Hobbits! Who'd have 'em...?

I am beginning to run out of steam.

The end of my tether is dangling nervously in front of me with frayed edges and a bottle of wine just within reach.

It has been a fraught week in the house of the hobbits; fraught hobbits equals a fraught hobbit mother, and for some reason this week has seen more bickering between three superheroes than normal.

To be fair in hobbit world, they have a lot to be dealing with at the moment. They have been introduced to their new teacher this week and the summer holidays are nearly here which means their trip to Spain to spend six weeks with their dad is just around the corner.

However I have had enough of the fighting, whinging, complaining, demanding and general unpleasantness. It is impossible for them to do anything this week unless I bribe, cajole or say it forty times.
"Clean your teeth, please"
"Put your school jumpers on, please"
"Eat your breakfast/dinner, please"
"Go to bed, pleeeeeeeeease!"

The excuses this week about going to bed have reached a new level, gone are the usual excuses, but suddenly I am left with guilt filling sentences such as;
"...I haven't done any homework!"
"I'm still hungry"
...and the strangest by a longshot..."my toenails are too long!"

After reassuring Batman that his talons would not grow to the the length of the bed by morning, I left them last night hoping and praying that they would actually stay in their beds and get some sleep.

When I finally went to bed a couple of hours later, the upstairs of the house looked like a student party had run through the bedrooms like a freight train. There were half naked bodies everywhere...all asleep. One in the playroom lying amongst the Lego; one on my bed making starshapes and one on the floor of their bedroom surrounded by colouring pens and drawings.

This is of course, kind of cute in a hobbit behaviour way - but it does remind you about how hard it is to raise a family, or make young hobbits into adult hobbits that Gandalf would be impressed with.

In conversation with work colleagues today I was amazed at how many people feel almost obligated to start procreating. There is still this pressure out there that once you have found a partner, got married or moved in with Bilbo Baggins then it's time to start thinking about having a hobbit baby.

I absolutely love my hobbits. They make me roar with laughter, they make me cry because I am proud to see them as a caterpillar on the stage, and they enrich my life...but it does completely change your life and I wouldn't recommended anyone having children unless you are really prepared for the life changing event it really is.

Try this little test...it may help you decide...

1) Clean all your windows until they are smear free. Then, go to the fridge, take out some margarine and then dipping your fingers in it make wipe marks and kiss marks all over them. Live with that until you can be arsed to do it all over again.

2) Take the biscuit barrel and turn it upside down on your new sofa. (to get the real effect this should be just after you have hoovered and cleaned up)- grind some into the carpet just for effect...again, leave.

3) Put on a old scratched CD, wait for it to get stuck, turn the sound up and make a phone call to a friend - you need the volume up just enough so you can just hear your friend, but not your own brain and thoughts.

4)Pick your nose, wipe it on the wall then forget about it...after some time it should just be hard enough for you to require a knife to scrape it off!

5) Ask your partner to pee on the toilet seat at some point during the day, so that when you go you'll have a cooled ammonia pool to sit in...

If you can do any of these without losing your cool, (or downing a bottle of wine in one go) then you can be a parent my son - but if any of them sound like your worst nightmare (and they are just the tip of the iceberg), then go with your first gut feeling of not having kids.

It's not a crime to not want children, and just because I love mine doesn't mean I don't ever find myself longing for the heady days of not being a mum.

I think one of the reasons I am as fraught as they are is because I am ready for a break. They will be leaving to go to Spain in ten days time, and as my lovely work colleague put it, this part before they go is akin to labour...you know you have to get through the worst bit of giving birth before you get your prize.  So I have to grit my teeth for the next ten days, until I get my respite of peace and quiet.

Which will be heavenly...for a little while.

However I am fairly convinced that within just a few days I will be bored out of mind, and begging for them to come home.

New and improved...

It has been six months since my last visit, but I have finally made it to the hairdressers this week.

I really was overdue. My hair was beginning to resemble Cousin It on a windy day, and don't even mention the grey strands poking out at the top like one of those static balls that light up.

So, it was definitely time for a restyle and a new colour.

I left my little superheroes in the capable hands of a babysitter, and I left the babysitter with a bottle of wine, a large bar of chocolate and The Gruffalo - essential items to survive an evening with the hobbits. Light entertainment it isn't.

Now I don't know about anyone else, but I have always been a bit initimidated of hairdressers.

Not only are they all gorgeous and young, but there is an element where one feels vulnerable under their glare. The bright lights don't help; showing up every blemish, pale skin and dodgy eyebrow plucking...and then there is the false conversation that always manages to make me feel like I am having my teeth pulled.

Finally, it's the telling off; "Hmm, been cutting your own hair have you?" I always end up feeling like a guilty school girl who has trimmed her own hair with safety scissors.

Nevertheless I bravely walk in to a local salon, and I am very relieved to see that they are friendly and welcoming - they are of course, all still gorgeous, it must be on the acceptance information on a hairdressers course - Ugly people can and will be refused - they offer me a cup of tea and I get introduced to my stylist.

I have to be fair here. She is lovely and normal. She takes me through colours for my new style, and chats to me like my opinion is important. Which of course it is, after all it is my hair and I am paying someone to whip up a miracle and make me look gorgeous.

It's also worth mentioning at this point that I have managed to develop a nasty reaction to hair dye over the years. Nothing is ever simple eh?

The reaction was so bad before that I managed to look like Will Smith out of Hitch after his allergic reaction to fish.

However this time I have been super efficient and already had two testers behind my ears, one which showed no reaction at all! Woohoo, we are back in the game.

The thought of embracing the grey really doesn't gel with me, so slap on the dye and make me look ten years younger...well, one can dream can't they?

Talking through the colours, I am sorely tempted by the purple, alas I feel my employer may judge me even if the hobbits would love it, and aim for something more Mahogany.

Without taking you through all the boring details, I have to say that my new hairdresser was considerate, chatty in a normal kind of way and cut me a damn fine haircut.

I absolutely love it and found myself swishing my hair so often I almost gave myself whiplash...swish, swish, swish, crack...it's the age sadly. I almost felt new, which is what a decent haircut is supposed to make you feel...me, but new and improved.

Unfortunately, by the time I get home my hairline is starting to itch in a tell tale way. It feels like my ears are on fire, and my scalp is beginning to sting. Within an hour I feel like I'm wearing a helmet.

However, this is where a bottle of antihistamine and a straw really do come into their own, and I caught up on some TV with the local chemists equivalent to Lucozade.

Thank god for piriton, a couple of doses later and I am back to new. I suppose I should say that it will never happen again, that I will love the grey as part of who I am...but hey who wants to do that?

Next time I shall take piriton beforehand - and go purple, might as well be worth it!

Doing what it says on the tin...

A package arrived today.

I am tempted to leave it that and just say goodnight, however I am reliably informed that followers of my blog would love to know more. So, at the risk of my friends seeing me in a new light - here goes...

Arriving home from work with the hobbits in tow, we discover that the postman has left a note to say there is a parcel waiting for us at the depot. The hobbits were very excited as they have been waiting for their parcel, and begged me to take them to the post office there and then.

We drive at breakneck speed as they were just about to close and as the hobbits became more excited, I was silently praying that it was their parcel and not mine.

Now although the website assures you that the packaging is discreet, it does state on it the company name - and any postie worth his or her salt will have a pretty good idea of what that company represents. I handed over my red ticket and I am convinced that as the postman behind the counter passed me my goods, he winked at me. I shuffled out of the depot in schoolgirl shame.

"Sorry guys," I explain as I get in the car, "It's not your parcel it's mine."
The car fills up with a chorus of "Ohhhhhhh's" Followed by a great deal of sulking.
"But why do you get a toy, and we don't?" Enquires Batman
"It's not a toy it's work." I cough.
"What work?" Asks Spiderman
"...erm, research." I silently mutter keeping my eyes firmly on the road.

It takes some convincing but eventually we get home with some grumpy hobbits and a nervous mum and I take it straight around to my friends house and throw the package on her table as if it's too hot to touch...(hope that's not a design fault.)

She looks at me and we have a brief silent exchange that says we need to open this together. After making strong coffee and shooing the kids out of the room I tentatively open the package and find a very smart box. The mum in me reminds myself to save it in case I ever need a box this size to wrap a Christmas present, when almost as quickly the single woman in me reminds me of what is on the actual cover.
Hmm, yes, can you imagine someone's disappointment?

Anyway, getting back to the matter in hand - which it now is - we both look at it slightly in awe. It's my favourite colour, which is a good thing, so will go with anything I wear; It has a rather cute face just below it's ears, which is a shade disconcerting but as it's a physical impossibility for me to bend that way it's unlikely that I will ever meet it face to face so to speak.

"Put the batteries in," my friend suggests...and I confess, like a couple of giggly schoolgirls we pop the batteries in and let the ears do the talking.

WOW! This thing has some serious power! Clicking on the relevant buttons it notches it up to almost the same speed as light and I can feel myself going cross eyed trying to keep up with it.

Sticking it on my nose, my friend looks at me incredulously. "What are you doing?"
"I read somewhere that this is a good test" I inform her and offer it to her to give a go.
Strangely she refuses...

So, what now?
Do I book a date night?
Do I prepare for a night of solitude with my new friend?
Dress seductively in something comfortable, spray on some perfume and turn the lights down low?

Thankfully, followers of my blog will never know. Unless of course I electrocute myself and the power goes out in the town I live in, you can all live in permanent ignorance. (However, please don't blame me for any future power cuts!)

For now - it goes in the drawer, where I may take a peek on occasion and slowly build up courage to actually get it to do what it says on the tin!

A quickie and a kebab...

Being back on the market is a scary thing.

Whilst I have no great urge to start dating again, it would be nice (did I just say nice?) to meet someone to chat to when my friends are fed up with me. You know someone to take to the movies, drink a bottle of wine with or chew the fat with...

But where do I meet this great communicator?

I'm too old to hang around outside McDonald's - and this is probably more likely to get me arrested than a new fella. I am rarely seen hanging around a bar, and if you have been in one lately there is far too much competition to allow a mum of three hobbits to get to meet someone.

So, dating websites it is then.

I prepared one evening to sign myself up to a well known dating website with a glass of wine and a half eaten Easter egg for courage. Having taken myself through the log in and registration I discovered the price per month. These sites are big bucks money - and for what? The person registering is doing all the work - seems like easy work to me.

I digress as always, but I left this website with no profile and no photo. No one is going to contact me if I have no photo.

Wrong.

My wonderfully supportive BFF enrolled me onto another website, of which, does have a photo of me and some very interesting blurb about how wonderfully spontaneous and cool I am. I sent a few messages to possible chat interests and waited...nothing.

Now clearly I must be a moose.
I have not even had a snifter from the one with my photo and exciting resume - but the other one without a photo I appear to have at least eight messages from guys wanting to chat, including one from Bigboy1808. The mind boggles...

What is it about free sites that suggest you
are only there for a quickie and a kebab
(if you're lucky!)
Another friend suggested an alternative free site
which literally does offer this service, and I
believe you have to prove that you are in
throwing distance of a local takeaway in order
to qualify.

So sign up for free and get herpes, or pay and get nothing.... Hmm, what is a girl supposed to do?

Why can't there be a reasonably priced dating site so that you don't feel that you are paying the equivalent of a Sky subscription in order to meet someone? Perhaps that should also be on my list of things to do...

Design a dating website that charges a fee that provides the cover of the website...for single mums and dads so that they can join up and make more Brady Bunch families.

Just a thought...

The Portal of Power...

Ok - so I have done it. With a bottle of wine, an excellent curry and a very encouraging pal I have ordered a 'new friend.' Apologies to my Dad if he is reading this - but thankfully he is an understanding man.

It wasn't, as you can probably guess in my world, a simple task.

There was an array of new friends to choose from, and as I like to know that my money is going on a fairly safe bet,  it seemed only appropriate that I should read the reviews on the relevant products;

'Too loud', said one - 'Don't use when you have guests in the house...'
OMG! You must have some really boring friends over for hotpot if halfway through dinner you need to excuse yourself for some 'me time'.

'Fantastic,' said another - 'my boyfriend is jealous that he is unable to reach the heights that this can' - Oh, ok, sounds more promising, I thought.

So apart from the fact that it would have been more beneficial to have a starter pack for the newbie, we (my understanding pal and I), placed items in my shopping cart and went to the check out - suddenly, there were three items in my basket rather than the orginal two (ahem).

'We think you will need these', shouted the headline - and a picture of a pack of triple A batteries along side it. 'Remove if you don't need them' it suggested in bold red writing - well, unless I'm just gonna stare at it for a few weeks it made sense to click yes, I'll have the batteries as well. Quite considerate of them to remember really.

Checking the delivery information I note that they are also considerate enough to ensure that the packaging is discreet - that is unless you are ordering a dancing pole. I suppose that comes in a long box, with DANCING POLE written on the side, THIS WAY UP!!!
Come to think of it, there was a long cardboard box outside my elderly neighbour's house just last week I consider, nice to know that I'm not the only wanton female in the street.

So we click, click away - alas I dont receive a confirmation of my order.  Have I done something wrong? We talk about this for some time and try to call their helpline. Unfortunately they are closed, clearly not as considerate as I had hoped as they are not on hotline 24 hours a day. "Go into the store" my lovely pal suggests. Now, I have just ordered this new friend from the comfort and secrecy of my own laptop, the thought of boldly strolling into a store on a sunday morning asking whether or not they have my order for batteries and more, sends me reeling.

No, no, no, I protest I will wait until Monday and call them.

So on Monday evening a lovely lady called Claire takes my call. I explain that I have had some problems with my order confirmation, so she takes a few details, thankfully, not the details of the actual order.
"I'm not sure why you had problems with the confirmation" she said, "Perhaps it was an unusual order?" She enquires.
"No", I stutter, "Quite a simple one really".
She quickly confirms that my order is on it's way, and perhaps my confirmation email has gone into my Spam box - so I check, and yes there it is, winking at me seductively. I can now relax, can't I?

Hmmmm....

Now since I placed this order I also placed a seperate order for the hobbits.  Not on the same website you understand, but they had been saving up their pocket money to order new Skylander figures. If you haven't heard of this game, it comes with about 40 characters to collect and you connect to a Portal of Power, which connects to the Wii and you can change your character depending on where you are fighting in the realm - with me so far? Can you see where this is going?

                           Portal of Power and one of the Characters from Skylanders...

The hobbits are very excited that their parcel is coming. They are checking every day to see if the postman has been. I am beginning to envisage them seeing a parcel tucked behind our bin outside our house, and them ripping the contents open in sheer hobbit excitement.

Can you imagine?
"Hey mum, I don't remember ordering this character?"
"It doesn't even fit on the Portal of Power!"
No that would be because it has it's own Portal of Power, that are run by the triple A batteries.
"But I ordered Sonic Boom...it doesn't look like Sonic Boom."
Again, no, but I'm hoping that it will have the same effect.

So I am currently praying.
Praying that Sonic Boom and Stump Smash arrive at least a day before my new friend does. Or I may have a lot of explaining to do!

Are kangaroo's purple...?

This was just one of the questions I was asked today. I actually felt quite disappointed that I had to inform my little Batman that sadly, no, they weren't - but they really should be.

However it would make a great title for a book.

Friends and family have been incredibly supportive about my little blog, and I confess to being a little overwhelmed at how positive everyone has been. One of the questions I have been asked, is why don't I write a book? Well, you know it's early days and I'm aware that my blog supporters may get bored of my ramblings in the future and writing a book is an incredibly time consuming thing, and to top it  - you have to be clever - which I'm not.

Nevertheless as I mentioned people have been very encouraging, and it's true that some people can go on to have success with their blogging; get interviewed by newspapers because of their popularity, or can go on to have book offers or even films made...

I am not so cocky that I think that that would or could ever
happen, but in the spirit of fun I did find myself sitting on
the back door step last night accepting an imaginary award.
My glass of wine was my award, I had some family in the
front row and Javier Bardem cheering me from the sidelines
(he plays my love interest in the future) - and in the true
form of acceptance speeches I did cry a bit you'll be pleased
to hear.

I'm a little unsure of what award I was accepting, it may well have been for 'The Raspberry Blogger of the Year', and briefly the fame did go to my head but you'll also be relieved to hear I turned down Playboy - well, a girl has gotta have some standards.

We've also gotta dream - I have met so many fantastic people recently, who all have a little or big dream. They are all so capable and empowering, and if you are reading this you know who you are. So I would like to take this chance to say a very big thank you to everyone who is encouraging me to dream my dream; and to those who are dreaming too - go for it; write your novel; start that business; buy that camper van - be amazing and live your life.

I promise to live mine too.

Please, can I?

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