Help, I 'm turning into one of those mums....!!

Heaven help me, who would have thought it? But it seems that I am slowly turning into one of those mums... You know those shouty mouthy mums who take their little darlings to their sports every week and then decide to shout at them and tell them how to play? In our case it’s the nearly 6 year olds first season of playing hockey. Its proper hockey with sticks and mouth guards and I am finding myself on the sidelines yelling at him “to hit the ball”, “watch the ball” and my favourite “what are you standing there for?”! So while I stand there getting all hot and bothered about it he is nonchalantly standing there, singing to himself or using his hockey stick as a ninja sword or light sabre.. Arrgghhhh!!!

Quite ironic really as I have been spending the last couple of weeks telling everyone about an annoying shouty dad at swimming! Who likes to yell in his very obvious accent (let’s just say he is from a very, very, large country in the north Atlantic!!) swimming instructions to his son while he is having a lesson.

Hmmm, what can I say other than “hello pot this is kettle”!!

To make matters even worse is that I have no idea what he should be doing as I have never played a game of hockey in my life. I have had to watch a few games (under duress I may add...), due to Mr P having played it since he was a nipper but that’s it! So not only am I the shouty mum shouting at her son I am also the shouty mum who actually has no idea what she is shouting about!!

How bad is that??

I suppose we can blame my slightly competitive nature, yes I like to win or to at least do well if I can’t win. So I want the same for my sons, I want them to do well, their very best.  I know the nearly 6 year old can do better, that he can actually hit the ball quite well, I just want him to do it on the field each week!  Mr P is quite relaxed about it all and thinks it will just sort itself out and the game will just click for him. I hope so and if it doesn’t then fine at least he tried...

My sister who watched his games last weekend was “polite” enough to point out that he is not the only one on the field looking like he can’t be bothered.  Mind you I don’t think the parents of the children she was pointing out where that impressed with her pointing this out!

So Mr P thinks it is best that I give the games a miss for the next few weeks.  Just so the nearly 6 year old can ease himself into the game without his fishwife of a mother shouting at him.  

Good news, it should give me enough time to read the hockey rule book......

It's Daylight Bloody Robbery....

I see you there sitting on the shelf, sitting with all the other “Imported” goods. Looking at me, imploring with me to pick you up, to roll you round in my hands, to take you home.

But I can’t... or rather I won't! It’s not that I can’t afford you; it’s just that I can’t bring myself to spend $4 on you knowing that in London you are a measly 68 pence!

So let’s do the maths, 68p converted at today’s rate would be only $1.30. So not only are you twice the price of the Kiwi equivalent you are 3 times are much as you are in England. So being the principled person that I am and more importantly of Scottish descent, that is simply why I will not be buying you. That is why I leave you sitting on the shelf every time I am in the supermarket.

Because its daylight BLOODY robbery!!

Oh, but you do taste so good. Funny thing is I never liked you until we met again in London. I remember trying you as a youngster, cooked in a billy over an open fire on a school camping trip and “Blech, disgusting, not eating that again!! But then my sister re-introduced us, one soggy Sunday morning along with Marks and Spencer Ultimate Mash..  Ah it was the perfect comfort food for a dodgy hangover.

Hmmm.....  Oh I do so miss having you for brunch on Sunday with my eggs... 

So perhaps you can be my little secret, hidden at the back of the pantry, hidden in amongst the other canned goods. Hidden, so Mr P and the boys don’t see you. They can have the less tasty Kiwi version; they would be none the wiser. I could wait until I am home alone to bring you out, cook you up and scoff you down. Mmmm, I know it’s not nice not to share, but too bad. I make the rules so I can break them...

But, No!!

But really, why not I ask myself? When we were in London I had no problem going to the NZ shop and spending £4 or £5 on a pack of biscuits or some chocolate. Surely this is the same?

No, no of course it isn’t!  Then I just wanted a slice of “home”, something tasty to remind me of what I was missing out on.  To remind me of my childhood.

No, you will not be coming home with me.  I simply cannot bring myself to spend $4 on a can of Baked Beans... 

But I may stop by next time I see you, just so we can have a moment together perhaps even a quick roll in my hands.....

Okay, okay, I admit it...

It would be fair to say that the last 8 months or so I have been in denial to what or who I am.  But that all changed this week with the click of a mouse button when I was asked for my occupation at the bank.  I am not currently working was my reply, so with a CLICK I became a ‘housewife’.  Right before my eyes, CLICK, just like that.  Apparently there was no need to discuss this with me.  It seems that any woman who has children and isn’t in employment must be a housewife!  So the decision was made while I sat there quietly outraged (that’s my inner feminist) and Mr. P just smirked knowingly!

You see I haven’t really come to terms yet to say that I am a SAHM.  To all new people I meet and on any forms that I need to complete I am still an IT Manager.  Someone who works and has a life outside of children and the home, but who is currently having an unexpected extended break.  Why do I do this still?  No idea, but I have read some pretty good blogs recently about lost of identity and what life was like before children.  So I guess that pretty much sums up how I feel.  That with that little click the last 20 years of my life and experiences has somehow been wiped out.  That my role in life has now changed to that of a housewife because that is what society or the bank’s computer system thinks I am.  So what will this new role bring I ask?  Will I still be interesting to other people?  Will “Yes hello, I am currently at home with the kids” be met with blank stares or even worst that pitying smirk that some people like to give.  Will I lose whatever fashion sense I had while working and resort to anything that is comfy?  Will my ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol disappear since I no longer have work drinks or even worst am I am expected not to drink (copious amounts) since I am now a housewife? 

Now of course there is nothing wrong with being called a housewife, after all that is what many of my friends are.  But it does scream (well to me) images of a perfectly coiffure woman in an apron, holding babies and smiling sweetly at hubby.  Not the reality of a over tired woman trying to juggle housework, food shopping, school run, afterschool activities, cooking, bathing and story reading.

But the alternatives are not any better, Home Executive, Home maker, Soccer Mom, Lady of the house, Home Economist!  I mean really, am I the only one that thinks this? 

I think I will settle for what my mum used to say in her younger days when we were all still at home… “wife, mother, chief cook and bottle washer”. 

Just try fitting that into your little box Mr. Bank Manager!

So here we are......

So hello there, yes it’s been a while hasn’t it? 

We are now 3 weeks back to being in New Zealand, slowly getting settled and so far so good...

The flight over wasn’t too bad with the boys, all 29 hours of it!  Never underestimate the power of Chupa Chups lollipops and Cars 2.  The first kept them entertained during the all so tedious checking in and security process. Of course much more were demanded for takeoff and landing.  The latter kept them entertained on the flight, in between eating (more sweets and chocolate, they didn't want any of the airline food!) and sleeping they were glued to their little screens.  It didn’t matter that Son No 2 couldn’t get to grips with the head phones so just spent the time watching it with no sound.  He was happy so we were happy.

Once we got here the first two weeks were spent travelling around the country visiting family, so more flights and Chupa Chups for the boys.  Perhaps, now thinking about it, the overload of sweets may of been the cause of Son No 1 couple of bouts of air sickness?  We also had a bit of an eating frenzy, eating everything that we missed while in the UK.   The boys it seems have already slipped into the laidback lifestyle here, playing in the surf at various beaches, eating ice creams and running around in bare feet seems quite normal for them now.

Needless to say the visiting and feeding frenzy is now over and we are now getting some sense of normality back into our lives.  Mr P has started work; Son No 1 is in school which is a bloody godsend even if it is only for 4 weeks until its summer holidays over here.  He was getting quite unbearable and annoying, does that make me a bad mother saying that? No, just honest I think, as there is nothing quite like a bored 5 year old to tip you over the edge!  Even he wanted to start school.  I have even managed to find a childminder to look after Son No 2 for a couple of days a week so I can get some much needed me time.  Some time to think about what I am going to do now.  You know those questions that always seem to be lurking in the back of your mind.  Do I work, if so part time or full time work?  Do I do some courses instead?  Can I really be bothered to join a gym?  Should i sneak off and have another cream donut?   Or is it just me that thinks these things?

In the meantime I have a much neglected blog that needs some loving and need to find us a home before we drive my sister and her partner around the bend.....

My week that was...

So in terms of surviving I am not talking a major natural disaster or catastrophe event here, but nonetheless for us it was a pretty big deal. I went to Bangkok for a week for my brother’s wedding while Mr P looked after our two boys on his own. I am happy to say it all went well, so well in fact that I might just have to do it again!

Bangkok was a blast, I really love this city. I thought this the last time I was there so was a bit hesitant about whether I would feel the same but I did. If you look pass the seedy aspect of it; it is a city just like any other major city in the world, full of the hustle and bustle of everyday living. The people are so friendly the food is great and the shopping is amazing. From the real designer goods in the malls to the very good knock offs in the various markets.

Even more surprising is that we, my siblings and I, managed not to have any major disagreements. Which if you knew my family is something of a rarity.  Yes, we are generally a close family but we are all quite opinionated and think we are always right! Which usually is a recipe for disaster if we spend too long in each other's company.  It was getting a bit fraught at the end after many sleepless nights and the odd hangover thrown into the mix but we got there in the end.

The Wedding day in itself was an experience money couldn’t buy. It started at 6am with a get together before the traditional Buddhist wedding. My new sister in-law’s family took us “farang” into their home, fed us, celebrated with us, even danced with us. In the evening we reciprocated with the “western” reception, where again we celebrated, ate and danced. I think it is fair to say that there was a lot of eating and drinking done by both sides of the wedding party on the day.

What about Mr P, left all alone in dreary London, you may ask?? Well he managed to survive his week of bonding with his sons. Of course the house was a total mess when I got back but they all seemed to enjoy not having me about to nag, shout and moan at them all.

However since I have been back he has come up with rather head shaking (me) and eye rolling (me again) comments...

“My hands are really dry now they always seem to be in water of some kind"


"What a nightmare it was trying to sort out their meals every day”. Bearing in mind I left him enough meals and a list of what to feed them every day!”

“Mealtimes are just so stressful”


“You know there were some days there that I felt I was always in the car, either dropping off somewhere or picking up or even going to the bloody supermarket...”

Hmmm, “No shit, Sherlock.. Welcome to my world!”

Our Strange little Habits......

Me “Did you put on the dishwasher?”

Mr P “Yes I did, its finished so I’ve emptied it”

Me “Cool, did you put it all away”

Mr P “Yeah”

Me “Did you rotate the plates and stuff around?”

Mr P “Did I what?”

Me “You know, change it all around so the clean stuff goes to the bottom and...”

So went the conversation on Sunday with Mr P.  The last sentence of me, explaining the crockery rotation to him was met with a blank stare, and the following “Are you fucking serious?  You really need to get out more or better yet get a job”.

Now I didn’t think my little “thing” was that bad, not OCD or anything, it’s just the way it is.  Just like the way the washing has to be hung out, if Mr P hangs it out wrong, which is inevitable, then I will go out afterwards and re-peg it.  Now, before you all go “what a control freak...”  Check this out; Mr P has a rotation system for the towels so once they have been washed, folded and put away he sneaks in and re-sorts the cupboard to ensure the right towels are used next time.  Now I think that is way more weird than my crockery thing!

We all have them, don't we, these little idiosyncrasies?  The little things we do or say that seems perfectly normal to us but to those around us it’s a bit strange or weird.  Things like not drinking out of cans (that’s me again), alphabetising your CDs, the way you fold your clothes or ironing your pants. Yes really, ironing pants! Just ask Keith at Chronicles of Reluctant Housedad about it.  To a friend of ours who has his pantry alphabetised with all labels facing out.  Oh yes all the cans and jars nicely lined up, all in order, heaven help you if you misplace something or move things around for a joke.  It’s not a laughing matter apparently!

I even see this behaviour in our boys, they way they play with certain cars or trains, how they line them all up, the order they do things in.  All part of their growing personalities, and their own little idiosyncrasies.

So dear readers, what about yourselves?  Do you have any strange little habits that make your loved ones think you have lost the plot?  

Who’s hiding in your wardrobe......??

So I think I may have either made a bit of a bad judgment call or did some character building on Sunday evening.  In that I let Son no 1 watch Dr Who with me.  Not that watching Dr Who was the bad call, he loves it, I love it. It was more the episode, as it featured a little dolls house with creepy moon faced dollies running round turning anyone unfortunate enough to be sucked into the house into more, creepy moon faced dollies.  While watching it his little face was looking more and more worried, maybe even a wee bit scared.  He finally told me he didn’t want to watch anymore and went off to his room to play.  When it was time for stories at bedtime I was asked a few questions about the dollies and would he have any in his room.  After much reassurance he went off to sleep.  We had similar conversations throughout today about the dollies and how he would fight them off. 

Hmmm, bad move perhaps?  Character building I say.  I love scary movies and books, I grew up on them.  I remember as a child watching the “Sunday Night horror” where, funny enough, every Sunday night a horror movie was showed on the telly.  Usually the old Hammer horror films with the odd Hitchcock film thrown into the mix.  My sister and I used to scare each other stupid, leaping out of wardrobes, hiding underneath the beds, tapping on the windows.  Many a night I went to bed utterly petrified that something was hiding in the wardrobe.  So you can see how my love for this genre of film and books just grew and grew. 

Mr P is amazed at the amount of “crap” as he calls it, that I know about werewolves, vampires, Freddy Krueger, or who Jason or Michael Myers are.  In fact it is one of the many bones of contention in our household when it comes to what movie to watch.  I inevitable go for the horror or Sci-fi, another great love of mine, while he wants the nicer movie.  We generally meet somewhere in the middle with a Thriller.

I draw the line at a bloody Rom Com, the only Rom Com I want to see is one where Jennifer Aniston plays a zombie bride and it’s actually funny!  

Scary looking for a 5 yo aren't they??

Pictures courtesy of the BBC

The Gym and I.......

It would be fair to say that I have a love hate relationship with the gym. I hate having to organise myself in the morning to go, hate having to exercise, but when I get there and once I start, I do enjoy it.  This on\off relationship has been going on more than 20 years now and I still can’t bring myself to walk away from it.  Before you think that I am a gym bunny, believe me I’m not.  If anything I would be the antithesis of a gym bunny.  I don’t have the latest hi-tech gear, I do like to get hot and sweaty and I don’t feel the necessity to wear makeup and have my hair looking good to work out.

But the strange thing is that since having kids it has become my place to escape to.  Sounds silly I admit, of all the places you can choose to escape from the kids (and Mr P and his bloody Sports Talk and Sky Sports) you wouldn’t think that the gym would come far up on the list... 

Why you may ask?  Well it is where every couple of days I get a full hour to switch off from everything else going on.  That’s a full hour where I don’t need to talk to anyone, I can listen to what I want to listen to, I can clear my head and “think”.  Think, do you remember doing that?  I don’t mean “think” as what should we have for dinner, the kids need new school clothes, what to get little Johnny for his birthday.  I mean “think”, that strange thing I used to do with my mind before it got cluttered with the daily grind of parenting. 

It’s an hour where in my mind I can think “how would I solve world peace”, “what shall I blog about” even daydream “do I really need those Christian Louboutin shoes”, “How would I spend my lotto millions”.  Okay perhaps those last two are fantasising a bit but that's the thing, my mind is free to wander and think all these weird and wonderful things while I plod along on the treadmill. 

An hour where I can people watch and try to slot them into one of 3 groups, the baggy t-shirters, the pretentious and serious gym goers.  Checking out whose boobs are real, wondering what possess the woman in front of me to wear a leopard print outfit and of course checking out the hot and sweaty men in the weights area.  All in that precious hour.  If I don’t feel like exercising then I can have a quiet coffee in the cafe all by myself.  The benefits of exercising can only come second to this me time.

Of course the fact that the gym also has a crèche where I can off load the kids for an hour or so a day has totally nothing to do with it!  Really it hasn’t.....

“Hold this one....”

41 years ago today these infamous words were spoken to my mother “Here hold this one while I get the other one”. “Get the other what” my mum was heard to shriek.  “Baby?” came the reply.  Yes, all those years ago I entered the world the elder of twin girls to the utter surprise to my parents.  It really was an utter shock to them, as not only was the pregnancy not planned, as they already 3 children, but twins!

Back in those days there were no scans available to check on what was going on with your pregnancy.  My mother had absolutely no idea that she was carrying twins.  There was the odd disagreement between the doctor and midwife about the number of heartbeats, the third faint one was just an echo apparently!  But the doctor was adamant that there was one very large baby and that was all.

Times where so much simpler then, my mum like many in her generation, ate what she wanted, drank (she wasn’t a big drinker) and smoked (like a chimney) unaware of the affect to her unborn babies.   They just got on with life, no sitting back and feeling sorry for themselves over morning sickness, or what to wear as it wasn’t a fashion show.  There were no celebrity mummies showing off their fantastic post baby bodies, to make you want to reach for the cookie jar.  You weren’t unique you were just pregnant like millions of women before and after.   If they had a problem or unsure of anything they just asked their own mothers, no going online to self diagnose yourself.  

I can hardly compare her experiences with mine as it is a far cry from the stresses of having a baby today.  Apart from the medical care you get now, which I must add helped me have my two boys, so I will be eternally grateful to the NHS.  There is the endless bombardment of the media telling you want you should and shouldn’t be doing.  How the decisions you are making now mean you are already a bad mother before you have even given birth. All the must have baby items that you need so you have a happy baby.  These items that you don’t really need, but think you do otherwise you aren’t a good mum.  That you eventually dig out of the bottom of the cupboard months later never used and wonder why on earth you brought it in the first place.

Makes me think, perhaps she had the better pregnancy experience than me.  Perhaps ignorance in some ways is bliss.... 


P.S.   Finally I thought I would share my birthday card from Mr P, arh he knows me so well...

This is still Hard.. But it is getting Better...

So it’s been 5 months now since I became a SAHM.  In case you don’t know the back history this was a choice I made after being made redundant in March and why I started to blog.  Yes, I know, I was lucky enough to be able to make that decision so I shouldn’t be moaning about things.

However 5 months on, it has been pretty much life changing and hard, and to be honest it still is for me.  So let me share with you the things that I really truly hate and seem to struggle with about being a SAHM.  So in no particular order we have..

Mealtimes:  I hate meal times with a fucking passion.  In fact I have always hated organising dinner so it’s just not since the kids came along. But really having to organise meals for a day and then plan a week really does my head in.  My husband isn’t a foodie at all, so eating to him is something you need to do to survive.  So asking him what he would like to eat for dinner is rather pointless, “not fussed” or “whatever” are the usual response!  To make matters worse he can’t really cook either, I blame his mum and first wife for that one!  Then there is the delights of my little angels, luckily the Son No 2 will still hoover anything I put in front of him but not Son No 1.  It is a constant battle to get him to eat his dinner, unless of course it is baked beans.  Many a day I have spent cooking meals for him, for him to turn around and refuse to eat, he won’t even taste the bloody stuff.  At the moment he doesn’t like, pasta, rice, noodles or potatoes..  Oh, why do I bother, perhaps a diet of baked beans will be good for him!

Housework:  I am not talking about the tiding up of things.  I mean the actual back breaking tedious housework of mopping floors, dusting, cleaning sticky finger prints of doors etc.  We used to have a cleaner when I was working who would pop in for a couple of hours a week to do all this.  But on stopping work I decided we didn’t need her anymore, oh what a bad move that was.  I resent the fact that I have to do all of this, I know I am at home and have the time to do it but that doesn’t make it any better.  Mr P would be happy to do some of it during the weekend but then that would eat up what valuable family time we have in the weekend.  So big question is do I get the cleaner back?  No, as I can’t justify it really if I am at home twiddling my thumbs.

Children Chitchat:  Not talking about the funny day to day chit chat with my boys what I am talking about is mothers I meet who incessantly talk about their little darlings and their deeds.  Let’s get this straight, “yes I am a mum but I have been on this fair planet for the best part of 40 years and in that time I have done more than give birth to two little mini me’s.  I have in fact done many things like, swum in the Borneo rainforest, canoed down the Zambezi, and ridden elephants, does that interest you?  No?  Then why do you think I am interested in what your little darling is doing and what he\she got on their report card?  Please is there anything else you would like to talk about, any current affairs, I will even do celebrity gossip?”

School Holidays:  Nothing needs to be said about this other than they seem to be on holiday all the time and it fucks up MY routine!

So as you can see it’s a short list, and it is getting better.  The good points really are starting to outweigh what I hate or struggle with. 

The one thing that is making it better for me is having the opportunity to watch the relationship and companionship between my sons develop and grow.  The idolisation of the eldest from the younger, the teaching, torture and tormenting from the eldest to the younger,  the battle for possession of toys (the eldest hides them!), the ongoing violence, the ability of the youngest to ‘hold his own’ in battle, all interrupted by small bouts of genuine warmth to each other and playing together nicely.  Things I wouldn’t see if I was working...

My Passport Policeman...

Another holiday and the usual strife between Mr P and me begins.  Of all the travelling we have done together and believe me we have done a fair bit so it shouldn’t really surprise me anymore.  It starts a day or two before we are due to leave, the passports suddenly appear in a neat little pile, all the holiday documentation is collected and place in a folder.  All placed on a shelf somewhere and most of all no one is allowed to touch them.  At check in, immigration even boarding the plane the passports are held by Mr P.  Heaven forbid if I should want my passport or boarding pass to buy anything duty free. 

Then there is the fact that we are totally not in sync when it comes to ‘going to gate’ and actually boarding.  That is a whole new level of conflict.  It has been known for Mr P to decide that he needs to go to the toilet with his newspaper, while we are supposed to be “going to gate” or even boarding!  I remember one particular heated “discussion” at Bangkok airport where I declared quite loudly that “I hated him with a passion”.  It may not sound that bad now but it was on our way to London where we were planning to live for a few years.

During the holiday the passports stay with Mr P and then the whole process begins again when we leave to fly back.  I am at the point now that I no longer even bother about passports as I know that Mr P will have it sorted.  The tension I guess comes from me.  Obviously as a 40 year old mother of two I am not responsible enough to look after the passports or even handle checking in!  How did I manage before him, I will never know!

Overall the holiday went well.  The weather was hot and sunny, goft was played, we utilised the kids club in the afternoon so we all had a break from each other.  They played at the club while we sat by the pool having our first much needed drink of the day overlooking the Med.  The men folk even sported mankini’s for us!  Although thankfully it was only for a short time and even thou it was hilarious it was quite disturbing.  Photos were taken to publish at a more inappropriate time. The kids had no idea why it was so funny, and that’s what their innocence is all about I suppose.

One day I will post on the packing of suitcases or even packing a car for a road trip which takes tension to a whole new level...

My Hellish Trip..

I noticed that for this month’s BMB Carnival over at Me, the Man & The Baby the theme is “Travelling with kids”.  So as I have done a fair bit of travelling I thought I would rack my brains for something to share with you.  So this is all about my hellish trip from 2009. 

In August that year we got the opportunity to go back to NZ.  We thought we would take it especially as Son No 2 was only 4 months old at the time so it would be a chance for the family to meet him.  The trip out was pretty uneventful, just the usual bother that flying long haul with children brings.  We finally got to Wellington without the loss of any toys, luggage, and children and thankfully our sanity still intact.

For the 3 weeks we were there I had what I thought was a really bad head cold.  I was taking a lot of cold and flu tables had a permanent high temperature, a hacking cough with night sweats thrown in for good measure.  But typically like any mum I just got on with it.  Well you do don’t you?  We had people to see and places to go plus the boys needed to be looked after.  Mr P was even thoughtful enough to go and visit friends for a couple of nights since it was only a cold!

Because I couldn’t shift it I decided I should go to the doctors as I didn’t really want to travel feeling like, well ‘shit’ to be honest.  The doctor wasn’t impressed that I had left it so long especially as I had travelled from the UK where there was the big swine flu outbreak!  Remember that?  He sent me off for chest x-rays and blood tests and it turned out I had ‘Pneumonia’ and advised against travelling back to the UK until it was all cleared.

So after lengthy and somewhat heated “discussions” with Mr P it was decided that he would go back with Son No 1 and I will travel back a week later with Son No 2.  A week later I was given the all clear to fly and that is when the fun really began.

You hear these fantastic stories of people travelling alone with children and the help you get.  Well that certainly didn’t happen for me.  I had a 5 month old who liked to have a cry before settling to sleep, which is okay when he is in his cot, with his door closed, but on a plane full of people staring at you it’s not.  So I had to hold him for the majority of the flights.  The air hostesses were less then helpful considering I was flying with an airline that is supposed to be the “friendliest in the sky”.  I had one offer of help and that is when I boarded.  Eating and going to the toilet was near impossible while holding a sleeping baby.  I even had to put him on the floor of the air tunnel when it came to collapsing the stroller before getting on the plane as no one was around to help.  Likewise when it came to collecting it once we landed.  I was even told at one point that they weren’t allowed to take the baby. Health and Safety reasons I assume!  With a six hour stopover in Singapore I decided to book a room so we could try and sleep.  Of course we had to go to one of the other terminals for it!  Heathrow was no better, struggling with two bags plus baby and stroller while porters stood by watching or zooming round in their little buggies.  I was so knackered that by the time I saw our cabbie I just burst into tears.  Which for me is something i don’t normally do?

So I left on a Friday night and arrived the following Saturday night in London, all up it took 38 hours door to door including a 6 hour stopover in Singapore.  Of course MR P maintains to this day that his trip home was worse than mine, yeah right!

I must have lost my sanity on that trip because I did it all again the following January. 

“I don’t want that!” - Fussy Eating!

Being a relatively new full time mum one of the many things I am having trouble with is food. Or to be more accurate the refusal of eating anything that is given to Son No 1 to eat, be it homemade or brought.

While I was working it was all too simple. The nursery took care of all his meals so when I got him home all he needed would be a yogurt or piece of toast. I would get his day sheet; they would wax lyrical on what a fantastic eater he was and how often he asked for seconds. Well, I am not sure whether they got my little boy confused with another child or not but that little boy is certainly not the one I have at home. Over the last few months with him having started school things have continued to escalate.

Now, I admit I am no domestic goddess in the kitchen but I do think I can put together rather tasty meals for us all, with no complaints from the other two in the house. But with Son No 1, I have tried everything, eating together, bribery, M&S kids’ meals as he used to love these, cooking with him, letting him choose what to eat and nothing seems to work. Don’t get me wrong some days he will eat everything put in front of him but the next he won’t or I will cook a meal I know he has eaten before and he will refuse it. His best excuses are “don’t like the smell”, “sore tummy”, “it will make me sick” or “it’s not what I wanted or meant”. The worse days are the days he will just walk up to the table look at it and tell me he doesn’t like it and then walk away! There has been tears (both of us) shouting (both of us) and even door slamming (him).

My friends all tell me that this is normal and I have seen similar behaviour in some of their kids. Mr P thinks he is just a “snacker” and a “grazer” so he is happy for him to eat when he wants and more often than not will let him eat what he wants as well. This in turns makes me mad! Husbands, no idea!

So I am beginning to think I have the problem and not Son No 1. Perhaps I am expecting too much and that this is perfectly normal behaviour? Perhaps with his jaw problem I am getting too stressed that he is not eating enough and getting too skinny.

Perhaps I just need to chill out about it and find some coping strategies of my own to deal with it. Other than a big glass of wine.

Any advice welcomed....

FlashBack Friday

For this week’s Flashback Friday over at Cafe Bebe, I am going to go back two years today, when I was very heavily pregnant with Son No 2.  In fact I was booked in for my c-section the next day, the 30^th.

However, he had other thoughts and I was enjoying my last night at home being pregnant and waited on hand and foot by Mr P when my waters broke.  At first I thought I might of had a bit of an ‘accident’ as first time round I had been induced so this happening naturally thing was all new to me.  Then I realised that I hadn’t, doh!  So a quick call to my good friend K to say “Yeah I think I have gone into labour what do you think?  Okay, can we drop Son No 1 off?”  Son No 1 was quickly taken out of bed, we all jumped into the car, dropped him at K’s and zoomed to the hospital.

I had to wait 4 hours as I was 3^rd off the rank so to speak for my c-section but at 2am on the 30^th my second bundle of joy was born weighting in at 8lbs 12...

Son No 2 he was 1 hour old when this was taken

For more Flashback Friday memories pop yourself over to Cafe Bebe...

Battle Stations

We have been having a bit of a silent battle in the Parker household.  In terms of domestic discord it isn’t a major one but it is enough to start getting on my wick.  You see we always used to listen to the same radio station but now thanks to DAB radio that is slowly changing. 

Over the last year Radio 5 Live has slowly crept into my life, oh joy!  Now to be fair I do think Fighting Talk can be quite funny on a Saturday morning to listen to over coffee and the papers. But do I really need to listen to it a 6.30 when I am having a shower?  Well according to Mr P, I do as he is in the bathroom shaving so I have to listen to what he wants.  Okay, okay, I see his point but he has even changed our alarm to Radio 5 so no longer do I wake to the sound of music but to people droning on and on and if I am lucky a travel report.  Which let’s face it is no longer relevant to me anymore.  It’s enough to make you fall asleep which I inevitably do anyway..

So a typical day in the weekend is spent with me changing the station as I go into the family room and Mr P changing it back when I leave and vice versa..  This has worked well so far as it is done without any tension or sly remarks as we have kind of accepted that it is the way it is.  However Mr P has now taken this one step too far, it is now affecting the one and only sanctum which is left to me....  THE CAR! 

But the worse thing is that it isn’t necessary Radio 5 that may be on but a Pop station!!  The rock chick inside me cringes when the car comes on with the radio blasting out some hideous pop music which to be honest I have no idea who it is or what they are singing about.  All I know is that if they are in a girl band then they need to eat a few roast dinners.  Now I am not wholly against Pop music as after all the Pop stands for popular music and who doesn’t like a bit of Abba or Kylie after a few drinks.  But the car, the car, my car?  It is me who spends the majority of the week in the car taking the boys here and there; even Son No 1 now wants to listen to “daddy’s station”!  Give me good old guitar riffs any day I say..

So Mr P please do me a favour, I don’t mind the mirrors being changed or the seat being moved just don’t touch the BLOODY RADIO!!