F will pretty much talk to anyone wherever we go. I like this. it’s nice and for the most part it’s very well received. Builders, postmen or the local crazy cat lady all seem happy to be interrupted to discuss what they are doing any why; For the bus stop drunk, it’s a rare chance to converse with someone on the same level. Everyone’s a winner.
If unfriendliness is whats wrong with modern day society then i often think i could take a leaf out of his book myself, but then perhaps telling window cleaners you admire their big ladders might not be as well received from someone in their mid thirties; Or i guess, too well received, depending on how you look it.
Exchanges i am not quite so keen on are the ‘do you have a beard?’ interrogations aimed directly at women in small, inescapable places (train carriages are a particular hot spot). It would not be half as bad if they actually did and i could convince myself that his frankness was for want of the greater good. But In most cases they don’t even have a hint of peach fuzz, so what do you do? Arguing against it just draws the conversation out making things even more awkward. I’m sure he has caused at least half a dozen young women to run home and scrutinize every inch of their lower face in the mirror before stalking Groupon for electrolysis deals, just to make sure.
‘Yep get in here. Nice and safe for you in here…’
This post is linked up with to Mummy, Daddy, Me for the Ordinary Moments. Sharing a normal, everyday moment that captures the essence of family life. Nothing special, nothing remarkable but a memory that you don’t want to forget. AKA the nice part of my blog (usually).
Of late I have been spending a relatively high proportion of my time hiding in dark corners, no not drinking gin (oh how I wish), but furiously churning out Google search after Google search in response to the boy’s increasingly curious mind.
You see there is nothing like the application of a small child to your life to make you feel inexorably stupid. Apart from my specialist subject of Watership Down, my general knowledge could best be described as dire. I am useless at a pub quiz and may even struggle to remember the name of the Prime Minister under pressure (It’s a mind blank thing ok).
Over the the years i have also become far too ready to accept the status quo. If I were to be asked something like ‘how do planes fly?’ I could chuck in a few choice words (something about pressure, velocity and drag) but in essence I don’t really know. They just ‘do’ fly despite the fact it doesn’t exactly look like they should.
A Gin Day
It’s a day that started badly
The kind of day that you can’t win.
It’s a day that has you asking
‘Can my cornflakes come with gin?’
You see I love my dear sweet boy,
But can’t abide his evil twin.
Till he returns from where he’s hiding,
I’ll be day-dreaming of gin.
We’ll be pinching and punching each other tomorrow so today is the day to share our family portrait for February. This was taken on the littlest’s birthday – the day he turned the big One. We are in JB’s in Brighton, we ate big fat burgers and the birthday boy probably had far too many salty chips than he should (although i think the salt intake increases at 1 so it was a pretty timely indulgence).
To be completely honest I’m struggling to write this post right now on Thursday evening. We had a breakdown today (the car not me) and i spent an hour stuck inside it with an increasingly mental baby. All i can say is hurrah for the bag of rice cakes i tossed in the change bag before we left for the school run. It was fine, just a flat battery, but there was pre bath time wine as a reward and my head is a little fuzzy as a result.
But the real reason for my lack of cohesive thought is that ummm ONE OF MY POSTS WENT VIRAL! Sorry for the shouting and the shameless self promotion but I can’t help feeling a wee bit pleased with myself as I watch the shares go crazy around the world. I have tried to keep it quiet for fear I would sound like I am boasting, but this is my own little space and I figure that the people who visit here would not (hopefully) begrudge me that.
I’ve noticed an alarming trend at pre-school, some of my fellows seem to be eating what is presented to them on their plates without query. I have also witnessed some voluntary consumption of vegetables. It makes me sick.
Take heed people, follow these simple rules and exert some fricking authority!
- Set the tone – spend a week detoxing on jam toast.
- Refuse anything but Cheerios for breakfast. Have them without milk on Mondays, Thursdays and every other Friday. Hyperventilate if they get this wrong.
- Don’t try anything new EVER.
- Just because you liked something yesterday does not mean you have to like it again today. It is perfectly acceptable to change your mind and you do not have to explain yourself.
- Fruit as a pudding is bullsh*t.
- Be suspicious of anything that was recently alive. Beige, dead looking stuff is safer.
- Request a wide variety of food at the supermarket and then a, deny all knowledge of it upon your return home or b, allow it to be cooked first and then say you don’t like it.
- Spend some time revising brand names so that you can legitimately refuse cheaper derivatives.
- Any amount of cooking or food preparation time above 30 seconds is wholly unacceptable.
- Ask for updates of when things will be ready every 10 seconds, protest with your fists on the floor if things are taking too long. This may result in the meal being served half frozen but it doesn’t matter as you are not going to eat it anyway. Continue reading
….you know, when you are lying in the bath trying to relax after a hard day and you start to notice eyes staring at you across the bubbles.
I counted them the other day. 18 pairs in the bathroom alone (not including my own). I wondered how many pairs there were in the whole house.
‘Count them’ said a voice in my head.
‘No, don’t be ridiculous it would take ages’
‘But don’t you want to know?’
‘A bit i suppose’
‘You might regret it if you don’t….’
‘YES! When you are old and grey it will pop into your head and you’ll think oooh i never knew how many eyes were in that house, i wish i had counted them, i really, REALLY do.’
It’s easy sometimes, to despair, when you hand a Babybel to your child and they kick off because you took the skin off first and then refuse to eat it.
The tantrums and the strops stem from the most minor or ridiculous things and the reward chart you created with the aim of aiding co-operation just blows up in your face. One measly Milky Way for all that – just one?! How very dare you.
But you see you can’t have ALL the toys you ever want, It’s not ok to exist on a diet of Cheerios, we can’t just buy and live on a boat and the whole ‘DON’T WANT MY FEET ATTACHED TO MY LEGS’ gate? Well I’m sorry but that’s just basic human anatomy.
Google pray tell me – why is my child such a dick?
To my dearest littlest,
I feel much more emotional writing this on the evening of your birthday than i thought i would, which to be fair could be down to the bubbles we had at 4.43pm. You are now a whole year old and lay sound asleep upstairs, tired from your crazy day of trying to eat wrapping paper, gazing at fishes and thumping cake.
The big shiny balloon tied to the wheel of your new fire engine has been the star or the show, as we knew it would, which is to the great delight of your big brother who claimed said fire engine as his own, as we knew he would.