Absolutely Typical

There's me driving everyone in the house completely nuts, watching them like hawks since I cleaned my carpets.

No you can't have a beer in the living room.

No don't get the blackcurrant, get the apple juice instead.

Don't spill.

Watch where you set that.

Put that glass up out of the way.

Do you really need to set the coffee cup right at the edge of the bloody coffee table.

And then I get up off my bum this morning to go to the kitchen, somehow manage to trip over my own two feet and throw half a cup of builder's brew tea all over the carpet.

I'm just glad Chloe wasn't here, because even she would have seen the irony!

I knew I should have went with wood floors.....

Random things come in threes too

The theme for this week's McLinky Blog Hop is Three things you didn't know about me. Now I've already done the "100 things about me" meme which means now I have to come up with three more.

Hmmm

Alrighty then, three it is;

1. I hate other people's "stuff". I can happily deal with my own things lying around the house and in fact I barely even notice them, but OPS will drive me slowly to the nut house.
   
   
2. However, I do suffer from OPT. I refer of course to Other People's Toast. It's physically impossible for me to see someone eating toast, or worse still cheese on toast, without immediately having to eat it on them. Now just so we're completely clear, going and making my own toast would not satisfy the craving, because something about the other person's toast makes it so much nicer than anything I could make myself.
   
   
3. And because I can't actually remember every one of the 100 things I've already told you, I'm just going to go ahead and throw out another three off the top of my head. One of them is bound to be new, right?
   
   
   • I skipped the first month of fourth year in secondary school. I even got brave and went to the cafeteria on the school grounds once or twice for lunch.
     
     
   • Even though I bake as much of my own bread as possible I really, really love the plastic white shop bought bread. Especially when it is very soft and I use it to make jam sandwiches and it sticks to the roof of my mouth.
     
     
   • When I went to Makro at the weekend apart from the bits and pieces I already blogged about I also bought a 3kg sweet shop jar of toffee crumble. Its this weird looking combination of chocolate, caramel and biscuit all smooshed together into little nuggets. These three ingredients sound absolutely fine until you bear in mind that they're usually used in toffee crumble to recycle factory leftovers so the end product rarely tastes the same. For instance this time the little nuggets are speckled with a rainbow of colours meaning that they contain the crushed of remains of what I assume was either smarties or m&ms shells. The worst part about all of this is that everyone else in the house can't stand the stuff so I fully intend to eat the entire jar myself.
     

Bump

That's three nights in a row now I've been woken from a deep sleep absolutely convinces someone was downstairs.

And each time I've been daft enough to drag my half knackered ass out of bed and stumble downstairs, completely unarmed, to take a look.

Of course, nobody was there.

Maybe I'm losing my mind.

"Maybe you are!"

"Who said that?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"Me neither."

"Oh, well that's ok then. Wait.

Did you hear something?"

Got Gremlins? Want Mine?

So much for having a quiet couple of days.

I woke this morning just before 6am. Flo's here which probably goes someway to explaining the bad week or so I've been having. I came downstairs, loaded up on paracodol and coffee and settled myself down for a quiet hour at the laptop before Toots woke up.

I pushed the button and ... zip, nada, nothing dead.

screaming quietly on the inside, screaming quietly on the inside

As per my normal reaction to broken electrics (and don't laugh because 9 times out of 10 it works), it went outside, chained smoked for a few minutes, came back in had another coffee and returned to the laptop, greeting it as though the for first time that morning and pushed the button.

Still nothing.

Obviously I eventually got it working again, after a certain amount of crying and begging and swearing. It turns out the battery has taken a sulk because I always work of the mains and decided that a heart attack was just what I needed this morning.

And this after I signed up for Yahoo Messenger last night. The husband has had problems getting Google Talk to work on his Blackberry and this should have been a nice, simple and free way to keep in touch during the day if need be.

But then Yahoo, having no concept of the word "No", proceeded to RAPE by laptop. Yes Yahoo, more like Yee-frigging-Haa as you jumped on board and molested my poor little baby.

Would like Yahoo as you home page? No. Here have it anyway.

Would you like a Yahoo toolbar? No, thank you. Sure go on, you'll love it.

Would you like us to fill your desktop with crappy childish emoticons. I'm not 13, so NO. Here, have them, who doesn't love a smiley face or six.

Well, Yahoo if you're listening. Twenty minutes it took to download all of your spammer crap, but it took me less than ten to delete it all again. Suck it.

Then the mediaplayer died. It still isn't working, but you know how I'll be spending my day. I could cry. My entire backup is on that mediaplayer, not to mention a ton of photos of Toots along with a mountain of music and movies. If I can't get it working I'll have to dig the real live dvds out of God knows where. It will turn on, but can't seem to see it's own hard drive. I'm hoping that's a good thing and only the connection to the hard drive it buggered, but that everything is still nestled safely inside, if I can just get at it.

And it all started out so well too.

The weather's been great the last couple of days and since it's supposed to rain all weekend, Toots and I too advantage. We'll taken some walks to areas of the town she hasn't been to before. We've sat on the grass in the square, eating pokes in the sunshine. It was lovely.

My creativity seems to have reared its head too and I've had some ideas for things to make, for the shop and for my own home, but they'll linger on the back burner until I get everything in the house fixed.

Oh and the washing machine needs to be looked at too. Its getting very close to dandering around the kitchen during the spin cycle.

We have a little friend staying too.








I'm starting to think a huge cosmic joke is being played on me.

We've been considering getting a dog for the last couple of weeks and had finally settled on a firm "yes", when Cat showed up. He's been here for about four days now.

Just to clarify. Its not that I have anything at all against cats, its just that I've never met one who liked me. I've came away from a few feline introductions over the years with a battle scar or two.

I'm assuming this little guy has been starved for attention, because I seem to be his favourite. He curls up beside when I'm outside and loves being scratched on the very top of his head.

Still, its obvious that he's a house cat. He's immaculate and looks to be well looked after so somebody must be missing him.

We're off out this morning to put up a few posters and hope for the best. It isn't entirely obvious from the photo, but he only has one eye which should make him easy enough to identify to his owners.

In the meantime, I'll keep him safe, warm and fed.

A bad week

I've been a bit depressed this last week. Well maybe depressed isn't the right word, I've been a bit down in the dumps and completely unmotivated.

I was grateful for the menu plan last week, because in all honesty if I didn't have it I would have fed everyone cereal and toast for each meal.

I can't seem to get in the mind frame to do anything properly.

I haven't made anything in almost a week now. I've started things and spent some time doodling ideas but at the end of the day I decide that either everything is crap or just not worth the effort.

I've painted my nails and bought a few colour samples to start redecorating the house (which is very daunting at the minute), but still I just can't seem to shake off whatever feeling it is that has taken hold of me. Its kind of a "why bother" sort of feeling.

I even tried to make Toots a cutesy little snack lunch today simply for the sake of doing something creative;

Let me tell you, having a four year old look at you like you've grown horns and are more than a little pathetic really feels like rock bottom. She didn't open her mouth, she just looked at the plate and then looked at me as though saying "Who are you trying to kid. You don't even do cutesy food when you're in a paint flicking mood".

In all fairness to her she's completely right. I've never been a big fan of the whole Annabel Karmel thing. If that woman's perfectly contend to prepare one meal for herself and then an entirely separate for her kids then more power to her, but I've an inkling that when those kids step out into the real world and sit down to a school lunch, they're in for one hell of a surprise. And not the good kind of surprise either. Besides, I think Toots might have read Kitchen Confidential on the sly because if I go to the bother of trying to make food all pretty and cutesy she's convinced that I'm trying to trick her into eating something that actually tastes disgusting.

I'm more of the "social eating" school of thinking, i.e. the family sitting down together to eat exactly the same thing as each other, and enjoy the meal and have a chat. Thankfully, it seems Toots agrees.

I haven't really slept properly in what seems like months, although changing our diet in the last week does seem to have helped somewhat. I thought that I had been doing a fairly good job of hiding my utter exhaustion, but it seems not when you consider the fact that on both Saturday morning and this morning, Toots woke at 7am and then went downstairs and made breakfast by herself. Her excuse was that "you needed a lie in, mummy".

I love that kid, and she's about the only reason I have for wanting to pull myself out of this mood.

Perhaps its been the weather here, lately its been so changeable and makes it virtually impossible to plan anything and I'm nothing without a plan. It could also be the thought of redecorating. I have too many ideas in my head all at once and the task seems to me to be so daunting that I just switch off from the idea.

There is a small ray of sunlight on the horizon though. Last week I posted a request for a sewing machine on my local Freecycle and within hours had received the offer of two, a Brother Zig Zag and a Crown Point.

I collected the Crown Point on Thursday evening and it is working beautifully. I contacted the owner of the Brother machine (which you'll recall needs some repairs) and told her that it seemed a little greedy of me to take two machines and that I had a good feeling that the Brother simply needed a fuse or two and a good service and would she not be happier to do this herself and keep it as a spare machine, but she told me that she was still more than happy for me to take it and it wouldn't do me any harm having a second machine and that even if it couldn't' be repaired, perhaps the feet and needles could be used with the Crown Point.

I collected the Brother on Friday evening and I'm very happy I did. I haven't had a chance to look at it properly yet, but after a good clean it really is a beautiful old machine just to look at. I think ever if I'm unsuccessful in making it work it is still a thing of real beauty and interest to have on display in a room.

Except now I'm in a complete tizz about what to make with them first.

Veering wildly to a different (but not completely unrelated) topic, I've also been offered the use of a beautiful cottage on the north coast of Ireland. The husband knows were it is and says that it will be perfect for a few days away. Now we just have to wait for Toots' holiday list to arrive from the school and we'll which days we're good to go.

Independence

I left home at 16, which probably seems quite young to a lot of people but bear in mind that was 12 whole years ago and things were a fair bit different back then, besides at 16 I just felt it was the right time to fly the coop so to speak.

I really enjoyed my time living alone. I met the husband shortly after that and it wasn't too long before we moved in together, but I really do remember my days living alone fondly.

When I think back on my life I realise that I left home so early because of my mum.

Just to clarify my mum wasn't overbearing or abusive, she didn't ignore me or my needs. In fact, she was a fantastic mum and I've never once wished that she had done anything differently when she raised us and while I did leave because of her (or maybe because of how she raised me) I certainly never left to get away from her.

My dad left when I was quite young (old enough to remember him, but still at 3, I was still young) and although he left my mum as a young single mother (20 at the time with two kids) she was by no means alone. We come from a large family and she had a great support structure during that time.

However, my brother and I were raised a little differently to other kids our age.

A bit of history might help here. My mum's mother passed away when my mum was 12 and the oldest of 6 kids, two sisters and three brothers. My uncle, Samuel, was only 3 at the time and the baby of the family. When my grandmother died, my grandfather was left to raise six kids on his own. Now we're talking over 30 years now and a lot of dads back then were not as "hands on" as dads are today, so he was pretty much chucked in at the deep end of parenthood. All of a sudden he wasn't simply the bread winner. At the time he took some leave from work to get things sorted out and quickly realised that they would never survive if he were to come out of work. The options given to him were to separate his children up amongst any willing family, go back to work and pay for their needs or the children would be taken from him for an undetermined period of time until he was able to sort out an alternative.

He refused both options, convinced that he could come up with a way to return to work and arrange care for his children. At first he tried organising for different family members and friends to look after the kids while he was at work, but after a short period of time my mum took on the role of House Mother at the age of 12. Because of the way my mum was raised by her mother she now had the idea that women took care of the men, so the three girls basically took care of the entire house, while the boys got something of an easy ride.

She doesn't remember those days fondly, but when it came to raising my brother and I the same values crept in.

I was brought up to be extremely independent, almost to a fault, whereas my brother was lifted and laid. Again to clarify, my mum openly admits that she raised us differently, partly because of the boy/girl thing and partly because I was older.

I then found myself in the same position as mum had all those year ago, except I was 8 at the time. My brother was only five and my mum had to go to work, it was as simple as that, so I was left as House Mother.

I would get myself and my brother up, dressed, fed and off to school every morning. I was a true latchkey kid, by that I mean I wen to school wearing a necklace with my front door key hanging from it and arrived home everyday with my brother to an empty house, my mum wouldn't arrive home for another two or three hours after us. We would eat, I would do my own homework and check my brother's before making dinner. In my brother's second year of primary school he joined the after school football club which left me with about 90 minutes to myself before collecting him from school and while most kids at the age of 9 would have relished the time to just do nothing instead I went and looked for a job. I managed to get a paper round close to the primary school and once I was paid I started to pay my brother pocket money to do small jobs around the house like the dishes or taking rubbish out to the bin.

Now before anyone starts to think "oh poor Leanne", I don't' remember those days being hard. I got a job of my own free will without any help or encouragement from anyone, in fact it was a month or so before I even told my mum I had it. I was always brought up to believe that helping family should always come first so everything I did just came naturally to me. I never wanted or expected any praise or thanks for doing it. It was simply something that needed to be done by someone in order for our little family to survive and it might as well have been me.

I did grow up very independent though. I insist of doing almost everything myself. Its the reason I do a lot of the repairs around the home, all the outdoor work in the gardens along with all the housework. It isn't a matter of survival anymore, but these things all still need to be done by someone and it might as well be me.

I know in my own heart (although I almost never think about it) that if for some reason Toots and I were left alone, we'd be just fine. We'd manage on our own.

Already I'm noticing these traits in Toots. She's fiercely independent for a 4 year old. Each morning she makes her own breakfast, chooses her own clothes and 9 time out of ten she keeps an ear out for her dad in the morning and makes breakfast for him too. I watch her every day, walking alone a few steps ahead of me, she refuses to hold hands, "only babies hold hands", her words not mine.

Because of the way I was raised I am very proud of her independence. I want to embrace and even encourage it.

I want her to believe that her own two feet can be the steadiest place she will ever stand and know without being told that every step she takes in life will be the right one for her as long as its her choice and she takes the step herself rather than merely following along with someone else. She can only be led astray if she allows herself to be led.

However, the husband sees my independence and to some extent her independence a little differently. He thinks that too much independence can be a bad thing and that it could effectively make the people in her life feel like she doesn't trust them enough to allow them to help or guide her.

I've tried to explain that ideally what I would like is for Toots to grow up strong and independent, to always know her own mind and feel secure enough with herself to back away from or argue down a bad idea. There's nothing wrong with being a little reliant on others occasionally and I don't think she needs to spend her life alone to be independent. I certainly don't.

So what do you think? Can too much independence be a bad thing?

Why I'm STILL awake

It's actually the next day now, but last night, or this morning even, I was still awake at 4am.

I'll never understand or get to grips with my body clock, really I won't.

While I find it difficult to find the motivation during the day to finish tasks, I'll get a sudden burst of burst of energy around midnight and start to sew. Luckily I hand sew everything or the whole house would be awake with me.

It doesn't help matters that the husband mentioned a few days ago about us really knuckling down and starting to redecorate the house, so now my mind is in a spin thinking of all the lovely things I want to do with this room and that. I have my knickers in a complete twist over the child's room. I just can't wait to get started.

I worry about bills and money and appointments and letters I need to send, letters I'm expecting, the usual really but then who doesn't worry a bit about those things.

I worry about Toots starting school in four short months and I wonder if she's ready, sometimes she seems so small.

I worry about family, for no particular reason at all.

I think about the dozens of unfinished projects littering my home and whether I'll ever manage to finish them.

I worry about the husband heading out to work on these damp dreary mornings while Toots and I get to stay at home.

I spend far too much time worrying and not enough time doing.

And while Toots has just nodded off for a little nap after a particularly long morning walk and a lovely big lunch, I could be doing any one of a hundred things.

But what I really want is a nap. Forty winks with a blanket snuggled up under my chin, but if I do that, I'll be able to write to exact post again tomorrow. Only with a lot more spelling mistakes and possibly a big line of j;avmichnlihghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh that I somehow didn't manage before scraping my face of the keyboard and hitting publish:)

Sleep tight everyone.

It all rushed back to me

Today I was reminded of a feeling.

A feeling so intense I felt it would burn a hole straight through me...

I remember the day my daughter arrived like it was yesterday. I am still completely amazed that she has just turned four.

I had a very difficult labour and both my daughter and I were lucky to come out the other side in one piece so to speak.

I remember lying on the operating table with my head turned to the left as I convulsed because of a reaction to the anaesthetic.

I remember the panic as I heard nurses frantically grabbing for sheets and anything else they could get their hands on to throw on the floor, until that point even through all the noise I was aware of a very distinct splashing sound as the countless people in the room tried to walk through the blood.

I remember the look of fear on my husband's face as he tried to mumble comforting things.

I remember the surgeon's chin on my chest (very surreal).

I remember the midwife who stayed with my long after her shift ended, crying quietly at the side of the bed as she tried to hold me down.

But clearest in my mind and more important that anything else I remember my little girl, manhandled, thrown around, slapped and finally placed in a little plastic box across the room from me.

I remember her eyes, wide open and as dark as night.

Her little mouth pursed with just the faintest hint of a tongue poking from between them.

I remember calm.

My little girl was ok, so was my husband and that was all that mattered.

Two blood transfusions and a hell of a lot of witchery stitchery later and I could go and find my daughter.

She was beautiful.

She took every ounce of love I had to give and somehow managed to pull just a little bit more from me.

I was breathless.

The worst was over and now I could enjoy my daughter and above all else love and protect her.

That was to be my job.

I was so proud of her. She slept like an angel and ate like a champion for three full days.

Then they came to tell me they were concerned her blood sugar was low and they would have to test it before and after every feed (which were every couple of hours) so basically she would be tested every hour on the hour.

Well, simple little me had no idea of the concept of this "testing".

I had no idea whatsoever.

Until they started to come and take her away.

Every hour on the hour.

And I lay in my room feeling helpless, all the while listening to my baby scream in pain somewhere in the distance.

At some point that helpless feeling changed. It grew and mutated and became something else entirely. I'm still not sure if it was the protective mother in me rearing its head, anger, fury or disgust at myself for allowing it to continue.

I should have been disgusted. I allowed it to continue for two days all the time believing it was in my daughter's best interest.

Then my daughter refused a feed. And the next feed and the next.

My clever little girl had figured out that if she didn't eat, it wasn't worth testing her.

But still the tests continued and the feeling grew.

I snapped at 3am, grabbing a nurse and throwing her out of the room before pushing the bed in front of the door, stitches or no stitches.

It was 10.00am when my mum arrived at the hospital before I would open the door. I had spent the entire night awake, protecting my perfect little daughter and stroking the multitude of scars and puncture marks or her perfect little feet. I promised her that never again would I sit back and watch as someone inflicted pain on her.

I knew then that I would do anything and everything for her. I had already accepted three days before that my life bore no importance when compared to her, but now I understood that no life did.

She was here and I was charged to protect her. To be her guardian through all that life may throw at her.

I spent a further three days in the hospital with her. No further tests were carried out and somehow I had earned a strange kind of respect from the nurses. Its obvious to me now that they were only carrying out the instructions of some faceless consultant.

Still my mind remained slightly warped by the whole incident. Weeks passed before I could stop lying at the side of her crib at night, holding my own breath, waiting for hers.

Months passed before I could allow anyone to bear the title of The Protector, whilst I got some much needed rest..

I have slowly got past our time in hospital. Toots frequently spends the night at my mum's house. She climbs rocks and trees and jumps off things much to high to jump off and I don't immediately run to stop her. Admittedly it helps to know that my mum is as protective, if not more so than me.

Today though it all rushed back to me.

I had to take Toots to get her preschool booster shots (something which my husband has thus far not allowed me to do). For some reason the two boosters are now administered in the same day, one in each leg.

I held her straddled across my knee as the nurse administered first one then a second shot and I held her tight to stop her from moving as I heard her scream in pain and then felt the wetness of her tears on my chest. She lifted her head and looked at me with confused eyes. I could hear it, although she never spoke a word "How could you? You promised".

And I felt my chest and throat grow tight. I felt the heat rising from deep in my belly and couldn't catch a breath.

I wanted her to believe in me. I wanted her to know that I could and would protect her but that this was different.

I dressed her quickly, snatched the "I'm as a brave as a lion" sticker and ran from the office, afraid of what I was capable of.

We both cried the whole way home and I apologised again and again for allowing someone to hurt her. She refused to speak to me until just before bed time. She lifted her head from her dad's chest and quietly said "I love you very much mummy" and again I foolishly made a promise I'll never know if I can keep.

But so help I'll try. When called for I will do anything and everything to keep her safe because I am her protector. Her Mother.

I guess those old ghosts will always haunt me.

And I quietly pray that nobody ever dares test me. I'm afraid of what I might be capable of.

The things we do for our kids

We woke this morning to find this...

Yet another dismal Irish morning.

Weather like that just doesn't fly on my daughter's birthday.




Somebody will be pretty pissed when they go to cash this in and find a queue. Ha.

Still...

And, yes, the pencil did break once I finished writing.

It actually made me go all "oooooh" for a second.

Do you think they have pino noir in hell?

Now back to the birthday cake with me.

Feck, this things taking longer than I thought.

Told you. Famous last words:)

I wish I'd seen more of the world

This isn't a problem for me.

If I popped my clogs tomorrow I'd be very happy that I had seen as much as I possibly could on my budget.

I travelled a fair bit when I was younger and before I had Toots. I wasn't single, but I usually travelled alone. I preferred it that way. I've been to Egypt and Vegas with the husband, but before that I went to Turkey.

I booked a holiday for four. It had previously been booked by a family who had to cancel at the last minute so I managed to get the whole thing for £119 per person for two weeks. I put a postcard in the window of my local newsagent and three weeks later I met the three girls at the airport I was going to spend the next fortnight with in Turkey. It was one of the best holidays I've ever been on.

I've been to Amsterdam as well as Gouda in Holland. I've visited Barcelona, Kos, Cyprus and Nice to name a few, all alone and they were some of the most enjoyable times of my life.

I loved to be able to just do my own thing every day. To not have to fall in line with what somebody else wanted to do. I could go anywhere I wanted or nowhere at all. I could eat whole roasted cloves of garlic in France and not concern myself with offending anyone.

Is was pure bliss.

On the other hand, the husband has been to Egypt and Vegas with me and to California, San Francisco and Vegas with his brother before he met me.

He's never been out of the country on is own.

In the past year, the husband changed company vehicles. He didn't notify the tax office and neither did his employer until last month and because of this he received a substantial rebate as well as having to pay no tax for two months until the new tax year begins in April.

I have been trying to convince him to use some of that money and take himself off alone for a couple of weekends. He loves his food and I think it would be great for him to spend a few days sipping wine and eating fresh seafood around some of the less touristy, coastal areas of Spain or Portugal or a week relaxing in Sicily.

Nothing would make me happier than for him to have some time to himself, to never look back and say "I wish I had...".

He thinks that he will feel guilty travelling without his family. He thinks that he will miss us and won't enjoy himself. I'm trying to explain to him that this is the point. This should be an opportunity and a time for him to be completely selfish and think only of himself. He spends so much time working for his family and doing everything to please us that I think its very important for him to have something which is just for him and him alone.

I fixed a lot of his wants over the years. He wanted to learn to fly and I arranged two lessons. Paying for him to get his license would have been a bit of a stretch but as it is he has spent two very happy hours flying over the Mourne mountains.

I never object when he buys something for himself whether its a good bottle of whiskey or a games console. In my mind he works hard and he deserves some down time and something to enjoy and look forward to.

However, I just don't seem to be able to talk him round to this idea at all and I can't understand why.

Who, given the opportunity to travel, wouldn't grab it with both hands and run.

I'd really like to know what everyone thinks about this.

Would you be happy for your husband to go on holiday by himself? Would you encourage him? If you're a man, would you go if your wife encouraged you?

And if you're a woman, would you be tempted to go and leave the hubs to fend for himself at home with the kids?

The diet starts today

Or perhaps to be more accurate, the exercise regime starts today.

I don't know when it happened, but at some point in the last few years I've put down a layer of insulation.

I have a slightly odd metabolism. It doesn't really matter what I eat, healthy or junk, vast quantities or near starvation, I won't put on or lose any weight.

My body only seems to respond to exercise or more recently a lack of exercise.

I used to be really active. Into my early twenties, I swam regularly, played rugby and football and had weight training usually twice a week, but that all got knocked on the head while I was pregnant with Toots and I never really got back into a routine of regular exercise.

So I've decided to do something about it and by adding the little stats bar over there on the right hand side hopefully the accountability will motivate me.

You'll notice there isn't a weight listed and that is simply because I don't put an awful lot of stock or faith in my weight. I've been thin and weighed very little and frankly I looked terrible.

Nobody ever said "phwoar, would you look at the ribcage on that", put it that way.

So I'll be forcing myself to exercise every single day. I'll update the little bar thingy on the first of each month and I'll hopefully start to see an improvement.

Wish me luck?

And the "Crap Mummy" Award goes to......ME

I should probably clarify right at the outset that I don't think I'm a "Bad Mum". When I hear that term I always think of someone who is abusive or neglectful of their child and I am neither of those things.

What I mean by being a crap mummy is that I'm trying my very best and in my opinion, failing really rather miserably.

My daughter hates me.

Allow me to explain.

In September last year we received notification that Toots' daycare fees would almost double the following month. We tried through October and November to keep up with the payments.

I won't lie, we were more than a bit disgusted at paying so much money for daycare, but at the same time we were afraid of the effect taking Toots out of regular daycare and away from her friends and routine would have, especially since she only had to go one more year in full time care. So we tried.

In November the husband's job changed quite a bit, he was working further away from home and I was having to commute back and forward to work as well as drop Toots off and pick her up from daycare. The cost of this together with her daycare meant that I was spending more money than I earned every month. Something had to give and it did.

On 1 December I handed my notice in. My last day would be 31 December and Toots last day in daycare would be 23 December. To give you some idea had I let her continue in daycare until 31 December (bearing in mind that it would be closed most of the days between 23 Dec and 31 Dec for holidays) the fees for the month would have been £980.

Since then it feels like things have gone from bad to worse. I apologise if I come off as a gurn when so many people are in worse positions than I am.

Every day here has become a battle ground, even over the smallest things.

Toots has pretty much refused to eat every meal I've made since she came out of daycare. Most of the time I have to resort to some novelty, her current favorite is cutting her food up into cubes and then eating it with a cocktail stick and calling it a party.

She ignores me when I speak to her, making me call her name countless times before finally looking at me.

Getting dressed is a 45 minute fight. This morning once I'd finally managed to get some clothes on her, I went to quickly grab her coat and scarf. I came back to find a pile of clothes on the floor and no child to be found anywhere. Where was she hiding? Behind the curtain with her bare bum pressed up against the window for the entire school drop off outside to see.

She's lashed out at me a couple of times and defies me at every opportunity.

I'm worried in case she starts to develop problems once she starts school. She can't just say she doesn't want to in school and get away with it.

Truth be told I am letting her away with too much. Sometimes, I just get so tired its easier to let her play in the nip rather than making her keep her clothes on. Last week my record fail was letting her eat Pringles for breakfast one morning.

She tells me she loves me all the time, but I can't help but think that she's angry at me for taking her away from her friends and she's just acting out in the only way she knows how.

Sometimes I just wish I'd tried to find a couple of extra jobs and worked nights to earn the extra money and keep her in daycare.

I'd probably only see her for a grand total of 20 minutes a day, but something about the way she looks at me makes me think she'd be happier with that.

Creative Birthday

I know, we're sorting out birthday presents for Toots a bit early but you have to be on top of these things.

The husband was away on business a few weeks ago and while he was in the airport he spotted the new 40Gb Creative Mosaic for a meagre £40 and thought it would make a perfect present for Toots. Seriously who's going to turn down an offer like that.

We're a hardened Creative family in this house, you can keep your naff (designed for 12 yr olds) Ipods. And don't even try to talk me round, others have tried and failed miserably.

I know its only her fourth birthday and an MP3 player seems a bit over the top, but she's really become a music lover in the last year and .... trust me if you knew her you'd agree, music is definitely the way to go.

The thing I love most about this player is the built in speaker. She doesn't have to sit blocking out everything else with a pair of headphones or earbuds. She'll be able to bop around to her hearts content and I'll not have to worry that she's accidentally turned the volume up a it too load for her wee ears.

Ok so present sorted then. Well not quite. We've spent the last week vetoing each others music choices.

Toots likes rock, she's a bit of a wee rock chick, which could be something to do with the fact that she spends her time with a woman who listens almost exclusively to rock but we'll just gloss over that for a minute. Nursery rhymes are the sole domain of the bedroom, a baa baa black sheep and a hickory dickory dock and she's fast asleep. Pop doesn't hold her attention for more than a few seconds, but in all fairness to the child pop isn't exactly designed to hold attention is it? It tends to be innocuous drivel, purpose built to be as inoffensive as possible. That would be why its popular.

One exception to the rule is Footloose, she loves it and so do I. And I'm not apologising for it. We even have matching legwarmers*.

I actually listen to lyrics so I can be pretty confident about which tracks are appropriate and which aren't. Its become very apparent that the hubs doesn't listen to lyrics. At least not carefully.

Exhibit A: He couldn't understand why I told him to take Alice Cooper's Poison off the player.

I can just see me standing in the queue in the corner shop, jug of milk in one hand, preschooler signing about black lace on sweat in the other. Um no thanks.

Exhibit B: He couldn't see a problem with My Sharona either.

Listen harder husband, the reason's in there.

And its went on like this for the last week or so. He'll ask first, or just go ahead and add it to the list and I'll whip it straight back off again.

Actually so far, I've been pretty lenient.

Queen, obviously. I was brought up on Queen and I turned out alright.
Status Quo, because every child should be drip fed pure Quo since birth.
The Who
Lynyrd Skynyrd
Old U2
Boston
Sweet
Journey
Twisted Sister. She will learn the lyrics are "I Wanna Rock" not "I'm a goofy goober" if it kills me (Thanks Spongebob)
Stepping waaaay out on a limb here, Gary Glitter.
She's heard some Soundgarden (when I had music on but wasn't really listening). She liked it, but I'm still not sure.
Certain Aerosmith tracks

She already likes the obviously one, Dude looks like a lady (thank you Robin Williams) so I'll just add a few more mild ones.

The husband tried to veto that one because he thinks we'll have to deal with the whole question of cross dressing too early. I honestly can't see it being a problem and its a bit of a non-issue with a daughter. A girl can wear whatever she likes. There's no such thing as a female transvestite. So suppose if I'm trying to make sure she doesn't have any double standards I'll tell her there's no such thing as a male transvestite either. Just a bloke wearing whatever he wants.

Actually, I'll show her this guy.

Eddie Izzard. In my most humble opinion one of the most beautiful men ever, regardless of what he puts on in the morning.

Everyone knows he does a bit of acting these days, but if you've never seen his stand up you should seriously consider having a look. Some of his bits are The Death Star Canteen, Being Bilingual, Exploding Breasts, and Stonehenge. Seriously, look and wet yourself laughing.

Right so anyway, music! What do you think of the selection so far? Have I missed anything that should be included and isn't?

Brotherly Love

I just had to share with you the lovely birthday card I received from my brother yesterday.

Adorned with little handbags, either he knows me very well or...

mum bought it.

The inscription was also heartwarming and very well thought out. He mus have agonised for hours over the exact words to use. The words which would best describe the love he has for his only sister on her birthday.


Thanks our kid. I'll add it to the card collection and cherish it forever.

Your loving sister.

LEANNE

The Honeymoon - Part 1 (there could be a few of these)

So I was clearing some old things off the media player and came across some of our honeymoon photographs. 2002, a very good year. Egypt, I fell in love the second I stepped off the plane.

We spent a week in Luxor at the Old Winter Palace and a week in Cairo in the Mena House at the Foot of the Giza Plateau.

If money were no question I would go back tomorrow. I may not come home again.

The Hotel...

Have you ever been treated like royalty. I never had, until I arrived here. Everyone addressed me by name, remembered exactly which suite I was staying in without me having to remind them. The staff at the hotel literally couldn't do enough to make us feel more welcome, even packing picnics for us if we were to be on a tour over lunch.


The room...


The private roof top terrace... and the husband (back when that word still sounded strange) taking it easy...

Owls would land on the terrace at night. The sound was beautiful...


And the view...

I could watch that sunset forever.

I can't think of a single thing I didn't love about the country. Even the hustle and bustle didn't get me down and it can be hectic. I enjoyed every last second.

Our hotel was only a very short distance from the Luxor Temple and we made a point of walking past it almost every night. It was beautiful by day, but something about it lit up at night just drew me in. We didn't go in to the Temple at night, although twilight tours were available, with a warning to beware of snakes.

Um no thanks, we're just fine and dandy up here on the well lit main road...

The faces of these sphinxes were humanised...

And obviously we couldn't visit Luxor Temple without visiting the other end of the Avenue of the Sphinxes.

Karnak Temple...

Osiride Pillars...

The other end of the Avenue of the Sphinxes (the temples were once joined by a road lined with these). These are the ram headed sphinxes representing the God Amon.

Part of the Great Hypostyle Hall...

Those pillars are much, much taller in real life....


I don't even come close to doing the place justice. You recall, ME + CAMERA = BAD.

I'll have a few more of these posts at some stage for anyone interested.

Quick Week Review

Apologies, I've not been around as much as I should have. This Project 365 has sucked me and blew me out in bubbles.

Anyway, I'll get a quick recap of the last week or so out of the way (I'll probably elaborate on a few things later) and then I'll maybe manage to post something worth reading....at some stage.

Right then,

Well, my dad went walkabout last Saturday, just for fun. He arrived at my house at 5.30pm absolutely shattered and in a fair bit of pain. He walked from Newtownards to Helen's Bay then on to Crawfordsburn, then Bangor and back to Newtownards taking most of the scenic routes. For anyone counting thats about 18 miles. He'd left the house at 10.30am and took a short video in a few places just to prove he'd actually walked the whole way.

I pointed out that he could easily have driven between each town and still have taken the videos anyway. Not the way to poke fun at a knackered man, let me tell you.

He used to do things like this all the time, so did I come to think of it but lets just say its been a while (for either of us).

*A quick thing, my dad isn't my dad, he's my step dad but he's earned the title so its his. And even though I didn't meet him until I was 9, he taught me how to walk (really far for no reason)*

Still he enjoyed himself.

I've mentioned above that I'm doing the project 365 this year. The weather hasn't exactly been fantastic the last week or so, apart from a day or two so you can head over to the other blog for a look at random close of pictures of Toots toys, if you fancy? No. Oh, alright you can say here with me then.

We've figured out the hard way that Toots and Aspartame go together like oil and water. That stuff does NOT agree with the kid. So much for me trying to be a good mummy buying sugar free treats for her. Ah well.

She had her first ballet lesson, but thats all I can tell you. Top secret and all that. OR so you would think. It seemed that every other mum with her child enrolled in the class knew the score except for yours truly and two others. So all the kids were ushered into the studio, the three of us were promptly kicked back out again and the door was closed...firmly.

There we were left standing out in the hall like a bunch of numpties while the other mums made a beeline for the coffee shop. How were we to know, its not like anyone bother to tell us.

Of course ours kids weren't a bit happy about this either and promptly started yelling their heads off. Toots even treated me to slo mo crying her eyes out with her arms outstretched in my direction as the door closed. Heart breaking stuff.

Roughly 12 seconds later one of the assistants opened the door to leave in a bag of wings and wands for the class and I could here Toots laughing her head off. Nothing like making mummy worry for nothing kiddo. Thanks.

Still the three of us stood on outside the door "just to be sure" before finally sloping off the the (packed to the rafters) coffee shop.

"So. Who else brought a camera?" I asked.

We burst into fits of laughter.

We were alone.

Turns out I've enrolled Toots in a bona fide theatrical school and I thought it was just a bit of fun.

Again, how was I to know?

All I know is that she appears to have learnt "Ta Da" and something that resembles Jazz Hands but I could be very wrong. I'm assured that I'll be able to take all the photos I want at her RECITAL in nine weeks.

Toots has eaten 12 apples in the last 5 days. I've eaten half a jar of nutella. There goes the New Years resolution.

I'll be meeting up with a bloggy buddy in just over a week, so I'm looking forward to that.

Ikea here we come.

I haven't been in about six weeks and I think I may be getting withdrawal symptoms.

Does the froth at the corners of my mouth give it away or anything?

Oh and I've started to redecorate the entire house, so you might be getting a fair amount of that around here.

For all the things you desperately wanted to know but were too afraid to ask

Oh lummy I've been interviewed by Jason of The Jason Show. I asked for it so I'm completely the author of my own misfortune.

Ok the rules are as instructions to play along are as follows;

Want to be part of the interview fun?

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will get to ask them five questions.

Alright then, here goes;

1. How do you feel after an episode of The Jason Show?

That depends on the post. The Jason Show covers all my bases. I've laughed, often to the point of hurting myself. I've cried, more than once. I've sometimes felt angry. Although more often than not, I feel very uplifted after an episode.

2. When making a sandwich, do you butter the bread or not?

Always, even if I'm having mayo. I guess I'm just a bit greedy.

3. When your nose is running, and you don't have any tissues, what are you inclined to do?

I sniff. I'm a sniffer and it bugs the husband, he's a total hanky man. I don't cover one nostril and blow a stream of snot onto the ground like a footballer if thats what you're getting at, because thats just disgusting.

4. Which three blogs do you enjoy the most ? (besides The Jason Show, of course)

Only three? Sure make it difficult why don't you.

I suppose the three I enjoy the most, and by that I mean I'll go nosying before the reader has had a chance to update and I miss reading when they haven't posted that day are:

Welcome to my World JanMary.

Tales from the Dad Side

Circle of Life/Multitasking Mommy. I know technically thats two, but shh.

There are dozens more I love, but these are the three I enjoy the most (and The Jason Show, obviously).

5. Describe the most disgusting thing you've ever eaten.

Easy. Tripe. When we were kids, my mum's best friend loved the stuff and was determined we would all love it to. It never caught on. Everything about it is revolting, the smell (especially when its cooking), the taste, the texture. It's just nasty.

Oh and once I was playing with Toots and she put her fingers in my mouth, straight after picking her nose. The husband told me, through tears since he'd almost wet himself laughing.

She's always doing things like that. The husband has a video of Toots and I sitting watching TV, except the entire time she's picking her nose and wiping it on the leg of my trousers. I good 3 or 4 minutes goes past without me noticing.

That wasn't too bad actually, I was expecting worse. Some people take advantage of these things but it turns out Jason's lovely.

Go on then, play along. If your interested in being interviewed by yours truly leave a comment after the beep.

And if you have any suggestions for questions drop them in there as well.

BEEP

the catch up and some mental over spill

Its been a strange few weeks here.

Toots finished daycare on 23 December which was very hard on everyone involved. I actually came out of it feeling like a bit of a selfish cow for thinking that the only people effected would be Toots, myself, the husband and my family. I somehow managed to forget about some of the staff in her nursery who have grown very attached to her over the last three years. On in particular, started employment with the nursery the same week Toots started attending. She has moved with her from the baby room, to the toddler house and then to the pre-school room and in all fairness over the course of the last three years, she's spent more time with Toots than I have.

The woman in question was absolutely heart broken that Toots was leaving and made me promise that if I ever need a sitter, I'll call her and I've also promised to bring Toots to the nursery for a visit. Its doubtful that the husband and I will need a sitter as there simply won't be the money for nights out but I will take her to nursery to visit, plus it means she can keep in touch with the friends she made over the years.

Which brings me to my main concern. I was very worried about taking her away from her nursery and all of her friends. She'll be going to school with a lot of them in September but I was still worried that they would forget about her in the next nine months and she'd have to start school as an outsider. I planned to getting her into some dance, art and drama classes held in the local theatre n the hope that some of the kids her age would also be going to the school I've picked for her, but I needn't have worried myself so much.

She spent Christmas day at my mum's house and when she came home she promptly declared that she'd made three new bestest friends in the whole wide world. It seems that the one thing more important than friends that the nursery gave her was the ability to make friends easily. I think its what I'm most grateful for. Toots can start a conversation in an empty room.

I'm unemployed now.

I'm still not quite sure what to do with that one.

I've spent the last couple of months being told by anyone willing to voice an opinion (almost everyone) that I'll be bored to tears at home. Most of these people don't know me very well. I'm actually not that into my job, truth be told. Its just something I fell into when I left school. I'm very grateful for all the opportunities it gave me, but I never really enjoyed it and because of that it was always a bit of a struggle. I think if you really enjoy what you do then it makes it so much easier to get up every morning and just go do it.

Basically, I was just a legal secretary. I spent the first couple of years doing personal injury litigation. You come to conclusion very early on doing this kind of work. Most of your clients are liars and the ones telling the truth get screwed out of what the deserve because of all the liars. That can really make you hate a job.

I spent the next couple of years working on disease cases. These were different because all the clients were telling the truth, unfortunately the insurance companies know that if they hold out long enough and string the case along the inevitable will happen and the client will die. Families get a much smaller pay out for a dead relative no longer suffering than a person still alive and in agony will get. Again, this makes for a hateful job.

I tried some family law. It always amazed me how many couples turn into complete animals once they're in the throws of a divorce and its a hundred times worse when kids are involved. I only lasted in family law for about six months. I just couldn't take all the vindictiveness.

I tried conveyancing, but that was boring because nothing interesting ever happened. I know.

Then I wound up in employment and media litigation, which is where I finished. Its a sad fact that as soon as the rest of the country is in the toilet and redundancy is on the rise, employment lawyers are swamped with work. I suppose its just the nature of the beast. Still not a pleasant prospect to spend your day drafting redundancies. Still there were nice days when you got to tell a particularly greedy couple of companies that actually no they couldn't sack half their staff and putting the rest on rolling rotas. They were just going to have to suck it up and roll with the punches like the rest of us.

Still at my leaving interview I was told that in a year or so I could basically give them a call and I'd be guaranteed my job back.

Not bad considering I've only been there 14 months. I must have made a good impression either that or I made good tea and cakes to go with it.

And I have to sign on at the Social Security Office in a couple of weeks. Not looking forward to that one bit. I've only ever had to sign on once before when I first left school and that was just a cover period until my training course started. I managed to drag my feet about doing it for so long that I signed on and signed off again 8 days later.

I'm actually pretty confident that I'm not entitled to benefits because the husband works full time but when you work in legal some of the clients prefer the staff to have police clearance and you can only get that if you can account for your whereabouts since the day you turned 16. Plus I think you need minimal police clearance to be able to volunteer for school trips and the like which I would like to do at Toots school if the opportunity ever arises.

I had all these fanciful ideas of doing something from home. Trying to sell more baked goods or something along those lines, but to be completely honest I don't even know where to start, so the ideas will more than likely fall into the pipe dream folder.


I'd say I'll be busy enough keeping Toots occupied. We all know its against the law for kids to be bored these days. Families must have to take out loans to keep their kids busy during summer holidays. I hate to go there, but when I was a kid summer holidays usually involved sitting on a wall somewhere.

That was it, just sitting on a wall.

Occasionally we would have cycled from Belfast to Holywood or Cultra, probably so that when we were in our 30s with kids of our own we could tell them how in the summer holidays all we had to do was sit on a wall or cycle somewhere really far away and that they should be eternally grateful for the trip to the swimming pool.

To which they were driven in a car that they weren't embarrassed to be seen in. We've a Laguna and mum has a Merc so the kid's pretty well sorted.

When I was nine I remember my mum driving a Renault Cleo Elf. It was a 1985 from memory and we all had to get out at the bottom of a hill and meet her at the top or the wee thing never would have made it.

And so it begins

Well, actually its been in full swing for a couple of weeks now.



Yes I've been faffing with Photoshop again. Just because I'm not very good with it, doesn't mean its any less addictive.

For some reason every year around the end of November I start to behave like the world will end on 31 December. I have to finish everything I've left to one side the entire year, try every recipe I've been meaning to, have a crack at any new hobby or craft that's caught my eye.

All I wind up doing is maybe finishing one or two projects I've had on the go and create another ten which ill sit until next November.

I've started to make a dinosaur play mat thingy which I found here. I've been at It a couple of weeks now and considering my little sewing machine can't cope with quilting felt I've been doing everything the old fashioned way. I've managed to get the mat finished and the zips pinned in place along with a cave and a couple of trees made, still a fair bit to do though.

I've still working on finishing the last couple of Christmas presents and for some reason they're taking a lot longer than I planned. At this rate mum's getting one glove for Christmas and the Jacko look isn't quite as "in" as it used to be.

The husband was on call yesterday and Toots was happily occupying herself at the kitchen table with a bucket of PVA and enough tissue and crepe paper to make the Woodland Trust cry, so I decided to get a couple of wee DIY bits and pieces done around the house.

I've been putting them off for months, little things. I've been meaning to change the light switches upstairs and had to change a couple of the low voltage bulbs in the bathroom.

I grabbed the husband's tool box and the bits and pieces I needed from the garage and got stuck in.

Well the husband arrived home a couple of hours later. Imagine my surprise when he wasn't grateful that I'd done some things it would save him the bother of having to do. Nope instead he was huffy. A huffy bugger because, again, I'd used his tools.

Apparently I have this.

I've had it for four years and stepped over and around it every day for four years because he put it in the larder.

He told me about it four years ago as well, and if I really strain hard I can almost see a fuzzy black and white picture of it in my head. Almost.

The problem. Four years ago I was pregnant.

I turned into a bit of village idiot when I was pregnant. I was clumsy and forgot almost everything instantly. I'd enough trouble remembering how to do my job and remembering to get dressed before I went there everyday without having to deal with excess information.

So Husband, when you showed me a big silver box and mentioned tools four years ago, I zoned you out and didn't hear anything else.

Sorry.

Do you like the addition of the two packs of sand and glass paper. The reason behind those is that he thinks if I have my own sand paper, I'll stop using his belt and orbital sanders.

Sorry again Husband. Not happening.

Let me explain

To anyone who stops by and reads any of my older posts, I apologise.

I also apologise to anyone who has already had the misfortune to read them.

You see, I started this blog because I always seem to have something to say for myself, and therein lies the problem. I’m a talker not a writer. I don’t pretend to be a writer. I would never take that away from countless people, some of which I have had the pleasure of reading who write beautifully and constantly find ways to keep me addicted and coming back for more.

I love to hear about everyone’s day to day lives and I started this with the intention of following suit, however I am just not up to that calibre and short of spending endless hours learning I’m afraid that anyone wishing to drop by and spend a bit of time in my (admittedly) little corner of the blogosphere will just have to put up with my drivel.

What I would ask is that when you read anything which I have written, please try to imagine me, face to face, hands waving frantically in all directions, a bit red in the face and the pitch of my voice creeping ever higher as I get excited about a topic. In short try to imagine that I’m speaking to you and telling you my little stories of my day to day life.

Hopefully by explaining this I hope to be able to put more of what I want to say down on paper, so to speak, without concerning myself about whether my posts are well written or eloquent.

That would just be asking too much of myself. Besides I think I’ve mentioned before. I’m all about “done” not “perfect”.

With that in my, I give you a photo of me. I had to take this one, because there are so few. It certainly isn’t great but it’ll have to do.