Friday, 3 May 2013

Gracie five-years five months, Daisy two years - eleven months, Bliss nineteen months

So there have been some big changes in our household this last month. I've got a job! I refuse to say 'I've gone back to work' because compared to what I've been doing for the last four years, it's more like going back to a lovely rest.

I am a contractor for Brighton Journalist Works, which is where I did my qualification a few years ago. They got in contact and said they were looking for someone to help with recruitment, marketing and teaching Social Media, and thought of me.

Arranging the childcare was a headache, deciding what to wear was even worse. Luckily I work with students so I figure it's good that I blend right in.  It's fun actually. I love having a desk, and a swivel chair, and drinking cups of tea that do not get spilled down me by someone leaping on my lap for a cuddle.

I love texting James to say I am 'In a meeting and can't talk right now.' For so long he has been the only VIBL in our house (Very Important Business Lad) but now I am one too (Very Important Business Lady).

I like having conversations that don't have the word poo-poo in them. I like sitting down for more than five minutes at a time. I like driving along listening to Radio 4 and feeling very grown up.

But by 2.30pm I ache for my girls. I'm desperate to hear their incessant babble, to hold their pudgy hands and sniff their ever-sticky necks. I love the way they chant my name when I go to collect them, bombarding me with love cards and homemade flapjack.

(Of course Dee-Dee makes sure she screams as loudly and desperately as she can each time I drop her off so I drive to work feeling like the WME (worst mother ever). Apparently she stops within seconds, but I don't know that.)

I have untold patience for dressing up dollies in fiddly dresses, rolling out play-doh, reading Sam-I-Am in silly voices. I genuinely want to know if they've done a poo.

Bliss could not care less that she sees less of me. She leaps out my arms and gaily waves me off from her childminder's ample bosom. She has a truly lovely time snatching things off all the other children and begging for biscuits. I have to hide her lunch-box from her or she eats it all before we leave the house.

Gracie does not seem too fussed about it either. She is too busy going on the Amber light at school for naughty behaviour (running round shouting, just like her father) and making love cards for Vaughan.

Vaughan told his mum (who told me) "I don't have a girlfriend but Gracie is really pretty. DON'T TELL ANYONE THOUGH!"

Of course she told me. Of course I told Gracie. She lit up like a Christmas tree. James got cross and went to dig a manly hole in the garden.  He lost his wedding ring in doing so and is currently walking up and down the length of the garden with a child's metal detector, which goes off at the sound of his voice.

He was digging foundations for his summer house, which is where he plans to watch his chickens. Yep. We are getting chickens. The two demented Budgies we have flying madly round the house and constantly nesting in our hair are not enough for him apparently.

It all started on our Welsh farm holiday. Actually, it started on the tour of the farm. (Bliss fell in love with a tiny dog called Dora. She kept bending down to kiss it. Unfortunately, she tried to mount it, and in my wrong-footed attempt to get her off, I accidentally trod on the dog’s paw. The dog thought it was Bliss who had trodden on her paw however, so turned and barked at her, which broke Bliss' heart and left her inconsolable. She really thought they had bonded.)

Anyway, it was after we met Alan-the-calf who had been born in the night.  Gracie was very keen to stroke him. Alan’s mum was not so keen. Dee Dee was not keen on any of the animals at all and kept demanding “Tea, Mr Tumble, go hooooome”. Luckily, the freezing arctic winds blew the words from her mouth and scattered them over the rugged Welsh landscape, well out of earshot.

Gracie then went and collected the chicken eggs. She fell in A LOT of chicken-poo but that’s all part of the fun isn’t it? This is where it all started. Unbeknown to me, James had swotted up on chickens before the tour so he would know all the answers when the farmer asked “Do you know which chicken this egg came from?” or  “Does anyone know how old this breed of chicken is?” He could honestly make a quiz out of anything.

The farmer was a bit annoyed with James stealing his chicken-thunder so made him carry the pig feed. The pigs chased James. He dropped the feed and ran like a big girl. The farmer felt his sense of importance and manliness were suitably restored.

We are now buying chickens to restore James' sense of importance and manliness.

We don't have them yet. We can't work out how to put the Eglu hutch together. While we work it out, James keeps reading about how to kill them.  According to him, you softly sneak up on them in the middle of the night, carrying a red light, arms by your sides. You then pick the victim up by it's feet before walking slowly off with it. Once in a safe place you break it's neck, or put it under a broom handle and then jump on it. I'm not sure why I need to know this. I am not sure why James is so keen to kill them before we even have them.

He is also obsessed with foxes. Last night he read that he regularly needs to pee round the cage as foxes don't like that. I said "Neither do wives and neighbours." He is getting a fox alarm and a night camera so he can see what goes on.

Dee-Dee is getting very excited about her third birthday. She is having a big party in the sports centre next to our house, with a bouncy castle and face-painting and balloons. She wants a cake covered in sweeties, a dolly and a 'trolley' for her presents.

My feet are still a bit rubbish. MRI on the 14th May so hopefully that will be able to tell us some more. Some days I have to wear my silly big plastic boots. Those are the days I often fall down the drive. Some days I do the school run in my slippers - but we are getting through it. The girls keep asking me "Are you feet better now mummy?" which is lovely and sad at the same time.
I miss exercising 'like the deserts miss the rain' but I'm trying other things. Like Pilates. I don't have a mat so I went in the playroom to borrow the girls sleeping bag. Dee was not keen to give it up. "I need it for my pilates" "I like parties" she said. I gave up trying to explain the difference between pilates and parties.

Pilates is OK. I am not very good at the 'pelvic elevator.' I think my pelvic floor is more like one of those rides you can go on at theme parks where you get in an elevator, and then it drops to the floor at horrifying speed.

Photos here:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10152805056855722.1073741826.632600721&type=1&l=921ee81db4

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10152238303015722.1673125.632600721&type=3



The farm we were staying on was lovely. And it had a nice big fence round it so, like sheep, the children could not escape. And all the trying to escape wore them out anyway (not enough to actually sleep of course).
We had a tour of the farm. Thing-three fell in love with a tiny dog called Dora. She kept bending down to kiss it. (There was that moment towards the end where she tried to mount it, and my wrong-footed attempt to get her off, which resulted in me treading on the dog’s foot, and the dog thinking it was Thing-three, so turned and barked at her, which broke Thing-three’s heart as she really thought they had bonded). So sweet.
We met Alan-the-calf who had been born in the night.  She was called Alan as she had been born in the middle of Alan’s leaving party. The staff were worried the mooing had kept us up. We thought the mooing was Thing-two so just ignored it anyway.
Thing-one was very keen to stroke Alan. Alan’s mum was not so keen. Thing-two was not keen on any of the animals at all and kept demanding “Tea, Mr Tumble, go hooooome”. Luckily, the freezing arctic winds blew the words from her mouth and scattered them over the rugged Welsh landscape, well out of earshot.
Thing-one collected the chicken eggs. She fell in A LOT of chicken-poo but that’s all part of the fun isn’t it? The husband swotted up on chickens before the tour so he would know all the answers when the farmer asked “Do you know which chicken this egg came from?” or  “Does anyone know how old this breed of chicken is?”
The farmer was a bit annoyed with the husband stealing his chicken-thunder so made him carry the pig feed. The pigs chased the husband. He dropped the feed and ran like a big girl. The farmer felt his sense of importance and manliness were suitably restored.
We are now buying chickens to restore the husband’s sense of importance and manliness.
Thing-three briefly went missing, but was soon found chasing lambs round. (She was determined to ride one of the animals).
Thing-two sat in the car with the heating on watching Mr Tumble on the portable DVD player, signing to herself.
All in all they behaved so well we decided to stop at Peppa Pig World on the way home. Luckily, it took so long to get there, and was so ridiculously cold, that it was almost empty (and due to close any moment).
Thing-one got over her fear of ‘big-heads’ just in time to meet Suzy-sheep. We had to take her away soon after as Thing-two kept trying to climb inside the costume. Thing-three just stared, quietly working out the best way to climb on Suzy’s back, her biggest challenge yet.
- See more at: http://muminthesouth.co.uk/2013/04/how-not-to-have-a-relaxing-holiday-with-small-children#sthash.xWQ4KAW1.dpuf
The farm we were staying on was lovely. And it had a nice big fence round it so, like sheep, the children could not escape. And all the trying to escape wore them out anyway (not enough to actually sleep of course).
We had a tour of the farm. Thing-three fell in love with a tiny dog called Dora. She kept bending down to kiss it. (There was that moment towards the end where she tried to mount it, and my wrong-footed attempt to get her off, which resulted in me treading on the dog’s foot, and the dog thinking it was Thing-three, so turned and barked at her, which broke Thing-three’s heart as she really thought they had bonded). So sweet.
We met Alan-the-calf who had been born in the night.  She was called Alan as she had been born in the middle of Alan’s leaving party. The staff were worried the mooing had kept us up. We thought the mooing was Thing-two so just ignored it anyway.
Thing-one was very keen to stroke Alan. Alan’s mum was not so keen. Thing-two was not keen on any of the animals at all and kept demanding “Tea, Mr Tumble, go hooooome”. Luckily, the freezing arctic winds blew the words from her mouth and scattered them over the rugged Welsh landscape, well out of earshot.
Thing-one collected the chicken eggs. She fell in A LOT of chicken-poo but that’s all part of the fun isn’t it? The husband swotted up on chickens before the tour so he would know all the answers when the farmer asked “Do you know which chicken this egg came from?” or  “Does anyone know how old this breed of chicken is?”
The farmer was a bit annoyed with the husband stealing his chicken-thunder so made him carry the pig feed. The pigs chased the husband. He dropped the feed and ran like a big girl. The farmer felt his sense of importance and manliness were suitably restored.
We are now buying chickens to restore the husband’s sense of importance and manliness.
Thing-three briefly went missing, but was soon found chasing lambs round. (She was determined to ride one of the animals).
Thing-two sat in the car with the heating on watching Mr Tumble on the portable DVD player, signing to herself.
All in all they behaved so well we decided to stop at Peppa Pig World on the way home. Luckily, it took so long to get there, and was so ridiculously cold, that it was almost empty (and due to close any moment).
Thing-one got over her fear of ‘big-heads’ just in time to meet Suzy-sheep. We had to take her away soon after as Thing-two kept trying to climb inside the costume. Thing-three just stared, quietly working out the best way to climb on Suzy’s back, her biggest challenge yet.
- See more at: http://muminthesouth.co.uk/2013/04/how-not-to-have-a-relaxing-holiday-with-small-children#sthash.xWQ4KAW1.dpuf

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