Earmuffs and unsung heroes

I have a question…is it acceptable for a 31 year old woman to wear earmuffs? I remember having a bright yellow pair as a seven year old and now (24 years later) I have purchased a lovely fluffy pair from Debenhams, and they keep my ears super warm. I really feel the cold in winter, especially in my extremities and my muffs totally solve this problem. I wore them to take Joel to school this morning and got several comments about them. One from Sue the lollypop lady who said she needs to purchase a pair and another comment from Joel’s teacher who asked me where I got them from. I’m not entirely sure whether they were taking the piss or not! Joel’s teacher must be in her early forties and she still wears her hair in bunches sometimes. Is it acceptable (apart from fancy dress) for a woman of this age to wear her hair in bunches? Even if she is teaching five year olds all day, I’m just not sure.

I told Sue (lollypop lady) she would definitely benefit from some nice warm earmuffs. She deserves some kind of award from the queen for standing out on that crossing every morning for the last 8 years. I couldn’t do it and I know she hates it because she always asks me for the time on my return leg of the school run, desperate to get out of the cold. Initially she only agreed to do it for a few weeks and all these years later she’s still standing out there, morning and afternoon, in all weather conditions. She told me that no one else would do it and she’s scared that if she hands her notice in it’s only a matter of time before a child gets knocked down, she's a pillar of the community and an unsung hero.

Another thing that puzzles me is why there are so many parents dropping their kids off in their gym attire. Am I to believe that these individuals are actually on their way to workout rather than on their way work? There are loads of them at Joel’s school, men as well as women. Oh how the other half live…and some of the men wear quite revealing shorts, even in freezing cold weather which ahem…don’t leave much to the imagination. I'll leave you with that thought!

Ten out of ten for novel use of a pineapple...

I thought I'd imagined this when I saw it on the BBC news but no it did actually happen. Pure Genius, ten out of ten to Calvin Harris for novel use of a pineapple!

The last few weeks in a nutshell...

The last few weeks have thrown a fair bit of crap in my direction. Thanks to those who have emailed asking where the blog has gone, it’s much appreciated. Apologies also for not commenting on yours.

A couple of weeks ago we received the very sad news that a good friend who I’ve known since my school days had experienced a sudden and shocking bereavement. It doesn’t feel right disclosing the details as it’s not my story to share, but me and my close group of friends have been quite devastated for our friend and her family. I’ve thought of them daily. I don’t often dwell on just how fragile life actually is but I’ve found myself feeling increasing morbid. The thought that someone you love could be here one moment and gone the next. It puts everything else into perspective.

I guess my generation just isn’t used to the concept of death; it’s not something that we generally have to think about or deal with. I suppose a hundred or so years ago people died left, right and centre from disease, poverty, in childbirth and through general poor life expectancy but today people in developed countries assume they’ll live forever. We certainly don’t anticipate burying our parents whilst in our thirties, in fact many of us still have grandparents shuffling about, grumbling about the youth of today (us) etc. My grandma is 93 and although she’s gradually loosing the plot and becoming more dependant we still suspect that there’s several more years in the old girl.

In other news…

I now work from home; it’s marvellous the tea and coffee making facilities are far superior to that of my old office. No bugger bothers me and that’s just the way I like it. I’m beginning to realise that I’m not the people person I thought I was.

I’m also currently putting together a candidate statement for the role of Parent Governor at Joel’s school. I have 200 words in which to sell myself, this is actually quite difficult. Everything I write sounds ridiculous; I so don’t want all the other parents thinking I’m a dick head!

Joel is doing well at school and was recently presented with the ominous sounding star award for ‘I try to stand up for myself without hurting others’. His name was printed in the school newsletter and we are very proud of our son the peacemaker. I assume that some kind of incident has occurred to prompt the award but we are none the wiser. He has just announced that he wants to go to art school because he wants to paint a Dalek, who am I to argue?

Louie’s collection of special items that he has to have with him at all times has grown. He now has a blanket, a teddy, a baby toy rat (called Ratatouille), Ratatouille’s mum (a larger toy rat) a dummy and a bottle of milk. He wants a Bob the Builder Ice Cream maker for Christmas (which doesn’t exist) so Santa’s going to have a bit of trouble with that one! Sadly Santa doesn’t exist either, sorry kids it’s just mum and dad spending a god damn fortune on bits of tat that’ll soon be in the skip.

The family annual dinner dance was held last Saturday; I managed to remain relatively sober throughout, which was boring. We won a novelty baldy man’s survival kit in the raffle which is a slight improvement on the time when we won three VHS video cassettes, I mean really with the invention of SKY plus who needs a video?

I will be back soon, I promise.

Is it really only Tuesday?

Okay… so in my last post I wrote about how family life seems to be gradually getting easier. However during the first few days of half-term I realise that I may have spoken a little too soon. So far this week (is it really only Tuesday?) my life has been made a living hell by the sweet little imps that reside in my house.

Monday
Because of the bloody clocks going back they decide it is time to get up at 6:30am. I hear Joel padding downstairs to raid the biscuit tin but have no energy to do anything about it. I make a mental note to bring it upstairs that night and put it on top of the wardrobe. This is the only place in the whole house where he can’t reach it. Several minutes later they burst into our room covered in mint chocolate aero.

Thankfully Supergran comes over for a few hours whilst I go into the office. When I return she looks more frazzled than usual and explains that unbeknown to her Joel has taken a piece of red chalk into the bath with him. The result is a pink bath tub, bath mat, shower curtain, several pink coloured flannels (which had previously been cream) and a pink towel. You would not believe how hard it is to get chalk off plastic; even Kim and Aggy would have a job.

Whilst Supergran has been sorting this mess out Louie has made a den in the wardrobe, part of this process involves pulling all of the clothes I store in there off their hangers and damaging one of my going out tops. Grrrr, I sling it into the growing pile of things to sew when I can be bothered. By this point I am hoarse and coming down with a cold.

Tuesday
They get up at 6:05am but potter about in their bedroom without making too much noise; I’m awake anyway because I feel like crap. They fight all morning; Joel mainly instigates the battles by taking Louie’s toys off him. They make another den in the aforementioned wardrobe. It is the only time they play nicely together so I let them get on with it. I have a cup of tea and fear for my clothes.

My old school friend calls in at lunchtime to share the happy news that she is expecting her first baby. I’m so excited for her but then Joel starts playing up and I feel embarrassed. I am comforted by the fact that she is a primary school teacher and well used to demented children cavorting about the place. The husband likens our boys to a pair of Red Setters that need exercising or should that be exorcising, which ever it is they clearly are in need of fresh air so I take them to the park.

Later I phone my mum to see if my 29 year old brother has left for Australia. He is meant to be travelling over there until next June. She was feeling very down and had hit the whiskey, I realise that no matter what age they are, my children will still reduce me to tears. I visit the bathroom to find that the toilet water is green; I fish green chalk from the bowl.

To be continued…

Telling it like it was...

There is a photograph that sits in a frame on the window sill in our living room. In it my boys sit side by side in colour co-ordinated outfits. Joel is about two and a half years old and Louie one. Louie has his little fist clenched tightly resting on his brother's leg. It's one of many lovely images of my sweet little boys taken when they were babies and toddlers. In other photos I am pictured brimming with pride with them in my arms or sitting on my knee, but back then all was not as it seemed.

I started to lose the plot shortly after Louie was born, I simply could not cope. I hadn't planned on having two children so close in age and never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined how hard it would be. They drove me mad with their constant demands and needs that had to be met before my own. I was great at the practical stuff, the washing, the ironing, the housework, things that gave me a plausible excuse to busy myself away from them.

I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I would shout at them so loudly that they would jump out of their skins. I realise that it was totally inappropriate as they were far too young to respond to this kind of discipline. It was usually for doing something trivial like drawing on the paintwork rather than to save them from danger.

Two and a half years down the line I am still driven insane by their constant fighting, fiddling and mess making but gradually they / we are becoming more civilised and I am better able to cope. Joel has just turned five and I commented to my friend just the other day that family life is finally starting to become enjoyable rather than one long chore. Sometimes I lie awake at night and cringe at the memory of my appalling behaviour but then I think of my bright, happy, growing boys asleep in the next room and I realise that I must have done something right.

An Ordinary Whistler

My mother who's 63 has just started her very own blog. So what does the average grandma blog about? Recipes for nice cakes or how to make the perfect Sunday roast? Or perhaps use it as a forum for sharing sewing patterns?

Nah, not my mother, but then she's not the average grandma. In her words her blog is an extension of many a pub discussion, and will she hopes allow her to express her profoundly held beliefs without being interrupted!

Obviously as I'm her daughter I'm her number one fan. But that aside, I urge you to visit her at An Ordinary Whistler as she's an excellent writer as well as an excellent mum.

Phonics are not funny

During a moment of madness I decided to put my name forward for the position of Parent Governor at Joel’s school. I’m not exactly sure what the role involves but I’m happy to volunteer my time and would like the opportunity to input into the way the school is run. The egomaniac inside me thinks that I’ve got exactly what it takes despite the fact I have no idea what would be expected of me. I submitted a letter to the head teacher last Thursday.

That evening all parents of children in reception were invited to attend an information session where we would get the opportunity to see how our children are being taught to read and write. Joel’s teacher had asked if we could bring him along so that he could take part in one of the demonstrations. Only a few children had been selected so we were delighted that he had been chosen. He was a little star and we were so proud of him. He had to pick a shape out of a bag and describe its size and texture. This was in front of about 40 adults but he wasn’t fazed. I hate public speaking and would have crapped myself.

After this the teachers played us a CD explaining how they use phonics to teach the children to read. The woman on the CD sounded out all the letters the way they should be pronounced. It sounded really funny, like she was either a bit drunk or doing something rude, oooh and aaa and puh, I could hear someone sniggering behind me and it set me off. I was biting my lip so hard in an attempt not to laugh hysterically. There I am putting myself forward for the responsible role of Parent Governor and I’m wetting myself laughing at an educational CD. This was made worse by the fact I was sitting on a small yellow chair designed for a five year old and I was on the front row. There was nowhere to hide. The only saving grace was that the head teacher had been unable to attend because she had slipped on a rogue roast potato in the dinner hall earlier in the week and broken her arm!