Wednesday, 30 September 2009


As usual, I go to the Primary School to collect Thing Two. I wander blithely into the playground to be met by a confused smile from Fay.

“Why are you here??” she asks.

Oh. I arranged for Thing Two to be collected by Fay to play with her children after school, didn’t I? I don’t actually need to be at school, do I? The worst thing is, I do this every time. I’m a ditz. Grrr.

Oh well. I’ll go to the Senior School to collect Thing One from her after school club (who is currently grounded and getting collected from clubs instead of sauntering home when she feels like it). I’m a bit early, but I can just wait outside, it’s a nice day.

I arrive. Find a spot to settle. Settle down. Flick through a magazine. My phone buzzes with a text (currently the Boing Boing song from Dora the Explorer.) (What’s wrong with that??) from Thing One. “Club cancelled. On bus home.”



I just wasted an hour trailing around schools. I am a numpty.

Sunday, 27 September 2009


That is The Babe, lying on my bed this morning, feigning sleep. She lay there, eyes closed, snoring “horseshoe”. Really. “Horse-shoooe”. Try it.

She’s had One Of Those Weeks, actually. I have mentioned her ability to rival Vesuvius… several times… since she decides any illness, no matter how mild, is no fun without a fever. So she topped the forties again. We got very little sleep, so come Sunday morning we just wanted a little snooze, a little lie-in, with her giggling “horse-shoe” between us. Sigh.

The Babe has been coming to work with me recently. I work in a pre-school so it is a lot of fun for her. Her best friend, Flower, also started Nursery School this term.

Flower: Babe, what’s your teacher called?
Babe: Mummy.
Flower: No.. your TEACHER. Who is your teacher?
Babe: MY MUM.
Flower: Noooo! Sigh. Mydonna, who is Babe’s teacher?
Me: I am.

Flower is absolutely disgusted that we don’t appear to know the difference between mummies and teachers.

Tuesday, 22 September 2009

I can’t think of a title

Thursday we had guests for dinner. Kid guests, so pizza and salad type dinner. Buy pizzas, add toppings, chuck in oven type dinner. When you smell burning, open oven door, have it fall off in your hand type dinner.

Yes. The oven door. Fell off into my hand. Fell. Hot door. My hand. Yes.


Now I have a shiny new oven, hurrah!

Have you all noticed something by the way? That I only ever get shiny new when old and crappy finally falls apart? I never get shiny new just for the sake of shiny new. Hmm. I should complain about this to whoever controls the Budget. Which would be me.


Friday, I took my tired old teeth to the dentist again. He’s been working on my impacted wisdom teeth, and I had an owie bit. He poked. He prodded. It wasn’t my wisdom tooth. The owie is another tooth. I have to have a root canal.

I’m scared of dental work, by the way. (I used to be scared of dentists but an old classmate is a dentist and he isn’t scary so I can’t be scared of him. I’m just scared of what he does). The idea of dental work... especially something as horrifyingly scary as a root canal… is a tad “worrying”.

Well, he said. I can always just yank it out instead.

I’m not even forty yet, am I not a bit young to lose my teeth? The lily-livered majority of me is leaning very heavily toward the yank it option. The tiny bit of rationality in me knows I have to do the unthinkable, but whoo boy. Very scared.


To keep things in perspective though, an update. Thomas has started his chemotherapy. He is fighting every step of the way. Fighting taking the medicine I mean, poor kid. He’s still in hospital but they are hoping to at least visit home one day this week or next week. Keep on sending those good thoughts and vibes, people, please.

Wednesday, 16 September 2009

Thoughts, prayers, good vibes

On Thursday, a little boy looked a bit peaky at school. He still looked not quite himself on Friday morning so his mum took him to the doctor… who sent him to hospital… who sent him to a big city hospital. And less than a week later, they have the results. This perfect little boy, who just looked a bit peaky, has leukaemia.

I can’t imagine how this family feels. I can’t imagine the shock, the terror, the panic. I can’t put myself in that situation. All I can do is pray for them.

Please, whatever Deity you believe in, pray for this little boy. Or if you don’t believe in that, then send him your thoughts and vibes. His name is Thomas and he is just six years old.

Friday, 11 September 2009


Took the offspring to “The Greatest Show On Earth” (TM) last night. The older two go most years, but this was The Babe’s first time. She loved it, right up to Intermission when “Me go home now, me tired, let’s go now. Now. Now peeeeeaaaase.” Then Pedro the Clown came on and she laughed so much the entire Big Top resounded with toddler giggles. Thank you Pedro!

At one point, the entire ring went black. A shadow appeared and a single spotlight illuminated the Man in Black. Black leather trenchcoat, chains on his black trousers and tight fitting black shirt displaying his rippling six pack. Like the hunkiest Matrix actor. He brooded between his lashes at us, and then a small white ball appeared in his hand. Anticipation. Is he a magician? A daredevil? What is about to happen? And then he bounced his little ball. You’re kidding. Matrix hunk’s show is BOUNCY BALLS??? Funniest (even though admittedly very skilful) thing ever.

We also bought some candyfloss. The Babe: “Me try it! Not want yours! Me want my OWN!” I pulled a small piece of the stick and offered it to her. “Euurgghhh, no, it’s FLUFF! It’s HAIR! It’s DISGUSTING!” Don’t want your own anymore, huh? She still mentioned it this morning and still thinks we are gross for eating hairy fluff.

(Ouch - kitten just fell backwards off my lap, digging his claws in to try and save himself. My leg is bleeding. Going now. Owww.)

Wednesday, 9 September 2009



Today was declared to be A Day Without Cats. The notion seemed to originate over on Urlesque, but was quickly taken up by many other sites who think today – just for one day – we should ban images of cats, mention of cats, and purrfect puns relating to cats.

And of course, I will bow to the will of those Oppressors and support No Cat Day, by not using the word cat in my blog at all, on this, No Cat Day. I shall save the pictures and tales of my kittens to next Caturday.


Back to School

Well, that’s a very quick seven weeks over, innit? And, bizarrely it piddled down from the very last day to the very first day – or so it seemed anyway. And on Monday the sun came out and it’s been glorious ever since. Now I’m not saying that the weather has a Freudian twist to it, but Someone Up There seems to have a very dark sense of humour!

Naturally, Thing Two has already lost her school cardigan. Naturally, Thing One got lost finding her classrooms. Naturally, Thing Three aka The Babe has whinged constantly that she wants to go to school. And naturally, I’ve been revelling in the freedom of fewer kids and have accomplished absolutely nothing this week.

Tuesday, 8 September 2009


I have a kitten who thinks he is a parrot.

By which I mean, obviously, that he likes to sit on my shoulder. Not that he repeats everything I say. Cats can’t talk. You know that. I know that. Ally, on the other hand….

When I mentioned last night that kitten thought he was a parrot, Posh understood straight away. Ally on the other hand – and I quote - “had images of a cat mimicking you”.

Seriously, Ally. Cats don’t talk!