tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68228239985758819632024-03-13T13:07:34.107+00:00Have boys, will laugh!One working mum's crusade to bring up three sons, for a few years on her own and then with a wonderful partner. The trials, tribulations and the fun.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-10231102780704862832018-03-24T07:32:00.000+00:002018-03-24T07:32:16.436+00:00Weathering the storm<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">16 years ago I was a single mum. I was also a mum of two with another on the way. My husband had decided that life for him would be happier with another woman and so at 22 weeks pregnant I found myself in charge of a mortgage, car payments, bills, sole income, nursery runs, school runs, maternity appointments, back ache, a 3 year old boy, a 4 year old boy and a very broken heart. Life was bleak. It was mid winter; cold, dark and the run up to Christmas. I was broke, scared, confused and could not see past the end of the week. My relationship ended at a time when I needed it the most. Husband was adamant he wasn't going to 'come back' and I wafted around in a cloud of bewilderment mixed with middle of the night calls to helplines to try and make sense of what was happening. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What was happening was that I was suddenly a single girl. My husband was in the arms of another and my friends' reaction was to get me out and let my hair down to aid the process of healing my heart. I tried it a couple of times but being 6 months pregnant in a nightclub is not a good look. When others may have drowned their sorrows in a bottle I couldn't. Chain smoking was out as was any wild abandonment behaviour. (Ashamedly, I did drink a bit, just in the first couple of weeks and I smoked a few roll ups which my midwife said probably kept my blood pressure down). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few great friends kept me close, my mum cooked meals for me and my two little boys. I cried in mates' kitchens and I sobbed alone in bed. I remained dignified during the day and continued working to support my family. I was cordial with my husband and his family even when they asked the most crass questions about the parentage of our unborn baby. I refused to 'apply for a council house' when the idea was suggested but instead ensured that I was rota'd onto as many hours as possible at work. That's when I started to lose weight. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My baby remained healthy and grew in my belly and danced around for me every time I lay in the bath. My baby was part of me, was with me through every argument, sad moment - morbid moments - and he heard all my quiet despair. He would nudge me with his knee or elbow to remind me that he was alive and that I needed to keep going. Even when I'd lost 2 stone in weight, he grew stronger, my little boy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Waiting for his birth was terrifying. Alone in my house with nobody but two little boys and a Nokia 3310, I was too scared to sleep. Fortunately, his birth was to be during the day when other people were awake and nearby. One Thursday afternoon, I went into labour and could not move. Terrified, I called my neighbour who collected my little boys off the school bus. She then arranged for their dad to look after them before whisking me at high speed to Buckland hospital. Through red lights and with an urgency usually only seen in the movies. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Baby Max was born an hour later. With two dear friends holding my hand and mopping my brow we welcomed my third son. My heart, which I thought had crumbled, now erupted with love and sprang out of my chest when I held my newborn. My soldier, my warrior. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that's when life got REALLY hard - three little boys, being more of a double mum than a single mum - but together we grew. I fed them, got them to school, doctors, football matches, parties, taught them manners and we laughed, all whilst I worked full time and with a very nasty divorce looming over me. With the help of dearest friends and my amazing mum we survived. I get asked 'How did you do it?' and I always respond with 'Because I had to'. Nothing motivates a woman more than a fighting baby in her tummy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Happy 16th to my fighter, Max James 💙 </span></div>
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<i>Go-Karting at Buckmore Park </i></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-44832472915086069772018-03-20T12:35:00.000+00:002018-03-20T12:36:13.607+00:00Thank my good fortune<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2018 - a whole four years has passed by me and my boys and now they're not boys anymore but men. And we have another female in the house:</span><br />
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<img alt="Image may contain: dog" height="200" src="https://scontent.flhr3-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/13230345_10153602726503513_1002891696843264045_n.jpg?oh=263238acf877bb44bd129d09d376c4d4&oe=5B3C7D2B" width="150" /> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Macy-May, Moo-Moo, Noodle, Noo-Noo aka my first ever dog!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I started this blog it was to record the 'good stuff', the classic boyisms and funny moments that will always be fondest memories. Time goes ridiculously quickly when your life is responsible for one, two, three or more others. And so, I'm now firmly mid forties and I have only one teenager all of a sudden. Where did the other two go? Why do I feel too young to have a mortgage but look old enough to be a granny? And, most importantly, am I still laughing? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Life happens. Thank goodness. My children will always be just that, no matter how tall and hairy they get. They go through school, exams, jobs, girlfriends and cars, soaking up all that 'life' has to offer. They do it well. They have good friends, health, exam results, security, opportunity and humour. But even though they have a combined age of 57 (!) my position, occupation, as mum doesn't stop. Last Sunday, Mothers' Day, was testament when they took me out for the obligatory - and delicious - carvery. Or when a tipsy girlfriend is in my kitchen at 2am with a dance-floor injury and I'm designated nurse. Or when I cook a meal for those who do not manage their spare time and have yet to explore, nee discover, the wonders of the Supermarket. And when I show a 6 footer how to boil pasta and add a jar of pesto cos he couldn't be bothered to read the label. And there's Christmas of course. This is the mums' most opportune time of the year to shine as feeder, wrapper extraordinaire, gift-giver, soppy sentimentalist and selfless witness of young people's dressing up for late night celebrations down 'Spoons. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am - always will be - mum. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I took Luke and Ellis to Cornwall 20 years ago they were toddlers. My nan loved to see us all. She claimed their blonde hair (My granddad's nickname was 'Blondie') and she made no secret of being proud to have produced babies that produced babies that produced babies. Her sister, Hazel, had children, a boy and a girl, yet her son barely saw adulthood before he tragically passed away. Auntie Hazel was a gracious woman, down to earth and knew what was important. As she looked at my little blondies she said to her sister,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'Little loves, best years of your life, eh Pearl?'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I knew then - in that instant - that I should never wish away any time, mine or my childrens'. Auntie Hazel was not wrong. She passed away on Christmas Day last year, reunited with her son to share her best with him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Keep laughing boys, these are the best years of your life</span> 😄<br />
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<i>Wedding day 23rd July 2016</i></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-69232336914340574012014-02-06T21:25:00.000+00:002014-02-06T21:25:17.064+00:00Maxism<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You had a good day Max?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yeah. Sorry I'm late out, I had detention."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh no, that's not good."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No, it was ok cos I had to sit next to a well fit girl."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ah, punishment with a sweet twist. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-87981901915285602082014-01-27T20:51:00.000+00:002014-01-27T20:51:44.926+00:00The Reflex<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christmas
has come and gone. New Year is now not so shiny. I am firmly in my 40s. Ellis
rides his Gilera DNA wearing his parka, looking as cool as the coolest mod from Cool
Town. Max has had a wobbly term at school and Luke has become my ‘problem’
child. I have decided to go back to uni and Man is thinking about cycling a
quarter length of England in a day. But more about that another day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So
yeah, it’s a worry having another of my Pride open to the angry, fast, metal
elements on the roads. Ellis, however, does not stay out very late, and I am
under no illusion that the only reason he comes home at a reasonable hour is because he gets hungry (Ellis has the most
vivacious appetite of anyone in this house, with maybe the possible exception of
Dot who manages to beg x3 breakfasts, x2 lunches and numerous dinners from unwitting
feeders). And I guess it’s the age-old thing about it getting easier with the
younger child. It’s not that Ellis is a better rider than Luke was but rather I’ve
chilled out and I know that – in all probability – he will be fine. I cannot
worry about things that may not happen. I have to trust that I’ve supplied him
with enough common sense and have to trust that he will come home in one piece.
And that’s what being a parent is about really – panic, panic, panic and then
oh, it’s fine, nothing bad happened and my child will grow to see adulthood and
my job here will be done. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And
with the thought of how responsible my children are in the midst of double
decker buses, men driving white vans at nut tensing speed and hormonal mums on
the school run it’s with absolute horror that I have just discovered that for
the past couple of months the black box in Luke’s car has not been functioning.
I, however, have been receiving fortnightly reports telling me what an ‘excellent’
driver my 17 year old is. He’s not, as it goes. Latest reports have been
showing that his night driving is excessive, his braking is poor and his right
foot is too heavy...<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For most parents a new baby is the reason that uninterrupted sleep becomes a thing
of the past. But just wait til that same child drives a car at
night and you’re in bed, reading crap about serial killers/health
benefits of root turmeric/reviews of Estee Lauder/repining recipes that you’ll never
cook in order to stay awake until you hear the distinctive <i>ppppuuuuuuppp ppppupppp, </i>signalling the safe return of your teenager,
who is blissfully unaware of your anxiety and promptly suggests that you ‘just
go to sleep mum, you can’t stay awake for me forever’. Ah, but that’s where you’re
wrong Luke. All the time there are
hormones swirling around telling you to hunt and kill buffalo, but in the absence of buffalo your brain now interprets a hunt as having a race with the Saxo up ahead, and all the time there
are moronic BMW drivers with small dicks threatening to slit your throat then
no, I shall not sleep soundly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Luke
has been pushing the boundaries recently; with poor school attendance, broken curfews,
idleness and not helping out with chores and is a confirmed smoker. Only this
week I’ve had to attend a meeting with his Head of Sixth form, to manage Luke’s
final push of school, ensuring that he finishes with good grades and a smile on
his face. The lad does not have a clue what he’ll do the day after he drives
away from classroom and teachers for the final time, and so we – I – continue to
research what it is that 18 year olds do if they don’t want to go to uni (‘Mum,
can you actually see me at uni?’) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He’s
my first born, I learn how to be a mum with this one, adapting to situations and not sleeping
with worry, selecting my words carefully to encourage him and nudge him to the
path of well rounded human without him raising eyebrows. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve
never done this before, been the mum of a 17 year old boy, this is all new to
me, as new as the experiences that Luke’s having now, and I tread carefully. But all I can do is hope, hope that he and his brothers make decisions that keep them safe and make them happy. Hope and cook
dinners and leave them plated in the fridge for when they come in late, obviously.
And sometimes iron their shirts cos it’s takes me half the time. Oh, and slip
them a tenner for petrol and turn a blind eye when one of them entertains the girlfriend
on Sunday afternoons behind closed doors. And I won’t sleep, my body just can’t
sleep, I’m sorry. Love is a reflex, it’s what mums do. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-77200165113487748172013-10-20T11:54:00.000+01:002013-10-20T11:59:41.775+01:00Payback!<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;">It’s not often that M and I ‘go out’. But when we do, we get pissed. (I say pissed, there are, of course, varying degrees of enjoying wine with dinner and, being a couple of stone lighter than M, I get ‘more’ out of the Merlot than he does.) Anyhow, because of my propensity of trying a new (hell, <i>any)</i> good wine/M’s weakness for a guest ale, we know this will happen and we don’t venture far, so that we can tumble home, full on rump steak. Last Friday was no exception and we spent a lovely evening together at a table for two, discussing children, work (but only the juicy parts), other children and, just on the right side of pissed-ness, a political discussion* on selective/non-selective schooling, pros and cons thereof and it was silently noted how much more lefty I get after my third glass of wine. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;">Always the responsible parent (!) I had phoned my boys and checked that they were going to catch the last bus home. (Not Max, as he was tucked up safely with his dad). Teenage assurances that they’d come home before 11pm, I relaxed and tucked in to my cassoulet. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;">So, reasonably priced and surprisingly tasty dinner eaten, wine bottle and pint glass empty and a Bailey’s liquor that was served in a half pint pot - I kid you not - M made his move by tempting me back home with the promise of a family bag of Minstrels, which he seductively called ‘pudding’. Well, what girl can refuse that? So we started pulling on coats and bracing ourselves for cold walk back along the A260 when M quipped ‘Luke’s insured to drive your car, you know’. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;">And you just <i>know</i> that I had my eldest son on speed dial before M could change his mind. And there we were, in a car park, waiting for my SON to collect us and take us safely home. And to be honest, I don’t know who was more shocked, me or him. Anyhow, about 20 minutes went by and I got slightly concerned, bearing in mind that we live about a mile away, if that. So I called Luke to make sure that he hadn’t stacked my lovely little 107 into a lamp post or wedged it onto a roundabout, or indeed, took it to Halfords carpark to perform a few donuts. To my surprise and humour Ellis answered, stating that they were on their way (!) </span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;">So this was a first, for my son, for me, for us as a family. After a very difficult couple of weeks, and in an instant, we were a little family in that tiny car, laughing together, sharing a first, glorious memory:</span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwMbFhG-2YSSKy5UgeQ-gBFpI7GqW5tzr8sJiAUvF47i3HVimd4RVEnSHk-aOLu6f_F2oxI0rBOspb-IJlr6A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;"> Ellis says: "<em>How cool is this?"</em></span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.5pt;">*Ok, it was so <i>not</i> a discussion, I just blasted my opinion at my dinner companion and he gave up trying to interject about one minute in. Public apologies. </span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-26567124043014590682013-10-06T22:06:00.000+01:002013-10-06T22:08:17.202+01:00Pets and their names<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is Dot, our girl cat: </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uAwTUSMMEuM/UlHJUOoBQLI/AAAAAAAAAPE/-1xuj9KNY6A/s1600/480141_10151142567793513_471759949_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uAwTUSMMEuM/UlHJUOoBQLI/AAAAAAAAAPE/-1xuj9KNY6A/s200/480141_10151142567793513_471759949_n.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dot being casual</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7sRLF1NXC5E/UlHJV6QWSyI/AAAAAAAAAPM/MCoYu0JrL9A/s1600/559107_10151142567898513_2077593010_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7sRLF1NXC5E/UlHJV6QWSyI/AAAAAAAAAPM/MCoYu0JrL9A/s200/559107_10151142567898513_2077593010_n.jpg" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Or, as the vet knows her, </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Dorothy</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">.
Also known as </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Dolly, DotDot </i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">and</span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> DollyDotDot.</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> I quite often call her </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Beautiful
Girl</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> and she responds to that. I daresay that Man has a few choice names for
the Cat which he uses when I’m out of earshot ...</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pet names in our home are normal, like finding milk tops behind the toaster, that's normal. Or everyone asking where their uniforms are on a Monday morning - normal. So, for instance, I NEVER call Man by his name. He is always <i>Marin</i> (history: typo in an
email). He’s also known as <i>Marleen </i>and<i> Bradders.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Now that </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">The Big One</i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> is of a very sensitive age, and liable to cast a mega dark cloud of stropness around the house if the </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">proverbial</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> piss is taken, Luke is now pretty much just Luke. He used to
be called <i>Lukey-Boy</i>, but death stares from him as this was called out from the
touch line ended that. He is <i>Luke Oliver</i> when he’s being cheeky or is winding
someone up. When I say someone I mean either of his brothers. Winding them up
involves changing their TV channel, hiding their mobiles/chargers/loo roll, eating their secret
stash of sweets, the usual. He does that a lot. “Luke Oliver, give it back!!” My
sister used to call him </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">Spooks</i><span style="line-height: 115%;">, for
the rhyming effect, however she dropped that once he surpassed her in height
(when he was about 8, haha).<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Ellis used to be known as Eli but he
doesn’t like that so much. One day my mate N and I were trying to </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">think</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> of a
word that rhymes with ‘Ellis’. Pretty much nothing does, like </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">month, purple </i><span style="line-height: 115%;">and </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">orange. </i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Unique, through and through. Except that N and I decided
that </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">Lettuce</i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> was pretty close and so
that has stuck and he is often referred to as </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">Lettuce.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;">Max has a grand nick name: <i>Maximum Spastication</i>. Not very PC, I
know, but it suits him. It’s taken straight out of the film Gladiator</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">, or, more accurately, the brilliant Jon Culshaw’s </span></span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; line-height: 18px;">parody:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius.
Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife... and that's when I
called Claims Direct!”</span> </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Max <span lang="EN-GB"><span style="line-height: 115%;">also
answers to </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">Massimo</i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> and is </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">referred</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> to
as </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">Maxi-Moo</i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> by my girlfriends. He
does not, however, like being called </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">Maxi.
<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am <i>Mum</i>, obviously but also <i>Minty</i>
(of old marriage fame), sometimes shortened to <i>Mint. </i>Oldest friends call me <i>Clairey</i>
and I like that, work colleagues call me <i>Butters</i>,
some friends call me <i>Utters</i>. Students
call me <i>Miss Butterfly. </i>My sister
never calls me by anything but <i>Sis. </i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I love that we have this familial
affection for each other, and in that I include the monikers that Man and made
up for our brood of five sons, one year on holiday in France. If you can picture the scene: seven people, sharing a two bedroomed mobile home with one loo and two gas rings = Tempers frayed. Of course, we
were in polite company most of the time so their nick names were abbreviated (LF, NF etc): we proudly introduce, in age order, <i>Lazy Fucker, Contrary Fucker, Stressy Fucker, Cheeky Little Fucker </i>and<i> Spazzy Fucker. <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes, when the red wine and patience are low, in the middle of a French forest with no Wi-Wi, nick names can encapsulate the character perfectly. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's DollyDotDot in a bag:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uo1EKvtsDM8/UlHNDBW2PjI/AAAAAAAAAPY/aGacRBnkwBo/s1600/480829_10150976797363513_1153683058_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uo1EKvtsDM8/UlHNDBW2PjI/AAAAAAAAAPY/aGacRBnkwBo/s320/480829_10150976797363513_1153683058_n.jpg" width="239" /></span></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-89243031215374032452013-09-19T07:41:00.001+01:002013-09-19T20:37:08.763+01:00<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Came downstairs this morning to see this in the kitchen:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Acl3n-ctibY/Ujqb5I_b0iI/AAAAAAAAAOw/Vx7Gu5tGr4c/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Acl3n-ctibY/Ujqb5I_b0iI/AAAAAAAAAOw/Vx7Gu5tGr4c/s320/photo+(1).JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <i> I live with boys, what can I say?</i></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-69247206665684790522013-09-16T21:17:00.004+01:002013-09-16T21:17:35.609+01:00Going soft?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Mental on-my-feet-all-day at work, come home to
immediately – and I mean literally walk from the front door to the stove - start
cooking dinner (delish bacon and pea tagliatelle for the boys, steamed veg for
me). Just about to dish up at the very reasonable 6pm when Luke and Max
announce they’re going for a kick about. Humph. I protested, swore actually, feeling
wholly shat on that I bothered to do something nice (well I consider cooking a
tasty meal from scratch a nice thing to do for people) I tried </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">shoveling</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> on
the guilt in an attempt to make them appreciate me and my cooking but no, they
just hated me even more and then bogged off. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Should I have: </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -18pt;">Put my foot down and insisted they
stay for dinner?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -18pt;">The above?</span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
didn’t make them stay because if I had done they would have refused dinner and
sloped off to their rooms. I didn’t make them stay because I would give my
right arm for them to ‘go outside and play’ more often. Kids, not mine anyway,
don’t do that often enough. Sure, they are active but in today’s tech age they
all spend alot more time on their electronic gadgets (perusing less than
savoury webpages, I shouldn’t wonder) than out in a field, enjoying actual
fresh air. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And
so MM and I ate our dinner together whilst my kids were on the ‘outside’. My
only regret is that I didn’t join them. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0EB0ZCpyEaI/Ujdlsmb7z1I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/5MZRsxRX_5k/s1600/IMG_1382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0EB0ZCpyEaI/Ujdlsmb7z1I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/5MZRsxRX_5k/s320/IMG_1382.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofdt7s15OkM/Ujdly31TwHI/AAAAAAAAAOc/wms6cmioZdk/s1600/IMG_1386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofdt7s15OkM/Ujdly31TwHI/AAAAAAAAAOc/wms6cmioZdk/s320/IMG_1386.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eZspAg6Bn-Y/UjdlySEOJVI/AAAAAAAAAOY/-54hxCvVJM0/s1600/IMG_1383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eZspAg6Bn-Y/UjdlySEOJVI/AAAAAAAAAOY/-54hxCvVJM0/s320/IMG_1383.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Wonderful outdoorness this summer</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-78980949104312451762013-09-15T11:00:00.000+01:002013-09-15T11:02:51.525+01:00My little guy<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yay, the sun is shining and, very thoughtfully so, on a Sunday so that we may enjoy our outdoor pursuits even more so. I’m pleased to see the sun again, I was not ready to file away the flip flops in the understairs cupboard just yet. </span></span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life is so much better under a blue sky – reminds me of our lovely summer together. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The complex where we stayed had two pools, and ours was the quieter one at the back. We had the pool pretty much to ourselves for much of the time and it was deep – a good couple </span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of feet over the boys’ heads. One day, Max and I were bobbing around in the blue. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"></span> </div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Mum, I can reach the bottom!’</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Wow, I’m impressed Max’ (I really was as I’m afraid of heights so looking down more than six foot, whether wet or dry, gives me the willies)</span></span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Yeah, I touched the bottom with my, um...with the palms of my feet’</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>The palms of his feet </em>:)</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, and speaking of funny things 11 year olds say, it was on this holiday that Max heard us use the word <i>tourist</i> and asked what a tourist was. We explained, using ourselves as examples. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Oooooh' he replied pensively 'I always get tourists and terrorists mixed up'</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, you might only do that once on a plane Max!</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-3854330788473513142013-09-14T12:24:00.002+01:002013-09-14T12:24:37.031+01:00Growing pains<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘I want to
buy a car mum’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Why? You
don’t have job so can’t afford to run one’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘I’ll get a
job’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘But that
might take ages’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Oh well, I
still want one. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Comes home with a car. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Now what
Luke?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘You could
lend me the money for insurance’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘No, you’re
old enough to buy a car, you’re old enough to run it. Go and get a job’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Ok, I will’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stands back and watches events unfold...<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A week of
waiting after the mammoth B&Q interview slash team building slash practical
exam and Luke is finally put out of his misery – he was not offered a job.
Gutted doesn’t even cut how Luke looks. His face is etched into a painful
disappointment, somewhere verging on tears. As for how he sounds, I don’t
know as he can’t utter a syllable, such is this tortured setback. The job would have meant independence and
cash in his pocket, it would have enabled him to get his beloved car on the
road and it would have been success for him.
In his view, it would have been the best thing that has ever happened to
him. He has low esteem and confidence so
when he does well at something it boosts him. But if things don’t go as planned
then we see a fatal pessimistic attitude from him – he firmly believes that the
world is against him and that he has ‘bad luck’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seeing my
son so disappointed, so cross with himself, so sad and negative absolutely
tears me apart. But here’s the bitch: I could change his life and put the
biggest smile on his face with just one phone call to the insurance company and
the boy would be on the road instantly. I could cheer that kid up and make his
day. I could be the hero. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I’m not
going to. Instead, I’m going to keep my bank card tucked firmly away in my
purse. I’m going to teach my son a lesson in patience, hard work and appreciation.
Despite what he’s learnt from, well, let’s just say ‘another household’ we are
each responsible for our own luck and here is where Luke starts realising it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have said
that I’d do anything for my kids. But shell out cash to put smiles on faces,
well no, I won’t do that. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UvFECQk3e5Q/UjRGZKTo6JI/AAAAAAAAAOA/pwmKU1-MWwU/s1600/fc5e176cedf56dcf219c2b85362dcf7f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UvFECQk3e5Q/UjRGZKTo6JI/AAAAAAAAAOA/pwmKU1-MWwU/s320/fc5e176cedf56dcf219c2b85362dcf7f.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>This quote is going on the fridge door immediately </i></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-44560439824971792862013-09-11T20:14:00.000+01:002013-09-11T20:14:13.188+01:00Puerto Paradise<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back in
July the boys’ dad decided that I should take the boys away on an ‘aeroplane’ holiday.
Slightly offended that a) he doesn't consider our drives to fun campsites with amazing beaches in southern France
good enough and b)he feels at liberty to tell me how to spend my hard earned
cash. Anyhow, wanker aside, it did get me thinking about taking my little boys
on an adventure. Not an action
expedition adventure, nor anything particularly culturally taxing, but I was
thinking more of an adventure of appreciation and discovery. I just wanted a
good, old-fashioned beachy family get away. Ordinarily, lack of cash would have prevented
me even looking on <i>icecream.com</i> but this year is no ordinary year. Having sorted out mum’s finances, there was
just enough in the bank to pay for my planned treat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I began
to research resorts, scouring endless websites for a European escape that would
cater to all of our 11 – 43 year old needs. This would include somewhere sunny with a bit
of life, but not full of drunk chavs (or any chavs for that matter), a modest
apartment with pool, pretty natural beaches but also with banana rides for
teenagers, rustic food available but with a good choice of restaurants,
excursions that everyone would enjoy and
grass. I’m funny like that and when I’m lying around a pool with my Mateus and
my book I don’t want it to be on concrete. Just one of my standards, shall we
say. Anyway, I found all of the above. In one place. And right on the money.
Puerto Pollensa, Mallorca ticked all of our boxes. And I swung wildly between
clicking ‘buy’ and feeling utterly guilt ridden at spending my mum’s money on
something that she would never enjoy. It felt wrong, disrespectful and I lost
sleep apologising to her for continuing with life. But of course, kind friends
told me that it’s exactly what she would have wanted me to do: take the
children on an adventure, spend time together, laugh, eat well, take photos and
make memories. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With the
dawning realisation that this is the final year all three boys will be in
school, the decision to ‘buy’ was a no-brainer. This may be the last time the
four of us go away together at all...<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Puerto
Pollensa was all that Trip Advisor said it was – pretty, safe, clean, mountains,
clear seas and white sand, with lots to do and see on the island. But better
than all the stuff was the precious week I spent with my boys, quality time
that I just don’t get at home. I learned a lot about all three of them, and
their relationships with each other, and I enjoyed their company on a new
level. I particularly enjoyed watching my nearly-men drinking the odd beer with
dinner but also acting like children in the pool, unaware of the teenage female
attention they were attracting (even with the naff temporary tats they bought
from the Spar).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so we
took a pebble that had been in our garden and kept it with us as we went around
the island. The pebble went to the beach with us, on the boat, to all of the restaurants
(our favourite was the Marina Cafe, or ‘the one with free wi-fi’ as was known
in our party), to the marina, the Church Square market and even to Aqualand. And
on our last evening, full on mojitos and nachos, we (Ellis*) threw our pebble
into the bay, where I hope it’s still now, representing our little family, our
good times and the very special lady who paid for them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9GU_sCPMH2A/UjDAR9j08gI/AAAAAAAAANw/YlL-eowZXSw/s1600/467f94d48400f3cddc2c0f6b118cfd6f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9GU_sCPMH2A/UjDAR9j08gI/AAAAAAAAANw/YlL-eowZXSw/s320/467f94d48400f3cddc2c0f6b118cfd6f.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XnnTIFlLebc/UjDARQ_rP4I/AAAAAAAAANY/ezy7U_xWRlg/s1600/1150772_10151621669428513_1971697638_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XnnTIFlLebc/UjDARQ_rP4I/AAAAAAAAANY/ezy7U_xWRlg/s320/1150772_10151621669428513_1971697638_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See, I DID get grass!</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7-xJ_DMwjc4/UjDAR1wLPLI/AAAAAAAAANc/KoYZQ4mQeO4/s1600/1235527_10151621662113513_881808981_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7-xJ_DMwjc4/UjDAR1wLPLI/AAAAAAAAANc/KoYZQ4mQeO4/s320/1235527_10151621662113513_881808981_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nmKKMSc-Is8/UjDARF4DeXI/AAAAAAAAANQ/xwhLev6lho4/s1600/1238731_10151621668458513_388686336_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nmKKMSc-Is8/UjDARF4DeXI/AAAAAAAAANQ/xwhLev6lho4/s320/1238731_10151621668458513_388686336_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bay where mum's pebble is :)</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-67265008508846998222013-09-08T19:36:00.002+01:002013-09-08T19:36:51.957+01:00Pugs and Poses<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Friday saw
Ellis don his impossibly slim fit suit, meet up with his 15 year old peers and
enrol at The Glassworks for their Sixth form courses. Ellis will study, amongst
other things, Law as he wants to be a lawyer. Not sure how I feel about that
but boy, did he look dapper:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N9oHu3eM1qY/UizCjrY9A6I/AAAAAAAAAMw/XxDm1tBMAPk/s1600/1233361_644628175561308_711430032_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N9oHu3eM1qY/UizCjrY9A6I/AAAAAAAAAMw/XxDm1tBMAPk/s320/1233361_644628175561308_711430032_n.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Also, we
have a 13 year old Peugeot 106 on the drive, which does not belong to me nor to
the other adult in the house but belongs to MY SON! Yep, Luke passed his
driving test after only 15 hours of lessons and with two faults only. (To be fair,
he has been on the road for a year, mmmeeeeeeeeeeeeee-ing around Folkestone
with other trainer-wearing ‘ped users). He sold said moped, saved up his
coffers and purchased his first car. And she is a beauty, as far as first cars
go – she’s low mileage, FSH and very few body marks. But of course she cannot
be driven anywhere as Luke can’t afford the insurance. So he can only occasionally sit in her,
listen to his bombastic ghetto blastastic- something-or-other and get out
again. Bless. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Such is his
keenness to get the beast on the road there isn’t anywhere in a 15 mile radius
that he hasn’t applied for a job to. You
name it; cafes, the Co-op, Wickes, Ralph ‘Lorren’ and even Trev’s Cycle Centre,
whom I’m guessing has a comprehensive range of employee benefits (company bike
and extended inner tube warranty, anyone?) And so it was with great excitement
that he was summoned to DIY emporium B&Q on Friday for an ‘interview’. Which lasted
three hours, involved serving live (and quite probably totally bewildered)
customers on the shop floor, a team building exercise and an extensive grilling
in a one to one interview – all for a part time job stacking pots of Pink-a-Boo
paint and lugging 4-be-4 around. So, I was impressed, both that he got through
the day without rejection and with B&Q’s recruitment policy. We had similar
at TTA as I remember; yeah, yeah, good keyboard skills are great but can you
make a good cuppa and get the deli order correct? ;) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so we
wait. Wait to hear if my son will begin a career where he has to wear the
world’s biggest name bag and will FINALLY get to drive his own car. And we look
forward to Ellis busting out his catalogue poses every morning in his very
slender, shiny suit. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-64853206910752100522013-09-07T18:48:00.002+01:002013-09-08T13:28:50.094+01:00The One Where I Started It Again<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So this is
awkward. Four years after posting my last blog and here I am, casually adding
to it, hoping that nobody will notice that my little boys have grown into six
footers, who hold their own NI numbers and driving licences...A lot has changed
in four years, so this blog is like a before and after (except without Gok
and my make over shots will probably not be so kind).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it’s precisely
the fact that time IS flying that I've made the decision to start capturing the
events, funnies, plans, angst and memories.
It’s not a surprise that my own life pretty much has revolved around the
boys’ for the last 17 (ahem) years, which is my choice and a choice I’m happy
with. I love being mum. And the boys are all off busy doing ‘life’ (yes, lying
in a pit with the curtains closed until 1pm watching Two and Half Men, with one
eye on FB, DOES constitute as being ‘busy’ I’m told), I want to get some of the
good stuff down for them to read later. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, four
years, here’s the speed version:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<li><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">We
eventually did move house and now live in the one featured in the last post.
Because of our house number we affectionately call it ‘The Orals’.</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">Within
a week of moving I accepted a job at the local secondary school as Learning
Support, which was a drop in pay but a rise in satisfaction.</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">Four
became five as we all started our lives residing With A Man. Books were bought and
digested about how to make that adjustment, sharp intakes of breath were heard
as the fumblings of what was considered appropriate, or otherwise, was worked
out. And we lost our garage to lots of
bikes and accompanying ‘stuff’.</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">Our
beloved Ollie now rests in the back garden under a heart-shaped jasmine :(</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">Luke
and Ellis are in Sixth Form.</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">Max
has started secondary school.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">My sister had a baby!</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">I
turned 40 (gulp) and tasted life outside of Europe.</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">I
broke my back (yes, really)</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">And my
heart also broke, as we lost my wonderful, beautiful mum and the boys’ funny, generous
nan. Life changed forever. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's it, in a nutshell. I'll attempt to fill in the blanks as I go. So this is for you, boys, to read how to and how not to parent, how to enjoy and appreciate the finer [free] things in life and what made me laugh my socks off whilst you were finding your way in this crazy world. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-9838726355591046232009-06-10T14:43:00.004+01:002009-06-10T16:55:26.034+01:00Work in progressI was given a day off work today and so I have, so far, spent it doing some chores this morning; shopping, obtaining boxes for packing, instructing my (very expensive) solicitor to take my ex-husband to court to finally finalise monetary matters and, best of all, seeing my old mate and, as her hubby used to call her, my partner in crime. As the crow flies she lives about a third of a mile from my house, and yet I hadn’t seen her for two months. Such is my life that I haven’t been able to spare an hour to see one of my oldest, bestest, pregnant and blooming friend and I now want to get down in black and white exactly how shit that feels. I want to note that whilst my constant, relentless, dizzy running around after me and mine goes on, so does other people’s lives. G is now 26 weeks pregnant with her third child and looks beautiful. We have been friends forever and were pregnant together and enjoyed our youngsters at the same time. We’ve spent hundreds of hours together over the years, eating dinners, drinking wine, playing music, and chatting, mainly about children, cooking and gardening and, although we don’t see each other much anymore, we immediately lapsed easily into our ritual of coffee, cookies and chat. We are godparents to each other’s children and we feel like family but seeing her today really hit home at how crap I’ve been at being a friend, her belly literally measures the time that passes. And so I took her up to our new house for her to see where I’m going to be living, planting and cooking. We were lucky enough to get the keys and have a proper nosey round and we both pictured the dinners and the Christmases to come. And I desperately want her to be a part of those.<br /><br />She gave me fresh mint out of her garden and I’ve just made a salad with it. I bought her peonies to put in a vase. We ate cookies and we stared, in silence, at our new wonderful view across farmland. I never want to forget today, as it really hit home just how cool the basic stuff is. I’m not the best friend in the world but I am trying to get the balance right - I even bought two books today on parenting to try and get the best out of the time I have left, for everyone.<br /><br />Salute, G, and mums everywhere xxx<br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Si_W5hftfiI/AAAAAAAAAKc/xir5I70zkcA/s1600-h/TT2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345727566444330530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Si_W5hftfiI/AAAAAAAAAKc/xir5I70zkcA/s320/TT2.jpg" border="0" /></a> <em>Our new home, where our new memories will live with our old ones<br /></em><br /><em><br /></em><em></em></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-44096031288346161132009-05-31T20:58:00.006+01:002009-05-31T21:15:49.351+01:00<span style="font-family:arial;"><em>I wrote this entry on 06.05.09 but forgot to actually paste it into the blog, doh!</em> </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I cut Luke and Eli’s hair last night, both were pleased with the result. Max has (finally) joined a football team! He plays left midfield for U7s Dynamo. He’s a slow starter compared to his brothers and other boys I know, but I’m really pleased that he’s finally found his confidence about playing in/amongst a team. His first match is on Saturday and I’m gonna miss it because ... ...I’m not going to be a fat bridesmaid on Saturday, wahoo!! Nikki, my best friend, marries Greg on Saturday and I’m sooooo excited for her. At Christmas I couldn’t fit into my bridesmaid dress and vowed to lose enough weight in time for the big day, which I did – a stone don’cha know – and I’ve even had to ‘chub up’ a bit! And today after school I took all three of my boys shopping, which was an experience that I, frankly, was dreading as tired, hungry, bored children in numbers do not usually make for a successful shopping spree, but wedding outfits, football boots and school shoes needed to be purchased....and as it turns out we bought everything needed and in the process we had a ball, I loved, loved, loved the boys company, their opinions on clothes, the fact that we found everything we needed with the price tag that matched and we all came home happy bunnies. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I don’t often spend much quality time with Lukey, as he finishes school so late in the day but today I really wanted to make a note that we had a giggle today, we shared chocolate and frustration at Max’s spoilt behaviour, we chose clothes together and he’s just this minute come into the lounge and, silently, offered me his last piece of millionaire’s/millionaires’ shortbread, he’s my little – big – man. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:arial;">The wedding has come and gone and was delightful, Nikki and Greg put on a fab day and they are so, so happy - congratulations to them and their sausage of new life.</span> </em><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SiLkcxi2ckI/AAAAAAAAAKM/ErVrMtHYNMo/s1600-h/IMG_2262.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342083291001811522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SiLkcxi2ckI/AAAAAAAAAKM/ErVrMtHYNMo/s320/IMG_2262.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SiLjaH1q6iI/AAAAAAAAAKE/ZQrRRY3FXBA/s1600-h/IMG_2239.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342082145935092258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SiLjaH1q6iI/AAAAAAAAAKE/ZQrRRY3FXBA/s320/IMG_2239.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><em><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></em></div><div> </div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SiLi4Yw5jVI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/yy9Ta0Qn8Rk/s1600-h/IMG_2234.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342081566362930514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SiLi4Yw5jVI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/yy9Ta0Qn8Rk/s320/IMG_2234.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;"></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /></span></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-44087154419158525132009-04-29T12:21:00.007+01:002009-04-29T14:15:00.289+01:00Meet Morrison<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Sfg8B9_rbVI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/VJSaLL5TYt0/s1600-h/morrison.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330076163512167762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Sfg8B9_rbVI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/VJSaLL5TYt0/s320/morrison.bmp" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Morrison is Max’s tadpole. Our friend gave us three, two have since perished and are buried in the lawn somewhere. We’ve had Morrison for a couple of weeks now and he’s 50% larger than when he first arrived. He lives in our garden, in a Tupperware container with leaves from a pond. Max named him Morrison as I suspect that was the first word that came into Max’s head when asked what his tadpole’s name was. Max has only ever heard the name Morrison in connection with the supermarket but I like to think that our tadpole is named after Jim Morrison, whose music and lyrics I’m a big fan of, whose rock and roll life fascinates me and his morbid, early death even moreso... </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We are eagerly awaiting Morrison to grow legs (but not a beard)</span><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Sfg6Jly7t8I/AAAAAAAAAJs/jFOPhLNlLII/s1600-h/maxx.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330074095431956418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Sfg6Jly7t8I/AAAAAAAAAJs/jFOPhLNlLII/s320/maxx.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-77917842039229412992009-04-27T18:17:00.001+01:002009-04-27T18:19:02.363+01:00<span style="font-family:arial;">Max and I in the car recently: Starsailor were playing on my iPod and I mentioned that it was a ‘nice song’.<br /><br />‘Hmmm’ agreed Max, ‘and very relaxing’.<br /><br />I smiled, I love it when the boys use adjectives.<br /><br />‘What does relaxing mean to you Max?’ I asked.<br /><br />‘Well, it’s like sunbathing. But not on the beach. It’s when you let your body go all floppy’.<br /><br />I smiled again, I like that.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-91222362318203976842009-04-14T19:30:00.009+01:002009-04-14T20:05:17.290+01:00Bank Holiday<span style="font-family:arial;">I’m writing this at the tail end of a lovely ten days off work; I’ve absolutely loved being at home with the boys (including MM's), especially as mum’s at home so I’ve been able to keep an eye on her. She even insisted on taking us all out for a meal, which we enjoyed with Harriet and Rob.<br /><br />Since my previous post an offer that we made on a different house has been accepted, which threw our minds into chaos as we’d have to choose which property we'd be happiest living in. Very, very pleasant situation to be in but also very difficult as the two houses are quite different. We were still undecided on Sunday so took all the boys to have a look at both. It’s now Tuesday evening and we are still not completely decided, ffs!!!<br /><br />Yesterday we took our minds off things and went to Lydden race track to watch the rally cross races – boy those cars are quick! We had a great day out with sunshine and a picnic and below is a couple of my favourite pics that we took of the day:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#000000;"><em>Not content with sitting in the queue to get out of the grounds we entertained ourselves with races:</em></span><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SeTZzc2ykAI/AAAAAAAAAJU/GVV1rN21j5Y/s1600-h/Lydden+Rally+Cross+April+09+078B.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324620137401323522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SeTZzc2ykAI/AAAAAAAAAJU/GVV1rN21j5Y/s320/Lydden+Rally+Cross+April+09+078B.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Ellis and Jack cheating unashamedly...<br /></em></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SeTZfpgFTMI/AAAAAAAAAJM/55YRMEmYQkg/s1600-h/Lydden+Rally+Cross+April+09+079B.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324619797198359746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SeTZfpgFTMI/AAAAAAAAAJM/55YRMEmYQkg/s320/Lydden+Rally+Cross+April+09+079B.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Finally on the move out and Jack took photos of objects that he found interesting. He's 7...</em><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SeTY0ZfytBI/AAAAAAAAAJE/vsGVoKu6xQw/s1600-h/Lydden+Rally+Cross+April+09+101.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324619054167798802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SeTY0ZfytBI/AAAAAAAAAJE/vsGVoKu6xQw/s320/Lydden+Rally+Cross+April+09+101.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><em><span style="font-family:Arial;">Big sky by Jack....</span></em><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SeTYTCUxbRI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qZYn0kRAenE/s1600-h/Lydden+Rally+Cross+April+09+091.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324618481011879186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SeTYTCUxbRI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qZYn0kRAenE/s320/Lydden+Rally+Cross+April+09+091.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><div>Good times!</div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-2004473628147264972009-04-09T13:54:00.003+01:002009-04-09T13:56:12.231+01:00Our house, in the middle of our street<span style="font-family:arial;">Wowsers, as Leaf would say, it's been a crazy week. My mum's now home, with a c-pap unit which she'll have to use every night for the rest of her life. It is upsetting, I feel awful for her but at least her condition is now being managed. Hopefully her quality of life will now improve with the use of this machine, giving her more energy and less memory loss. Her bloods were tested and are good today and she appears quite cheery.<br /><br />Next: I have sold my house! Twice! I accepted an offer on my house last week and then yesterday another person put a higher offer in....ffs, it's become quite a bidding war, which is a grand result for us. Makes all the work we put in worth the ball ache.<br /><br />Next: We've bought a BH. Yes we have!! We offered on a new build, five bed which was accepted last night, whilst MM and me were having a cheeky drink in the pub. The house isn't in our favourite location but the living space inside is just about big enough for seven of us....I jest, it's great, and I feel very, very lucky. The house is ready to move into, it looks like a doll's house, with a lovely big kitchen, bedroom for each boy, loads of loos so no more waiting in turn and has a sunnyish garden which I can't wait to grow tomatoes and peppers in. I'm a happy bunny, all the agro has been worth it and I'm now coming through the other side, holding hands with MM.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Can't wait to be woken up with his snoring every morning.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Sd3wFkn6qvI/AAAAAAAAAIk/ANtKwssuQHg/s1600-h/Meredith.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322674313142905586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 174px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Sd3wFkn6qvI/AAAAAAAAAIk/ANtKwssuQHg/s200/Meredith.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-68014648996085857392009-03-29T15:50:00.003+01:002009-03-29T15:59:12.916+01:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Sc-Lq5HGbuI/AAAAAAAAAIM/7Hi80aeiAzk/s1600-h/IMG_2016.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318623253949214434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/Sc-Lq5HGbuI/AAAAAAAAAIM/7Hi80aeiAzk/s200/IMG_2016.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Max is ironing, I’m (sitting down for a change and) watching the build up to the Boat Race, don’t care who wins but I do like looking at the very strong men....<br /><br />Max strikes up a convo:<br /><br />‘Mum, do you know what a soul is?’<br /><br />‘I’m not sure, what is it?’<br /><br />‘It's a little ghost inside your body and when you die it stays there and makes you good. I think.’<br /><br />Cool, that’s explained then.<br /><br />I have just re-read my last entry, I sounded so happy, and I was. Unfortunately just hours later my mum was ambulanced to hospital, after blacking out and falling three times. She often does and this is usually put down to her heart condition, atrial fibrillation. My sis and I went with mum to hospital and stayed with her until gone 10pm. She was admitted with respiratory failure but we didn’t know why. A week later she’s still there and we still don’t know why her heart and lungs don’t work properly. She’s been on a ventilator this week and has responded to that but I’m hoping to goodness that this can be managed without her needing to be on a machine for the rest of her life. She didn’t suffer any broken bones this time, but did sprain her ankle badly. Mum’s been on a heart monitor all week, has had CT scans, xrays, blood tests and echo scans – hopefully will have some news soon.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> Yesterday she started hobbling round the ward.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I haven’t taken the boys to see her as she’s on a heart ward with some very poorly people (I saw a very old lady dying a couple of days ago) but the boys have been very patient with me, dropping them off here and there, up and down the M20, eating rushed dinners and not having any clean clothes or exciting pack lunches. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Poor mum, she lives alone, is very unwell, disabled and is only 56. She called me mum the other day, broke my heart. Get well soon mum, we’ve got to plant your summer seeds. </span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-30728279988708410942009-03-22T11:27:00.002+00:002009-03-22T11:36:56.072+00:00Mother's Day!This is a first this year; I’m sitting on my patio, in the sunshine, with lappie and nettle tea, the cat, sans plaster, is sitting next to me and we’re both squinting in the sunlight. I have washing gently swaying on the line, I can smell my earthy garden, can hear children playing a few doors away and some poor soul is hoovering. I can hear birds too, I get a lot of birds in my back garden.<br /><br />So I woke up this morning, with cat, and the house was quiet at 7.30am. I am cooking a big roast for my mum and sister later so I got up to put the joint (pork actually) in the oven. Whilst waiting for the oven to heat up I emptied the washing machine, pegged out some clothes, emptied the bin, put more laundry on, tidied up the bit of mess from last night’s (Wierd Walker’s) crisps/red wine/curry fest and then made myself a cup of strong coffee and a cup of nettle tea and took both back to bed.<br /><br />Within the hour I could hear stirrings and before long I could hear clanking coming from the kitchen – and the microwave kept pinging!!!! Nobody, I mean NOBODY, but myself ever uses the microwave so I got excited realising that Mother’s day was not forgotten and that I was going to have a feast brought to me in my bed! Half an hour went by, the microwave pinging every minute or so. Nothing was brought to me and so I waited patiently in bed, with my lappie reading the sad news of the day. A good time later my entire brood walked in, in a varying state of undress, Eli carrying toast and coffee, Max with cards (see pic!) and flowers and chocs and Luke with a hyacinth pot and floating candles....ah, I grin as I am pleased and they’re happy because I look happy with their gifts.<br /><br />‘So what was being made in the microwave?’ I ask.<br /><br />Eli explained that he tried to make me scrambled egg ‘but it turned out wrong’. Hmmm, probably something to do with the fact that he nuked the egg for about half an hour, but no matter. Jam and Marmite are lovely.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/ScYhNKLkCRI/AAAAAAAAAH8/uTHtoa2_288/s1600-h/max+card.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315972920112318738" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/ScYhNKLkCRI/AAAAAAAAAH8/uTHtoa2_288/s320/max+card.bmp" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-88337301645917219612009-03-19T20:05:00.002+00:002009-03-19T20:14:54.407+00:00It's blooming March already!<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;">I've been rubbish, I've been busy, I'm trying to catch up:</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;">My Ellis has gone away for a few days on an adventure weekend with his class – he’ll be rock climbing and swimming and high rope walking...having a ball, I bet. He was looking forward to it and I’m pleased that he’s having a good time away from the daily grind of battling for attention with his brothers, and from me nagging him to tidy his room....<br /><br />My Luke is looking for work (!) He has put his name down for a paper round, he’s been valeting our cars and my friend, Mrs B, has offered him a job clearing her garden. I think, at last, Lukey is realising the value of work, money, autonomy and consequence. <br /><br />My Max makes me laugh. He tells me that he’s going to go to church with his class and that he’ll be singing hymns. I tell him that I love singing hymns (takes me right back to an innocent life) and he says ‘You love hymns more than your boyfriend?’<br /><br />MM and I have been very busy tarting up my house. MM has been smoothing walls and sanding down and painting and filling. The house is still up for sale, you see – to enable MM and me to have a home together – but I’ve had no offers so we’re splashing the cash to interest potential buyers. And we now have a master bedroom, and new carpets and windows on order, watch this space.<br /><br />My puss broke a toe and is in plaster. He’s been housebound, which has driven the poor feline nuts – he looks a right nobber with his leg in plaster, see pic below!<br /><br />And then there’s me. At time of writing I am angry and disappointed that my ex has chosen Mother’s Day to use as an excuse to have a dig at me; I thought that all of the bickering and bitching was behind us. I’m not a massive fan of mother’s day, or father’s day for that matter, (neither my mum or dad are the conventional ‘be there for you’ parent) but I would like to think that my own efforts, hard work and tribulations are recognised on one day of the year. Now thanks to my bitter ex my boys won’t get the opportunity to buy me a card, which is going to be embarrassing for them, and all because their dad won’t face up to the fact that I’m doing an OK job. Bugger him, I don’t need his validation, do I?</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/ScKmWNSdb2I/AAAAAAAAAH0/LdVYZIcUeLQ/s1600-h/cat.bmp"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314993410705026914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/ScKmWNSdb2I/AAAAAAAAAH0/LdVYZIcUeLQ/s320/cat.bmp" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-54348389060478746232009-01-25T10:09:00.003+00:002009-01-25T10:14:47.304+00:00Kitchen chit chat<span style="font-family:arial;">Here’s a transcript of a conversation I overheard on Friday whilst the boys were in the kitchen washing up:<br /><br />Luke: Oh my god Ellis, just wait till you get to secondary school.<br /><br />Ellis: Why?<br /><br />Luke: Just because you won’t know what to do.<br /><br />Ellis: What do you mean?<br /><br />Luke: Well, girls.<br /><br />Ellis: Girls? Have you kissed one?<br /><br />Luke: Der! Yeah course I have.<br /><br />Ellis: Really? No you didn’t.<br /><br />Luke: Course I have.<br /><br />Ellis: On the lips?<br /><br />Luke: Yeah.<br /><br />Ellis: Have you tongued them?<br /><br />Max: I kissed a girl<br /><br />Luke: Oh yeah, of course tongues.<br /><br />Ellis: Really?<br /><br />Luke: Yep, but it’s got to be a good friend, you only ask one of the girls that you’re close to.<br /><br />Ellis: Who are your friends? You’re not close with any girls!<br /><br />Luke: Yeah I am, and you kiss them and give them a cuddle afterwards.<br /><br />Ellis: Do you?<br /><br />Max: I did, I kissed a girl.<br /><br />Luke: And then you ask to see their boobs and then they ask to see your balls.<br /><br />Ellis: Really?<br /><br />Max: I kissed a girl.<br /><br />Luke: No, not really but the kissing bit’s true.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Max: I kissed mum.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-44617673217294555402009-01-19T22:46:00.002+00:002009-01-19T22:51:19.396+00:00Starting over<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;">Lynbo commented on my previous posts about selling up (wave to Lynn) and I just need to clarify things on here. <br /><br />Regarding selling up, viewing is strictly by appointment only, ie ,when I'm at work and the ‘viewers’ can comment on my home when I can’t hear them. I won’t ever meet the people who look around my home, sneering at the carpets that need replacing or the single glazed windows (I do have some double glazed but the rear half of my house is stuck in the 50s). I won’t ever hear their comments about my dark coloured kitchen units (fucking expensive Sagga ones actually, not to everyone’s taste, granted, but quality nonetheless) or that the bathroom is titchy (I’ll have you know that all four of us, yes FOUR of us, do our hair/make up/teeth in that bathroom together every morning!). I won’t, thank a god, hear the words ‘No, it’s not for me, I’ll make an offer on the other house I saw’. <br /><br />But hang on a minute. I bought this house so I'm pretty hopeful that someone else will also fall in love with it. Someone else will see its charm and will appreciate the big rooms. Another person will see the early tulips bulbs poking through the soil and will see my peony budding and the early signs of hydranga’s blooms. I know that before its time is over another family will live here, enjoy a baby’s first Christmas, maybe even another birth, first steps, first school.<br /><br />I bought this house with love, my children were conceived, born and brought up here. My marriage started and ended here. I learnt to cook here. I fumbled around in the garden here until I learnt which plants grew where. I scraped wallpaper off every single wall (and some ceilings) and papered and painted every square inch myself at some point over the years. I’ve had 15 Christmases here, 15 birthdays and many, many more children’s parties here. I’ve cried here and I’ve died here and I’ve worked my balls off to pay the mortgage to stay here, working every second I had, cleaning toilets, ironing shirts, transcribing shitty tapes and scrubbing classroom floors. I worked in the office when my baby was 7 weeks old so that I had enough cash to keep our house going, putting Max into nursery when he was 3 months old because I would have been damned if I was going to claim benefits and get evicted. Oh yes, I will be sad to go Lynn, I cry every single time I think about having to walk out of here for the last time but in all honestly this house has given me everything anyone could ever want and it’s made me who I am. But it’s not perfect so I don’t expect everyone to love it. <br /><br />Besides, I'm on the way to a life with MM, and so I'm happy to give up Chez Nous to build a new one with my man. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Awww, shucks, didn’t realise I was such a softie, don't tell anyone! </span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6822823998575881963.post-71091536670388589052009-01-18T15:53:00.002+00:002009-01-18T15:56:45.781+00:00Driving six year olds<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SXNQ2OsUyfI/AAAAAAAAAHk/hN4FV1mov9M/s1600-h/IMG_2783.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292662879677630962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_f00ywrSoxOY/SXNQ2OsUyfI/AAAAAAAAAHk/hN4FV1mov9M/s320/IMG_2783.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I was driving home after school with Max, aged 6 and James, aged 6 also, in the back of the car. When I have kids in the car my music goes off and I keep one ear very firmly on what they’re talking about, purely for entertainment purposes. Here’s Friday’s conversation from the back seat.<br /><br />‘I know what those Ls are on cars’ says James.<br /><br />‘Me too’ says Max, ‘it means Learner’.<br /><br />‘No it doesn’t,’ retorts James, ‘it means Losers'.<br /><br />(They’re 6 remember)<br /><br />‘Hahahaha, yeah, yeah, Loooooooserrrrrrrs’ enthuses Max.<br /><br />‘Oh look, there's a AA Loser’<br /><br />‘Hahahahaha’<br /><br />‘AA means Alphabet Loser’ says James, ‘Yeah, Axceptional Alphabet Loser’.<br /><br />‘Hahahahaha’<br />All the way home…. :-))</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17941823319844052689noreply@blogger.com1