Today, the day The Husband took the car to the airport, Typhoon Hilda swanned into town. When I awoke this morning I could hear the rain mauling the roof and the wind howling around the corners. Utterly awesome weather for sitting in front of the TV with hot chocolate, not so awesome for a 20 minute school run…ON FOOT!
I wish I had taken a photo of Squidge this morning when we left. I had her in a coat, a hat, two jerseys, trousers over her stockings and skirt and, of course, her wellies. I hauled out my spanking new pair of wellies, my freshly knitted scarf and my raincoat, and off we went.
Normally I approach puddles with a plan – how to cross them without soaking my shoes – today it was bliss. Splish! Sploosh! Whump! We had SO much fun. I am utterly drenched right now, of course, and my hands are FREEZING but the school run was awesome. WHY?
BECAUSE OF WELLIES!!
Warm, toasty feet. Dry dry dry legs. WELLIES WELLIES WELLIES. How I love you.
Not much need for wellies in South Africa you know. Unless you’re a farmer. This is very exciting for me. VERY.
In honour of my moment of true welly love I’ve rooted out one of my absolute favourite Billy Connolly songs – If it wisnae fur yer wellies…Sing along, laugh and enjoy!
I am doomed. My child will have no friends. She will officially divorce me at the age of 12. I will scuffle about in an anorak with lots of cats.
Why? Because I am cursed with the affliction of bodily functions.
Some of you may remember my first attempt at a playdatea couple of months ago. By the end of the afternoon, a mere two hours later, I had been wading in wee, covered in poo, and delivered a naked child to her parents. Fortunately they have not yet sued.
This Thursday it was time to try again. Squidge’s best friend ever (her words, not mine) was coming for the afternoon. Squidge adores this girl and couldn’t stop talking about her the whole half term. This playdate had to COUNT.
Monday to Thursday I cleaned, polished, washed, scrubbed, tidied, folded, wiped and shone every single part of the house. G’s mother was going to come in to a home that gleamed and sparkled. I had cake. I had cookies. I had coffee and I had tea. This was to be the Ultimate Playdate.
Things went so well. It was lovely. G’s mother was a honey. Fun, brilliant, open and hilarious. I loved her.
I went to sort Squidge out on the loo and realised that somehow the toilet had become blocked. Not just faintly blocked. No. This was water up to the edges with revolting toilet paper sludge and unidentifiable colours, blocked.
HOW? HOW I ask you, did this happen? I could only stare at it in dismay. I don’t know how to unblock a toilet! (yes, is apparently epic failing).
I shuffled back to G’s mother and patently didn’t offer her anything else to drink just in case she needed to wee. Every so often I manufactured a reason to go back and flush the damn thing again and again. It stubbornly refused to play ball. It was hideous.
Then she asked me, “Where is the ladies?”
I was frozen. FROZEN I tell you. Then I confessed. Toilet blocked, utter disaster. I think my child dropped the entire roll in there. Many apologies.
She was very polite about it but then I heard her daughter ask if she could go to the loo and then a loud, “I don’t want to wee in this, it’s GROSS!” echoed down the hall. The ground didn’t even oblige me with some eating. Nothing. Just the mortification of them having to leave so G could go to a toilet she approved of.
Does this happen to other humans? DOES IT?
The Husband came home not ten minutes later and unblocked it in under 30 seconds.
Showing my face at the school gate on Friday was NOT easy. Fortunately G’s mother WAS there and actively came over to chat to me. My relief was tangible. Utter. Complete. She did not think I was a skanky, disease-ridden lunatic with hygiene issues.
Still. I did refuse to speak to the toilet for four days. Serve him right. The Bastard.
Oh, how I love zombies, vampires, ghosties and ghouls. As much as I love brilliantly creative people who can make food that completely and utterly captures the delightful creepiness of Halloween and spookiness.
Yesterday Squidge and I went for tea at a local cake shop that makes the most divine creations ever. She wore the hat I got her on our half-term travels (and that she won’t take off at all) and I took photos of her special spooky treat.
It was hard to watch her devour that chocolate when I am still on my hardcore diet (more on that later) but I was extremely, very proud of my self discipline. Still, how awesomely weird is this cupcake? I love it!
Please excuse blurry photos, they were done on me old crappy HTC Hero.
From the 25-31 October it is International Nestle-free week and I can’t wait to take part.
Ever since I found out about how Nestle market their formula in third world countries, and how they have continued to defy the International Code of Breastmilk Substitutes, I’ve done everything I can to make a difference. I won’t buy their products and nobody in my family touches a single Nestle-branded item.
While we are only three people, the more people who do this, the faster it adds up to a 1000, to hundreds of thousands, to a million. Where do these guys get off ruining people’s lives just for the sake of money? That takes me down the path of rage about how many people let their lust for cash overshadow human decency. I’ve come to hate what money can represent when at its worst.
“During International Nestlé-Free Week 2010, Baby Milk Action is calling on the public to email Nestléover its latest global baby milk marketing strategy. Nestlé is targeting mothers and health workers with the claim its formula ‘protects’ babies even though babies fed on formula are more likely to become sick than breastfed babies and, in conditions of poverty, more likely to die.
Nestlé is accused of undermining the ‘breast is best’ message by claiming its formula is ‘The new “Gold Standard” in infant nutrition’. Nestlé is also accused of refusing to provide important information to parents and carers who use formula. Nestlé has already received thousands of emails, but is so far refusing to drop this marketing campaign.”
This company cares more about its profits than the well-being of babies. It makes me ill. Angry. Sad. How do the people who make these decisions sleep at night?
On Monday I talked about how National Chocolate Week has superseded Baby Loss Awareness Week on the news. It is something that has angered me immensely. I’ve not lost a child, but I know many women who have, and every day I think about how damn brave and strong they are. I am not sure I could survive it.
What is this world coming to, honestly, when such a frivolous idea, patently manufactured to bring extra cash into big coffers, supersedes something as important and REAL as Baby Loss Awareness?
If someone deprives you of chocolate for life you’re hardly going to stop coping, are you? If you suddenly lost a bar of chocolate it wouldn’t matter one jot. Now reverse it. Yeah. I am furious.
So, here I am, hoping to make one small difference in the world. If you happen to be in London tomorrow then please do join the ladies as they hold a peaceful protest outside the This Morning studios.
Protesters will be meeting at 11am at the Waterloo stationand will walk to the “This Morning” studios. After the protest, campaigners intend to march on 10 Downing Street where they will light their candles at 7pm.
This is going to be my first half-term ever. I am afraid. I can hear the Jaws soundtrack in the background. I can feel an orchestra swelling to a dramatic crescendo in my head. I am Genuinely Afraid.
Why?
Because all the parents I know with kids at school have said things like, “Oh god it’s the holidays!” and, “They go back tomorrow, YIPPEE!!” and so forth. Or, if I dare to call them during the holidays, they sound rather broken and tired.
Is this what’s going to happen to me? Is my experience going to be one of terror and torture and the tribulative cries of, “Moooommeeee I’m booooooooooooooooooooored.”
I refuse. I want it to be fabulous. I expect the cries of boredom because, well, that’s normal. I refuse to be crushed by the weight of tens of days of planned holiday. I shall persevere. And how shall I do this?
THEME IT!!
Each week gets a theme and that theme is decided by committee. Then Squidge will be tasked with creating things for the theme across the seven days. It will challenge her, excite her, encourage her to do research and learn more about her world, it will (hopefully) build on the curriculum and it will keep her busy…
This morning I received a press release that astounded me. At first I could not understand why a press release that was talking about the Baby Loss Awareness Campaign 2010was referring to National Chocolate Week. It was this confusion that caused me to read on.
The Baby Loss Awareness Campaign highlights the sorrow and difficulties faced by parents who lose much-loved, and much-wanted, babies. The release says that often people end up suffering in silence because friends and family just don’t know what to say. This is very true. I have had three women, all very (VERY) dear to my heart lose a child and I have stood there mute.
What do you say to someone who’s child has been stillborn? There is absolutely nothing you can say or do that will take that heartbreak away. Just thinking about it makes me tear up. So imagine my utter disgust when I read the following sentence in the press release:
Campaigners were stunned when their efforts to raise awareness of the event were scuppered by This Morning, who told them they were being sidelined to make room for ‘National Chocolate Week’.
Oh. Awesome. National Chocolate Week isn’t as uncomfortable as Baby Loss Awareness I bet. Let’s give our viewers the frivolous instead of the important. Let’s not provide those men and women who’ve lost children with information that could help them through the tough days. Goodness, no. Let’s rather talk about chocolate.
So, this Friday there is going to be a peaceful protest outside the This Morning studios. Bravo to these ladies, I say, Bravo. And Boo Hiss to This Morning for making such an utterly shameful decision.
I love the way that everyday words have had some magic thrown at them courtesy of my daughter. I used them for 39 years but suddenly they’re all cute and funny and exciting again. My favourites are: Mazagine (I now call them mazagines all the time!), cheeky (your cheek), poll poll (pom pom), denthist (doctor/dentist/nurse).
Obviously the moment I started writing this post I went completely blank and couldn’t remember them. Gah.
This morning Squidge was utterly adamant that I come downstairs and give her a morning cuddle. It was my lie-in (The Husband and I take turns) but she was getting so upset that I immediately beetled downstairs and gave her a huge cuddle.
“Please stay with me, Mommy,” she said, “Please!”
Now usually I cave (am I wrong?) but this week the antibiotics are kicking my ass so I said, “No my honey, please let Mommy have more sleep because she is feeling very sicky.”
Her reply?
“OK Mommy. Now take Jessie Doll (her favourite) upstairs with you to look after you. Daddy was looking after you but he’s downstairs now so Jessie will look after you. She can also kick the monsters in the head and you can sleep without worrying. You can cuddle her if you want.”
I also got a demonstration on how to cuddle properly.
Damn, I love that kid.
Oh man, just writing that makes me almost cry with delight.
As Squidge’s command of the English language grows, I am finally understanding why many parents have said that, “you spend months encouraging them to talk and then years wishing they would shut up“. It’s not that what she says is terrible or horrible, it’s just that sometimes it makes me wonder if I should have done a Mummy Class before considering procreation.
Yesterday my child looked at me and said, “Mommy, you are not a real Mommy.”
For any parent as neurotic and paranoid as I am, this is quite disturbing.
“Why?”
“Mommies are supposed to wear make-up,” she informed me with both hands on her hips, “You don’t sit in front of the mirror and do this and this and this, like Mommies should.”
(The sentence was accompanied by startlingly accurate miming of lipstick and mascara application)
Well, at least I can console myself that I have not (yet!) experienced this question, as did a very good friend…
“Mommy,” said her little boy after wandering into the loo a few seconds after she’d sat down, “Why does your bum hang over both sides of the toilet seat?”
What you said