Foot thumping...

Our family pet rabbit is miffed.

Notice how I was very clear to say 'family pet rabbit' - I wouldn't want to give anyone any ideas of any other particular type of rabbit that may be a little annoyed and the connotations of that...

So anyway, annoyed rabbit...pissed off...aggrieved...restless little bunny.

The reason for his dismay is that I purchased today a new hutch for Mr Easter. Over the past year, Mr Easter has slowly but surely chewed his way through his old hutch which consequently left him with more than a draft around his nether regions.

You would think that having a new home would make him happy and delirious with the new opportunity to chew something else for a change and with new hutch walls to hang up his latest pornographic picture of Jessica Rabbit.

Alas, that does not seem to be the case.

He has thumped his foot in annoyance and made his feelings very clear.

"He is glaring at me," Pootle remarked this evening over a cuppa. "He is looking at me, disgusted with this change."
"I don't know why, it is a nicer hutch."
"Hmm...I'm not too sure," she laments still maintaining eye contact with Mr Easter, "after all, he had a two storey pent house before, now he just has a lower floor bedsit."

We both watch Mr Easter as he tests the new cage like the dinosaurs did in Jurassic Park - looking for the weakest link in his prison.

It is true - the new hutch is not the same. With the previous one he did have a bedroom upstairs, space to dance and a room for poo downstairs - it was a much grander hutch - however his old hutch has for a long time been held together with random pieces of wood, and sadly now that winter is drawing closer just won't do.

Isn't it typical however, that now that he has lost his larger house that he is indignant? If only he had realised earlier that had he cared for his old hutch, swept it occasionally, stopped chewing through the beams that it would have lasted so much longer?

A reminder, if we ever needed one, that we don't truly appreciate the things we love and care for until they have gone...and unfortunately for Mr Easter, no amount of foot thumping is ever going to change that.

Growing old disgracefully...

Clothes shopping.

It's a f**king conspiracy man, I tell ya.

I feel like I am being forced into middle age clothes now that I am - you know - above the forty line. There are clothes stores for those just below, and those for 50+ but what happened to decent clothes for those who can no longer get away with that teenage look, but are not quite ready to embrace the tweed, pearls or cake hats?

Looking in a well known store today, the best thing I found was a pair of boots - the rest, well, the rest was just too young. It looked like I was trying to be something that I am not.

However whilst I don't mind not being a teenager anymore, I do resent being pushed into a store that produces matching skirts and jacket, with an accompanying flowery blouse...I don't know about you, but I don't want to wear ' a blouse'.

Is this what women have to look forward to? Wool knits, weak bladders and pregnancy horse pee tablets? (Yes, that is what HRT really is I have been reliably informed)

Well, to hell with it. I am making a stand and I refuse to stop wearing my DM's just because it isn't cricket for a 40 year old to do that. If I want to wear tartan, leather or dye my hair pink then I bloody well will. I many not quite embrace my youth, but I am also not ready to be written off quite yet...

I can see it now, come the revolution sister, a sea of middle aged women marching down the street with smiles on their faces, standing against the wall in our FMB's, waving our six inch bra straps and tena slips shouting, "...because we want to!"

Don't let anyone force you into the mould of conformity, come with me and let's grow old disgracefully...

The pursuit of happiness...

Things have been rather hectic for the crew and I these last few weeks, consequently the blog has been on the back burner even more than usual.

I apologise for this, however sometimes that family commitment must come first and my little family have needed my attention more than ever recently.

We have had lots of changes, but one of the biggest and most noticeable ones are the changes in the three hobbits themselves. They are growing up super fast, so fast that that I am running out of pencil lineage on the kitchen wall.

You know, I am sure I have mentioned this before...but it is pretty damn tough being a parent. Most of it is guess work and bribery, and for those actions I am winning by a mile - however what I am not winning is the parent race itself.

It is true that if we didn't question our motives or behaviour, and always assumed that we were right, then by definition we would make bad parents, but constantly questioning and checking our skills is exhausting. Am I the only one terrified that I am already setting up at least one son for a lifetime of counselling and therapy due to my mistakes or inadequacies?

If I treat them then they expect more than I can give, which is wrong; if I tell them off then I am the worst mother ever; if I refuse then they play the 'I want to go live with daddy card'... It is very hard to know what am I currently getting right.

Blaming everything on hormones seems too much like the easy option.

Oh I apologise for the woe is me blog, because actually we do have so many things to look forward to  in the coming months. However sometimes, trying to keep everyone happy and maintaining that happiness is an endless, thankless task...The pursuit of Happiness...it was never this hard for Will Smith...