The Pickle’s Christening & 1st Birthday Celebrations
When The Princess was born we started planning her Christening almost immediately, she was baptised at 2 months old. We didn’t really give it a lot of thought in all honesty, it seemed to be ‘the done thing’ when you had a baby – everyone expected a Christening. However, we are not regular church – goers and put a lot more thought into whether or not to have a Christening for The Pickle as we didn’t want to seem hypocritical. We didn’t want to just have a Christening for the sake of it, but we wanted to celebrate his birth with our family and friends and we didn’t want him to grow up wondering why his sister had been baptised and he hadn’t…
Not a morning person
I am not a morning person. By that I mean I cannot string a sentence together before 9 o clock unless you count a series of grunts as communication. I find I hard to function before I have had breakfast and a vat of tea, or two. So getting three under five year olds ready for school is not easy. I’ve got a bit complacent about getting up, because the twins are still toddlers they tend to rise at stupid-o-clock so I never worry about setting an alarm. This was mistake 1. On Monday, they overslept and woke at 7.50. I have to leave the house at 8.20. There is simply not enough time to feed three children and chase them around the house throwing clothes on them.
The best of friends, right to the end?
Teddy bears are funny things. What is it about them that children love so much? What is it that attracts children to one particular bear – one they may not have paid much attention to before – and makes them love that teddy with all their heart?
And what do you do when that teddy is so loved and so cuddled, that it’s in danger of falling apart? This is my dilemma.
Sophia is in love; madly, deeply in love. His name is Barney and he’s her cuddly, brown teddy bear. They’re best friends and go everywhere together.
When Barney joined our family, he was a plush, plump bear. But, over time and after a few cycles in the washing machine, he’s no longer the teddy he used to be. His legs have lost their padding, his neck has become thin and stretched and one of his ears has become just ever so slightly loose.
But Sophia loves him. So much. Other teddies have come and gone but Barney is her favourite; her special bear.
I sit on my bed & I smell of coffee grinds. I ache, particularly my feet, though not in a painful way & I feel fulfilled yet tired.
I finish writing Saturday’s blog & I do as I wrote I would & move from my bed into the bathroom to have a bath. I turn on the hot & the cold taps – the former is on slightly faster than the latter. I need to wash my clothes for tomorrow because pregnancy doesn’t allow a huge wardrobe, particularly not in regards to work uniform, & my laziness combined with the chaos of my house has prevented me from doing much washing lately. As I leave the bath running in a satisfactory manner I go to the washing machine & stick some white tops in the drum. I undress down to my knickers &, crouching beneath the window so as not to startle any unwitting passers-by, I put in the rest of my clothes. It’s less than half a load – I select a rapid wash & dry. I know I should do a proper load, but not tonight.
How I Met My Husband With…
Our story actually starts with a failed relationship. I was dating a “man” (I use the term loosely) 8 years my senior, whose mother called me and begged me to take him back after I broke up with him and “destroyed him.” There was no chance in hell, especially after that phone call! I decided it was time to try online dating. I mean, look at the losers I was meeting OFF the internet. The ones ON the internet couldn’t be much worse! At that time – around June 2003 – match.com and yahoo personals were the popular sites. I decided I didn’t want to rush into anything serious, that I would see what was out there, arrange a lot of first dates, and see if any were worth a second date.
Make Your Own Moon Sand
Today’s activity in the Play Challenge is over at The Imagination Tree… Anna challenged us to spend time playing with playdough.
As you might have noticed we are big fans of playdough – lately we have been playing with our Glow in the Dark Playdough, black and sparkly Firework Playdough and our Autumn Scented Playdough. You might have also noticed that I sometimes like to bend the rules.
Since we already play with playdough every day, I took inspiration from another of The Imagination Tree’s posts and made this Mouldable Sand instead – it is similar to Moon Sand that you can buy in shops, but obv costs a lot less than £12 a tub!
I set it up in a disposable tray along with some of Vinnie’s diggers to inspire some play and have left it out as an invitation to play when he wakes up from his nap… I am pretty sure the dinosaurs will join us, and I hope we can find some other fun things from around the house to use too!
Postnatal Anxiety – My Story
This is quite a hard one to write, as I’m sure a lot of people (even some who are very close to me), do not know that I have been suffering with a Mental Health Illness.
When written down like that, for all to see, you start to feel if maybe you should belong in the looney bin. ‘Mental Health’ is a very scary topic but a very broad one too. There are so many types of Mental Health illnesses in varying degrees of seriousness.
The one I want to talk about is Postnatal Anxiety.
Sod’s Law And Some Of His Friends
You know when you say something and then you have to kick yourself (hard) because, by saying it out loud, fate will hear and then come crashing down and rain on your parade (if fate could rain) the day after you left your umbrella on the bus. That. Aka Sod’s Law, not to be confused with Murphy’s Law where if something can go wrong it will.
Most of these instances inevitably involve children. This sort of thing:
While they are quiet I’ll just… *tea gets cold. again*
Don’t run around in your socks. You’ll… *wheeee..THUD*
Be careful. Don’t drop it. *CRAAAAASH*
Learning to share
I was playing with that!…That’s MINE!…She doesn’t like that toy.
It’s started. The toy battles. Until now, Sun has battled for my attention since his sister came on the scene, but I haven’t had to worry about them going head to head over toys. That sweet, calm honeymoon period is over. How I will miss it.
Run Fat Girl, Run!
Things need to change. I have just, rather stupidly giving my bad mood lately, stood on the scales in the bathroom. I intended to do this crazy act in order to motivate myself a bit more to sort it out. I am ashamed to say they read 11 and a half stone, I am ashamed to admit that this time last year they read 10 and a half stone. I am very angry with myself for letting that stone reappear and with it the re-emergence of the baby belly. Hah! My youngest is 3 and a half – I cannot be calling it a baby belly anymore. More like lazy belly.
I have bought myself a new top from Zara. This is partly because it was £3.99 and partly because I can fit my thermal vest under it without the edges showing. I think it’s rather an elegant new top and, although it is cream and therefore not compatible with rotted manure, I wear it while teaching the school gardening club to mulch beans.
‘Do you have a baby in your tummy?’ asks 7-year-old Sonja, thrilled.
I laugh shrilly and make a joke about doughnuts.
Later, I tell one of the new school fathers about the remark and pause pleadingly for reassurance.
‘So, are you pregnant?’ he asks, peering.
I go home and survey myself in the guest room mirror. There is a definite billow where my belt buckle is protruding beneath my new top. Only I’m not wearing a belt; the bulge is a spare handful of me.
I suck in my breath and tell my daughter about Sonja and the new school gate father. She studies my midriff appraisingly. ‘It’s obvious you’re not pregnant,’ she concludes. ‘You’re too old.’
Reasons to be cheerful: The post mummy-meltdown edition
OK confession time…
We were travelling in the car down to my husband’s parent’s house in the New Forest when I had, what I have come to term, a ‘mummy meltdown‘. Yes, there was crying, not delicate, wipe a solitary tear from my eye crying, no, the gulpy, unattractive kind.
I’m sure I can’t be alone in this feeling… It’s something that I think has been lurking for a while but I was finally giving myself the space to acknowledge it. It all started when the husband stupidly asked me if I was ok as I was being unusually quiet and after a few minutes it all came flooding out.
The age old issue that keeps rearing its ugly head:
I Love Strictly Come Dancing
I love the BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing. Seriously I have singled handedly started a family tradition, in which we all gather in the lounge religiously to watch it on a Saturday night. Here are my thoughts.
The Judges: Judging panels on reality TV shows have become the modern day pantomime. We have the Villain (Craig Reven Horwood), the Hero/s (Alicia Dixon and Len Goodman) and of course the Pantomime Dame (Bruno Tonioli). They are completely predictable, have no legs, and are let’s face it, an ideal moment to make a cup of tea.
Bruce Forsythe: Bruce Forsythe has been entertaining us on TV for around 1000 years.Fact. Around 50 greyhounds are shaved each week to provide him with his thick glossy wig. A team of five script writers (aged between 70-100) work tirelessly (between bridge, The Archers and nap time) to write his jokes.
Why I Love Blue
Blue ranks amongst my favourite colours; navy blue, cornflower blue, baby blue, azure, cyan blue, steel blue, agate blue, cobalt blue, royal blue, aquamarine, periwinkle, powder blue, indigo, sapphire blue….. It calms, soothes and clears my cluttered mind. It’s the still waters of a silent lake. The volatile waters of a turbulent sea. The endless vista of an unblemished sky. I love blueberry pancakes and Spring time bluebells that dress woodland floors. Blue is the colour of protection, freedom, loyalty and faith. Blue spreads her dominant wings across our entire globe. I have blue grey eyes which morph into electric blue beacons when I’m tired. I think exhaustion causes the shade to change. The deepest blue also happens to be the colour of Little A’s eyes. The brightest most enquiring eyes I have ever met.
What makes a blog have the X Factor?
Blogging has been a bit in the firing line recently. I have honestly been in a bit of no mans land when he came to sides, I could see it from all angles and having been on the debate team in my youth (yes I was a nerd!) I feel I could have a put across a valued argument for both blogger and blagger sides of the fence. Crikey I won the year 8 the debate for arguing that battery hen farming was a good thing (which it is not and I don’t believe) but I won the case all the same…maybe I should have been a lawyer?…Mmmmm *thinking*…anyhow I digress!
This week the stats revealed themselves again and whilst we all sit there and pretend we don’t care, secretly the inner nerd in all of us wants to be the A grade student. Maybe it is the teacher in me, but I am not happy with anything below a C! Maybe it is the perfectionist in me that strives for more? But truthfully I was a little gutted this week.