The new us...

You may have noticed on my Facebook page and now on the blog that I have a wonderful piece of customised artwork that represents the hobbits and I...

My wonderful friend Jacqui has captured the boys so perfectly in their relevant superhero shirts, and drawn me so incredibly well and kindly that I am considering having the picture blown up to replace the real me.

I just wanted to say a very BIG thank you to you Jacqui and of course promote her Etsy page - she is an excellent artist and you can look at her work by following this link... Jacqui Clark ART

Her work is unique and beautiful, and I am very happy to recommend her...please take a look.

The 5 things I hate to do...

Now whilst I love the fact that I am totally independent, there are always going to be things that I groan about having to do alone.

I know that they have to be done and that there is no escaping them, yet they always fill me with dread. They bother me more than I can say.

I am sure that I am not the only one who procrastinates about 'those jobs' around the house; like fixing broken bedroom curtain poles or wobbly chairs, however there are just some jobs in my life that irritate me beyond belief and I will do anything to put them off...

1) Fixing bikes - really? Your tyres need pumping, your brakes are loose and your seat needs replacing? That wasn't in the small print when I signed the form to commit to a house full of boys... where the heck is Grandpa when I need him?

2) Filling the car up with petrol. I surely can't be the only one who hates this job? My car fuel light flashes at me angrily -
      'Feed me! Feed me now!'
      'Oh sod off, surely you have a few more miles left in you?'
      'Nope,' cough, cough splutter, 'Need food - must be fresh!'
It isn't even the paying for petrol that bothers me, it is the whole arse about pulling into a petrol station, blah blah bollocks... it is laziness I know, but also time - I always get in the car to go somewhere, I don't want the inconvenience of having to pull into somewhere, I have places I need to be...
Therefore I feel we need drive through petrol stations or even better, something that Air Force One has when in flight. I could be driving down the motorway when a big tanker pulls up alongside and just tops me up. Sorted!

3) Mowing the lawn. The long grass in my garden taunts me every two weeks. Every two weeks, seriously? My bloody hair doesn't need cutting that often, although it might do if I stood in the rain and sun more frequently. My lawn looks like wild unkempt hair and waves at me,
    'Oy, you...stop for a moment and look at my long tresses of unkempt blades of grass...don't I look messy again?'
    'I only mowed you last week, you bugger - you need more attention than a newborn!'
    'Oh and look, those weeds you dug out last week? They're back too - look!'
To make it worse, my neighbour is obsessed with cutting his lawn - which only seems to make mine gloat even more...

4) Fending off imaginary would be intruders. Unsurprisingly, this a) doesn't happen very often, and b) I truly hate doing this on my own. Doors slamming in the night from the wind can see me sitting in the dark with my heart pounding, clutching my baseball bat ready and mobile, with finger poised over 999 waiting for a potential intruder who may walk in... which of course they never do. However just the potential thought of it makes me feel vulnerable... and unnecessarily angry.

Last but not least, number 5)
 Seeing my children leave at the airport for their summer holiday. It is gut wrenching to wave goodbye to them as they leave to spend time with their father. It is the worst thing ever and if I could procrastinate about that - they would never leave my side.

So long and thanks for the salad cream...

I am in love.

It has finally arrived...and it is a beautiful thing.

Oh alright not quite in love but certainly an element of lust. The feelings sneaked up on me a little bit when I wasn't really paying them any notice. Today however, I realise I am in lust with the man who works in the local supermarket.

Don't worry Dad, he is not permanent relationship material, but he is quite cute and is certainly worth popping in to the local supermarket for; to while away the hours while I take a sneaky peek at him through the freshly made (on premises) baguettes and to admire his muscular physique as he replenishes the low milk stocks with ease.

We have spoken on many occasions my supermarket man and I, as he has commented on my excellent choice of fresh fruit, suggested items from the deli and we have even had that relationship seal making debate on the virtues of Salad cream Vs Mayonnaise...

*sigh*

I have come to the very satisfactory conclusion that I absolutely love being single, however there is the odd occasion when one's eye wanders a little bit and a little lustful demon pops up to say hello.

Pootle agrees with me...she has a lustful demon too and watches road workers from the safety line of her injunction limits.
"Just ask him out for a drink," She tells me boldly.
"Oh yes, can you imagine the silence that will ensue after that...'Fancy a drink?' Long pause followed by tumbleweed flowing down the aisle."
"Yeah, you're right. I wouldn't be that brave either."

It is a shame really, that even in these modern times that we feel embarrassed to ask. After all, what harm is there? I would feel flattered if someone asked me, it is nice to feel attractive to someone else...well, unless he was from the Manson Family...regardless of whether you say yes or no.

So alas I will go back to watching, as being so brave as to ask someone for a drink is not in my forte. I will watch him from afar whilst he stocks shelves, rips cardboard boxes with aplomb and hopefully one day we will laugh over Salad Cream again...

The end of an era...

So today the end of an era arrived...

There were no dramatic exits, no traumatic goodbyes or slamming of doors even ... there were however a few tears shed.

My bestie Pootle moved today.
Not just from one side of a room to another, but for now, a whole 3 miles away.
I can no longer run across the road in my onesie after the kids have fallen asleep for a quick G&T. There is no point, from now on, in nipping over whenever I run out of Spaghetti, eggs or ham, (she was my one stop Londis), and no longer will I arrive after a busy day at work, see her car and pop into her house for the pair of us to de-stress over a cuppa and a Rich Tea biscuit.

She has, rightly so, upped sticks and changed location. Having bought a new house and decided on that next adventure in her life. She will soon be within walking distance again...but never as close as we have been for the last three years.

I wish my beloved bestie a wonderful new life in her new home when it is ready. A change is as good as a rest they say, and I firmly believe that she has made the right decision. However allow me to indulge myself here when I say I arrived home this afternoon, and realised completely and fully that she had gone.

I had a good cry...then with a cuddle from a hobbit, felt mildly improved.
You see Pootle and I have already seen each other through so much and we have lived in each other's pockets for the best part of three years. We have shared the strains of raising children alone, the stress of dealing with ex and new relationships, financial worries, fun, motivational speeches, outrageously re-enacted music videos, drunken nights...and laughter....so much laughter. I can honestly say I couldn't have got through the last two and half years without her.

However now it is her turn to do something new; to try out a different path and I couldn't be happier for her. Nothing stays the same, we would stagnate if we did...but what I have realised this evening is how much we have helped each other to develop into the people we are today. We have given each other confidence, and believed that the other person could. Restored some of the faith and un-done some of the damage.

She is my best buddy, my soulmate and my favourite Gin and Tonic maker....rare commodities to find all in one person.

I am her biggest fan.
Good luck Pootle...the sequel is gonna be amazeballs!!!

Thank God, for Homemade Pizza...

I have been asked by two different people this week, as to whether or not I am still blogging.

The shortest answer is yes. Yes, I am.
However, I have been concentrating so very hard on the book these past few months that thoughts about blogging about my everyday life has fallen down the side of the sofa. Nevertheless, keen as I am to make people happy and to at least attempt to please the two people who had the grace to mention the blog, here I am today.
So, if you want someone to blame - I can provide their email details at a later stage.

I have to confess, I thought (past tense), that I was a fairly cool mum. I didn't expect to get down with every nuance that my children were going through or indeed liked, as I would rather watch paint dry than listen to One Direction but I do at least know who they are. However, I thought I was pretty much up with the times and was ready with fantastic knowledge that would make my children say with a wink and a smile, "She's got it, our mum's a dude."

Alas with a rude awakening I have discovered that this is not the case. I am 'Embarrassing Mum'.

My son had a school disco yesterday. I lovingly ironed, yes FFS, a pair of fab, khaki green, combat trousers that I considered my son would adore. I imagined he would come home and see them lying on the bed, and simply turn to me and say;
"You are amazing Mum. God, they are so cool, how did you get to be that cool?"
I would, of course, have shrugged off the compliment with cool nonchalance, while inside screaming 'Get in girl."

Unfortunately, things didn't go quite to plan.
"What's that on my bed?" Says a grumpy faced Spider-Man.
"Green combats, aren't they fab?"
"Err, no." Followed by a face full of disgust.
"Oh."
"Why are they on my bed?" And my 9 year old Gok Wan tosses them to the floor with a flick of his duvet.
"I thought you might like to wear them tonight?" I say hastily picking them back up again.
"Err, I don't think so. I'm wearing the red ones."
"What?!?! They are old and faded, and horrid."

Thus started an argument that most of the street must have heard. I wanted him to wear the smart trousers, so that he could woo the girls at the local disco and look a dude, where he wanted to wear the same bloody red jeans he always wears which look like they have been washed and beaten on the rocks in a local stream.

We argued for at least ten minutes between doing other things. He steadfastly refused and I found myself between a rock and hard place. Much like where the jeans had been.

Eventually I sent a photo of him in each pair to a good friend and asked his advice. Spiderman and I  agreed that whatever the friend went for, then that would be the winner. I secretly felt that I was in a good place, after all - I knew, I was the cool one. What did Gok know?
A few minutes later my friend texted back, "Red. Defo. They say, 'Seduce with a diet-coke.'"
"Yes!!" Shouted Spiderman, punching the air with his fist.
I had to accept defeat. However it wasn't just the defeat that mortified me, it was also the total realisation that I am out of touch with what 9 year old boys want to wear - what they feel is cool.

Thankfully I am not the only one. Pootle is feeling much the same, and confirmed my suspicions that we are not the hip kids we thought we were.

"I had exactly the same conversation with mine," She lamented to me over tea and sympathy this morning. "Yesterday, I chose a fab pair of denim shorts but mine wanted to buy a pair of torn off jogging bottoms! I ask you! They looked like something I had dug out of the bin. I flatly refused of course, but you'd think I'd bought him an orange tank top with his reaction!"
I couldn't help but laugh, "God, what has happened? I know I am not a big clothes shopper, but I thought I had a bit of an idea."
"I know. Trouble is they are 9. They are balanced on a precipice of being a young child and then just over the cliff is a young man who is starting to think about how they look." She continued, "The funny thing is, we had this big row yesterday about it, then this morning he walks out in bright green shorts, bright green trainers and a pink t-shirt singing the Frozen soundtrack." She laughed at the memory, "They are still little boys who want their mums, but then every so often, this young man rears its head and says, 'No, I feel the grunge-look is more my style'."
"The disco itself was an eye opener too - when I said "goodbye and have fun', he just looked at me as though I had suggested the most ridiculous thing in the world. 'Whatever, mum'."

...and thus it starts...the beginning of the pre-teenage years. The start of total defiance, annoyance, and they know it all scenarios...
Serves me right for raising boys with their own minds.

The good news is we haven't quite completed the transformation. They still squeal with excitement at the thought of homemade pizza and want cuddles on the sofa. Alas, I'm just going to have to brave out the next few years, and I suspect it won't be long before I start going to them for advice about what to wear.

Understanding friends...

Sometimes there are occasions in my life where winning the epic title of Mother of the Year award is so far beyond my reach that I should have been born a male...

This week is the first week of the Easter Holidays. This always brings on a test of any parenting skills, but the fact that I started low means that my expectations are not high for the rest of the two weeks.

Our first weekend started with a lazy sunday. We woke up late and I made them a large breakfast. So far so good. This breakfast was so large that I expected to see three young contented boys with swollen bellies lying on the sofa, passing the following hour away dreamily whilst being educated by The Disney Channel.

A proper sunday breakfast therefore you would think, would be followed much later by a proper sunday dinner. Alas it all went downhill from there. The laziness of the day meant that the hobbits ate a Fab ice cream and a packet of Fruit-Tella for lunch and sausage sandwiches for tea. I just couldn't be bothered.

There are days when trying to think of something that combines both a healthy and nutritious balance is completely beyond me, and this was definitely one of those days. To be fair, we didn't quite resort to a McRoast...but it wasn't that far off from a very poor meal.

So, Monday. Fresh start. I was at work and the hobbits were being shipped off, sorry cared for, at a new childcare group. This was their first time as the previous one they had been to was now closed, (Nothing to do with us - honest) and they were going for the whole day.

When I arrived there were other children clambering forward to get onto the bus that would take them to the club, and my three shuffled forward slowly. It was then that I noticed that every other child had a bag on their back. Hmmm, was I supposed to be sending spare clothes in? Were they going swimming? Had I missed an email?
I asked a fellow parent, "Sorry, but can I ask? Was I supposed to be sending in something extra? Spare clothes?"
She looked at me and smiled. She was with two young boys, who looked far smarter than my three, who looked they'd just rolled out of bed into their clothes that they'd left lying on the floor the night before. She really was a super mum.
"Oh, my boys are there for the day. This is their lunch."
I felt myself go a little lightheaded. "Lunch? Was I supposed to send lunch?" I looked panicked at the driver of the minibus who just looked back at me.
"Only if you haven't paid for lunch." Said the mother who my children were now looking longingly at as a potential replacement for their own.
I gulped and looked again at the driver, "I didn't pay for lunch, and I haven't got them any lunch." I said slowly.
Within a few moments we managed to resolve it and the driver reassured me that there was a kitchen at the group, and that the hobbits would indeed eat that day. A part of me was tempted to slip him a tenner and ask him to pop into the garage on the way, however something his voice suggested that wouldn't go down well.

So after saying my goodbyes and driving off, I reflected on the fact that I am a bloody disorganised mother who sent her children off somewhere for 8 hours WITHOUT FOOD! What sort of mother does that? Thankfully hobbits were fed, and no harm was done, however I often wonder how my children do not despair of me and are not more prepared, and make sure they tuck biscuits in their pockets.

My friends were understanding. They also reminded me that until recently the previous childcare club had provided lunch, so that it wasn't such a terrible assumption to make that the new one would do the same. They didn't scold me for being useless and disorganised.

Nevertheless, two days later another friend's son came for the day whilst she herself went to work. They arrived nice and early, cheerful and with scooters for a morning to be spent at the park. Her son would be spending the majority of the day with us and my eldest was looking forward to it.
"I hope he behaves himself," she said as she walked down the path back to her car, "Oh and by the way," she turned back with a smile. "I brought some biscuits for them to share and his lunch...you know, just in case."

Yeah - my friends understand.

How to...

...procrastinate about writing a book...


1) Open computer and attempt to stare at the book in a reasonably intelligent and positive way, that suggests you know what you are doing...i.e. blag.

2) Write down the idea that has been swilling around in your head for the past few days in a random chapter...You have no idea where to put it, but it sounds good - for now.

3) Go back to the first chapter and plead with it to tell you which first chapter version is better...you then realise that perhaps a combination of all three of the current versions could potentially be better and therefore there is now a fourth option.

4) Put Billy Ocean, Red Light Spells Danger on and dance around the kitchen like a woman possessed pretending you're an extra in a Hollywood Blockbuster about single women...

5) Agree with oneself that you need to go back to old fashioned methods for inspiration and rush out to buy really nice writing paper...get home, don't want to deface really nice lined writing paper and just look at it.

6) Make pot noodle and pretend to look through chapters in a effort to remain optimistic about the fact that you have written 'a book'.

7) Search deep within your soul for inspiration and find only an urge for a chocolate digestive...

8) Take a break and check out Facebook...repeat this throughout.

9) Write blog about procrastinating, in order to justify said procrastination...

10) Realise the time wasted today and go pick up kids from school...