In the dark

Yesterday, we had a 21-hour power cut.

It got very dark, and very cold, very early, so we all went to bed at about 8pm. Babymomma, bf and 2 ridiculously excited children in one enormous Superking bed.

Tis the season to be jolly

All in all, a most excellent Christmas.

Harmony reigned, driven mainly by the fact that Granma finally realised that Felix (a) exists and (b) is a fantastic little boy, so she shared her time with the kids (not sure Felix gave her much choice) and that made Babymomma relax her clenched jaw and put the gritted teeth away.

The kids simply love being at home with Mummy, Daddy and the Grandmothers so they are both on good form. Felix is doing holiday rules, which basically means refusing to go to bed until about 9pm. Jasmine is demonstrating she can ride a bicycle, on the flat, with stabilisers, for about 1 minute before she stops pedalling. But it's a great start and she loves it. Babymomma and the bf are simply grateful for the babysitting time which allows us to cook, surf the interweb, have the occasional lie in and see Avatar during the break.

Only thing that has made it slightly less than perfect is that I woke up on Christmas Eve with an acute wry neck which still hasn't gone away and is making me occasionally grumpy but I'll live.

A day off! Hurrah!

A DAY OFF!!! At last. Not that it's really a day "off" what with all the shopping and cleaning and cooking to do. Anyways, dropped kids off, braved the ice death trap that is the road outside nursery, pootled along to the collection office to pick up a "mystery thing" for Felix that turned out to be an enormous card that Grama had sent. Only postage was underpaid by 8p so I had to pay the balance AND a £1 handling charge. Grumble grumble. Grama, incidentally, is arriving today, so lordy knows why she couldn't have just brought it with her. It's not like we've got anything better to do.

Anywayz, got to the supermarket at 8.05am and the car park was jampacked already. Who'da thought? Christmas, in the main, was delivered last night (love Ocado) so I whizzed round doing top up shop and picked up our joint for tomorrow (love Waitrose) just in time to see a lady do a strop because her two turkeys she ordered hadn't been delivered. And whilst she wasn't shouting she was clearly very cross - and who could blame her - and I couldn't help but feel relieved that it hadn't happened to me.

Feeling all Christmas ho ho ho now. Hurrah!

In which babymomma goes out 4 times in a week

Christmas must truly be upon us, as a few opportunities for a knees up came my way. Bf, being fantastic as he is, gave me not one, but two pink passes last week. So I went to Hakkasan for a sophisticated work do and Jongleurs for a work do at the other end of the spectrum in the same week.

Most exciting of all, at the weekend, Nani came up to babysit and bf and I went to a dinner party hosted by my amazing friend Mat. So not only was the food amazing, the company amazing, the conversation amazing, but the news that he is soon to be a daddy simply topped the amazing stakes.

And the next day we went to Alex' 2nd birthday party - 5 kids, 7 grown ups, a whole lot of mess and a totally chilled afternoon.

Bringing the total outings to 4. Oh yes, that's 4 parties in a week.

Which means I probably won't be going out again until I'm, ahem, about 40.

How could I forget about the terrible twos?

Last weekend Felix flipped a switch. And not in a good way.

First of all, we are convinced his molars are beginning to come through, and whilst we can't see any evidence of enamel rupturing through gum yet, that's the only reasonable explanation we have for his inconsolable tantrums.

That, and the famed "terrible twos." What we understand now, but didn't quite grasp last weekend, was that Felix is frustrated. He can't express himself. He can't assert his independence. He's always being told what to do. He's learning it's a tough little world out there. So he coped by, erm, banging his head against the floor; banging his head against my chest, banging his head against my jaw; banging his head against my head; repeat over for Daddy; ad infinitum.

It was terribly distressing but we've done all the positive parenting things like giving him choices, and letting him do things his way and on his own and all that. Thankfully we're all fine now and he's a happy smiley boy again.

Bah humbug

Christmas tree purchase, scrumbling at the Arts Depot, lunch with Nick & Jessica aside, I can't shake the feeling that this weekend has been quite shit.

Trial by media

Mildly obsessed and scandalised by the Meredith Kercher trial / result.

Amanda Knox facing 26 years. Sympathy towards her entirely driven by her youth and beauty, and the disbelief anyone that young and beautiful could have committed such a horrendous crime.

Amendment: realise this makes it sound like I think she's innocent. Clearly, the jury found her guilty - who am I to judge? What I really meant was 'Any' sympathy towards her... ie the case is fascinating because the accused happens to be young&beautiful.

I'm dreaming of a pink Christmas

We just went to the local bike shop and bought Jambeans a gopping pink bicycle with a neon pink furry seat and pink tassles (cheap plastic) coming out of the handlebars. No amount of persuasion could convince her that red, silver or purple were preferable colours. Poor Felix - his face was so full of expectation and excitement. He's going to be gutted when he realises he's not getting one. It must suck being the younger child.

Life in snotsville

Jambeans flaked and put herself to bed about an hour ago. Felix is playing 'Jump' on the sofa (off the sofa?) with a big grin on his face. Bf is making his golf/boxing/racingdriver avatar on the PS2. Babymomma is pottering. We all have stinky colds.

macaroon zoo

Yesterday we had an afternoon tea party. 6 adults and 5 kids who did us all proud by playing beautifully with each other. Babymomma was given free reign in the kitchen all day - total luxury. Ably assisted by Jambeans I made coconut macaroons, fairy cakes and chocolate muffins. Scrummy. The only wibble was when we cut the top of a fairy cake to level it, so we could ice it, and everything just went wrong at that point. (I was only following instructions - what does Nigella know anyway?)

Wet & windy today. Perfect zoo weather!

Still a teenager at heart

Last night's most excellent Friday-night-TV-marathon consisted of watching Twilight, America's Next Top Model, Project Runway and Gossip Girl on Sky+

tired bubs, tired babymomma

schooldays are long for jambeans and felix. they're exhausted and crabby already, and it's only wednesday. result = mucho tantrums and forever to get them ready in the mornings/ to bed in the evenings.

ickle tiger

I've been feeling totally ambivalent about everything recently, then I read La Gitane's latest blog post and it felt like a dart of sunshine piercing through the clouds.

Winter blues

S.A.D. has kicked in. Not helped by the fact I am now officially a labrat, chained 8 till 6 at a desk miles away from a window, or weather. And I have a shitty cold and a sprained ankle that keeps threatening to recover, only to let me down miserably. I'm knackered and am feeling more than a bit run down.

My silver lining is that Jambeans and Felix have been amazing today. We went and bought them Halloween outfits. We had to tell Jasmine it was a "fireworks dress" because she's adamant Halloween is all a bit too scary, and she'd rather not partake at all but simply stay home. Not that I mind this attitude, but I do wonder what they told her at nursery to make her so fearful, and I am dreading the tantrum that will ensue when she realises she has to go to school that day.

We also bought early Christmas presents, noo shooze for Felix, got them both lovely haircuts and spoiled them with cake and tea.

So I'm totally loving spoiling my kids but am going back to being a miserable snotty cow now.

my beautiful kids

Felix undergoes his language miracle

So Felix is learning new words at a rate of knots, but the last sylabble/consonant still eludes him. So this weekend I learned he could say:

no(se)
mou(th)
bubby(=buggy)
ma-mmy(=jas-mine)
schoo(l)
cha(lk)
noi(se)
dow(n)
trou(sers)
da-do(n)-dy (=dragonfly)
da(s)-da (=pasta)
mee-mee (beep beep)
and lots more

how.
utterly.
skill.

a quick rundown of the things i want to remember

• Felix & Jasmine squabble sometimes, particularly over toys. When Jasmine says "Felix isn't sharing" sometimes it means "Felix isn't sharing" but mainly it means "I want Felix' toy"
  
• We cut back on Felix' milk and he now sits at the table (though normally on a lap) and eats his meal with the rest of us. But he has to use a fork. Fingers are OUT.
  (Before he would just run all around the house because he had Joy of Movement and a full up milk belly.)
  
• Jasmine had a big snotty nose so we gave her Montelukast and then all she had was a big snotty nose that went away
  
• Last night bf and I had a row over me coming home late night-after-night and him having to look after the kids and make dinner and all that all by himself. And we sorted it out and found a solution, but at the time all I could think was "OMG, we've swapped gender roles" and I was totally shocked by that.
  
• We bought a SkyHD box and bf recorded Stepup2 for me in HD and I have been watching those dance moves over and over and over and over
  
• We now also listen to Jan Pehechan Ho on You Tube about 6 times a day. Jasmine does the shaky head dancing, and Felix screams "Yaaaaaaay" every time it finishes
  
• We are going to the Ickworth today for a night. YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYY

Where is Babymomma?

Still alive. Just trying to get the hang of this working-full-time-looking-after-kids-and-then-finding-time-to-write-about-it.

everything is different again

i'm loving my new job. it feels so right. i'm working hard and doing a few late nights but nothing like blooming marvellous or last exit. i'm tired. all that new information is exercising the mind to say the least. i'm feeling a bit antsy about the massive increase in time poverty - i have so much more to say, so little time to articulate it, let alone type it out. oh, when to blog, when to blog, when to blog? (wrings hands in despair).

we're driving to the west country tomorrow. bf has a week off but i am working, so he's taking the kids to stay with grandma for a few days. after that, the weymouth commute should finish and some sense of normality might take hold.

felix has been struggling a bit with full time nursery and a disappearing mama. (or maybe he's just struggling with growing up?) he's very vocal and quite tantrummy. his way of demonstrating is to swipe at your face with his hands, and preferably swat your glasses away which is rude, and physical and annoying and needs a very firm hand (but come to think of it, it is a very canny way to disarm your opponent - clever boy). he's at the back-arching stage. won't get into the buggy. won't go to bed. throws enormous hissy fits about small things. it's ok, because i know it's not personal. but when he tries to hit me, or rejects me for daddy i do feel a but hurt and disappointed because felix is MY baby boy and up until 3 weeks ago i was his best friend in the whole wide world.

jasmine is amazing. she just refuses to take a bath. so maybe i should say, amazing, but a bit smelly.

Mummy is dead

Jasmine has started calling me 'Mum' and Daddy is now 'Dad'

what i have learned since starting work

what i have learned since starting work:

1. it takes exactly 4 hours to get from my front door to the weymouth office

2. it is possible to get stuck in a barrier on the underground and not be able to wriggle/force your way out. to achieve this, wheel your suitcase in front of you as the barriers open, so it goes through first. the barrier recognises a 'heavy load' and thinks it is you. the barrier then closes just as you are walking thru. at least. at least, i think that's how it works. whatever, it's bloody embarrassing for a fat lass.

oh, and quite a lot of stuff about my new place of work too...

A decent poo at last

Today Jasmine did a solid poo, albeit still gunky on the outside, but a solid poo nonetheless. Hur-bloody-rah

Nani passes the baton to Granma

Jasmine's diarrhoea persists. Nani cancelled her clinic on Wednesday to stay and look after her. Granma dropped everything and arrived on Wednesday lunchtime to relieve Nani of her shift.

It's Friday today. Jasmine's bottom has only just started to clear up, but we're beginning to suspect it's something other than swine flu. Nani took her to the GP on Wednesday, then walked all the way back again with a stool sample. Bloody impressive for someone with exercise induced asthma.

Felix has been a star amidst all of this, though going to school full time is taking its toll on him. I have to peel him off me crying every morning as I leave him in nursery. It hurts.

Week 1 at work has been full on. Big 6 hour meetings with suppliers for the first three days. Train trip to Lichfield to the fulfilment centre yesterday. Went all the way to Exeter today to the customer services centre. Packed train both ways, not too dissimilar from a Ryanair jet - cramped, uncomfortable, noisy and about the same price.

Roll on the weekend. I am cream crackered.

update: turns out it was shigella (and not swine flu, or maybe swine flu for the first day, and then shigella for the rest of it). have re-drilled the importance of wipe'n'wash to jambeans, just in case that's what caused it.

Jasmine's still ill - I must be starting a new job then...

Made the emergency call to Nani last night, who bravely dropped work and came up on the train last night. Was feeling rather guilty, on the suspicion that Jasmine would actually be perfectly well today, but the hunch was right. Jasmine soiled herself twice last night and this morning had a slight fever. And the poo is still sloppy sloppy sloppy.

Which must mean I've just started a new job - day 2 today - which is why I'm not taking time off to look after the splinks. It's at New Look the fashion retailers. In their eCommerce team. And that's a bit weird because it's the first time I've ever fessed up to where I work, but I owe it to Caroline who's been asking for days! (And in case you're wondering about previously - freelancing was at the agency Last Exit, before that was Blooming Marvellous where I was made redundant, before that was Early Learning Centre which was completely amazing).

Swine flu - what's all the fuss about?

Disregarding the persistent diarrhoea you'd be forgiven for assuming that Jasmine didn't have swine flu at all. After 24 hours the cough had all but disappeared, the fever had totally gone and she's perky and bright. We didn't bother with the Tamiflu in the end, and Felix, bf and I don't seem in the slightest bit affected (...famous last words)

Swine flu hits

So I was preparing this "Babymomma reveals all" post about my new job - which starts Monday - and what I've been up to workwise for the past few months, but Jasmine has come down with, erm, "flu like symptoms" so yes, basically, we reckon it's swine flu.

The National Pandemic Flu service reckons it's swine flu too, and issued our Tamiflu authorisation code at 3a.m. What sucks about the service is that all links to the Anti Viral Collection Points in Barnet are broken. In fact, type "Barnet tamiflu collection point" into Google UK and it still takes about 25 minutes of digging to find out where our nearest collection point is. There is no list. In the end I had to dig it out of some MP's blog but reckon your average punter would struggle a bit.

Our GP reckons it probably is swine flu, but might not be, and reckons we could take Tamiflu, but that at the same time it might be better not to, but really it's our decision. Most people would find this disconcertingly unhelpful. I appreciated his honesty. (It helps having a doctor for a boyfriend to explain why you can't just give a straight yes or no.)

Other than that it's all been distinctly unmelodramatic. Our main concern, of course, is Jasmine's weak chest, and whether she will suffer more than your average 3 year old. But even though she's really quite ill, her breathing rate is normal, and both Daddy and the GP said her chest was clear, so we're not expecting to have to rush her to hospital any time soon. So far, this illness seems "normal" by Jasmine standards. Fingers crossed it stays that way.

The most unpleasant aspect is the horrendous diarrhoea. 6 gag-inducing pottyfulls of it today. As a result I have become obsessively anxious about hygiene and have dry, cracked hands from overwashing to prove it. Despite getting to the potty every time, I convinced Jasmine to go back to nappies temporarily, which is just as well as we've had two accidents since. The knock on effect is I am now panicking mildly about getting enough fluid into Jasmine, but she refuses to take even a sip of drink and is now in a coma-like sleep on the sofa.

Hmmm, as I write this I realise it doesn't sound too good... I'll see whether she drinks anything when she wakes up, and if she refuses I may have to force feed it to her. Joy.

Today was supposed to be my last day at work. So I feel like I'm handing over a big, involved project that is slap bang in the middle of build in a mess of snatched emails and telephone messages. Katia, who I work with, wisely said "you have to be at peace with yourself when you go." Right now, she couldn't be further from the truth...

Lunchfest - the stats

2 michelin stars in a place with
4 corners, as in, The Square where I was
5 minutes late for
8 scrummy courses but surprisingly
0 amuses bouches (!!) but I still managed
6 bread rolls as well over
3 and a bit hours when I was
240 quid lighter (ouch) and I'd say at least
10 pounds heavier but with absolutely
zero regrets

yumyumyumyumyum

kid stuff

About 2 weeks ago, Felix started to say 'mum-mee' and 'dad-dee' over and over and over and over, much to our delight.

He now says quite a few words, but only the beginning bit. So door is 'dogh' book sounds more like 'bouh' and so on. His favourite word is doggy, but when Felix means to say doggy he actually says 'dih-dogh.'

He has a new found love for both books and doggies, and his absolute favourite thing at the moment is 'In the Night Garden.'

Jasmine's news is that she is now, definitely toilet trained. The 'can't be arsed' technique seemed to have served us well. In fact, I think it's a technique that can totally be repackaged as 'this is how perfect parents should do it'. Basically, we never pushed her. We went through all the stages - buying the potty, playing with the potty, sitting on the potty ourselves, reading on the potty, buying pants, going nappy free for small bouts, offering rewards, commending efforts - but we never really worked at it as lots of people we know seemed to have done. Let's face it - I am far too lazy to religiously stick Jasmine on the potty every hour anyway.

In the end, once Jasmine made the decision she wanted to use the toilet she did all the hard work herself. Bar a couple of accidents it's all been bloody easy (so far...). She loves being nappy free and the TTOS has halved in weight :)

photos from the rat and the monkey's wedding

out of the wilderness

that job i was holding out for came good.

so the kids are going into nursery full time from monday when bf and i are going for a 2 michelin starred lunchfest, then i start my shiny, new, permanent job the week after that.

clearly more to tell but i need to get my head straight and words in order first.

and that, obviously, could take weeks.

...and breathe

It's been 32 days since my last period, and it hasn't been that late, since ever. So we casually pop a pregnancy kit into the supermarket trolley, shove more chocolate buttons into Jasmine and Felix' mouths and try desperately not to think of the whatifs. And so I find myself weeing on a stick again and cleaning the kitchen all laissez faire and trying not to sneaky peek at the indicator. But when I do look at the indicator...

...oooooooooohhhhh...

i'm totally not pregnant again

and that is such a relief.

A bit if luck

I have an interview tomorrow morning for a proper job. A lovely job. A job I've really been holding out for.

I also have sleep deprivation, a majorly snotty nose, a sore throat, gravelly voice (that presentation's going to sound so gret in Baritone), my period is due tomorrow and I've just discovered I have diarrhoea.

Joy.

...long pause...

nothing to say

My fab sister

Last weekend bf and I got to go out to celebrate, erm, Dad's day, our anniversary (7 years!! i'd better watch out for that itch) or maybe just the fact that Grandma was up and we had a pass.

So we hooked up with my fab, funny and beautiful sister Seema and her ole buddy Stan (freshly back from Queensland) at The Northgate and simply had the best night out in the world ever.

Todzilla latest

Felix' fave thangs are the manege, the beach, climbing, pointing, cuddling, shoving his finger up my nostril at bedtime (yes, it hurts, yes he thinks its hilarious), climbing, rejecting his highchair in favour of grown-up chairs, doing his Elvis snarl, climbing, crawling into the buggy when he's tired, lifting my top up to blow raspberries on my tummy (especially in public), moving our hands to tell us he wants something and climbing. The manege was something else though. My God did he have an enormous hissy fit when we had to go. What a wilful soul. Total eye opener.

Island holiday

Ile de Re - land of the poppies - a beautiful unspoilt island for a week of the simple life and total R&R.

Little Miss Chatterbox

Everyone's been remarking recently how Jasmine has transformed from a taciturn, reserved, shy little girl into someone who is remarkably confident, sociable and, ahem, talkative. And hitherto I have been proud of her achievements. Particularly the made up words like 'gilbeys' 'scolbies' and 'hankerchoots' which pepper her running commentary on the world and its contents.

But today, I joined the ranks of people who wonder whether they ever shut the eff up.

Musings #4

Mama Musings on Motherhood

4. Working day today. A minor spat this morning about who had time to pick up the dry cleaning means I am now late for work, won't get a seat on the tube and am generally in a total grump. Combined with general 'how come I always seem to be the one scrubbing pans?' (or replace by any number of pathetic housewifely nags) plus general stress of having to organise our first holiday abroad in 4 years and I am left believing this is one of those days where I am left wondering:

How can I love my family so much, yet hate my life in equal measure?

No longer a babymomma

After a week since those first steps Felix is really getting the hang of walking, which means my Babymomma days are well and truly over. It's the end of an era.

But a new phase does lead to new discoveries, notably that Felix' walking currently resembles that of a heavy, plodding, somewhat malcoordinated monster navigating unknown territory.

Enter "Todzilla", most excellent new nickname.

Which makes Jambeans "Todzuki" - also very apt

Weekend Haven

The Orgs came to visit this weekend, with their adorable boys Reggie and Wilf. Reggie and Jambeans were playing in the BenDen (made up name for 'upside down paddling pool') when all of a sudden Jambeans emerged looking a bit worried and said, with some resolution "I don't want to play in the BenDen any more" at which point Reggie stood up, lifted the edge of the BenDen and revealed the fact he had stripped naked in there and was flashing his bits for all to see.

Laughed.
My.
Ass.
Off.

Parlez-vous francais?

Yesterday I got to speak to the lovely La Gitane, in person. A truly rare treat.

In which babymomma and poppa take a break

Gloriously sunny Bank Holiday Monday and it feels like the first time in 3 years we've just stopped. No outings, no shopping, no housework, no working from home, no plans, no nothing. Delicious.

Instead we're chilling in the garden and the kids are being fantastic. Jasmine's big thing right now is inventing words. Right now she's playing "roly goly boly poly" some bonkers game where you sit on a ball, fall off in a heap and giggle like a mad thing. Felix the Unstoppable Baby is climbing in and out of the paddling pool, then onto the garden chairs, and onto the table, then onto the trike, then across to the sandpit where he shovels vast handfuls of the stuff into his mouth, then back down the garden steps where he stage dives back into the paddling pool. He knows no fear. He is either a prodigy, or just plain stupid.

The fog is lifting

It's been a totally crappy few weeks. Bf and I seem to be permanently snapping at each other. I'm crying, lots. Whatever virus hospitalised Jambeans has passed onto the rest of us and we all have nasty, phlegmy, hacking coughs and runny noses and it's taking its toll physicially. I'm trying to juggle some freelance work. It's the kind of stuff I was doing about 7 years ago. It's dispiriting but it pays the bills (or some of them at least) and when I'm there it's balanced out by the great set of people I'm working with. But it's simply NOT what I want to be doing, and its getting me down the rest of the time. Felix and Jambeans have taken turns to vomit and cause havoc and wake up at stupid hours. My Dad, who's been in hospital for a month, was transferred to a nursing home and we got less than 24 hours notice. He didn't have so much as a pair of pants to keep him going and we haven't got a clue where the money's going to come from to ensure he has long-term care. It all adds to the stress. And of course, we're so so so so so soooo tired.

So we took time out yesterday, got a babysitter in and went to see Star Trek at the flicks. And it totally rocked. And this morning, I felt as if the fog was finally lifting.

A bright star in an otherwise dark firmament

For the umpteenth time in the last umpteen days I find myself unable to lever my lead body out of bed at early 0'clock. So I roll over, hide under duvet and leave boyfried to brave the morning and the kids solo, again, whilst I slip in and out of a coma. When I do finally haul my sorry ass out of bed (still early o'clock) I realise, yet again, I have woken in a deeply pissy mood.

So I spend the next hour pep-talking myself into some positive frame of mind and promise to do and be better today. It normally takes the form of some matronly abuse like: "Will you just belt up? Get outside, get some air, do something useful, smile, BE happy. And if you really want to lose weight just don't eat any chocolate today. And if you can't do any of that, FOR FUCK'S SAKE QUIT SULKING."

And this seems to be working, sort of. So I emerge from my bedroom, feeling sort of OK. I may not look the part - I am dressed like a woman who has clearly let go of herself but I just don't feel there's any point in wearing anything decent - but in my mind, I am confident I can stay in the good place. Until, until...

I am searching for Felix. He's gone very quiet. So I gently push open the door to Jasmine's room and find him on the other side, lips shut, slightly puffy cheeked, looking extremely happy with himself. I know that look, I've seen it on my sister's cat. It's the look of a baby (or indeed, cat) who has put something in his mouth. And instinctively, I just know what that something is. It's one of those bloody stars. You know, one of the silver, pointy, decorative, not quite paper, not quite card, not quite plastic, art'n'craft sort of stars. No more than a centimetre wide, but still wide enough to cause major trouble. And I haven't a clue where they came from, but I have found a few this last week whilst doing my habitual eye-scan of the carpet. And there was one in Jambeans' room, I am positive, but I was too lazy-ass stupid to pick it up last night.

So there it is, in Felix' mouth. And his look of satisfaction is fading to one of discomfort. So I try to stick my fiinger in his mouth and see if I can get the star out, but clearly, there's no hope in hell of that happening. They're hard enough to pick up when they're dry and on a flat surface. So I put him on his back and try to see where it is, which makes him cry, and doubtless makes it worse and sends it to the back of his throat. Then he makes some choky, swallowy noises. Then the swallowy noises stop and it's just choky noises. Plus some major screaming. Then screaming is hampered by more choking. And I am rubbing and whacking his back and trying to get him to cough it up, and all I can think is it's bloody well stuck to the side of his throat isn't it? And NOTHING is working, but Felix is getting more and more distressed and choky. So I am just on the point where mentally I am taking him to the hospital, and have the mobi out ready to call.. to call.. who? Anyone who can tell me what to do. 999 crosses my mind. Then the GP? Or NHS Direct, if I had their sodding number and am prepared to go on hold whilst my baby chokes to death. So I decide 999 and am just about to get through.... when Felix finally does a mega vomit all over himself, all over me, all over the carpet.

And before I can even be relieved, and knowing about the fact I knew there was no point putting decent clothes on today, with lightning speed Felix spots that twinkly shiny little star amidst all the vomit and cereal hoops and curdled milk and phlegm, picks it up adeptly between finger and thumb and moves to pop it straight back in his mouth. Cheeky little blighter.

And arse. My pep talk disappears. Poof. Away it goes. Drowned in vomit. Together with my sort of good mood. For the rest of the day.

Poison on the Underground

I think I've cried about six times today. And that was before I read Metro and its suicide-inducing crap.

I wonder...

I wonder if I'm having a mid-life crisis?

harrumph

God I feel so low today

Confessions of a bad mum

I've been in a dark place this weekend. Felix has been doing my head in. He's cutting molars - the painful ones - three of them simultaneously. It makes him very grumpy. And either it's coincidental, or somehow related, he's incredibly impatient with everything right now. So if he's playing with a toy and can't achieve what he wants to with it, he starts screaming. Currently he screams about once every 2 minutes. For a minute. That's a lot of screaming.

Normally you get to leave him to get on with stuff quite independently, and a scream means he's in trouble so you go and check on him. Now he screams all the time you have to check on him ALL THE TIME. And he's clingy. And wriggly. And has developed a habit of lurching his head back and trying to writhe out of your arms if you pick him up, even if he asked to be picked up. And he mostly does it on the stairs because he instinctively knows that's the worst place to drop a baby.

And that hasn't stopped all the relentless danger hunting either. He likes to think he can get down stairs facing forward, like a grown up. And this is before he can walk, or really balance properly on two feet. You have to be on hand to catch him, just in case he falls forward. And his latest new thing is reaching up to the kitchen worksurface with his fingertips to see what he can bring crashing down. Like plates. And knives, if he got the chance.

So, in summary - he's loud, demanding, attention seeking, quasi-suicidal and difficult to control from very early in the day to very late.

I've totally lost my patience this weekend. I've snapped at him and uttered the F word a fair few times. When he headbutted me on the chin on the stairs, making my head smash into the wall I shouted at him and cried. And I've ignored Jambeans. And snapped at the boyfried. And I've not given a fuck.

So last night, after two days of full on Felix we were beat. And then Jambeans woke screaming at 9.30 because she had a bad dream, and went mental. Total hysteria. Mainly in my ear. For two and a half hours. I understand why the Victorians locked hysterical ladies up now and threw awat the key. Anything to make them shut up. At more than one point I wondered if a good smack would be allowable in exceptional circumstances.

Boyfried wisely elected to sleep on the futon in Felix' room - not that he got any sleep either - and Jambeans whimpered her way through the whole night waking every hour or so to shriek and moan and scrumble.

Then Felix woke at 5.15am. Fuck me that's early when you've had no sleep. Bf and I had a barney over who should get up and look after him - both of us insisting the other should go to bed. I won. I fed Felix a chocolate biscuit for breakfast, whilst I had the last 4 with a very hot cup of tea. Then I zombied on the sofa and watched 2 episodes of Countdown before 7am.

I think I'm *supposed* to feel guilty. But I don't really feel guilty at all. I do feel guilty for being nasty to the bf, but I don't think I'm a bad mum at all. I may be more Slummy than Yummy but I still think I'm a pretty good mummy. And bf absolutely puts me to shame with his parenting prowess. But being in the dark place makes you reflective. And I've been reflecting that if this is the sum total of my life I don't particularly want it.

It's a common complaint of motherhood that you feel like a ghost of your past self. I've been feeling that very keenly this weekend. I'm a shadow of the person I used to be. The only time I feel even remotely close to that person I used to be is when I'm working. I had managed to find some freelance work - only 5 days of me being brilliant for crap pay - but work nevertheless. And that came to a close on Friday and I just crashed. It doesn't help.

Top 5 Tales of Vomit

#5
Fresh in (groan) at number 5 is the vomit Jambeans did last night. In bed. All over herself. A whole bowl of barely digested pasta slimed into her hair, her face, neck and back. Bits of it even managed to worm their way into her nappy. That vomit was still alive I'm sure. And she went absolutely hysterical whilst we tried to strip her off and clean it all up. This morning she said "Mummy. I need to go to hospital. Cuz I woz sick"

#4
When Auntie Ely did "This is how the lady rides" with Jambeans, also as a baby. It was just after an enormous feed. Poor auntie Ely is obviously not familiar with extreme reflux. It took 3 mussies to wipe up. We laugh about it now.

#3
When Jambeans nearly vomited in Daddy's mouth as a baby. The bf was holding her up high above his head and doing big, mouth-open ga ga noises. You can guess what happened next.

#2
Jambeans vomiting all over mummy's hair during the power cut. I slept with vomity hair all night. Queas-tastic.

#1
Only one entry from the wonder boy, but at least Felix tops the list with his amazing "let's-cover-the-sofa-n-daddy-with-more-vomit-than-you-thought-was-possible" number. it still makes me ROFLMAO.

What is the boyfried up to?

This morning, amidst the mayhem of breakfasting the kids, dressing them, brushing their teeth and us getting ready for work, boyfried found time to recreate my beloved 'R u dancin' playlist on iTunes which we had lost weeks ago when he reinstalled MSOffice .

How lucky am I?

I got so suspicious I asked him if he was having an affair...

Boyfried gets a chuftie badge

Boyfried just looked after the kids this morning so I got a two-hour lie in. Result.
AND he cleaned the oven too. Result squared.

Bluebell angels

Hospital Dash

Horrible week last week. Jambeans woke up with breathing difficulties, vomiting and fever in the wee small hours of Tuesday night. After a couple of hours dithering we decided to do the hospital dash. I did the hospital with J. Daddy stayed to look after Felix and try and get enough sleep to last for both of us. Waited for triage with the usual round of drunks and weirdos. Two of them were crashed out on the floor, and I tried to shield the rest from Jambeans' view. Triage came pretty quickly. I saw the nurse tick the "high priority" box - the equivalent of Defcon 2 - and even though I'm sure that's pretty standard practice for a minor with respiratory distress, it was bloody scary nevertheless. As was the on-call registrar's need to "rule out pneumonia." I'm just a lay-person. These words scare me.

So they attached her to the SATs machine via a crocodile-clip type thingy you have to keep on your finger. Then put her on oxygen, followed by 3 bursts of Salbutamol, all via a mask which Jasmine hated and kept pulling off. They also put some weird cream on the backs of her hands and sellotaped it down. It numbs her hands slowly, or something like that, so they can take bloods later. They also gave Calpol, and took her temperature regularly. Mainly just at the point one of us was about to nod off. Then we went for a chest X-ray. And just when things were beginning to settle down they asked me to administer some steroids which tasted revolting and she tried her damndest to spit out.

It got to 5am. Jasmine and I had been awake since midnight and I had only clocked about 2 hours kip. It was beginning to hurt. We had a quiet stretch just then, after the X-ray - perfect for a few zzzzs. That's when I discovered that Salbutamol makes you crazy. As in bounce-off-the-wall-crazy. Jasmine ran round the room jumping, whooping, playing with the hot water tap and pressing every button on every bit of machinery she could find.

After that Jasmine was on a dose of Salbutamol every 2 hours. It was horrendous. Jasmine was poorly and needed her mummy. She was also manic, and in a public place, so I couldn't take my eyes off her for a second. We got to the children's ward around 7am and I basically had to push on through with her till we got home in the evening.

We got home and my brave, beautiful, darling little girl was on the mend and was being brilliant in the face of adversity. Her Mummy was a quivering, moaning wreck and had aged about 50 years in that short space of time. I'm still recovering.

How to make the perfect party princess

take one tiara

add a frock, a dinosaur cake, some decorations, a handful of kids and a giant red ball

bake on a high heat

don't forget the ridiculous mechanical dog for added comedy effect

and totally chill out after

(ok, so the snaps are a bit crap but it was a great day and the video is amazing)

Jasmine is 3

Our darling little girl is 3 tomorrow. Today was her party complete with frock, cake, candles, party bags, grandma, nani, auntie seema and some of mum and dad's friends and their respective broods. Ok. So it was really a bit of a do for us. But who cares? A great time was had by all. Only downside was that Jasmine's chestiness has returned, as have our suspicions of asthma, so she's been put straight back on the montelukast today after months of going without. We'll just have to see how it all pans out...

Piccies to follow.

Girl about town

Today I had 3 interviews - totally exhausting. I have an adrenalin headache.

I think I presented myself to the best of my abilities in all so hopefully I've avoided that awful sweaty feeling where you're doing something completely normal then flashback to something totally gauche/ stupid/ inappropriate you said.

I got a verbal offer from one interview - it was a follow up, to do some freelance work and then see how it went. But I didn't realise how much travel would be required. So much that it's simply not an option. I'm hoping to bag some freelance work off interview number 2 too - tough interview but at a great place. But interview number 3 was for a company I'd love to work for, and I had a good vibe off the person who interviewed me - also the person I'd report to, but the position available is sketchy right now. So sketchy it doesn't even exist, so that one is a definite slow burn, and in the time it takes to burn slowly everything could change.

But, who knows, I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

BNTM eat your heart out

Jambeans is rocking the catwalk

I heart Kew Gardens

So, despite the fact my interior landscape is feeling more than a little flat there are still many many things to keep me going. None better than the city in Springtime, and the healing magic that is Kew Gardens.

Aaahhhh

Felix is really into kissing, which he does (as Jambeans also did) with mouth wide open and normally when he's got a torrent of snot dripping down his nose too. Anybody else = yeuch but with the Squealycops I give him a big smacker back every time. Just another babymomma sacrifice I guess...

Our darling baby girl looks so grown up...

They really have most excellent trees

Teef

There's a whole loada stuff going on in my head these days - mainly work stuff as interviews and "chats" (networking) are picking up. It's all good getting out there, but the lesson I learned from my last job is that "it" has really got to feel right, whatever "it" is. But all "it" is making me feel right now is totally hudgy budgy with a lot of antsy thrown in too.

And amidst it all, in my inside world, I'm having an enormous crisis of confidence about myself and feeling quite crap. I keep thinking of my peers and remarking how little I achieved compared to all of them. And I find it quite hard to bear, because when I was younger I thought I was quite clever, quite cleverer in fact than a lot of other people I knew, and good at stuff. But life has been a continual realisation that being clever and good at stuff just isn't the be all and end all of success. There's a lot more to do with the kind of person you really are. And the kind of person I am right now is, erm: boring, fat, boring. And also empty. As in I am an empty vessel. I just don't know who I am any more.

This is babymomma syndrome I'm sure. As in, I'm not actually doing anything for me right now. Not swimming - too busy finding a job, not reading - too tired to keep eyes open, not dieting - too lazy and demotivated, not "enter activity here" - too "enter lame ass excuse here" etcetera, etcetera. My days are busy, but I have no sense of purpose. What am I trying to achieve? Raise my kids well. How long does that take then? About, forever. What's in it for me? Erm, not much really. Oh. OK. That makes it sooo much easier. I would literally rather tread water every day...
Fellow Whittington babymomma Seema came over yesterday. I was saving her from her mother-in-law who has been staying here since February (ugh. can you imagine?) and she was saving me from cabin fever. Anyway, I was trying to explain to her how I felt and was being incredibly inarticulate. And she just opened her mouth and said "I know how you feel. When I was younger I never imagined this would be my life either." And without saying anything specific, the look in her eye, the tone of her voice, it really summed it all up.

We shared a moment.

Anyway, I this blogpost is called Teef, because it's not about me (not supposed to be anyway). It's about Felix. He has been screaming for 2 days non stop because he is teething - premolars - and is inconsolable.

Totally meltsome

Tonight I was putting Felix to bed, milk-sozzled, lights off, warm and cuddly, and he lifted his head, turned it to me and planted a small, soggy kiss on my mouth.

Musings #3

Mama Musings about Motherhood

3. On those occasions when you really need to bundle the kids into the buggy, get outside and walk around the block or risk losing your sanity it will always take longer to get the kids ready and bundle them into the buggy than it will to walk around the block.

But it's still totally worth it.

Disaster strikes

Bf's been called for jury service. It's due to start 4 days before we go on holiday. Our first holiday abroad with the kids. To a wedding. Where bf is best man.

We're not overly worried - he's applied for deferral. But that means next year he'll have to attend and there's no get out of jail free card.

Bugger.

Operation Combat Wobble also goes a bit wibbly

aka - I've fallen off my diet. I didn't even last a week. I'll start again tomorrow... honest.

And the potty training continues...

After another fail in energy and motivation (= can't be arsed) we've renewed efforts again. This time we've taken a new tack. Instead of asking Jambeans if she wants to sit on the potty, as they do at nursery, we've been letting her run around at home either bare bottomed or with just pants on.

Inevitably, it means accidents will happen and I expect to be called upon to scrub wee or poo off various bits of furniture, carpet and clothes at the most inopportune moments, but the one and only time it's happened so far she was ill and had diarrhoea and I reckon if I can deal with that I can deal with anything, so it's OK.

So yesterday we were rewarded with one wee (really, about one eighth of a wee, the remaining seven eighths in a trail on the carpet leading up to the potty as we ran to get there in time) and 10 minutes later a whole poo in the potty. Her first potty wee for Mummy and Daddy and her first potty poo fullstop.

I ought to feel jubilant, I think. But the act of taking a poo-laden potty upstairs, depositing the offending item in the toilet bowl and cleaning the potty out made me feel very very very very very old indeed. And we've only just started...

Molar mole

Daddy just found a molar sprouting in Felix' gum. Would totally explain the clingy behaviour...

Sleep trouble

Sleep training. Again. What a fucking nightmare. And I'm totally crap at it, mainly giving in and letting Felix fall asleep on me, with me, next to me, whenever and wherever he likes. But this afternoon I am RESOLVED not to let the little bugger get away with it. So the shit shield goes up and I lay him down in his cot every 15 minutes and ignore the sobs, and the snot and the tears.

And then he only goes and throws up everywhere so I have to pick him up and sort him out. And then he has the cheek to fall asleep on my shoulder while I carry him downstairs.

He's totally cheating. No fair.

It's all gone a bit wibbly

First - the good news - I've been on my diet for 3 days now and all is going well. The target is 9 pounds in 9 weeks. Totally wrong of course - crash dieting, only leads to the yo-yo again but I'm going to La Gitane and Krusty's wedding part deux in 9 weeks and even though it won't make a radical difference, I want to look like a slightly less puff-monster than I do at the moment. All going well, I'll feel better, my complexion will improve dramatically and my newly found radiance will avert attention from the tyres of fat oozing out of my body. At least, that's the plan...

As for the rest, Felix has gone totally momma-bonkers. In a bad way. He just won't put me down. And cries and cries and cries unless we maintain very close, physical contact all the time. I totally love my boy, but it's getting ridiculous. I can't do anything without holding him. He's a big boy. My arm is killing me.

Worse of all, he won't sleep in his cot - so nap time and bedtime and night time wakings are fraught with anxiety as we spend hours trying to get him to settle, with little effect. Anything for a bit of peace, so I've been caving in and letting him fall asleep in my arms, or I lie down next to him.

As usual, we're resorting to the 'bit of everything' theory: bit of sore throat, decent dollop of teething and a whole heap o' separation anxiety.

Teeth and dancing

Felix has sprouted another couple of teeth and is up to 8 now.

I bought his first pair of shoes just before our hols (aaaaah) - a 4 and 1/2 F pair of Clarks and notably, the same size as Jambeans when she got her first shoes..

He says mamamamamamama loads - and I'm 80% sure it's out of recognition. He's also getting more 'vocal' thought conversation is largely through a series of lip smacks, clucks and most recently, blowing raspberries.

And he loves bouncing up and down to music.

In which Babymomma and family strike holiday gold

Went to Devon for a week's holiday where we had nothing but glorious sunshine for the whole week - in March. How jammy is that? Did Lewtrenchard, in the sun. Did Wenbury beach and cliff walk, in the sun. Did Paignton Zoo, in the sun. Did the viaduct & river walk, in the sun. Did the walk to Belstone Tor, in the sun. Discovered Pennywell Farm, in the sun. Did the Dewarstone walk on bf's birthday, and with Mary-Fairy, Leon-berger and Kate-O-Matic, and in the sun. Did Sushi with friends, not in the sun but on a Friday evening sans enfants.

Pure. Holiday. Gold.

Day after we got back - pissed down with rain. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Babymomma = skill. Offshul.

Just did a Myers-Brigg type personality test on this blog. Turns out I am a lovely ESTP. A Doer. Hardly surprising for a mommy blog.

ESTP - The Doers

"The active and playful type. They are especially attuned to people and things
around them and often full of energy, talking, joking and engaging in physical
out-door activities. The Doers are happiest with action-filled work which craves
their full attention and focus. They might be very impulsive and more keen on
starting something new than following it through. They might have a problem with
sitting still or remaining inactive for any period of time."

Curiously I had to do one of these for a recruitment agent about a month ago, which cited me as an ENTJ whose motto was 'fail to plan, plan to fail':

"ENTJs have a natural tendency to marshal and direct. This may be expressed with
the charm and finesse of a world leader or with the insensitivity of a cult
leader. The ENTJ requires little encouragement to make a plan. One ENTJ put it
this way... "I make these little plans that really don't have any importance to
anyone else, and then feel compelled to carry them out." While "compelled" may
not describe ENTJs as a group, nevertheless the bent to plan creatively and to
make those plans reality is a common theme for NJ types"

Does this combination of both make me a genius?
I should coco.

A series of little obstacles

So far this morning Felix has squealed, screamed, wriggled, cried, thrashed, bashed and grumbled. He's also tried to eat Cif, spray water over the computer and has successfully rifled through the "ladies" draw, put a whole tampon (wrapped and new, obviously) in his mouth, chewed on a box of panty liners and bitten a large chunk out of the toilet roll.

I have a list *this* long of things I gotta do before we set off for Devon this evening.
Sigh.
It's going to be a loooong day.

the football curse - he was right

turns out i didn't watch the fitba penalties, but was relegated to the cold dining room, and we won a nailbiting 7-6. so the boyfried was right. i watch = we lose.

the football curse - not swearing

as in, i might jinx the result. not as in shout obscenities at the screen. also highly possible. but not worth banning me for.

the football curse

i've just been told i'm not allowed to watch the arsenal-roma penalties because i'll "curse the result"

just a quick rundown of events

Babymomma life currently consists of feeling quite ok alternating with somewhat subdued. I'm definitely over the weird/angry/why why why stage just after I lost my job and am moving on. A few whispy leads of potential work, but other than that the job market still has tumbleweed blowing right through it. I've settled in quite well to life at home with the kids, but still frequently yearn for more meaning in my life. I do, however, realise that life for me is a lot less stressful than when I was working. Or maybe, that it's a different, more manageable kind of stress. Am experiencing the most appalling weight crisis of my life, but somehow the biscuit tin keeps getting in the way of my diet which is just rubbish and leads to frequent bouts of self loathing because I know it's all in my control to fix.

Moving on.

Kids have been on great form. Felix has started to clap his hands, and bounce his body up and down to music, both if which he does with the most enormous grin on his face. He wakes up between 5.30am and 6am most days, and babbles and gurgles in his cot (totally divine) till one of us gives into the charm, heaves out of bed and brings him in with us for a wee scrumble. He's not walking yet, still cruising and climbing like a mad thing. Still got a great nose for trouble. This morning's particular trick was "posting crackers down the front of mummy's pajama top."

I've been fretting a lot about Jasmine's lack of physical stamina. With the exception of roly polys she can't or won't walk, run, jump, hop, climb, skip, swim or do anything vaguely resembling exercise. Bf keeps telling me over and over to deal with my negativity but I do experience enormous pangs of jealousy when I see children half her age jumping and running about all the time. That said renewed efforts to get her moving mean she's walking a lot more frequently, and for longer stretches than usual, but it's still a mammoth task of endurance to get her going and to stop whining. It does make the sense of achievement more satisfying when she does, happily, put one foot in front of the other and make tracks.

walking in ashridge

Use your loaf

Why is it that some people won't so much as touch the slices at the end of the loaf, let alone eat them?

Yummy

I've been musing recently over what are the best words for eating noises. My favourite is nom nom nom, but I've taken a particular shine to my sister's recommendation of choff choff choff.

The aquatic coke slug

I started a diet when I started work and lost a whole stone in 3 months. wa-hey. But in the 2 months since being at home I've out it all back on again...
Now I'm back to where I started.
Oh.
Dear.
Anyway now I am sans-enfants for one day a week, I've been taking the opportunity to swim. Nothing to get excited about - it's more to ward off depression than rid myself of the muffin top. The depression certainly goes, but invariably converts into raaaaage every time I have to navigate around the f****** Chelsea Tractors on the way home. Today though I witnessed something most disturbing and my life will somehow never be the same again.

Recipe for the aquatic coke slug.

Take one extremely fat lady.
Put her in the medium lane.
Get her to swim veeery slooowly up and down.
Then stop.
Then take a swig of coke from a can perched at the end.

That's one swig of coke every 2 lengths.

Who does that??? What kind of a freak is she???? And why doesn't someone tell the freak to get out of my lane???? (In case she's reading, that's "GET OUT OF MY LANE YOU WEIRD FAT FREAKY COKE SLUG")

Ignore me. Having a weird day.

More disgusting boy habits

Felix has taken to eating dirt out of the plant pots.

Felix 1st birthday is a total cakefest

Musings #2

Mama Musings on Mamahood

2. Raising a toddler is a constant battle between toddler's growing need for self-expression, discovery and independence and mama's need to get stuff done

Sackboy has arrived

Bloody Royal Mail have been totally crap at delivering my Amazon book. Firstly, it's way late. And when it does arrive I get not one but two slips saying it's too big for the letterbox but the lazy post-person can't be bothered to fill out any of the boxes telling me where it is, when to expect it and whether to wait for redelivery or go to the sorting office.

Eventually, I schlepp to the sorting office. Illegal parking. Kids screaming in car. Huge queue. Yadda. Who needs this? Until the parcel ain't no Amazon book, but some mystery white box from abroad.

Get home, rip it open in anticipation and... (Caveat: Polly Filler moment will ensue. Apologies in advance to anyone, like me, who thinks exclamation marks should be banned from copy)

...I have a sackboy! I have a sackboy! I HAVE A SAAAACK BOYYYY!!!!!

And not just any sack boy.

Custom-made, hand-knitted, all the way from Hong Kong!!!!!!!
And it comes complete with beret, tie, shoes and boa.


The story behind sackboy is that as soon as I discovered the cute little blighters had been translated into a knitting pattern by renowned soft toy designer Alan Dart, I politely asked (=instructed) my incredibly talented French friend, Jessica (otherwise known as La Gitane in London Bridge, currently masquerading as a monkey) who just happened to have taken up knitting last year, to knit me one.

And she did!!!!!!!!!!!

Jessica now officially tops the global cool list. Well ahead of Arsene Wenger. Sliding past Nelson Mandela. Move over Thierry Henry, there's a new dude in town.

Two most excellent pieces of post in a week. How sick is that?

Doubts about discipline

Just thinking out loud here.

Jasmine, we hope, is over the worst of her diva-phase, and some semblance of peace, happiness and normality is restored.

For those tantrums that still occur, I remain unconvinced we are dealing with them consistently. In my mind, I want to be from the zero tolerance school of discipline. In practice though it's bloody exhausting and time consuming. You just can't get anything done. So we tend to try and be more reasonable when she's having a paddy. But that feels like appeasement more than anything else.

Not easy.

Still don't know what the answer is.

Who tall are you?

For those of us not blessed with height extra fractions of an inch are of the utmost importance. Particularly to those of us who are neither 5'2" nor 5' 3" but a very important 5'2 and three quarters of an inch tall.

Like my friend Emma. We worked together for a few years and shared a mutual obsession with our precise height which we both quoted in exactly the same way, despite the fact we don't actually look the same height at all. (We never did find a tape measure long enough, so we eventually resorted to the comparative method using book, pencil and office wall. Emma, it transpired, was a slightly shorter 5'2 and three quarters of an inch than my own 5' 2 point seven five inches but since neither of us wanted to give up having to say we were any other height than 5'2 and three quarters of an inch we declined a more scientific pursuit of the truth and agreed we were close enough in height, particularly to the short sighted, to basically call it the same.)

So it's fitting that it was Emma what saw this and thought of me. And even sent it to me in the post.

Only those of us obsessive about our own mediocre height could possibly understand how brilliant this is. And in my book, anyone who can be arsed to get up, put things in envelopes and do snail mail is extremely cool indeed. Particularly when it's snail mail to me. And when I got it I went all kiddy-excited at getting mail, as you do.

The centre section of the chart is a total baddy-trap of dictator/killer types that goes: Charles Manson, Slobodan Milosevic, Peter Sutcliffe, Silvio Berlusconi, Vladimir Putin, Benito Mussolini, Margaret Thatcher, Adolf Hitler, Myra Hindley.

Bf totally sailed above it, squaring up with Prince William, just shy of Samuel L. Jackson, but above Boris Yeltsin.

Despite falling well below the baddy-trap I still snagged height parity with Kim Jong-Il.

Not sure how I feel about being on the Axis of Evil, but hey, for a whole day Emma was my NBF, it's great post in the midst of a crappy week and made me feel less invisible in the world.

More poo

Felix and Jasmine are both being very difficult at the moment.

Felix is The Unstoppable Baby. He's started to climb - onto stools, sofas, toy chests - which inevitably means falling off too. And despite some pretty nasty tumbles he just doesn't learn what is safe and what isn't. Add to that his fondness for sticking fingers in shredders, pulling on lampstands, playing with dustbins, chewing cables, pulling out plugs, tugging the shower curtain and pulling encyclopaedias off the shelves he is basically a walking suicide mission who can't be left alone for more than a few seconds. The only safe environment for him at the moment is a padded cell.

Jasmine is being nothing short of a Royal Pain in the Arse. I know it sounds awful to speak of your own children like that, but she's just so bloody difficult. It's almost definitely illness-related. (It had better be...) It brings out the diva in her. She's just so goddam particular. Everything has to be done in a certain way. And if you can't read her mind and understand exactly what that certain way is, then all hell breaks loose. Then she changes her mind and all hell breaks loose again. And currently all hell breaks loose every 5 minutes.

For example - today's lunch saga:
Bm: (Calm and patience personified) Would you like a chicken sandwich or pasta for lunch?
J: (All utterances by J to be spoken on whiny toddler voice, permanently on the brink of a tantrum) Want chicken sandwich. Don't want toast want bread. Want bread. Want breeeaaad. NO. Just ONE slice. Want crusts off. NO. Don't want butter. NO BUTTER. No don't cut it that way. Cut it that way. NO. Don't want chicken. NO. CHICKEN. No tomato (angry and insulted) NO TOMATO. Want CHEESE. Want cheese. No. Don't want cheese. Want cheese. (now very confused - does she want cheese or not?) Want small cheese. (small cheese is Jasmine's phrase for grated cheese. I take out grater - Jasmine hits roof.) NO. Want slices. (I take out slicer - Jasmine hits roof again.) Not that one. NOT THAT ONE. NOTTT THATTT ONNNE
...and so on. She issues an instruction, and doesn't stop to notice it has been immediately obeyed but repeats it in her sub-hysterical voice over and over. By the time I have made her a sandwich to her precise specification she has rejected that too and does want a chicken sandwich with butter and tomato.

I know she's small, and innocent, and very ill at the moment, and she really doesn't mean it - but none of that makes it any easier. I have no purpose in life at the moment other than to be her punchbag, and I certainly didn't sign up to that. I find myself thinking over and over: I deserve more than no income, two ungrateful children for company, a talent left to rot and a whole lot of thwarted ambition.

You just have to be calm and patient. There's no other way of dealing with it. But because I can't take my frustration out on her, and because there's absolutely no one else around to talk to who remotely cares or understands, it's all internalised. So I find myself feeling alone, frustrated, unhappy, but most of all resentful of my children and seriously contemplating selling them on eBay. Joking aside, I fantasise about leaving them to the bf and emigrating about once an hour.

Unable to express myself to a real human being, I have no other outlet than to talk to this blog, paradoxically the vehicle I set up to express how brilliant kids are is now the only place I can talk about how much I want to be able to give them back.

Poo

This week has been totally shit because we've all been ill. And I've just spent the last hour cleaning Jasmine's diarrhoea off the carpet so it's been literally shit as well.

In which the little buggers get the better of babymomma

Today I was determined to ensure Felix and Jasmine (and myself for that matter) ate healthily. That basically means fruit and veg, as opposed to their usual fayre of toast, pasta, toast, pasta, breadsticks and biscuits. (Not that I don't give them fruit and veg. It's just that making them eat it is sometimes a challenge in itself.) So when Felix woke up from his nap screaming top whack and I offered him:
grapes
raisins
banana
apple
salmon and spinach puree
breadstick (compromising now)
and pasta
only for the little gobshite to throw everything away and continue screaming angrily in my ear then I gave in and offered him a biscuit. Which he took. And shut the fuck up.

Then Jasmine came in and insisted she get a biscuit too.

Babymomma 0 - 2 Kids

Has it really come to this?

Witching hour approaches 'il est trois heures' and despite telling myself it will be OK, clearly I am suicidal by about 3.04pm. But no matter, because the shit shield goes up, I ignore Felix (crying), Jasmine (whining), the telephone (my mum) and look forward to the solace of Countdown. Until bloody hell there's no fucking Sky signal. And this is a problem I instinctively know can be fixed by a touch of a button, but I'm arsed if I know which button. And after switching off/ switching on/ plugging out/ plugging back in again returns zero results the awful realisation dawns that I used to be a person who knew how to work a TV, and a video, and a PC, and then, that person met a guy and working a TV, or a video, or a PC no longer was a means to an end, but *with flourish* a CHALLENGE. To be MASTERED. And it got so dull I just backed off and let the guy do his stuff, for about 6 years. And then technology changed and now it's all spaghetti wires to me and oh my God have I really turned into that woman who can't even work a fucking TV???

The thing is, I really really need my Countdown fix. It's the only time of the day I use so much as half a brain cell.


addendum: according to this it's probably due to the snow outside so now i feel a little bit less stupid (as in, at least i still know how to work Google) but only just.

Musings #1

Mama Musings on Mamahood

1. Kitchen roll held no meaning before children.

Redundancy Day part 1 - the shitstorm

Last Wednesday evening my company officially went into administration. All staff were called into the office on Friday. It was fun at first, seeing everybody. We were all downstairs - twittering, nervously laughing, catching up with people's news. Then our 'meeting' started and a tense silence immediately descended. A young chap - early to mid 20s whippersnapper by the looks of it and clearly a bit nervous introduced himself as being from the administrators. He called out 10 people's names and asked them to go upstairs, the rest of us, about 25 or so, stayed put. It was a real X-Factor moment. A few guffaws of sub-hysterical laughter, and a couple of people shouted out bets on our group being the ones to go. Then Administrator Chap said something like: "As you know, the company is insolvent and that means all of you in this room are being made redundant with immediate effect." Pin-drop silence. It was so sudden and to the point. Then you could feel the change in people's attitudes immediately. To anger. A huge, rising swell of anger.

It started to get a bit messy. Administrator Chap asked if there were any questions. Of course there were some questions. Sensible ones at first - about P45s and letters and government claims and forms. Then some more questions. What about the other group - were they redundant too? How come they get to keep their jobs? What would they be doing? How did complete newcomers decide who was necessary and who wasn't? Where were the directors? Why weren't they here to face their staff? Why couldn't they come down and speak to us for a few minutes?

Then a few people stood up and started to make comments about what had been going wrong at the company. And how the staff believed it had been sorely mismanaged, citing a flurry of examples and frustrations about work, and why it had been so crazy bad. And how they knew who was responsible. How 18 months ago the new management had bought a 'healthy' 'profitable' business and decimated it. Who was going to hold them accountable? Could staff write to someone and give evidence of 'wrongdoing'?

The mood was getting emotional and ugly. And it was going nowhere fast. A lot of empty speculation and unvalidated accusation followed. Administrator Chap did a pretty good job of giving honest answers where he could and facing the flak. They obviously trained him well. In a sense it's totally understandable - everyone had just officially lost their jobs. I just shut the hell up and waited for the first opportunity to get out of that room.

What I learned from that day was that I'm none the wiser. I'm none the wiser about what really happened at the company before I joined to make everyone so bitter about it's untimely demise, but I'm also none the wiser about what happens to a company going into administration. For the whole month of not being a part of the team any more but just sitting at home and twiddling fingers I had somehow believed that at the end of it I would learn a bit more and get some answers to all the questions flying around my head. What do company directors do during the notice to appoint period; what were the options to save the company; who were they talking to and about what; what does going into administration' really mean; what can and can't a business do during this period; what parts of the business would be considered as valuable and saleable, and which ones weren't; how could anything be salvaged from the wreckage?

I realise now I know nothing. I was still on the outside. That month of limbo had been spent just waiting for news, but still I felt a part of something as there were a whole bunch of us also waiting for news. But then, cruelly and swiftly, all ties were severed. We were told to hand in our keys and go. End. Of. Story.

Slugs, snails and puppy dogs tails

Just caught Felix looking very guilty and hovering by his favourite plaything, the organic food bin. At first I thought he had just dropped another toy down it, so I had a look and, sure enough, nestled in amongt yesterday's leftover dinner was a plastic green ambulance. So I dutifully fished it out (g-r-oss), cleaned it, turned my back for a mere second and there he was again with his hand right down the bin, scooping out yesterday's leftover dinner and putting it in his mouth.

Notwithstanding the guilty suspicion that I haven't fed him properly, and putting aside fears of yet another sloppy botty and/or vomiting to come, I would just like to say: THAT IS TOTALLY DISGUSTING.

Quality time?

Have just agreed with nursery to take Jasmine and Felix out 3 days a week (thank god for the remaining two...) as of next week. The true impact of unemployment is about to hit. I'm not looking forward to it.

Scar-f-ace the snowman

Worst snow for 18 years, weatherman's field day, everything at a standstill blah blah blah. Just bring on the snowmen:

Introducing scar-f-ace (the one in the middle)

Non Sunday

I'm so fucking bored. We've already done breakfast, second breakfast, nappies, clothes, soft play, lunch and painting and it's only 2 o'clock. Felix is being Curious today, i.e. gets into every nook, cranny and cupboard full of bleach there is. I'm remembering why I wanted him to be a girl. A passive, cooing bundle of sugar and spice. God I'm bored. Sundays have gone full circle.

Sunday

Listening to Bach's cello concerto. Giving Felix lunch. The Snow has started. I dread The Snow.

Almost officially unemployed

Tuesday's email from the MD

Subject: Update
While discussions to secure the business are being finalised we regret that the payroll is not going to be administered tomorrow. Matters are coming to a conclusion and there will be a further update by Friday at the latest.

Yesterday evening there was an article in Retail Week saying the administrators had been appointed, so it's fairly obvious what the 'further update' is going to be. I expect I'll be officially unemployed soon, get my P45 and hopefully get some closure.

I've been going through a cycle of emotions about losing my job and what the future might hold but throughout the last month I've made a conscious effort to stay positive. I've hovered somewhere between stoical, sanguine and resigned to it all, but recently I've been giving in to frustration and anger.

I feel angry towards the people who employed me. It goes without saying this is probably unfair. I know that we're all victims of the Icelandic bank collapse - ultimately the lack of funding from our Scandinavian investors is what tipped us over the edge. And I also know our company directors have lost more than just their jobs. And I know they've been working very hard in extremely stressful situations. And finally, I like them as people. At least, I think I do.

But I'm angry nevertheless.

When I was being interviewed we were going to have a new website and open 40 stores. A few months down the line and we couldn't even afford milk for tea. The impersonal nature of the MD's email is what set me off. I wish he had just written 'I'm sorry guys, I know you've been holding out to see if we've pulled together a rescue package and whether you can get paid this month but unfortunately it's not going to happen. I'm not able to tell you details right now about what the future of the business might be but expect a more detailed update before the end of the week.'

Fuck it. I wish he had just written 'I'm sorry.'

Annual Michelin Star Pilgrimage

Every year, once a year, the bf and I pledge to visit a Michelin-starred establishment so we can pig out on some world class grub and reminisce about life BC. For once, the credit crunch worked in our favour. Bf needed to use up holiday so took some impromptu time off, I'm at home being unemployed and since we're in the middle of a recession, we had no problem getting a booking. This year it was the turn of Maze, part of the Gordon Ramsay empire. It didn't disappoint. Nothing disappointed. The whole experience was sublime.

En route to the resto we also saw some seriously cool Blue Plaque type activity. I love Blue Plaques. I love the way you just stumble across them whilst going about your daily business. They have this way of shouting "Oi, you! Whatever important thing you think you need to be doing right now just stop, pause and remember that at this very place something way bigger than you and your tiny life happened: a piece of History was being made."

We've also used the time together to visit Hatton Garden to do some engagement ring research (via Smiths of Smithfield of course) and also see Slumdog Millionaire. It was a stunning film. And powerful. And emotional. And funny. And tense. OMG was it tense. I bawled the whole way through and I was still very shaky at the end. And in the car home. In fact, it took me a good couple of hours to recover. Very rarely does a movie affect you that much - emotionally and physically. I hope it creams the Oscars. An absolute must see.

What with lots of outings and getting engaged and luxury birthday earlier this month, it's been a very decadent start to the new year for unemployed, credit crunch babymomma.