Sunday, 25 May 2008

My Favourite Photo

My favourite photo isn't actually of my own children, but of my mother's.

family 1970s

This is, to the best of my knowledge, the only photo in existence of my entire family. We have hundreds of family pics, as you do, but one of us is nearly always the photographer! We always intended to get a proper family picture with parents, children, in-laws and grandchildren but it never happened, and now it is too late. Go take pics of your loved ones, Dear Reader.

In this pic are my parents and my sisters. Lil Sis (aged about 1) is sitting on our Mum, Eldest Sis (Sharon, aged about 3) is in the middle, and I (aged about 2) am on my Dad's lap. Yeah, three under three, my Mum was a saint. This was taken in Munster, Germany, so no extended family either. I have no idea how she coped!
Still.. aren't I adorable??

Friday, 23 May 2008

We are proud to announce

The union of Guinevere Stinky to Rusty Webkinz, today May 23rd, 2008. We wish them every happiness.


The union, blessed by Bernard the St Bernard, with music by The Babe, was followed by a reception with cake and dancing.

Yes, we really did do this! They belong to Thing One, and she was adamant. I agreed on the proviso I get to sell any offspring.


However, the outfits are courtesy of Granny. Thing One asked, Granny agreed, but I expected a waistcoat and a skirt at most, not the extravaganzas here! I am in awe of Granny's sewing skills, and had to share these with you!

Thursday, 15 May 2008

Scarred but happy

scarredWell, here she is - as pretty as a princess. Kind of. If you squint and look sideways. The wound is now "healed" and the strips and glue came off today. Doesn't look too bad, really.

Those are her "bewwies" she is eating, by the way. She is costing me a fortune in soft fruit, but she is so damn cute how can I resist her? Her fave blueberries have been usurped by raspberries but she still eats them all.

Oh and... yes, we do have rather a lot of "high chair" pics. It's the only time she stays still!

Wednesday, 14 May 2008

Oink, Oink

I'm a little pig. Well, not me. Them.

The dining room. Dinner time. Choice mouth-watering ambrosia offered to the herd family. The sun has come out and is filtering lazily through the curtains. Just wanted to set the idyllic scene that I offer to my family ungrateful fellow tenants.

"A cake!" crows Himself, scooping up a wodge of rice that has stuck together and formed a huge clump. And he stuffs it in his mouth. Sadly the wodge is actually bigger than his gob - hard to believe, I know - and he has trouble getting it in. To the extent that he actually snorts as he shovels! Like a pig! I am aghast and shocked. "Did you really just snort?" I ask. And he laughs. Spraying part of that rice wodge, but that is irrelevant.

I gaze at the rabble in dismay. I decide a short pep-talk is in order. "Listen, chaps." I say jovially. "In a couple of weeks we are off on our hols with our chums, and they might prefer it if we displayed the odd modicum of table manners, decorum, what?" That is paraphrasing. What I actually said was "If you embarrass me in front of my mates, you are so dead."

Thing One consoles me. "Don't worry, Mum, we'll behave." And she nosedives into her dinner, eschewing cutlery to trough directly from the plate. Thing Two takes a huge mouthful, then grins at me, mouth wide open. Himself chugs his drink, belching, and patting his stomach. "Hey," he said "If we distract them long enough, they may not notice her." And he indicates The Babe with a jerk of his thumb.

Hmm. He may have a point.


Mr Gates, Would you like a fan?

Poor Billy. Not a stalker-crazed fan, an electric one to wave the cool air around. Because, my poor man, you are going to Hell.

Not, I hasten to add, because of the cursing and blasphemy induced by any long term relationship with Microstuffed. "Oh God, the f'ing Blue screen of Death, NOOO!" No, not at all. It is, my poor chap, simply because you have accumulated a bob or two. And that, apparently, is now seen as a Mortal Sin as bad as Murder. You rotten man - your sins with Windoze have made you rank up there with Adolf in the view of the Catholic Church. Bad, bad man.

Of course, since obscene wealth is a sin, one assumes that the Vatican is going to distribute the odd priceless treasure it has accumulated? Dibs on the library!

Oh, and Mr Clinton. Not content with unleashing your wife on the voters, you possibly may have had the odd indiscretion that is also sending you someplace warm. No, not the infidelity, the lies, or any of those other passé, old-fashioned notions! It was the age old, did he inhale argument. Partaking of recreational drugs? Tut tut, bad boy. Straight to Hell with you, do not pass Purgatory, do not collect $200.

I have to admit to a certain smugness though. I always knew Pot Noodle belonged to the Devil! And their dalliance with genetically modified soya proves it! And those £50 fines for dropping a gum wrapper will be seen as positively lenient when compared to the punishment inflicted by the church.

Oh, and while there are some terrible, terrible sins, don't try and pin any of them upon the Church! Paedophile priests are "exaggerations by the mass media aimed at discrediting the Church".

It is interesting to contrast Girotti with the lovely Father Funes, a diplomat, a scientist, a philosopher and a credit to his calling. Of course, I happen to agree with Father Funes and disagree with Archbishop Girotti, but that has nothing to do with my bias - uh, point of view. I've always been of the opinion that God is too loving to have created just a single inhabited planet, so ETs are - in my view - entirely possible. Even if they haven't visited us and stuck probes up our bottoms.

Archbishop Girotti isn't in line for the Papacy, and now the poor man has had his urge to Confession backfire so badly, he will probably never be. Talk about shooting one's self in the foot. Assuming shooting that end isn't a Mortal sin?

Friday, 9 May 2008

Broken Baby Update

She is fine! So, the full story. The books arrived, my amazon order, my school link order, my ebay wins.. all on the same day. It was like Book Heaven. I put all the books on the table to admire them. Well, The Babe isn't much on just admiring books, she wants to read them! So she climbed up on a chair, reached for her favourite new book (Hairy Maclary) and started to read... before - and this is the crucial part and shows her mother's genetic influence - before actually getting down. Nose in book, she steps forward and tumbles off the chair, hitting the carved table leg face first.

I was standing right next to her while this happened, and I just expected the usual tumble, so I scooped her straight up to kiss her better, and as I did so Thing One screamed "Blood!". Fountains of the stuff. You know how they say head wounds bleed profusely? Profusely, my butt - we're talking re-filling the Nile here. I was almost out the door to the hospital before you could wink, then at the last second some common sense kicked in and I reversed to put a dressing on her head, grab her shoes, my purse, my keys and 'phone - and Thing One and Thing Two.

By the time we got to the hospital, The babe had decided this was all A Grand Adventure, and was crawling over me to explore. So much for gashing head wounds. They were very nice and saw us almost straight away - I think to try and keep her from dripping blood all over the toys and chairs and beds and expensive electronics that she thought we had laid on for her amusement.

I did like some of the questions asked - I was expecting bad parenting, we'll call social services on you type stuff, but no. "Was she under the influence of any drugs at the time?" She's 18 months old for God's sake, she was hardly freebasing crack cocaine! Anyway, she behaved perfectly - apart from trying to climb everything - no crying even when they cleaned the wound up - a deep gash in her forehead. They glued it and applied some steri-strips, gave her a big sticker and a lolly and sent her home. Phew!

My house looked like a murder scene. Blood splatter everywhere, covering an 11 foot radius - not joking, that is the distance from the door way to the sitting room from the window in the dining room, and there was blood everywhere! Discarded bloody dressings, strewn about, and blood all over the delivery boxes and packing materials (it's ok, I wasn't planning on giving any of the books back). My house could never pass Grissom's crime scene investigation now!

I cleaned it up, ordered pizza, and shook for hours. The Babe is as chirpy as ever and running and climbing as if it had never happened. She's supposed to have learned her lesson!

Oh and the answer to the most important question - it's okay, no blood got on the books! Heh, heh, heh...



THIS is what happens when you ban a confirmed bibliophile (and suspected bibliomaniac) from buying books for a whole month. The very first day she is allowed out again....

I might be a bit busy for a while now.

Thursday, 8 May 2008

Saturday, 3 May 2008


My baby is teething. My house is full of cries of pain, and the smell of teething gel and ambusol. I'm having to distract her from constantly putting her fingers in her mouth, and console her cries of "Ow, mummy! It hurts!"

Doesn't my baby have fabulous speech? Well, no, it's Thing One we are discussing here. As one child is growing her milk teeth, another is losing them. Thus the circle of life and all that rot.

Teething as a pre-teen is slightly different from teething as a baby. The whining is increased a thousand-fold for starters. The vocabulary is much the same (Waaahhh, owwwwwwwwwww, huhummmmmmmmmm), but the volume is increased. You still feel just as helpless, but tinged with a slight twitch of the fingers as you think wistfully of the good old days, of a ball of a string and a slamming door.

I have a little tiny *thing* about teeth. I'm okay with almost anything else, can cope with blood, vomit, soiling, exposed tissues and bones, but teeth are just... ugh. And feet. Feet are so gross, I can't touch adult feet. Baby feet are okay, but once you have left primary school, keep those revolting piggies away from me. Teeth at any age are nasty. I don't like teaching the kids to clean them, I made Himself teach them the joys of flossing (my stomach is churning even writing this), and as for wobblies and actual pulling.... Well, pass the smelling salts and leave me to quiver in my corner. Old cartoons, where Jerry hits Tom in the mouth with a frying pan and Tom's teeth shatter like splinters are enough to leave me shaken and in need of a stiff drink. Luckily, both the older two seem to have a strong attachment (heh) to their milk teeth, and haven't lost many yet. Which is why Thing One is teething now, aged eleven, rather than six years ago when she was supposed to do all this.

Why am I telling you all this, Dear Reader? Well, apart from just wanting to expose my inadequacies to the entire Internet, I have to share the nasty thing that Thing One has just forced me to endure.

She has two wobblies, and she keeps whining about the pain and the blood. (Oh, yes, they BLEED when they wobble, folks). She is having trouble brushing the loose ones so needs help (Himself does it. I love you, baby, but please don't ask me to touch your teeth). This afternoon she tried to eat something and the pain was horrific, so she decided enough was enough, and these trouble makers were coming out! Sadly, she can't do it herself so she asked ME to do it. Oh no, no, no, no. I can't. I'm sorry, no.

I was thisclose to piling the whole family in the car and driving to Himself's work to make him look. Only the fact that I wasn't dressed yet stopped me. (It was 4.30pm, don't ask why I wasn't dressed). It took all my courage to even approach her and poke the tooth with a nail. It was only the tears running down her face that made me square my shoulders and get on with it.

I used a tissue so I didn't actually have to touch bare enamel (shudder) and I gave a quick yank. I tell you, I'd rather go through all three labours than do that again. Inflicting pain on purpose, even for her own good and at her request, is horrific. However, amidst a fountain of blood, I got one out. The other remains, because I'm a coward and it isn't actually ready yet - I did give it a tentative push.

She refuses to give it up to the Tooth Fairy, she's keeping it as a souvenir of the time her mother almost had a total squeamish meltdown. Brat.

By the way, what age is this supposed to be done by?? She still has so many to go and then we have Thing Two to go through this too!

Friday, 2 May 2008

Arguing with yourself

You know those old cartoons, with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other? I have those. They get loud sometimes.

Take one night last week...

(Insert expensive wavy special effect as we fade...)

The Babe was ill. Gastroenteritis and other assorted goodies. I've mentioned before that any small illness heats her inner core, so it shouldn't shock you too much to find out her temperature topped 41.3c, oh my! The first night, I put her in my bed, since she wasn't sleeping, just lethargically crying and whimpering. At one point I dozed off, waking to find her missing, I panicked! Patting the mattress I found she was sleeping along the headboard, head on Daddy's pillow, bottom and legs against mine. Cute. Not. I did mention the gastro, didn't I?

3.30am, I was woken by some loud raspberry sounds and a whiff of something
nasty about 2 inches from my nostrils. Which prompted those shoulder passengers to drop by.

image Ignore it.
image No, she needs checking
But it might just be bottom burps, you don't know.
Exactly, you don't know, so open your eyes and check

More sounds accompanied by the odours from the Sulphuric Pits of Hell.

image Oooo, home sweet home!
image {Gag}
See, it's just so gross, ignore it, pretend to be asleep.
She'll get a nappy rash.
She might not.
She will.
Just prod Himself to wake up.
No, he's tired, he's been working long days recently.
But *I'm* tired too.
He has to get up at 6, you don't.
Oh this is so unfair.
Right I'm up.

So, I changed her, and yes, it was disgusting. (Aren't you glad, Dear
Reader, that I don't hesitate to share even the intimate contents of The
Babe's nappies with you??) Settled her. Got her back to sleep.

40 minutes later, the sounds - and oh dear God the smells - started up
again. Along with a muffled scream and rustling sounds as a small red 'toon imp
stuffed a small white 'toon imp into a sack headfirst with a surly "No bloody

Fortunately for child welfare, The Babe seems to be telepathic, she must
have heard the point blank refusal in my mind, so she sat up, leaned over to
hug me and threw up in my hair.

imageFine, I'm up!!image