...ok, ok, I will try not to get ahead of myself, eh?

Today has been a busy but enjoyable day. Lots of tedious jobs finished, like washing the car and washing the kitchen floor...however there was a nice summer break moment at about 2pm, when B and I met on her lawn for a glass of Pimms...alas we were just missing two others to join us, but maybe tomorrow.

Interestingly, we talked about how much easier how lives are now. Even though we are both now on our own, life before was so much harder and we are grateful for the ease of things.

It may have been the Pimm's talking, but anything that confirms that decisions you have made were right is helpful. You can never see what great things are around the corner, but things can only get better when you've hit rock bottom.

Because from the bottom you look up and can see the sunshine.

When babysitting goes wrong...

This evening the girls came round.

There was a brief interlude when I had to pop out for an hour or so....
"Don't worry," was the chorus..."the boys will be fine."

Trusting them implicitly, I left my hobbits in the very careful hands of J and C.

Thankfully, C kept her head screwed on and when I arrived home hobbits were indeed in bed.

However, J was more than two sheets to the wind, left a small chow mein trail to her chair after dishing up her Chinese takeaway, had had her mobile telephone confiscated and said I love you to more than one person in the house.

Thankfully the boys love her to bits, cos she is babysitting for the whole evening tomorrow! C...I need a favour, just text her to make sure she hasn't started on the blossom before the boys have gone to sleep

.

Bad parent...

What is it about tea time that reduces my hobbits to a gaggling bundle of giggles?

I fear that I have no control over them and their infectious laughter.

I know I should reprimand them for burping, farting or speaking with their mouth full - but alas I end up often laughing with them...does this make me a bad parent?

Stern faced I say, "Don't speak with your mouthful." Which 9 times out of 10 sends them into laughter, and after some initial concentration I eventually can't help but join them - I am clearly a failure.  My hobbits will grow up with dreadful table manners and it will all be my fault.

It can be very hard when you don't have a second parent to back you up in your quest for the perfect child, and having three infectious giggly hobbits often means they rub off on each other and make the whole situation worse than it was.

There are some that view my life as very hard and complicated.
"Oh my god, three boys...really? How do you cope?"
"They are a little noisy aren't they?"
"Why would you choose to have three?" An odd question if ever there was one, but has been asked on numerous occasions.

Well, to be honest having three was not a deliberate choice - falling pregnant very quickly after having our first child was not exactly planned, and being told it was twins - was definitely not mentioned in the small print. The fact that sods law gave me all boys, was just karma of something I had done in a previously life.

However, individually they bring happiness and sunshine to my life, and lately not many things do that - so actually I am more than lucky to have them.

For those who look at me with concern as I bundle my way through supermarkets, and argue for the fifteenth time to put on their shoes/get dressed/clean their teeth/bring their bikes in - or whatever comment you add here, well to be honest you don't really see what I see.

Maybe you only had girls, or one child, or a large age gap between your children - but please don't judge my boys, because they are amazing.

They are the only ones who know when to hug me instinctively; who bring me home made paintings with pasta on them or who make me feel special EVERY day.

Who said children should be seen and not heard? A foolhardy person if you ask me, because isn't that what children are all about? Learning, shouting and having fun?

So far they have completed me in every way - I can't wait to see what they do in the future.

A bit of a blog...

I am a bit blog uninspired tonight.

Perhaps it is because I have worked very hard today and spent most of my waking time either at my paid employment or my personal unpaid employment of hobbit rearing.  Nevertheless, I am a bit flat this evening.

I need an evening of 'the girls'.

Thankfully, Friday night they will be here to sup wine and regal me with some delicate/sordid stories which will hopefully, provide me with some blog fodder for many evenings to come.

As many other parents will also be experiencing, the hobbits went back to school today. I have never seen so much excitement about returning to uniform as I did this morning. In fact we were so super organised that we were at the school gate before it had even been unlocked...keen or what?

The only way to raise hobbits is to be super organised, so it is quite lucky that Wonder Woman is my alias...and many other women out there too. Do you ever wonder how we do it all ladies?

Life is a big juggling act and I often feel I need Worzel Gummidge change of head status throughout my day.  Luckily I am also a Gemini and suffer from split personality disorder.

So I'm afraid there it is...a dull day in the life of us. More often than not that is the case...and I apologise for not telling a great story tonight.

However, in view of the return to school and furthering our education, I will leave you with some favourite hobbit words, from their world...just in case you ever meet them.

Kiweed - Kiwi
Winnipigs - Guinea Pigs
Garlic - Dalek
Purple milk - strawberry milkshake
Poopar - a cut or graze
and my all time favourite, the number eleventy-one...which really should need no explanation.

Until tomorrow...

Love custard...

Hello to all if you are reading this...

I have had a nice little break and some quality time with the hobbits, of which regular readers I am sure are quite understanding about.

We have been camping for a couple of nights, where I karaoke'd with the best and the worst of them, and I did some excellent embarrassing mum dancing where the hobbits refused to be seen with me.

Can't possibly imagine why?

We have also had a great day at Legoland where five hobbits were incredibly excited and Spiderman nearly burst with anticipation in the car on the way there. 

Anyway, it's been very nice having a break but now back to business.

Today's blog is about Sperm.

...but more importantly the health benefits of sperm.

I have had an interesting conversation with a friend of mine today.

If you recall I recently blogged about how sperm can allegedly assist with depression. One of my followers, 'Steve', even offered to help me with my quest of eternal happiness. An offer, I can inform my other readers, that I have yet to take up...but always nice to have a back up - so thanks 'Steve'.

However, it appears that Sperm has many other medicinal qualities - why are we not buying this on a regular basis from eBay?

A friend of my friend, (no, really not me), has used Sperm on more than one occasion for acne. When I used Dr Google, it reliably informs me that it can indeed be used for banishing the odd pimple or two, and should be applied vigorously, left for half an hour then removed.

It is something to do with the Zinc content in your man juice that allegedly cleans out those pores. Christ, Johnson & Johnson should have some market on this surely?

Not only can it help with acne, but there is some suggestion that it can also help women with cellulite...now, I don't know about you, but if I were to use this for both acne and cellulite, I get the impression that not many people would talk to me or sit next to me on the bus.

I would smell like a prostitute on a Sunday morning on my way home from work.

So boys, perhaps this should be your new chat up line?
"Hey babe, have you any idea how much my love custard could improve your life?"
Guys, you should be marketing this - you could be bigger than facebook!

After all, how many single products can genuinely say that they can clear up acne, banish cellulite, improve happiness and make you pregnant in one single shot? Not many.

However perhaps the possibility of falling pregnant should be listed as more of a side effect...

Needless to say I have not been to a sperm health regime today and do not foresee it in my future, but would quite like to know if anyone else has.

You never know, I might be a convert.