Mediterraneans love doilies....fact

We have just booked our family holiday to Pollensa in Majorca. We went last year and enjoyed it so much we’ve decided to go back. It’s absolutely perfect for young families as most of the bars and restaurants are in pedestrianised areas where kids can safely run around and you can still see them from your table. I can’t stand tacky resorts with miles of burger bars and amusement arcades but prefer places that feel cosmopolitan and have heritage and culture. Pollensa and nearby Alcudia old town fit the bill.

Before we had children me and my husband used to love our holidays and we really miss being able to go long haul. I tell all of my friends that haven’t yet started to reproduce that they must enjoy their holidays. I would give anything to be able to lie on a beach and read a book without being disturbed. I would love to dress up for the evening in a floaty maxi dress without having to worry that it will be used as a napkin and end up covered in ketchup. I wish to enjoy a romantic dinner for two followed by cocktails and a bit of people watching. That is what our holidays were like and I mourn their loss.

Holidays would begin by kicking back on the outbound flight with 35cl bottle of Pinot Grigio. These days when we fly the entire journey is spent on trips to the toilets. Joel loves plane toilets and is thrilled by the noise of the flushing mechanism.

After a couple of disastrous holidays we have eventually found the formula for a successful family getaway. For us villa holidays are definitely the way forward and they needn’t be that expensive if you hunt around for deals on the internet. They are great because you can choose a villa that is in the middle of nowhere. The kids can scream, run around, abuse each other, do whatever it is they do at home and it doesn’t disturb anyone.

The only problem with villas is that they tend to belong to people that live in them in the winter and they are usually full of their cherished items aka tat. Ones within our price range are invariably full of tat, these will be described in the brochures as ‘homely’. Mediterranean people seem to have a love of doilies. They place everything on doilies maximising the risk of breakages. It is worth remembering that if you have small children the first hour of your holiday will be spent moving breakable objects to more suitable locations. My husband was so enamoured with some of the tat in the last villa we stayed at that he photographed some of it.

Formerly known as Mary

Following Louie’s birth in spring 2006 it’s fair to say I lost the plot for a while. My husband went back to work after a couple of weeks and despite the inevitable broken nights sleep, normality more or less resumed for him.

I however was left at home with a 19 month old toddler obsessed with plugging in domestic appliances and a screaming new born. I was two stone over weight, knackered, needed my roots doing and couldn't master the art of manoeuvring a double buggy. Motherhood had been much easier first time around and no one could ever have prepared me for how difficult having two children under two was going to be.

I wasn’t sure where the young woman who had an interesting and rewarding career had gone or whether she would ever be ready and able to fit back into her skinny jeans, wield a lipstick or slop Chardonnay all over the town

I felt as though I was totally out of my depth and a bit of a failure. I do not do the things that mothers are traditionally meant to. I do not bake, I do not even whip up an Angel Delight and I am not good at arty and crafty things. I was obsessed that all other mothers the length and breath of the UK were busily steaming and pureeing veg whilst I painted my nails.

I do however excel at housework. My laundry turnaround could probably be entered into the Guinness Book of Records as could the speed and precision of my hoovering. This probably accounts for my older son’s love of all things electrical. I am fabulous at buying things for the whole family that we neither want nor need and am great at make up application, hair straightening and most other forms of personal grooming.

I compensate my children by ensuring that they eat healthy organic ready meals with fresh veg that comes in those little bags that you pop in to the microwave for 3 minutes. I ensure that all fishfingers in my freezer have added omega 3, all pasta is wholewheat and there is always some kind of fruit at varying stages of decomposition in the bowl on the kitchen counter. We enjoy trips to the park, doing jigsaws and reading books. Other entertainment is provided by Pokoyo, Thomas and Friends and Bob the Builder. They go to a fantastic nursery (that we pay through the nose for) where they can play with all things messy.

When Louie was six months old I returned to work and in the months that followed I came to accept that the way my family operates is just fine and the woman formerly known as Mary returned, hurrah…

Chinese medicine and the 'naked phase'

I've realised that I often write about Joel's antics in my blog but I've not written that much about Louie (my two year old).

I'd not planned to get pregnant again as quickly after having Joel, who was only 10 months old, but these things happen and so it came to be that Louie joined our little family. At 8 months pregnant the midwife discovered that he was breach. She told me that if he didn't shift he would have to be delivered by Cesarean section. I was terrified of having a c-section but the only thing more terrifying was the thought of having a natural birth. Both my husband and his brother had been breach at birth. My mother-in-law explained that in the early seventies you were just expected to crack on with it and squeeze them out as per if they were head first. Probably with minimal pain relief and whilst the husband was reading the paper in the waiting room. That said, her experiences had been so awful, she had erased them from her memory and was unable to offer any guidance.

I'd tried a few things to get him to move into the correct position including Chinese medicine. This involved burning a 'special' candle (which looked and smelled like a foot long joint) next to my little toe on my right foot, which is rather random and I wasn't surprised when it didn't work.

At 37 weeks a scan showed he was still the wrong way round and in addition he'd managed to wrap the umbilical cord around his neck several times. I spent the next fortnight frantically worrying he was going to strangle himself. At 39 weeks I went in to hospital to have a scheduled section. As the doctors made the incision to remove him they accidentally cut his bottom, to this day he still has a little scar. I love it, and I hope it will be visible forever. A little reminder of the day he came in to the world. Even after his birth he refused to sleep flat on his back and he spent the first few weeks of his life sat upright in his car seat. It's fair to say he is stubborn, he knows what he wants and usually how to get it.

He is currently going through his 'naked phase', he'll just decide to strip off for no particular reason and gallivant around the house. I remember Joel going through a similar thing. I assume it is some kind of right of passage for toddlers although no one has ever confirmed this for me, perhaps someone can let me know.

10 best country break-up song titles

Few have mastered the art of heartbreak as well as Country's hangdog heroes. Behold their best blurb-some titles boo and indeed, hoo. I'm not into country music but I saw these in Q magazine and they made me chuckle.

These are all genuine song titles!

1) I've been flushed from the bathroom of your heart
Johnny Cash

2) Here's a quarter (call somebody who cares)
Travis Tritt

3) She's acting single, I'm drinking doubles
Gary Stewart

4) My wife ran off with my best friend and I sure do miss him
Wayne Carter

5) You're out doing what I'm here doing without
Gene Watson

6) Ive got tears in my ears (from lying on my back in bed while I cry over you)
Homer and Jethro

7) You're the reason our kids are ugly
Loretta Lynn

8) Tequila makes her clothes fall off
Joe Nichols

9) She's got the goldmine (I've got the shaft)
Jerry Reed

If drinking don't kill me (her memory will)
George Jones

Only in America!

Save my soul

Joel had his first swimming lesson today, or at least he was meant to. He has already missed the first two weeks of the course due to him having Chicken Pox. I have been psyching him up for days, trying to get him to think about how exciting it's going to be to learn to swim with all the other little boys and girls but it has fallen on deaf ears. He had decided that swimming wasn't for him before we even left the house.

He whined the whole way to the sports centre, "I don't want to go", "I don't like it", "I miss my toys and want to go home" (he always says this whenever we go anywhere). I knew I was flogging a proverbial dead horse as he's a stubborn little boy but I persisted in the hope he would change his mind.

We got as far as the changing room and he continued to whine, this time he went full out for the emotional guilt trip with "but I'm scared mummy" and "I'm still spotty", this I can identify with as lets face it no one likes putting their bathing suit on. The other mums cast me sympathetic looks and one or two offered Joel words of encouragement but he was having none of it.

Refusing to be beaten by a four year old and after a great deal of effort I wrestled him into his little swim shorts. After more tears and a bit of screaming (him not me, although by this point I felt like it) I agreed that this week we could just watch from the side. I thought that this was a fair compromise as he was quite frantic and I knew the only way I would get him in to the water was if I threw him and although I was tempted I decided against this option. He then explained that he would only watch from the side if he was fully clothed. He had obviously figured out that this would minimise the risk of me making him go in to the water. So I got him dressed and we watched for five minutes before he announced he wanted to go home and started to whimper again.

My two year old Louie, who now has Chicken Pox, watched this whole palaver with interest and as we were leaving the poolside he decided that he wanted to go swimming and so ensues a 30 minute tantrum from him. Throw me a life line and save my soul.

When I grow up...I want to be like mummy!

Why Parents should always check their children's homework before they hand it in.

After it was graded and the child brought it home, she returned to school the next day with the following note:

Dear Ms. Davis,

I want to be very clear about my child's illustration. It is NOT of me on a dance pole on a stage in a strip joint. I work at Home Depot and had commented to my daughter how much money we made in the recent snowstorm. This picture is of me selling a shovel.

Mrs. Harrington

Mums...here's another thing to feel guilty about

The school run...I'd like to stress this is not a picture of me!

I was reading and article in one of the Sunday supplements yesterday entitled 'I loved my child, but loved vodka more'. The article was about the increasing number of mums who are turning to the bottle to help them cope with the stresses of a hectic lifestyle. I admit that I regularly fall into this category. However this article quoted some shocking statistics and it's worth remembering that this research was carried out by the News of the World.

Firstly, of 107 mums 16 percent confessed to having alcohol as soon as their kids left for school! So that must mean before 9:am, right? Unless it's the American use of the word school as in university (I think not). Goodness knows mornings are a struggle but can you imagine thinking 'Ooh I'll just crack open a can of Red Stripe and put my feet up in front of LK Today'? For one thing I've a job to go to.

Next, one third of the women revealed that they rely on their children to take care of each other when they drink. Surely not...my children are 4 and 2. This would result in the 2 year old being subjected to all kinds of terror, having a dinner consisting solely of jaffa cakes and going to bed in a Spiderman costume. So not really all that different to when I take care of them.

35 percent admitted their partners don't know how much alcohol they drink. This must only be on days when the partner has had to go to the Job centre.

Finally (and this is the most shocking statistic of all) is that half confessed that they began drinking as soon as they put their child to bed. Bloody hell, I've polished off half a bottle of wine before my children have gone to bed!

I love this!

What goes through your mind when someone asks you if you want to go for a drink?
I think that this is a piece of genius, two different people emailed it to me yesterday.

Long live Mr Motivator

I'm a bit embarrassed to admit this but I am really pleased to see that Mr Motivator aka Derrick Evans is back on GMTV after an absence of 9 years. The lycra clad aerobics enthusiast who is now 56 has dug out his tight jumpsuits from the recesses of his wardrobe, found a matching bandanna, strapped on his bum-bag (wonder what he keeps in it?) and is conducting a UK tour of schools and businesses to encourage all the sofa shaped lard arses to 'Change 4 Life'. and good on him because this is what our nation needs.

Yesterday he was leading a session of office chair aerobics with a group of people in a call centre and today he was in a school encouraging both pupils and teachers alike to 'shake it out' to a soundtrack by Kylie Minogue. Humiliating does not even begin to cover it.

Mr Motivator is a clearly a man who has no intention of growing old gracefully and for this I salute him. He even had the opportunity to meet Gordon Brown earlier this week to discuss the 'Change 4 Life' campaign. I bet it's the first time the Prime Minister has been interviewed by someone wearing skintight cycling shorts.

And the award for loo of the year goes to....

I mentioned (in passing) in my last blog that I have to give a presentation at the end of January and that the topic for my presentation is toilets. Did you know that there is a British Toilet Association (BTA), a Loo of the Year Award and a World Toilet Day? No? Well I guess you must have more important things to think about.

The aim of World Toilet Day is to warn the developed world that it has no reason to be complacent about its toilet routines. Complacent about our toilet routines...us? Apparently toilet germs are spreading fast, with almost 50% of adults in the UK failing to dry their hands after using a public toilet, and one in six adults admitting that they don’t wash their hands every time, shame on them! My pre-school children can do better than this.

This lax approach to basic hygiene means that all those yakky germs from other people’s bottoms are left on door handles, the flush handle, taps and then they spread on to the hands, and then into the food of everyone who touches the contaminated items. Surely this is a worst case scenario? I’m just quoting what I read here (well perhaps with a little embellishment) but it’s definitely something worth considering.

According to the BTA website Britain’s public toilets were once the envy of the world, I find this hard to believe as it certainly wasn’t in my lifetime. I for one have used some shocking facilities and don’t recommend answering a call of nature at Pudsey Park public conveniences, The Nags Head in York or Manchester Victoria Station to name just a few.

Give a monkey a typewriter

I have designed myself a new banner, it took all evening and I am very pleased with it. I had to interrupt my husband from his list writing several times to ask for assistance with technical things like pixel size and jpgs. When I showed him the finished article he said "Give a monkey a typewriter and eventually he'll be able to write Shakespeare". I think that says it all.

7 Things You Don't Know About Me

I'm relatively new to all this blogging business and have been tagged on a meme by my good friend Laura who writes are we nearly there yet mummy. Laura has me in hysterics and it was reading her blog that first inspired me to start writing my own. Laura is my oldest friend, we met at middle school when we were 11 and we used to get up to all kinds of mischief see Only by the night and Up in orange smoke. That is fact 1.

2. I have an inappropriate love of fashion. My cupboards are at bursting point. I own about 60 pairs of shoes and boots and I stash them in plastic tubs under my bed. Far too much of my disposable income goes on clothes and accessories, but it's my hobby. I have however made several fashion faux pas in the past including a dress that looked like someone had vomited on it and a blue fluffy bikini top that I never / will ever wear. I am worried that this could lead to my demise like poor Joan Cunnane of Stockport.

3. If I didn't work in the exciting, fast paced and rewarding world of community development I would have loved to have been an interior designer. Perhaps it's not too late

4. I have no intention of growing old gracefully, none whatsoever!

5. I love Thai and Indian food. My favourite is Thai Massaman curry, I like to leave the table with a warm glow in my mouth. My husband loves curry even more than I do and regularly cooks Indian curry from scratch which is absolutely delicious and healthy but makes the house smell for days.

6. Top of my to do list is to take a road trip across America starting in New York and finishing in California. I want to stay in motels, eat in burger bars, have my eggs over easy (whatever that means), use the restroom and take in a Las Vegas show. Not necessarily in that order.

7. I love to dance and I know nor care what I look like when I do so. I enjoy going to gigs and music festivals and behaving like I'm a student again.

I am now meant to tag people onto this but as I am new to the blogging community I am unable to do so. Thanks though to anyone who enjoys reading my blog, I enjoy writing it and reading any comments I receive.

The great Coinstar robbery

I’m afraid I’ve been forced to write another one of my letters of complaint.

Just before Christmas we went to empty all of our pennies into the Coinstar machine at the supermarket. For anyone that’s never used a Coinstar, basically you feed in your change, the machine counts it, takes a percentage and then prints you a voucher to be redeemed against your shopping. In theory it’s a great idea and is very popular with people who take their copper jars so they can buy 10 Lamberts. You don’t have to separate and bag up coins of different denominations or bother with the long queue at the bank followed by the eye rolling and sighs of the people behind you etc.

On the day we came to use the Coinstar it had obviously been very busy. I suppose lots of people want to cash their pennies in at Christmas. We waited for about 10 minutes until it was our turn to use the machine. After about 30 seconds the damn thing started spewing our coins out of the rejected coin slot and all over the floor of the foyer. An error message then came up to tell us it was full. Why had there been no prior warning stating that it was nearing its capacity? There we were scrabbling about on the floor, at the entrance to the store, on one of the busiest shopping days of the year trying to collect up all our copper into a bag with a massive hole in it. It was a nightmare, so much so I am now scared of the Coinstar machine.

To add insult to injury a lot of our coins remained trapped in the feeder and we couldn't free them. The only solution was to push them into the machine in the hope they too would be rejected, but of course they weren’t.

Why do these things always happen to us?

I lost my heart to Darth Vader

My son Joel has Chicken Pox. It started on Sunday when I noticed a slight rash and each day the spots have become more visible and are now covering most of his small torso and have moved onto his face. It must be at its peak because he looks like a victim of the plague, he had a fever last night and he is complaining that it itches. I have told him that he mustn't scratch the ones on his face as he will be scarred for life. I am living proof of this as I have two pronounced Chicken Pox scars on my face as evidence, which I showed him, he seemed impressed.

He is in the care of grandma whilst I am at work. His younger brother who is not yet showing any signs of a rash, despite me checking him every hour, has gone to nursery. For some reason Joel has decided he hates nursery so to some extent he is pleased to be ill and to have grandma's full attention. I remember when I was a child I used to love going to my nan's house if I was ill and couldn't go to school. She had a twin tub washing machine and it was great fun to help her do her washing. We would play snakes and ladders and watch Going for Gold with Henry Kelly, whatever happened to him? Then she would cook me fish fingers and chips and I would help her do her crossword.

To ease some of Joel's suffering I have ordered him a Darth Vader costume. He is obsessed with Star Wars and watches one of the films everyday. He has a collection of lightsabers in different colours and we have to fight him with them. His knowledge of the characters is incredible. I heard on the radio recently that the average child asks 400 questions a day. Joel asks 400 questions a day about Star Wars alone!

He has been waiting eagerly for his costume to come and it arrived at 7:00am this morning. It was delivered by the postman that has a ridiculously and unnecessary loud knock. He could wake people several streets away with his knock. We have a lot of parcels delivered by this postman and it is difficult not to verbally abuse him. He should know by now that there is no need to knock that loud, I am always up.

Joel dived out of bed and we helped him open the parcel to find that Darth Vader has been sent in a large rather than a small. It says it should fit an 8-10 year old but I could have quite easily fitted into it and I am 5ft 6, are 8-10 year olds 5ft 6 these days? Poor Joel was very upset when I explained that it would have to go back and he would have to wait for one in the correct size to come. It was terrible to see my little boy, covered in welts, crying his eyes out over his seemingly long awaited costume. The fancy dress company are going to dispatch a small (which should fit a 4 year old) to him today so at least I'll be prepared for the postman.

Bits of paper

I was right to be very concerned about my car going in for its service and MOT as the bill totalled £638.05. On returning it to me the mechanic actually joked "here's the keys to your new car", I was not amused. It needed new brakes and tyres and I wished that I'd saved some of the essential car user allowance my employer pays me, but I don't know how to save. I am a product of the buy now pay later generation, that's all I know. If I want it, I know that there's a piece of plastic in my purse that can get it for me. Sod the consequences....

For a time, before I put the £638.50 bill for rather unglamourous car parts into perspective I was absolutely devastated. That kind of money can buy a weekend for two in Venice, flights for our family holiday to Majorca or 10 pairs of nice shoes. But then aided by my mothers sensible words I realised that money and bills are all just bits of paper floating around in the background of our lives. Health and safety are clearly much more important.

When I met my husband over 10 years ago we were skint students with loans coming out of our ears. In fact my husband and I have always been skint, yet we've still managed to move up the property ladder, we have two cars on the drive-way and enjoy at least one holiday a year. Yet I still wake up at 4:00am wondering how we'll make ends meet and I still feel guilty each time I buy something I don't need, which happens virtually everyday. I have a pension, I have life assurance but it's all just bits of paper.

The nightmare after Christmas

Friday in theory (according to my annual leave monitoring sheet) was my first official day back at work following the Christmas and new year break. I went into the office at 8:40am and by 10:40am I was still one of only 3 people in the building, the other two being the caretaker and the lone woman deep cleaning the canteen. For a couple of hours I had been surfing the internet for sale bargains and dabbling with the idea of doing all the things I had been postponing for the whole month of December. But I just couldn't get 'into the zone'. I knew that no one would notice if I went home, so I did and I spent the afternoon neatly packing Christmas 2008 back up into its boxes. This resulted in a nasty rash from dragging a 5 ft tree back into the garden but where there's a will there's a way. I was sure that I would feel re-energised and highly motivated when I returned to work properly with all my colleagues on January 5th.

Today is January 5th and I am still not 'in the zone', in fact I'm not overly confident I will ever be. My car is in for its annual service and MOT and I am literally terrified of the outcome. I am hovering over my mobile phone with butterflies in my stomach as if awaiting some kind of horrid medical test results. She's a big expensive old girl and I am anticipating bad news.

Joel has also come out in a rash over the weekend that I highly suspected was Chicken Pox. This was confirmed when I spoke to the nursery manager this morning. I now need to find alternative childcare for the week, start praying his younger brother hasn't got it and cancel his first swimming lesson, on the course that I got up at 5:00am on the 23rd December to book him a place on. I was convinced he'd already had Chicken Pox.

Anyway I continue to gracefully wish people a happy new year, when what I really want to know is what exactly is happy about it? I have included a picture of me during happier times i.e. 1 minute after mid-night on January 1st.

Note to self - never drink Sambuca

This is a cautionary tale about what happened to my friend's friend's cousin's brother's dog walker after they went on a night out and drank a lot of shots of Sambuca. The night started well enough for this individual. A few glasses of wine were consumed in sensible measures, followed by one or two vodkas until one of the party suggested a round of Sambuca would be a good idea. The rounds kept coming and before you know it aforementioned person was murdering Michael Jackson's Billie-Jean on the karaoke in a grotty pub full of scary people.

I heard they then fell over in front of a member of staff from their children's nursery and went home and ate 7 packets of Wotsits in assorted flavours (apparently they come in flamin' hot and prawn cocktail now!) The pain from the fall and hangover the next day must have been terrible.

Personally I am not a big drinker and have only tried Sambuca once and that was about 10 years ago and in a cocktail called a Slippery Nipple. I seem to remember it being hideous stuff that tasted of aniseed.