Not Quite Supermom

New levels of sibling rivalry

2015-08-04T14:07:00.000-07:00

Just like many other mothers out there, I am aware that there appears to be some kind of divide between my middle boy and my youngest daughter.

I initially thought that divide may just be to do with the 22 months between them. Having sought advice from countless books and online "experts" I concluded that said divide was more to do with middle child envy of a newcomer to the family, and that they will "grow out of it."

Seven years later, after countless ups and downs, I feel I may have to reject my initial hypothesis.

Although my theory was based on a huge body of evidence supporting the proposition, I have finally conceded that this may have been, at the very least, an optimistic viewpoint.

It's funny. How evidence can be staring you right in the face for all that time. Until it does, one day, literally stare you in the face.

Ex Mr G and I were queuing up to say goodbye to middle son's teacher. It was mainly for show, as middle son is moving to a different school, but youngest daughter will still be at the same school. We will still see middle son's teacher. Daily. Bit of a shame as I think he's a prick. But we still queued up anyway to say our thanks and goodbyes.

As I was languorously leaning against the wall outside the classroom (this sounds sexy, but really isn't) waiting for our turn to say heartfelt "goodbyes" to Mr Prick, I noticed the pin board I was propping myself up on. It appealed to me in a Save the Children kind of Comic Relief "charity" way, as the big handwritten bubble font sign said: "The Diary of a Refugee."

I thought I may start to read the different entries. Languorously. To match my pose.

Then I saw the blu-tacked entry, stuck on the wall, written by middle son. I knew immediately it was his work due to:

a) the appalling spelling
b) the terrible grammar
c) the fact he had dogs and a sister called Gracie.
d) his name was at the top of the piece of paper

At that moment, I knew. Those books I read? They know NOTHING. My son just FICTIONED OUT his sister.

We have A LOT of work to do.

I just can't cope with another school sports day EVER AGAIN

2014-07-02T09:09:00.000-07:00

I have just had the dubious honour of attending my ELEVENTH annual school sports day.
I am seriously expecting some kind of award to be handed out to me for long term service.

To put it quite frankly: I am bored of it.

The process never changes. Why would it? The school have this one NAILED DOWN. They won't be changing the format for anyone. Not even the mum sat at the back on the chairs who didn't look up once from her book. (That was not me btw, although I did look on enviously from behind my sunglasses.)

I explained my Sports Day issues to the children in the car one morning:

Kid 1: "Are you coming to sports day?"
Notquitesupermom: *big sigh* "Do I really have to?"
Kid 1 & Kid; 2: "YESSSSSSS."
Notquitesupermom: "no offence or anything kids, but if you aren't actually doing anything in it, then sports day is pretty boring to watch. If I wanted to watch you bounce a ball up to a plastic bucket, put the ball in the bucket then run back to a line, I could have set that up in the garden ANYTIME during the past years. And then I could have watched while drinking a glass of wine lying on the sunlounger."

My major problem with sports day is that my children go to a lovely, non competitive school. Sports day is divided into very PC and non discriminatory teams based on age. It's all about the team work.

It's soooo BORING.

I want to see proper competition. I want to know EXACTLY how rubbish my kids are, or alternatively, like I said to the ex MR G: "We could potentially have a Usain Bolt on our hands, but we will NEVER EVER KNOW as the children have never been allowed to compete with each other."

How well my children can run in a straight line or throw a bean bag into a hoop, is never going to make a difference to how much I love them, or how amazing they are. But GODDAMMIT I want some sort of gauge of their sporting prowess. Just so I KNOW.

There is also no DANGER. I remember school sports days when you would get red grazed knees from the sack race, skipping ropes would get tied together in a "never to be unravelled again" web of knots where you could potentially take your competitor down with a good strong tug. Ankles would be tied together and arms tied behind backs in the three legged race. The threat of face planting was always prevalent and you quickly worked out to work together as a team to avoid that happening in front of the entire school. As we got older we started to have hurdles, which are DESIGNED to trip you up and actual javelins that could ACTUALLY impale someone if misthrown.

At sports day now the children throw foam swords. They aren't the most aerodynamic of items. It's like the biggest let down ever to see the kids all geared up to throw them, javelin throwing stance perfected during weeks of PE lessons, and upon release they just PLOP down to the ground about a foot away from the thrower. I'm normally praying for a freak gust of wind, just to add a bit of oomph to the whole event.

There is not even the opportunity for potential humiliation to be used as a motivational tool for self improvement as they are all in it together for the good of the team. There is no obnoxious little shit bursting into tears because they ALWAYS win and this year they didn't. I want to see the really competitive kids trying to elbow other kids out the way in their race to be the best at the running race. I want to see which child is a sneaky little cheating bastard and PICKS UP the egg with their fingers rather than putting it onto the spoon using the side of their foot and some nifty leg raising. We spent HOURS perfecting this skill during PE. I'm still rather good at it.

These days, it's just dull. And I still have to sit on teeny tiny seats that can barely fit one arse cheek on, in the heat, pretending I care that some other person's kid can run while holding a ball because they are on my kids team.

Might take a book next year!

Egg and Spoon Champion 1986

Marrakech with children. Yikes!

2014-05-18T13:34:00.000-07:00

Funny how such amazing ideas always seem to begin on a cosy night at home with wine.

What is not quite so hilarious is that for our annual holiday I have booked 11 nights in Marrakech with my three children.

That would be ok, on its own, but it appears the wine bravado took hold, along with the worry that we might be bored (although for the record, I don't find lounging around by a pool in ANY WAY boring) and I decided it would be very Lawrence of Arabia and daring to do a 4 day Sahara desert camping trip. Arrival and departure by 3 hr camel ride.

Now I am faced with the prospect of ACTUALLY doing it and not just having some cool pictures for Instagram, I am getting mildly, yet increasingly TERRIFIED.

Sometimes I could kick myself for the ideas I come up with.

My eldest was very forthright in his opinion when I told him about our adventure (still riding high on the excitement of the idea).

Notquitesupermom: "We are going on a camel trek and camping in Berber tents in the Sahara!! How cooooool is that?!"
Notquitebutnearlyateenager: " I hate sand. I don't even like it on the beach. It gets in your shoes, your sandwiches and EVERYTHING. And it's going to be hot."

This is going to be like going on holiday with Karl Pilkington. But much less funny as I won't be watching it from the comfort of my sofa.

List of things I am worrying about:

1. Camel spiders. People at work have taken to Googling and Skyping me lists of nasty critters that will be awaiting me and my children. I'm not allowed to bring my own pop up tents so I can't just pop them and lock them and know they are safe from nasties. I can't even go to bed in my own tent, in the UK, without having a good old check for creepy crawlies...and possibly a sweep of the tent, before I can settle.
2. Due to above I am not going to sleep. I get grumpy without sleep.
3. The fact that camels are quite tall and my children aren't. So it's a long way for my not very well balanced children to fall. At the moment I am wondering which one will be first
4. What on earth do we wear/ pack? At the moment I really want an all in one elasticated ankle and wrist titanium jumpsuit. With massive camel spider stomping Doc Martins. And crash helmets all round, with some sort of cooling system.

I am also not flavour of the month at school. I have been denied the right to take my children out of school for 2 and a half days. Including last day of term and first day back. It does not qualify as: "exceptional circumstances."

I hate to differ with the educational establishment but quite honestly I feel that potentially the educational aspect to my children deciding that they never again want to visit the beach, or developing a life long regard for the possibles dangers of creepy crawlies, must SURELY be "exceptional circumstances?"

I hate to sound so disillusioned, but do they NOT want children to learn? I am pushing my limits of my comfort zone because I don't want to raise children who don't want to see the world, or learn more about different cultures, or push their own comfort boundaries. Or are scared to.

I think it's as simple as to say: I COULD go along with the government and their "vision" of learning for my children. THAT would stay in my comfort zone. We could sit back, relax and watch the planet go about its daily business on TV. Or Ipad/ notebook/ tablet/ phone. Or use Google Earth and some good Youtube clips.

Or, we can throw ourselves out of our comfort zone, feel disjointed from our "norm" and just start being a part of it all. Show our children there is more to the world and they don't have to just learn from a text book.

You can sign the petition below if you feel this is important:

https://you.38degrees.org.uk/petitions/reverse-the-changes-to-school-term-time-family-holiday-rules

And then find your local MP and annoy them too. That's what you pay them to do. Represent YOU.
http://findyourmp.parliament.uk/

Bon voyage,

The Mouse Box

2014-03-04T13:07:00.000-08:00

In anticipation of World Book day this Thursday, I read a book last night.

It wasn't what I was expecting.

At all.

All kudos to the writer, as I really had NO idea where it was going.

Little G had brought home a book from school called "The Mouse Box." Sounded innocuous enough. Quite sweet even.

Here is a brief synopsis:

Two kids find a dead mouse. They are sad. They would like to have a funeral for the mouse.

OK. Important to learn about death. In a subtle and tasteful way.

My brain wasn't really paying attention but my mouth kept reading.

After a while I really wished it hadn't.

The children's sister sees them holding the dead mouse (this part reminded me of my previous post about Gerry the Gerbil and the Curry Tsunami. Except their mouse is dead. Gerry was just acting.)

The big sister isn't very happy and tells them they need to wash their hands. The children still want to bury the mouse, so they start to look for a box. They go up to their sister's room and see she has an empty chocolate box. They put the dead mouse in the box. Unfortunately, children have a very low attention span. They get distracted and leave the box unsupervised. Big sister goes into her room, sees the chocolate box, gives it a shake and thinks she has some left. So she decides to take them to school. To share.

Which was nice.

It didn't go down well.

Not surprisingly when she is offering dead mouse carcass as a treat. What I love the most (spoiler alert) is that when the kids come to bury the mouse and can't find the box, they don't give two shits about where it might be. The end.

Oh, to be a Disney Princess..just for one day...

2014-03-01T14:06:00.000-08:00

"When the raindrops keep tumbling,
Remember,
you're the one who can fill the world with sunshine."
Snow White

One of my rays of sunshine just turned, in her words: " A whole hand plus one."

Mr G (maybe that should now be X Mr G) and I, decided to take her for a Princess makeover at the Disney Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique in Harrods, London. It was a long shot that she was going to get with the programme, as what she lacks in princess style tendencies, she more than makes up for in Light Saber and Nerf gun capabilities. She is, most certainly, the Disney Princess for a new generation. There is no waiting around for a handsome prince (she will just accost them and make them her boyfriend at breaktime in the playground), no beautiful dress (it lasts about 5 minutes on..then it is too itchy and annoying) and her hair is the epitome of Tangled.

Despite using more leave in conditioner, hair masks and wide tooth combs than Rapunzel ever did.

Still. We thought it would be an experience.

I had the whole "have I done enough as a parent" middle class debate with myself before we went. This was mainly due to the fact that there are four tiers of packages available, ranging from the "Royal" Experience at £1000, to the "Courtyard" Experience at £100 per child. Clearly the Feudalist system is still alive and kicking in Great Britannia. I very nearly convinced myself that I needed to pay the extra £300 to make the jump from the "Crown" Experience at £200 to the "Castle" Experience at £500. Then I decided the last thing I need in my new home is more Disney plastic shite everywhere. Seriously. I would only end up paying some "serf" to come round and clean it up twice a week. And you just can't get a decent serf these days.

All "jesting" aside...it was a really good experience. This is what the male contingent of our party thought:

And this is what the Princess thought when she was having her hair done:

That, my friends, is her expression of shock.

She was very pleased with the results though. Probably not as pleased as her wonderful "Fairy Godmother in training" was that the hair style the Princess chose covered up the massive chunk of hair the "X Mr G" chopped out as it was so Tangled. It's the lumpy bit sticking out in the photo at the back.

But the amazing "Fairy Godmother in training" did EXACTLY what was described on the tin, with a charm and efficiency I wish I had every day when getting my Princess ready for school. She really was the Fairy Godmother I wish could appear every morning. This is the result:

For all my slightly sarky comments, my daughter was made to feel like a Princess for the entire experience. If you arrive earlier your child gets given a pager and you WILL end up browsing the adjacent Disney store beforehand. (FYI you can buy all the Disney plastic shite in there for less than the upgrade price.) Every member of staff in the Disney store stopped and spoke to her, as did the staff in the Harrods toy department after. She didn't quite get the Harrods doorman with the umbrella opening the door on our way out, but that was possibly because some glamorous blonde "real princess" was making her way IN and he was otherwise occupied.

For the record, the next day I took her horseriding. She fell off. Into a MASSIVE puddle of cold wet mud.

So it just shows. One day you can be sat on your throne like a princess, and the next day lying down in a puddle of mud and horse shit wondering what went wrong.

I feel I am teaching her well. Not quite supermom style.

Thrifty little bugger!!

2012-12-12T17:36:00.001-08:00

Well...it was my BIRTHDAY recently...and i have to say I had the best birthday for quite a number of years. Let's just ignore the extra year it puts on my age (not helpful for dating...but hugely helpful in a "know more about the world way".... mustn't grumble...)

What really made it for me, apart from spending an amazing weekend away with my children, was just quite how thrifty/ ingenious/ resourceful my eldest son has become.

Behold...my Birthday card

drumroll.....

Superb work. Now, THAT is how men multi-task...clearly it becomes evident at a young age....

Bored Games

2011-11-16T06:21:00.000-08:00

Every parent knows the importance of sitting down with your children and spending quality family time playing board games. Sometimes difficult because, lets face it, board games for children can be pretty BORING. And they mainly end in tears. In my case normally mine as my frustration level reaches maximum. Or i get beaten.

Its also quite difficult to find the time to sit down and play when there is sooo much to be doing.

Which is why I have cunningly devised a scheme whereby everyone is happy.

Its called "Real Life Supermarket Jenga"

Ideal for keeping the kids happy while out shopping.

Am sure it will take off.

Incidentally..during the same shopping trip I also happened to notice that the staff are clearly bored as well...

Brilliant!

Down on the farm...

2011-07-26T09:18:00.000-07:00

Ah.

Joy.

The school holidays are finally upon us.

Cue lovely days out and happy contented children running around giggling. Or in my case..constant fights, messy house and children telling me they are boooooored.

In order to head off the boredom complaint i decided to plan an itinerary of "things to do, people to see, places to go." So hopefully when creating their path of devastation and chaos, my children do this at OTHER places..and not in my house. See. Thinking ahead.

So i gathered up a handful of leaflets for local attractions so we can have some fun days out..hopefully in Supermom style combining fun with education. I was quite excited to pick up a leaflet for Old Macdonalds farm park and started leafing through it to see exactly what was on offer for us on a grand day out. However...when i turned to the centre page of the leaflet I got a bit of a shock. I did wonder whether it is only me who notices this type of stuff. But SLAP BANG in the centre of the leaflet...pretty much a centrefold picture was this:

HOW did they not notice?

I love flatpacks...

2011-07-19T12:52:00.000-07:00

i went to Ikea.

Lucky lucky me.

After the mandatory meatballs and counting of pregnant nesting women ordering their husbands about and measuring things i took myself down to the warehouse bit and purchased a few lovely flatpacks to spend the rest of this year assembling.

Having opened a carton and withdrawn the instructions from the little plastic bag containing twenty thousand small screws of which i will always have at least 10 left over and panic about the safety of the structure i have just built...i sat down to read said picture instructions.

I was immediately struck by just how ACCURATE they are....

THAT is EXACTLY what i looked like...except with more hair and a dress on.

Uncanny.

you learn something new everyday...

2011-03-09T10:10:00.001-08:00

My lovely adorable eldest son just had a school trip to learn more about life in Britain during the war. On his return he was asked to write a newspaper article. All very educational.

So educational in fact that even my jaw dropped in shock at what i learnt whilest reading the article in a room full of parents waiting to see the teacher. Then i had to do that tricky task of trying not to laugh uncontrollably at an inappropriate time. Here is the best bit...and the most educational...

A few thoughts ran through my brain.

1. No wonder the children "where amased what the money was like". i think i would have been too...
2. How did Miss Prince his teacher find out it takes 12 penis' to make a shilling. Maybe she needs a pay rise
3. Well done to my son for being able to spot fakes. He will be very useful to me when trying to purchase designer handbags on Ebay.
4. we need to work on his spelling as i cant have him going through life thinking thats correct..although it is tempting..

A+ for effort i think

election time

2010-05-19T12:08:00.000-07:00

You may NOT have heard about it but we here in the UK had an election recently..I know..probably passed you by bit like it did me..
However, I did decide to vote and took the children for a "family outing" to the polling station.
They were dead excited and got dressed in their very smartest clothes. Felt a bit bad building it up to them...when all you actually do is put a cross on a piece of paper and pop it in a box.
So...
on the way I decided to play a game.
Notquitesupermom: "I know kids...when we get to the polling station lets tell everyone we are voting for someone really funny..like the honey monster or Tony the Tiger...you know..lets just say someone really funny who hasent got a hope in hell of winning."
Ryan: "we could say we were voting for Gordon Brown. That would be funny"
Notquitesupermom: *first time in her life....speechless*

When did my 8 yr old become so politically savvy???
I feel old.

Gerry The Gerbil and The Curry Tsunami

2010-05-05T23:27:00.001-07:00

The evening of the Curry Tsunami started off innocently enough.

Gerry had obviously had a normal kind of Gerbil day...get up, drink a bit out his space bottle, have a spin on his wheel, little bit of food..maybe quick spin in space buggy...little sleepy wrapped in cotton wool....some more food...you know...the usual gerbil routine..

Although clearly Gerry had other ideas that evening..

He was sooo up for an adventure it wasn't even funny...

Hahaha...actually...I lie...it was sort of funny in an "all wells that ends well" way..

Anyway..

It was a Saturday night and I had cooked a lovely curry, left the pan in the sink filled with water to soak and went through to the lounge to watch a dvd and drink wine.

You know. Normal stuff.

Bottle of wine later I decide to pop back into the kitchen to replenish supplies.

Am pottering round the kitchen when out the corner of my eye I spot something unusual lying by the sink..

It took a moment for my brain to catch up with my eyes.

It was Gerry the gerbil. Soaking wet. Gasping for breath.

I ran over to the sink...kind of like a slow mo Baywatch run. Clearly I didn't have a red swim suit on as was in pyjamas.

NotQuiteSupermom: *slow mo* "Nooooooooo...Geeeerrrryyyyy..."
Gerry: *gasp*

As I was doing my 2 metre slow mo Baywatch run across the kitchen I tried to establish the facts. Gerry had clearly escaped. He also obviously:
A. likes swimming in curry water
B. Likes curry
C. Needs glasses as he couldn't see where he was going and accidentally plopped off the kitchen side into the pan in the sink
or D. He is an adrenaline junkie and the space buggy just isnt enough excitement for him anymore.

I wrap his teeny weeny curry smelling body in a tea towel and start stroking him. He smelt really spicy.

Just then he took one long drawn out breath....and then..nothing....

NotquiteSupermom: *wailing* "Nooooo...Gerry...dont die, dont die, come on Gerry..fight"
NotquiteSupermom *in her head to herself* "Oh bugger..I dont want to do CPR on a gerbil. I wouldnt even know how and there is no time to Google it.."

I run through to the lounge, clutching his lifeless body in the tea towel.

Notquitesupermom: *crying hysterically* "Mr G, Mr G, its Gerry. Hes dead."
Mr G: *slowly peeling his eyes away fom the film..as he is used to dealing with a hysterical wife* "Sorry..what? Whats happened?"
Notquitesupermom *gasping for breath as she had run oooohh all of 4 metres* "Gerry.... Curry.... Pan.... Sink.... Water... Dead."
Mr G: "Have you tried CPR?"
NotquiteSupermom: "Erm..... No.... You do it."
NotquiteSupermom: *sobbing relentlessly and starting a eulogy* "He was the nicest Gerbil anyone could ever have..look at his beautiful little nose..and his tiny curry smelling body..*stroking him*...remember the time he drove into the skirting board in his space buggy and nearly knocked himself out?..Oh..Gerry..always living on the edge...I suppose it was only a matter of time before his passion for excitement got the better of him..he was such a happy little gerbil..I only hope he didnt suffer too much and died doing what he loved best......."

Just then a miracle occured.

Gerry suddenly sprang back to life.

UNFORTUNATELY for Gerry..I wasn't quite expecting this turn of events.

I screamed and threw him up into the air.

He landed with a soggy "splat" on the carpet.

Mr G: "Well..if he wasn't dead before..I'd say he probably is now."

Luckily for me, just as I was contemplating:
A. How to dispose of the body and cover my tracks
B. How on earth to explain to the children that Gerry was dead and it was ALL MY FAULT...
... another act of divine intervention occurred.

Gerry clambered up onto his feet..gave me a really really dirty look (potentially he didnt rate my curry making skills as highly as I did)...and scurried off under the sofa.

It took a while after that incident for Gerry to find it in his heart to forgive me...but I think he knew I didnt mean it...just that sudden movements from dead gerbils can give you a bit of a shock..

Wascally Wittle Wodents...

2010-05-05T23:23:00.001-07:00

Have been thinking ALOT about hamsters recently.

Not in a weird "get yourself locked up" kind of way

But just generally...

Have been watching this programme too many times with kids

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCrQ1KOos98

It's not rude so you can watch it with the kids.

(Incidentally I do all the voices for the characters..odd talent I have..discovered by accident)

Soooooooo...

Was thinking about our past array of animals...

Obviously..we have The Dogs. If you aren't familiar please refer to Canine Capers story....

Then my thoughts turned to Gerry. The Gerbil.

He had a turbulent life...

Poor thing.

Gerry was purchased from 'Pets r Us.' Kind of like 'Toys r Us' except for the fact that they deal in Real Life things and not things that need triple A batteries to get them moving...

We spent a small fortune on the ideal crash pad for Gerry...unfortunately it wasn't quite on this scale:-

(some facts for you...this is Jake Hamsters cage. It took a year to build..is over 5ft high...and provides 17.5 feet of running space....)

Yes I know...

Its a bloody hamster.

We did however purchase this item for Gerry:

You know..just in case he needs to make a moon landing or something. Best to be prepared.

Cost of Gerbil: £3.75
Cost of Gerbil Accessories: £94.72p

Hmmm.

We settled Gerry into his new pad and he seemed very happy...and content. He didnt seem to run around as much as I thought gerbils would but just liked to lie relaxing. By the next day I was getting a bit bored as he didn't seem to want to do anything.

I decided to take him to the vet. First in series of expensive trips. The vet diagnosed a broken leg (he did mini xray and everything). Gerry needed 3 nights at the vets. I decided to call Pets r us to complain.
Notquitesupermom: "hello..you sold me a gerbil yesterday that has a broken leg"
Helpful shop person: "Do you still have your receipt"
Notquitesupermom: "yes..why?"
Helpful shop person: "oooo..bring in the gerbil with the receipt and we will exchange your gerbil for one without a broken leg."
Notquitesupermom: (suspiciously) "But what will you do with Gerry the Gerbil?"
Helpful shop person: "Oh don't worry about that."
Notquitesupermom: "Well I am worried. He's like family now....I know he only cost £3.75 and £94.72 in accessories but I am slightly concerned about his welfare if I bring him back...my mind is thinking you might get out a shovel..."
Helpful shop person: (sighing) "well the other alternative is for you to pass the vets bills onto us."
Notquitesupermom: "very happy to do that..he has been receiving round the clock treatment....will definitely send you the bill."

Gerry led a very happy and productive life from that point on...until the day of Gerry the Gerbils curry Tsunami.

That day he cheated death.

Twice.

Death Star Canteen

2010-04-27T11:33:00.000-07:00

The Concept of the Advent Calendar....

2009-12-01T03:29:00.000-08:00

Clearly Gracie doesn't fully comprehend the concept...

....and has yet to discover patience.

So..who are you again?

2009-11-16T12:43:00.000-08:00

Recently I changed my hair style.

For a while no one even noticed.

Strange as it was quite dramatically different.

Nanny Nutty had babysat when I was at the hairdressers and even her hints to Mr G over the dinner table failed to generate a response.

But.

Yesterday Alfie noticed.

We had this little conversation:

ALfie: "You dont look like my Mommy."
NotQuiteSupermom: "What do you mean sweetie?" (kind of hoping that in his eyes I may have morphed into J-Lo)
Alfie: "Your hair. You dont look like Mommy anymore."
NotQuiteSupermom: "Why is that poppet?"
Alfie: "Your hair Mommy. Its so messy."

Ah. Possibly not the response I was after.

Then Ryan came home with this picture:

On first glance I thought the figure on the far right was one of the dogs.

Sadly NOT.

Its me.

But apart from that this picture is highly inaccurate on soooooooooo many levels.

For a start Gracie can't fly. As it appears she is.

Alfie is not as tall as Ryan and doesn't have big googly eyes.

Ryan doesnt have zombie eyes. Unless he is having a major tantrum.

Mr G is not that thin. And he doesnt have that much hair. AND his body does not resemble a carrot.

My legs are not that short. But I wish they were that thin.

And finally...

MY HAIR IS NOT THAT SODDING MESSY.

thanks kids x

My Mother In Law

2009-10-27T13:46:00.001-07:00

Ok.

I am going to blog about my Mother in Law.

Please dont flinch.

But please pray she NEVER EVER reads this.

BEFORE I go into details, however, I would like to make a teeny weeny disclaimer:

Everything I tell you is 100% true. My Mother in Law is 100% A One Off. A Total Rarity. They just don't seem to make them like her anymore (for better or worse..you decide?) However. I have never met anyone before in my life that I have NEVER EVER HEARD say a bad word about anyone or anything that she does. Period. And I definitely know that I wouldn't smile nearly so much if she wasn't in my life. For better or worse having her in my life makes me happy. She is a character. And we all love a good character. Right?

So.

A bit of background history on Mrs G. (Yes. There are actually 3 Mrs G's. Can you imagine!!??)

Mrs G Snr is is also known by The Family as: Nanny Nutty. Nanny Birdies. Nanny Birdies with the funny hat. I will, from hereon in, refer to her as Nanny Nutty. That seems to pretty much summarize how she is... "in a nutshell."

Nanny Nutty has just turned 71 years old. And she drives a Moped. We hear her coming over for tea from 3 blocks away. She also has more of an active social life than I do. Which is not too difficult. But still...

In an average week she does Burlesque dancing on a Monday (..lets move along swiftly before your brain starts to absorb that info.) She does Belly Dancing on Tuesday. (Yet again..moving on...quickly...) She goes dancing with her OTHER MAN on wed, thurs and fri. Nanny Nutty also works. She doesn't have to. But she likes it. She works as the "Old Peoples activity organiser" at a residential home. I have lost count of the number of times I have had to dress up as Tinkerbell or Cinderella for the Christmas Panto. Very. Very. Exceptionally....uncool. Fortunately for me, most of the old dearies were asleep and missed it all anyway.

Nanny Nutty also babysits for us occasionally. And believe me there is nothing worse than coming home at 3am, slightly the worse for wear, to the sound of "Hi Mummy and Daddy!" from the top of the stairs. And: "We tried to tell Nanny it was bedtime. We EVEN showed her the room she was meant to be sleeping in...but we have been camping AND we had a disco!"

Nanny Nutty is asleep on the floor.

Obviously my kids think Nanny Nutty is the greatest grandmother that walked the planet. They even think her job is An Explorer (cue Indiana Jones theme tune) because she goes on holiday so much and then brings back "treasure" for them from around the globe. Clearly what an 8, 3 and 1 year old define as "treasure" is slightly different to my concept of the word. When Mr G and I go away anywhere we SCOUR the tourist shops for hours to find a gift to bring back for her that is even minutely as crap as the stuff she brings back for us.

Which brings me to last nights Proceedings.

Last night we had Christmas Day.(Just a little bit more condensed.)

Yes. I know its only October...but this is Nanny Nutty. Anything can happen....

Nanny Nutty is renouned for her slighly dubious gifts. Last Christmas she gave me a quacking duck alarm clock that cost £1 from the Sue Ryder Charity shop.

I knew exactly where it was from and how much it cost as it still had the label on it. To be fair to her...she probably forgot that I have 3 kids who are the best alarm clock that ever lived.
She has given my 14 year old nephew a carriage clock for Christmas. Not dissimilar to this one:

She gave my 11 year old nephew a packet of Y-Fronts one year:

But last night I won the prize for the worst present ever.

It is no secret that as I've just had a baby I kind of live on a perpetual diet. Nanny Nutty has a particularly bad habit of asking about my diet just as we are sitting down to eat surrounded by loads of people:

Nanny Nutty: "So. Hows the diet?"
NotQuiteSupermom*with mouthful of chocolate cake*:"mumphhh..yep..going really good thanks."
Nanny Nutty: "So what do you weigh now?"
NotQuiteSupermom *having swallowed the cake and now looking guilty* "umm...too much?"

Am sure she is just concerned for my wellbeing. Definitely.

So. My turn for a present.

Everyone watching.

The surprise was slightly ruined for me as the present had a yellow Post It note on it with my name and what was inside the gift wrap.

I open my present.

Wow!

A fabulous tan pair of Control Top Tights.

NotQuiteSupermom: "Gee! That's the best present I ever had!. Thank you so much! These will be really useful."
Nanny Nutty: "Its a pleasure. I thought they might come in handy for you. Read the back of the packet."

Control Top Tights Main Features:

1. Control panty shapes tummy, hips and thighs. Excellent.
2. Wide "non-roll" waistband. Cool.
3. Enhanced toe. Obviously V. Important when selecting control tights
4. Cotton- lined crotch breathes, leaving you cool and dry. FREAKY!

NotQuiteSupermom *nearly pissing herself laughing but holding it in for fear of what she might be given next year..Tenalady anyone?*: "Thank you so much for thinking of me. It really was exceptionally kind of you."

For better or worse. Right?!

How I wish I was passing through security at the airport again....

The Life of a Singleton....

2009-10-21T03:30:00.001-07:00

I have a friend (well done me!) who has unexpectedly found herself back in the singles game. For the second time. Bless her.
Having that time away to myself in hospital has started me thinking about how life could be different and how much I quite fancy a Gap Year. People take time off from their careers all the time to go travelling, change in lifestyle etc etc. I had my children pretty young and have spent my ENTIRE twenties at home with kids. Even before that I never really dated. Was always a long term relationship kind of girl.

So am finding the idea of a Gap Year very tempting. The idea works like this...

You freeze the children in time at the age they are now. So you dont miss anything. Then you go get an apartment with your very best girlfriends, get a job, go out, date people, sleep in late at the weekends and go on girls holidays. Very simple.

Obviously though we have yet to discover the power to freeze people in time..so this idea is not really a goer..

And , if I'm honest, the idea of being on the singles market doesn't appeal that much. I can't think of anything worse than spending an evening with someone you think is a total moron. Or worse...you like them and they think YOU are a total moron. And then you wait for them to call. And they don't.

So.....

In the meantime I am living my life vicariously through my single friend who is having to contend with the dating minefield.

There is sooo much I have missed. Phone dating, online dating, instant messaging dating, speed dating, some sort of dating to do with bluetooth phones? That last one sounds a bit technical for me. Speed dating sounds kind of cool though. Am positive I could make myself seem interesting for..ooohh..all of 3 minutes.

I love sitting in with my friend, drinking wine and listening to her dating stories. It all sounds so interesting and exciting. She in turn despairs of my naivety but finds it vaguely amusing. She is very patient. Thats why she is my best friend.

During one of those evenings in, a few bottles of wine down, we decide to sign her up with an online dating site. And we begin to trawl...yes literally TRAWL through the thousands of guys in their 30's-40's. Who knew there were so many single men out there????

Obviously I was just being supportive of my friend. But there is no harm in looking right? Right?

Then I see HIM.

No. Not Mr G. Would bloody throttle him.

NotQuiteSupermom *breathing heavily*: Oh. My. God. Go back up the page!! BACK UP!!! QUICK!
VeryPatientbutDespairingFriend: "What? What is it?"
NotQuiteSupermom: "I think I have just fallen in love. If you don't send him a message I'm damn sure I will."
VeryPatientbutDespairingFriend: "Which one?"
NotQuiteSupermom *jumping up and down excitedly*: "THAT ONE! In the Tuxedo! He must be The Most Gorgeous man I have ever seen. I already want to marry him and have zillions of his babies"
VeryPatientbutDespairingFriend *shaking with uncontrollable laughter*: Oh sweetie. He is gorgeous. You are definitely right there. It is a lovely profile picture. But honey...that would be because that is a picture of Billy Zane."

Shit.

Imagine the disappointment some poor woman is going to have.

O Woe is me!

2009-10-18T12:46:00.000-07:00

Oh girls.

I have had the most terrible week.

And I'm not being melodramatic...it REALLY was awful.

I ended up in hospital.

SEE!

Told you it was bad!!

What is worse is that these things always seem to happen right when you AREN'T fully on top of everything. There is no food in the house, the beds aren't made...well actually its kind of a normal day in NotQuiteSupermom land...but still...I wouldn't invite people IN to the house with it looking like that. Don't want to completely blow my cover..

When I was in hospital I had this phone call from my mother (who was very kindly helping with the kids and the f^*$ up of a house):
Mother: "Hello Darling. Everything is just fine at home. HOWEVER I am struggling somewhat to fully understand your washing system?
NotQuiteSupermom: "That would be because there isn't a system. There are just piles. Some piles are clean...some piles are dirty. Its very simple.
Mother: "Hmmm...maybe I will just wash everything again."
NotQuiteSupermom: "What a jolly good idea Mother. Perhaps you would care to iron them as well?????"

Am thinking this "being in hospital" malarky actually is quite good.

Maybe I should do it more often. Then the house would be cleaner, the kids would eat better and there would be a washing system.

Am lying in my hospital bed marvelling at just how great being in hospital is. Except for the old people and the really sick people...because that just sucks for them. Obviously since having the drip/ lots of drugs and extra blood I am feeling like a whole new reinvigorated NotquiteSupermom. Keep accidentally calling the hospital a HOTEL to the doctors and nurses.

Do you know...
1. In hospital/ hotel they bring round tea/ coffee on a trolley periodically? AND you don't have to get out of bed OR make it yourself?
2. They bring you breakfast, lunch AND dinner. In bed! Dinner in bed! V. indulgent
3. You have your own personal TV. So you can watch WHATEVER you want!! No kids programmes or UK Gold. AND you can eat dinner, in bed, in front of the TV.
4. The TV also has your own personal computer! For Facebook, emails, online clothes shopping. While you eat dinner/ lunch/ breakfast. IN BED!!
5. There are magazines EVERYWHERE. So when you get bored watching TV or online shopping you can catch up on the latest celebrity gossip. While eating your breakfast/ lunch/ dinner, IN BED!
6. People come and see you and bring you stuff. Like chocolates and flowers. Even Mr G brought flowers. And I didn't have to ask for them. Feel like a superstar. Just for getting ill!

Am thinking of setting up a NotQuiteSupermom hotel. Kind of like Rehab for the stressed out mums. You check yourself in for a night, we send round cleaners and people to clean the children/ feed them good proper food and then we let you stay in bed, cook for you and let you eat it in bed, bring you drinks and let you watch TV, surf the net, read magazines, eat chocolate and go to sleep.

Anyone want to check in???

Up, Up and Away.....

2009-10-09T04:24:00.000-07:00

Now where was I?

Oh yes.

Going on holiday

After the little run in with security I felt rather blessed that I was going anywhere at all especially as I was beginning to worry that the first night of my holiday was going to be spent detained at Her Majesties Pleasure...

Our plane is subject to a delay..of course..

Luckily not one of those sleep on the floor all night in the departure lounge type delays but enough of a delay to strike fear into the heart of any seasoned parent.

Alfie (on a loop for about an hour): "When is the plane coming Mommy?" "How long until we get there Mommy?" "How far away is it Mommy?" "Has the plane left to come and get us Mommy?"
Ryan: "I'm booooored...."
NotQuiteSupermom: "I know..let's go and get a lovely snack from that nice restaurant over there.."

Cue Mistake No 1.

While purchasing the extortinately priced snacks for my weary travellers, out the corner of my eye I spot a nice bottle of wine.

Excellent.

Just what I need to survive this ordeal...

(N.B. When I say "bottle" of wine I mean a half bottle. Obviously. I have kids with me. AND it is against FAA regulations to be drunk on a plane. But I also DONT mean one of those miserable mini bar/ aeroplane little ones with only 1 glass in because that would be pointless...)

Mistake No 2.

I purchase the wine and have a nice plastic cup full.

Suddenly life is starting to look good again. Inside my head I am humming Madonna's "Holiday" and Wham's "Club Tropicana." I may even have started to chair dance ever so slightly..

I engage the children in a very fun game of "I-Spy" and "If the other passengers were an animal which one would they be." It's very funny. Bordering on hysterical. I'm starting to believe that I may actually have become a Supermom. Wine is a marvellous thing....

Then Mr G comes up and gives me The Look. Normally The Look is reserved for after we have been out to dinner with friends and I have had a few lovely drinks and am looking for somewhere to go dancing/ the nearest casino to gamble in. The Look = "maybe you have had enough dear and should go home."

Mr G: "The plane is here and they are boarding."
Slightly sozzled NotQuiteSupermom: "Ooohh. Jolly good..(sniggering) Do you know the kids think that man over there looks like an American BullFrog?"

I make my way out onto the tarmac where the plane is waiting. Pushing a pushchair, carrying 3 x handbaggages, 5 x boarding passes stuffed in the pocket of my jeans, 3 x paper bags with snacks in and 1 x very precious bag with the Nectar of the Gods in it. Wobbling ever so slightly.

Cue Mistake No 3.

I always like to have a glimpse at the pilot. I think its important to check just who you have handed control of your life to for the next ? hrs. If I had a choice of pilot I would opt for Captain Chesley Sullenberger. He's the guy from the Hudson River crash. He's the guy I want flying the plane I'm on. What a great pilot.

Unfortunately as I sneak a look at the pilot I begin to have a "Doogie Howser Moment."
This is happening to me rather a lot now I am getting older. Captain Doogie Howser is also reading what looks suspiciously like a MANUAL.

Jesus Christ.

I feel another glass of wine coming on.

At the steps I have to eject the kids from the buggies, stop the buggies tipping over with the weight of stuff I have hung on the back, stop the kids crying from the noise of the plane, fold down the pushchairs and then climb a near vertical set of stairs up to the plane carrying 2 kids, 3 x handbaggages, 5 x boarding passes stuffed in the pocket of my jeans, 3 x paper bags with snacks in and 1 x very precious bag with the Nectar of the Gods in it.

You try that a bit pissed.

At the top of the stairs a heavily made up and not welcoming Air Stewardess greets us. Sullenly. Air travel ain't what it used to be.

We struggle to find anywhere to sit. There is no reserved seating on the plane so it's a free for all..

I manage to get a row with 3 seats for me, Ryan and Alfie. I have the baby on my knee. Mr G manages to find a seat about 10 rows ahead of us.

Crafty Bastard.

Now I know why he didnt want to pay extra to reserve seats.

Mr G gets out his book and reclines his seat. He turns around to give me the thumbs up.

I want to thump him. Or trade places.

But I smile sweetly and store this up for future use.

I get out 10 thousand Power Rangers, some comics, Top trumps, a painting set, colouring books, dolls, snacks, Connect 4 and pretty much the majority of our handluggage. I also get out my bottle of wine and have a sneaky small glass.

Ok. I can do this.

A zillion games of Connect 4 later...(no Ryan..4 in a ROW... ANY WAY you bloody want..oh..OK..you win....)
and I have started to scrutinize the bottle of wine on the little table infront of me. "Drink me" said the small bottle of wine. "No..because you might not be able to walk when you get off the plane" said the very persistent conscience of NotQuiteSupermom.

Luckily fate intervened..in the form of: Heavily made up and not welcoming Air Stewardess.

Thank Christ.

Heavily made up and not welcoming Air Stewardess: "Vot esss theess" (she isnt from around my neck of the woods...clearly.)

I look at her in a very bemused way. I know intelligence probably isn't super high on the job description (ouch!)..but really? Is she shittin' me? Surely she knows a bottle of wine when she sees one?
NotQuiteSupermom; "That is a bottle. Of white wine." (brief nod towards the kids) "For Medicinal purposes."
Heavily made up and not welcoming Air Stewardess: "I vill take theess." *snatches bottle* "You must only take the wine that vee sell on de plane."
NotQuiteSupermom: *spluttering* "But those miserable mini bar/ airplane little ones with only 1 glass in aren't enough for me to cope with 3 kids by myself on a plane? And they cost £7 a bottle!"
Heavily made up and not welcoming Air Stewardess: "Vell. Thats is the price you vill have to pay."

And off she stomps with my bottle.

Later in the flight she comes round with the drinks trolley. Just as she passes me she says this:
Heavily made up and not welcoming Air Stewardess: "Tea? Coffee? Vhite Viiiiine?"
And she smiles (for the first time in the duration of the flight.)
A very smug smile.

At least she has a sense of humour behind that Heavily made up and not welcoming face. Either that or she is a complete and total bitch.

What really screwed me was getting off the plane.

I had to wake up our sleeping princes and princessa. Such a shame because they looked so lovely. AND they were quiet.

Mr G just legged it. With one hand luggage.

I was left with 3 kids. 2 of which cant walk as they are asleep. One is half asleep. I was also left with collecting from underneath our seats: 10 thousand Power Rangers, some comics, Top trumps, a painting set, colouring books, dolls, snacks, Connect 4 and pretty much the majority of our handluggage.

Shit.

Having loaded up the hand luggage and strapped it across my body, donkey styleee, I realise I no longer fit down the aisle of the plane. I havent even added the kids yet.

At this point the "helpful cabin crew" decide to switch off the lights on the plane.

Thinking everyone had gone.

I am struggling.

Heavily made up and not welcoming Air Stewardess: "The last bus is leaving now. They are all waiting."

NotquiteSupermom: *to herself* "Oh..are they really....? well they are going to have to SODDING wait then. OR I will have to BLOODY WALK TO THE TERMINAL. Do you want THAT on your insurance. Do You? Do YOU?"

Obviously what I REALLY said was: "Can I have my bottle of white wine now please? I think I might need it later......."

My Nemesis

2009-10-06T14:14:00.000-07:00

Obviously if you are going to attempt to become a SuperMom you are going to need to get yourself a Nemesis. EVERY Superhero and Wannabe Supermom has one.

Buzz Lightyear had the evil Emperor Zurg. Superman had Lex Luther. Spiderman had The Green Goblin (whose head I discovered yesterday placed under my pillow by my "mini mafia" in a way highly reminiscent of The Godfather.)

And NotQuiteSupermom has.... LOLA.

Not her real name.

For obvious reasons.

Unfortunately for me my Nemesis lives right over the street. Even Superman didn't have to put up with seeing Lex every single time he looked out the window.

Lola is perfect.

EVEN HER HUSBAND IS PERFECT.

What I find amazing is that not only do we live opposite each other...we are the EXACT opposite of each other. Its like finding your opposite twin...if that makes sense. I am short and dark haired. Lola is tall, glamorous and has amazingly well behaved blonde hair. We do have one or two things in common..which just makes the whole thing much much worse.

1.We both live opposite on the same street.
2.We both moved in within months of each other.
3.We both spent the best part of a year demolishing half our houses and rebuilding them.
4.Our eldest children are the same age. (I have a boy and she has a girl.)
5.We were both pregnant with our 2nd child and due at the same time. (I had a boy, she had a girl. ) It goes without saying that Lola had the smallest baby bump ever..whereas I had to stop driving at about 7 months as I could no longer reach the wheel or the pedals. Obviously I HAD to go one better and have ANOTHER baby. Presumably just so I have a good reason why I can never be as perfect as her.
6.We both have the same type of cars. Except hers is clean.
7. We both have the same cream carpets..chosen by an interior designer in her house. Chosen by me in mine. Which can only be A Good Thing. Except mine aren't cream anymore....

.......

Let's take a brief trip together into "Lola's World".....

Household

Lola's home is like a never ending merry-go-round of people there to help.

From gardeners to car valeters...to curtain makers and interior designers...nannies to dog walkers..it appears there is NOTHING this woman can do by herself..

On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays she has a cleaner who works all day long.

On Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays I too have a cleaner who works all day.

Me.

I give myself Thursdays off.

On Wednesdays, while Lola is out playing tennis at the local posh tennis club, a dog groomer comes round to her house to pamper her dogs.

Her dog is about the size of a rat.

Occasionally, on Wednesdays, I attempt to hoick 35kilos (x2) of pure dog into a lovely warm soapy bath.

By Friday I may have finished cleaning up the mess, if I'm lucky.

Children

It goes without saying that Lola's house doesn't even look like children live there. There are NO fingerprints on the cream walls...NO squashed strawberries on the stairs and, even more shockingly, NO mini soldiers ready to gorge out a piece of your foot when you tread on them accidentally...

Lola's children look like they have stepped out of a catalogue. My children look like they haven't seen a bath in months (even if they just had one) or that they totally missed their mouths when they had lunch (which they did) or that they have been digging up the garden all day (which they have.)

Once when we were all invited over to lunch my children enticed her children out into her garden to make mud pies. All over the new decking. Lola was not best impressed.

However I found the whole experience rather uplifting.

Romance

Remember that Perfect Husband that Lola has?

Be prepared to be VERY jealous...

On cold mornings I go out and scrape the ice from Mr Gs car in my pyjamas, teeth chattering, hands turning blue JUST SO he wont be late to work.

LOLA's husband comes out and starts her car so its nice and warm for her when she leaves.

For tennis..

Life is such a bitch sometimes...

Occasionally our husbands mow the lawn at the same time. I catch myself looking out the front window of my house at her husband (mental picture: Tanned, toned, top off, youthful boyish looks..ok..I know..ENOUGH!) And then turning to look out the back window at mine (mental picture: red faced, swearing, kicking the sodding lawn mower...in his gardening clothes...) *Sigh*

The worst happened on Valentines Day....

Mr G is not known for his love of anything romantic. That morning I had a Valentines card from him with a picture of a dog on it (what is he trying to say...DONT over analyze) and a little note from the dogs:

"Roses are red
Violets are blue
we would like a walk today
How about you?"

I took the point.

About as soon I got back a florist delivery man turned up at my door. With the BIGGEST and most AMAZING bunch of flowers you have ever seen. They even had a "I love you" balloon attached to them.
NotquiteSupermom (opening door): "Oh. MY. God. They are the most beautiful flowers. Ever."
Florist delivery man: "Yes they are really stunning aren't they."
NotquiteSupermom: "Yes. And they have a Balloon!"
Florist delivery man: "I don't suppose you would mind taking them in . The lady over the road isn't in right now...*(Wednesday=tennis)*...would you be so kind as to pop them over for her when she gets back?"
NotquiteSupermom: ".....oooooooo...k..."

Cue the following conversation when Mr G got back from work:

Notquitesupermom: "why don't you ever get me flowers?"
Mr G: "why? Do you want some?"
Notquitesupermom: "Well....not hugely..but sometimes it would be nice?"
Mr G; "It's funny you should mention flowers as I was out at lunch today and I walked past a florists."
Notquitesupermom: (holding breath).."And?"
Mr G: "And I thought about buying you some."
Notquitesupermom: "And....???"
Mr G: "well..I nearly did..but I was in a bit of a hurry to get my sandwich for lunch. So I didn't bother. But, hey, I Thought about it.."

Hmmm...

I am suspecting that A MAN may have made up the phrase "Its the Thought that counts."

Bit of a Science Question for you....

2009-09-29T12:18:00.000-07:00

Ok. Science time Ladies...

If you reverse THIS car slooooowly...

...into this fence....

Which one will come off worse??

I KNOW!!! Who'd have thought it!!

Girl Guide rule No1: Be Prepared.

2009-09-24T04:37:00.000-07:00

So we arrive at the airport. On time and thankfully sans the small piece of excess baggage Alfie had stowed away up his left nostril. (Thank you Jesus)

That's when the fun really started.

1 x large suitcase for the hold? Check.
4 x handbaggages? Check.
2 x single pushchairs each with child in? Check.
1 other child? Check.
Husband? Check.
5 x passports? Check.
1 billion x checking in tickets and other printouts from online booking? Check.
1 x slightly frazzled NotQuiteSupermom? Check.

Ok. All going well.

Until they weigh the suitcase.

I forgot to check the weight allowance.

Bugger.

We are 7 kilos over.

Nice Airport Lady to Mr G: "that will be £340 for the extra 7 kilos please."
Mr G: (barely audible whisper) "pardon?"
Nice Airport Lady: "Unless you can redistribute the extra 7 kilos in your hand luggage?"
Mr G: "Oooo...difficult decision."

Cue frantic unpacking and repacking scenes and NotQuiteSupermom cursing the fact that she allowed her eldest to bring his BIBLE...possibly the heaviest thing on the planet..despite her efforts to convince him that his Star Wars comic book would have been a far less weighty option (and possibly slightly more normal for an 8 yr old.)

Now our carefully packed handluggages are like carrying bags of bricks around.

Still. Onwards and Upwards as they say.

Oh goodie.

Security next.

My personal favourite.

To get there we had to navigate a 10 mile maze of snaking barriers to travel (if you took the direct route) about 3 feet.

It looked as though the airport might have been expecting a stadium full of people to start queuing.

Except there were no people about.

Just us and a lone security man who could barely hide his mirth at watching us go round..and round...and round...and round...and round..(yep..you get the picture)and round the barriers.

I have to admit that had it not actually been happening to me I probably would have found watching it vaguely amusing.

Bored security man: "Pushchairs folded down..empty your pockets..children through one at a time."

Gulp.

Does he have any idea how long that is going to take?

2 folded pushchairs, 2 crying children after being forcibly removed from said pushchairs, 10 tonnes of fluff, 27p in 1 and 2 pence pieces, 4 hairbands, 2 fluff covered emergency dummies and 3 old smarties later....and his instructions have been followed pretty much to a T.

Unfortunately the stadium full of people the airport thoughtfully provided the snaking queue barriers for have turned up behind us and are waiting rather unpatiently. Some are even tutting. Obviously none have children.

I put my hand baggage on the x-ray machine.

Suddenly security alarms start ringing all over the place and two fairly burly (and not overly friendly looking) security guards pull me to one side.

Not overly friendly looking security guard #1: "Is that your bag Madam?"
NotQuiteSupermom (quivering slightly): "Yes officer..I believe it is."
Not overly friendly looking security guard #2: "Did you pack this bag yourself Madam?"
NotQuiteSupermom: "AH HA HA HA HA HA. Oh. Sorry. You are serious. Yes..I packed every bloody bag 2 weeks ago and then repacked them about a zillion times...and not ONE bugger helped me."
Not overly friendly looking security guard #1: "We need to search the bag as we have reason to believe you are carrying an offensive weapon in your hand luggage."
NotQuiteSupermom: "huh..??"
Mr G (hissing): "what did you pack?"

In delves the security guard, past the nappies, wipes, pirate figures, snacks etc etc. Into the little back pocket..wherein lies...actually...I dont bloody know. I NEVER look in that pocket.

Out comes his arm brandishing my hot pink Swiss Army Knife type gadget.

Oh. Shit. I vaguely remember putting that in the bag about 2 years ago incase I ever needed it. Ironically I have NEVER needed it. Hence the reason I forgot about it.

NotquiteSupermom: "Thats not an offensive weapon. Mr G's mother gave me that for Christmas..and its pink?"

Not overly friendly looking security guard #1...flicks open the knife part of it (in a very macho way it has to be said)

NotQuiteSupermom: "Ah. yes. see your point (literally)."
Not overly friendly looking security guard #2: "we will have to confiscate this from you Madam."
NotquiteSupermom: "Ooohhh. Really? Can I bring in some other things the Mother in Law got me for Christmas?"
Not overly friendly looking security guard #1: *sigh* "No Madam, you can't."

So off we all skip, breathing in the freedom of the departure lounge all happy and jolly after the small run in with security.

Until I suddenly remember how terrified I am of flying.

AND how "low budget" and "airline" really should not be mixed.

What also should not be mixed is a stressed out, scared stupid of flying mom and white wine.

Oh God.

Anyone fancy a Staycation?

2009-09-12T13:09:00.000-07:00

Firstly I would like to apologise for my lack of blogging.

I went on HOLIDAY.

Abroad.

On a plane.

With 3 kids and Mr G.

I have yet to fully recover from The Experience.

The preparations went well. I was very very excited. I booked the holiday in January in a flush of Post Christmas Cheer to "give us something to look forward to."

I know.

I am stupid.

Six months later, nearly time for The Holiday and I am a bundle of excitement.

As a Supermom in training I packed our bags a week before the holiday so I was well prepared and organised.

Unfortunately I had to keep unpacking them as none of us had anything to wear and it was becoming a bit of an issue.

We flew on a "low budget no frills airline."

They charge for baggage. I thought ONE hold baggage and 4 hand baggages would suffice.

I know.

Stoooopid.

ANYWAY: I had arranged for my mother to drive us to the airport. V. organised and efficient.

It was roughly 20 minutes before she was due to pick us up that things started to go horribly wrong.

That day had so far been spent fielding the MILLIONS of phone calls because we were going away for TWO WEEKS.

I was on the phone when Alfie came up to me crying and pulling at my leg.

Alfie: " Me put something up nose."
NotQuiteSupermom: "Hold on darling, Mommy's on the phone right now..just give me a minute."
Alfie: "Nose. Plasticine. Me."
NotQuiteSupermom: (to caller)..."I'll have to call you back after the holiday." *hang up* (To Alfie) "WHAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT?? You know you should never put anything up your nose, or in your ears...or up your bottom? You havent? Have you? Truth?

I laid him down on the bed and got out the torch.

Yep.

Big lump of plasticine. Right up there.

Shit.

Sadly my "First Aid for Parents" book DOES NOT HAVE A CHAPTER ABOUT OBJECTS BEING STUFFED IN NASAL CAVITIES.

So, without the help from my bible, I look for the tweezers. Very calmly. Reiterating the point to Alfie that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES he should sniff. (Note: have you ever tried to teach a small child the difference between sniff and blow??) Sniff= easy. Blow= Very Very Difficult.

Cant find the sodding tweezers. Anywhere.

Less than 1 Hr before we NEED to check in.

Vaguely recall reading that POTENTIALLY it might not be great for a child to travel ON A PLANE with plasticine up his nose.

Bugger.

Thinking about using the scissors. Its the only "pinch grip" type thing I have...unless I raid Mr G's tool box in the garage. But I'm not entirely sure that a monkey wrench will fit up Alfies very small nasal passage.

Oh God.

Flash of inspiration.

Either this will work or it will go HORRIBLY WRONG and a trip to A&E will be required.

NotQuiteSupermom: "Alfie sweetie. Bend down and touch your toes."
Alfie: "Huh?"
NotQuiteSupermom: " Lets pretend that you have to...ooohh..I dont know. (NOT GO ON HOLIDAY BECAUSE YOU HAVE SOMETHING STUCK UP YOUR NOSE)....blow something really hard OUT your nose AND not sniff it back?? Do you think if you bend over you can do that for Mommy? Superman does that all the time."
Alfie: "Ok."

We all held our breath.

To blow..or to sniff? That is the question.

I held my breath.

Alfie (fortunately) didnt hold his.

He gave a HUGE Superman styleee blow.

With a quite astounding "POP" the plasticine pinged out his nose and onto the carpet.

Our silent worship of the blue plasticne ball was rudely interrupted by the doorbell.

Mother: (v. cheerful) "Already to go?"
NotQuiteSupermom: "Yes. Absolutely. Let's go."

Although...with hindsight..had I known what was to come..I think my answer would have been very different.

Yep.

It gets worse.

x

Walking the Dogs

2009-05-06T09:36:00.000-07:00

I walked the dogs at the park today.

I know...well done me!!

And..for my effort I got rewarded with one of the funniest things said to me for ages....

A man came over with his little dog and said:
"I know those dogs..they are mother and son right?"

"Yes" I replied.

"Your Dad normally walks them doesnt he?" said the dog walking man.

"No," I replied.."my husband does. Always."

"Oh," said the dog walking man. "Sorry."

AH HA HA HA HA HA

Poor Mr G.

But Yeaaaay me!!!

Love the ever youthful,