Next Door Neighbour!

Well, the five year old came home singing, ‘Rudolph the next door neighbour’ – he can’t read and when they learn songs in singing assembly in the hall with the overhead projector scrolling the words, he just has to make a best guess!

His class teacher met with the educational psychologist today to put a plan together to try to help him without actually giving him any more resources. Not sure what they came up with.... but I wait with baited breath to find out.

I tried to correct him but actually I like his version now, it’s going to be our traditional family carol from now on. Beware the Rankine-Elson’s knocking on your door and bursting into song!

He is playing a reindeer , along with the rest of his class in the nativity in a couple of weeks time, I know this because he has to take in brown trousers and a brown top in a plastic bag clearly labelled with his name before next week.

He doesn’t have brown trousers though and annoyingly because even though I now have a blinging phone I don’t actually do anything but text and call on it and I was outbid by 20p on ebay for a pair rather smart monsoon age 5 / 6 brown trousers which would have doubled both as reindeer and smart pants for Christmas Eve party too! All this just after getting over the spotty day for Children in Need scrabble for spots in my size, the five year old and the two year old, fortunately my partner didn’t need a costume that day!

He proudly brought home his Christmas cards printed by the P.T.A. a fund raising enterprise but just the cutest thing ever especially the tiny tags, all with his hand print Christmas tree and felt tipped fairy, gallons of glitter tipped over the lot (he is his mother’s son when it comes to glitter!)

The two year old desperate to do whatever the big one does has a pair of duck scissors that quack when he cuts, it’s cute but a little surreal....

Both of them heads down glue sticks blazing. Sequins scattered around the kitchen and foil flopping.... the sound of quacking!

Both smiling coyly holding aloft their art works, precious!

Irresistibly Optimistic

Between the mountains of homework the five year old has and the many chores of modern living (you know paying the gas bill, shopping, laundry and the like) and now going full time at work this time has been busy. We have of course managed to catch up with loads of friends and had my mum the infamous Grandma to stay. (My mum knows almost everything about modern living from how to save money on the cinema, where to buy this seasons animal prints and how to add a splash of colour to a dining room – in fact she knows everything about anything that has ever been shown on Lorraine, Loose Women or 60 minute make over! – (more impressive knowledge than you might think!)And she always brings lollipops!

With the two year old set free to toddler bed after an A and E trip caused by attempted sky dive escape from his cot, bed times have been a battle of wills. That said my boys are usually co-operative, it just takes the right way of asking – and the right way of asking is difficult when you’re tired, frustrated or in a rush – you know usual circumstances!

One Halloween I remember getting my first born to do all the things he usually wouldn’t by inserting the word ‘spooky’ (in a ghostly voice of course!) in every instruction.

‘Let’s clean your spooky teeth!’ ‘Shall we tidy your spooky toys away?’ ‘Eat your spooky peas!’ and so on – and it worked – it worked absolutely but I was in a good mood and was just in the right frame of mind to speak in a ghostly voice in fact once I’d got started I found it hard to stop! It is more enjoyable than you think – give it a go next year!

Over half term we visited Bridgewater Hall with some friends, we were a little too early for the performance and I said in best children’s T.V. presenter voice,

‘Shall we go upstairs and look out of the window?’

‘YES!’ said my five year old jumping in the air!

‘Erm.....’ said the other two polite kids, looking somewhat puzzled at what the big deal was about looking out of the window, but being nice well-mannered children they joined in.

Another friend visited once he wanted a Lunar Crawler he’d seen on telly.

‘Shall we make one?’ I said in best children’s T.V. presenter voice.

‘YES!’ said my five year old.

‘Erm,,,,’ said his little friend, knowing full well a few coke cans masking taped together with a painted yogurt pot on top was not what he wanted, but being a nice well mannered child he joined in – (he opted not to take the finished model home though!!)

Next week we have a meeting with the Educational Psychologist to find out if my beautiful, enthusiastic, loveable five year old is actually developmentally delayed or has a moderate or specific learning difficulty.........

I prefer to think of him as irresistibly optimistic, which is what I plan to be.

Heal the World

Heal the World

I looked at the 5 year olds class blog last night, the newest piece on there is a celebration of ‘Black History Month.’ They had been talking about Martin Luther King and the teacher had put together their comments on dreams for a fairer world next to a picture of each child sat on a rug with a globe pattern with children holding hands around the edge of the world, to the sickly music of Michael Jackson instructing us all to Heal the world. Next to my speech and language impaired 5 year old she had written, ‘for everybody to be treated the same’

‘Mmm’ I thought, ‘just doesn’t sound like something he would say....’

So, I asked him what he’d said and he told me that he said,

‘It doesn’t matter if you are a boy or a girl because it’s the same’ he knew exactly what he had said, I asked him later and he said the same thing. Not very eloquent I grant you but heartfelt (if slightly ‘off message’ for black history week!)

I was then in a bit of a quandary – though delighted that my feminist teachings had got through the number of times I’ve told him pink is for everyone who likes it, boy’s can play with dolls and Daddy can take his turn changing his brothers nappy the same as me.

Do I point out the friends we have who are black or Asian to make him aware (remember he’s not the observant kid in the world!) or will that forever point them out as someone ‘different’? We live in a multi-racial city he has to notice doesn’t he?

It was only when I became a grown up that I realised the probable heritage of some of my friends,  Joseph Gallegan, Sara Begum, Osama Ahmed, Francesca Brunelli......

He obviously gets his observation skills from me.......

So we began this rather clumsy conversation – the five year old clearly told us that black and white people are goodies (I told him some are baddies too, but you can’t tell by looking at their skin...) He at least got Martha Jones and Amy Pond as  goodies and I could confirm indeed Martha Jones and Amy Pond are goodies.

He looked at me with puzzlement when I asked him which of our friends are black? O.k. brown I said? And despite the photos on the back of his bedroom door he didn’t really understand. I didn’t really push it. Should I? I don’t know what to say....

Later my partner told me they’d seen someone from cbeebies in the park again much to the two year olds delight!

‘Ooh’ I say, a little stage struck, ‘Who?’

‘The blonde one’ he said.

‘Do you mean the woman with one arm?’ I say

‘Yes’ he says.

Now I know she does not always want to be known as the woman with one arm but there are more blondes in the world than people with one arm and it’s just a physical description isn’t it?

Night Time Terrors!

Night Time Terrors!

As I write I’m sitting in the gloom of the morning in the sitting room alone after an eventful night.

My partner and I shuffled off to bed early after head bobbing on the sofa for a while. Within a couple and mid the deepest sleep cycle in came the five year old, snuggling his hot little body next to mine, wriggling and writhing and obviously desperate for a wee! Sleepily and gluey eyed I walked him to the bathroom, him moaning and eyes shut. He managed to go with only minimal seat splashing then back to bed for us both.

Then at 5a.m. the unmistakably sharp chirrup of the smoke alarm running out of battery.........

I woke my partner who amazingly seemed to be sleeping through it.  Last time this happened he used a broom to knock off the smoke alarm in rather a temper, ripping it from the ceiling and as the smoke alarm system is wired in resulting in more noise foiled eventually by a trip to cellar and fuse removal then some tricky repair work the next week through ‘Danger nuclear material contained ’ warnings on the plastic casing he had smashed at!

Amazingly he was in a better mood than anticipated and rather purposefully got on with it with only a small amount of huffing and puffing as he dragged the step ladders from the cellar and up to our room. Maybe he’d learnt a lesson from last time and with the big light on and my head under the duvet he replaced the ‘damn’ battery!

5.40a.m. and we’d managed to get back to sleep despite my partners initial fear he would be unable to sleep again as he was so wide awake.

We were sharply woken by an angry little boy cry and my partner went to get the two year old before he woke the street and more importantly the five year old! He continued to scream and would not be comforted, writhing around on the bed and floor, kicking arms and legs with the occasional head butt thrown in for good luck.

‘Calpol, calpol!!!’ I screeched as my partner filled the syringe and held the flaying toddler down. Still screams.

‘Bonnnnnjelllllaaaaa!’

Bonjella applied and all calmed a little, well no more screaming anyway.

My partner de-camped to the spare room and I tried to get the two year old to snuggle, but the little biffer only threw himself around the bed angrily crashing all the hard parts of his body against all the hard parts of my body, climbing over me, feet in my face, pulling off my covers and noisily, pulling off my covers and noisily snuffling, dribbling and blocked nose breathing.....

My mind began to fill up and I made shopping lists, half term plans and worried about paying the car insurance and changing that bank account.

Finally, I heard the gentle snoring of the little one, and got a final punch in the face. I checked the clock, 6.flippin’ 59 and absolutely no way this full head was going to get back to sleep.

Earlier in the week a pupil in my class had said, ‘Rough night Miss?!’ when I’d forgotten towear my touché éclat....

‘Not really’ I said, ‘Just normal!’

So cool, I'm out in the Cold

Since reaching 40 (if not before) I am no longer particularly bothered about what people think of me. The feeling of embarrassment felt in front of people you don’t care about or will never see again has been christened, ‘Reading Festival Syndrome’ in my circle of friends...... after my very good friend who literally wanted the ground to swallow her up because we got a taxi from Reading station to the festival – we had crates of beer and there was no way we could carry enough to drink- I waved at all the other crusties as we drove past, she covered her face with her bowling ball bag.

My ten year old nephew who is reaching the peak of self consciousness was in the bath this week when the phone went,

‘If it’s for me’ he quickly and nervously shouted, ‘Say I’m in the shower!’

Apparently baths are for babies and old ladies – making me, in the words of Marge Simpson , ‘So square I’m cool!’

A shower says dynamic, zingy and modern! Who wouldn’t want that! Of course when I was his age a shower in our house meant attaching a rubber tube to the bath taps and hold the spluttering spout, water dribbling from the tap / rubber tube  connection over your head.

The shower I have now in my grown up life is I’m afraid not much better, as any of my poor friends who have had the pleasure of a night chez Rankine will confirm.  It is situated over the bath and dribbles out of an over large head that doesn’t quite balance – if you touch it, breathe near it or look at it funny it collapses into the bath spraying water all over the tiny bathroom.

I digress, tonight my next door neighbour called around to ask for £5 for the neighbourhood planting day on Saturday – the what?!

I had noticed that around the tree lined road I live on, people had planted bulbs, flowers and fancy grasses, ‘How lovely!’ I thought.

Apparently they’ve been getting together for about three years , twice a year to do this, followed by a party in Brenda and Gordon’s house / garden. Who? Oh yes. Brenda and Gordon who live opposite whose windows look into our windows...... and who have never spoken to me!

Not sure If my next door neighbour knocked by mistake or if I’ve finally been deemed ‘in’ she said something about me probably being away last time they did, which is doubtful and sounded a little like back tracking...........

I can’t be the neighbour they all hate, I put my bins away, park well enough and don’t block drives, I’m not too noisy though the kids do often cry in the night and I never have loud, late parties.......

I even send Christmas cards......

Maybe I’m on the list this year!

Busy!

Busy, busy....

So I’ve just started working full time – the kids are well looked after by Daddy who is improving every day...... but he’s not me! And I have to let that be ok, and agree to him feeding them noodles for tea every night, forgetting Jeans for Genes Day at school and sending the little one to nursery in wellies but no socks (ouch little blister!) and so on.

Don’t get me wrong when I was looking after them I spent a day in the science museum without spare nappies, (huge ballooning pants from the little one – quite a snotty refusal to lend a nappy from the self satisfied super mum I bumped into in the baby change), accidently smacked the eldest’s  head against the sink (....on Christmas Day resulting in a quick trip to A and E) and fed them chocolate to keep them quiet on shopping trips.....

Well, nobody’s perfect!

I struggle with space in my head, I can’t stop thinking about their homework or speech therapists appointment or toys or signing up for music lessons and now competing with that is all the work stuff, which never ever goes away or can never ever be finished........

Suffice to say I have a very busy head.

So when I got a text from another mum I hadn’t seen for a while saying she was meeting up for dinner with some friends and was I free, despite feeling shattered I texted, ‘yes’!

I’d had a long, long day at work and the weather was very Manchester, drizzle, dark and cold. It took a surprising amount of effort to run a bath, wash and paint my face.

‘New to me frock’ and purple tights on and off I went – hat on head to defend from the now blustering storm brewing.  On arrival at the restaurant I was surprised how empty the place....... quite clear enough view to notice there was no one in there I knew.

I hurried outside, to give them a quick call – under the rain battered sun canopy – they must be in another pub.

 No answer.

I double checked the text from earlier and .....................

Wrong day.

She was asking me to meet the next day......

Texts don’t really contain enough information to warrant a skim–read, but when your head is so busy, false economy with time eh?

I went home, took off the glad rags and had an early night...

Toddler Turns Two!

So the toddler is now two – he had his big boy birthday last week. Will I convince my partner now is a good time to try for another.....? (No! He screams at me! Never again!)

The night before his birthday, after a week of late nights and early mornings my very tired fella, put the kids to bed with stories from Winnie the Witch. He yawned down stairs and began to put together the birthday present – a balance bike. Lamps off, big light on, tool box from the cellar, instruction booklet open and down to business.

Then as I filled the dishwasher, an abrupt outburst of profanities..........

The screws were not in the box – we’d had the bike for over a week but we hadn’t checked, we hadn’t made it up and now the toddler would be bikeless on his birthday.

My suggestion of ‘Check the box again!’ – a few times was greeted with the irritation  you’d expect, as was my, ‘Have you checked the envelope?’ idea.

Through tired eyes he emailed a rather choice note to Amazon, including an emotive image of the two year olds disappointment for the morning.

And send.

Then of course he found the screws, already in the right holes........

Sheepishly he told me the mistake was made because of the wording / diagram in the instruction booklet.

‘You better email Amazon’ I said but it just hung there in the air.

The bike was made and seemed giant sized compared to the little legs of my baby.

The next day in brilliant sunshine, the toddler scowled at the bike, tried to get his legs on the bike, wobbled a bit, fell and gave up for now, he looked longingly at the bike, from a distance but when he got close he frowned and ran off, all ideas of fast movement foiled!–  (all was saved the weekend after when his big friend gave him a little scooter he’d grown out of ).

A lovely little picnic party after work and school, all the family eating veggie jelly and balloon cake in the speckled Autumn light.

Then an email check and those efficient people at Amazon had already sent out a new bike and their sincere apologies.

Doh! Another day waiting in for the delivery and then another trip to the blasted post office to return it, after a shamefaced email explaining the mistake. Everything taking ten times as long as it should!

Blame it on the tiredness.

Blame it on the kids.

Blame it on......... general incompetence!!!

Gymnastic Fantastic

So my five year old, my eldest child has speech difficulties and some learning delays and I love him more than anything in the world (or at least joint equal with his brother!) I spend a lot of time worrying about his self esteem and thinking of ways to counter balance how behind he is in ‘school’ ways. Mostly he doesn’t notice or talk about it but sometimes he gets all sad and a little moody and refuses to try to do things because he knows it doesn’t come easy to him and he sees his friends do it quickly and with little trouble.

I enrolled him in gymnastics club, when I asked him about football club and multi-skills club he politely declined with a ‘No thank you Mummy’ so I did it in secret and just told him when he was to go. He’s great at running, jumping, rolling and climbing so I figured it would be easy for him to get at least BAGA 1 sewn onto his jogging top.

The first week he wet himself before the end of the session – the teacher was, he said, too busy for him to ask her if he could go to the toilet and he couldn’t find the courage to find the way there himself.

We weren’t down-hearted, he definitely enjoyed it and spent days afterwards doing forward rolls on the rug, sometimes aided with a line of cushions, he also took to climbing on walls with his arms out like a tightrope walker.

Tonight to my delight he was ‘Gymnast of the Week’ – that’s a title I made up really. What really happened was the big girl in the club gave out a sticker and he proudly got it.

He cheered when he got it, arms up in the air with a quick, ‘Yes!’ He skipped all the way home telling me about balancing and stretching and rolling and jumping still in his P.E. kit with the warm Autumn sun on his back.

It even made up for the difficulty I had in understanding what his model was – (this was despite actually seeing the model)

‘It’s a bally – eena’ he said.

‘Oh, I see a ballerina’ I said.

‘Well yes’ he said, ‘But not the type of bally-eena that dances’

‘The type of bally-eena that is in Africa’

‘Emm’ I puzzled.

He told me how one of the other little boys at school – a boy he is sworn enemy of, I might add – said his model was rubbish. I know that’s what kids do, but it still jags my poor Mummy heart!

He then told me about three other friends who said he model was, ‘wicked’, ‘good’ and ‘great’ and I felt warm again!

Then it dawned on me – ‘Is it a hyena?’

‘Yes, Mummy a bally-eena!’ 

‘It’s brilliant!’ I say.

Baptism

My little one finally got baptised this week. He’s very nearly two and it was the first time he’s set foot in a church – I think he liked it! He stood at the front at the right time and noticing that the place was full of all the people he loved it the world began waving like the little prince he is! Yes, I think he liked it! What he didn’t like was putting on a little suit and waistcoat – but he needn’t have fought and struggled so much he managed to make it look scruffy within seconds of the button battle to get it on....... and as for slicking down his hair, well....

The elder boy at least managed to stay fairly smart, breakfast and teeth all done in pyjama’s and right at the last minute only, jumped into his best monkey print shirt and new suede boots.

The day before I’d taken the toddler shopping  and pramed my way round the freezer shop  the Irish Grandma behind the counter had been unable to voice the £6.66 subtotal rather she looked at me wide eyed and shocked– I hoped it wasn’t an omen!

I decided to make a joke, ‘Ooh, It’s his christening tomorrow! That’s not a good sign is it?!’

She laughed, but weakly and kept one eye on the pram just in case!

I understand why christenings take place on babies – the non-mobile nature is definitely a plus – my toddler, big eyed, cheeky face climbing slowly and deliberately up the steps to the altar, seemingly aware of both mine and his father’s reluctance to look bad in front of a priest! Or begin a Benny Hill style race around the church especially in my heels!

The service was relaxed, (kids at the front watching the water pouring and oil rubbing with awe) but moving, all my family and friends there praying for me and mine I did feel calm and blessed and full of love for my two boys.

Then the party, a little panic as the pie man was late but in he came, Desperate Dan cow pies under each arm, bucket of peas balanced on the table a proper grub’s up!

Gangs of kids around the pool table, sliding on the dance floor and eating crisps, whilst making a fuss of the little one, presents and cards stacking up on the table. The newest babies and the oldest Grandparents pulling faces at each other.  My partner chatting to the friends he went to school with nearly forty years ago and me, flitting between groups of family and friends and making cups of tea for the Great Aunts. My brother slipping out to go to the match. My Dad happily snapping on my behalf getting to grips with digital. The in-laws breathing easy knowing the little one is now finally in the faith, protected by God and not destined to spend his eternal life in limbo should the worse happen....

Where's me ...........?

Over dinner my partner uttered the cryptic words,

‘Have you seen J-N......’

I looked blankly at him but before I could question him further he nodded sagely and clarified, in a sort of whisper a la Les Dawson.

‘From the s-h-o-e-s’

(I recently said ‘He’s a bit of a d-i-c-k-‘ to my sister in law about someone and my niece and nephew both mouthed, ’dick’ to each other with giggly cheeky faces then ‘AWWW! Aunty Donna!’ so not sure how long we can communicate like this before being sussed!)

Doh! I thought the five year old had a friend over yesterday after school and they both removed the Jack Nano and spaceship toys from the heel of their shoes – curse you Clarks!

(It’s the latest thing in a long line of marketing ploys to sugar up the return to school for infants – at least I don’t have any girls I’m sure you have to re-mortgage these days for Lellie Kellies! And that’s if you can keep down the vomit from watching their telly advert.)

Seeing his friend with exactly the same pair of shoes and remembering a friends story last year which involved a mammoth shoe swap in year 4 resulting in many children with odd shoes – including one poor boy left with two right feet, I decided to iron on (sew on please? How much time do you have on your hands?!) name tags in his shoes.

Unfortunately I realised I had only one tag left..... left or right then which one is he most likely to loose?!

In the end I think I made the sensible choice.... I snipped it in half, first name in the left and surname in the right!

You see the thing is, despite constant reminders and nagging and hair pulling, and the broken record of ‘if you put it where it belongs you will always find it!’ the five year old (oh yes and the 44 year old!) expect me to know where they have dropped things, (and in a kind of super mum way I usually do!) But even I haven’t been able to spot two tiny toys that fit in size twelve and a half ‘g’s!

Recently at a nursery open day, the nearly two year olds key worker said that his class were not very good at jigsaw puzzles.

‘Really?’ I said before nervously owning up to almost never letting them out of the box at home without extremely strict supervision because it drives me mad when they loose the pieces!!!

Bad Mummy again!

Still, now kids in bed, rug hovered, cushions back on the sofa (why my kids think my soft furnishings are gymnastic equipment I do not know!’), washing up done and candles lit I slowly rest my weary bottom in the chair when.....

‘Ouch!’

Jack bloomin’ Nano!

Found him!

Because I'm worth it!

So, I’m not sure if it’s since we’ve been ‘cutting back’ or if it’s just his age but my 5 year old has become very consumer conscious. When we watch ‘milkshake’ on a Sunday morning he has started saying,

‘I want that – but I think it’s too expensive!’

‘I want that, but maybe for my birthday because it’s too expensive!’

Of course I’m trying to bring him up without any sexism he knows some girls like blue for example and some boys like pink and that boys and girls can like the same toys and that everyone is an individual –all well and good except he used to say ‘that’s a girl’s toy!’  when he saw a littlest pet shop or jewellery making advert – now he says, ‘I want that! It’s for girls and boys! But I think it’s too expensive!!!’

We visited my mum, his Grandma last week and she gave him and his little brother £10 pocket money. She did it because she had given my niece and nephew the same and believes in absolute equality between children and grandchildren.  

Growing up this meant when my brother and I had to share things like a Friday treat of a can of coke or a mars bar, one would split it and one would choose – this was usually a loose-loose situation – my brother would pour tiny splash after tiny splash into two cups till there was no visible sign of difference the process could take long enough for the desired coke to go flat then I would swoop in triumphant and insist the one I had chosen had more in it!  Or I would measure re-measure cut off slithers of the mars bar till there were two plates containing exactly the same amount of chocolate.......and then with flamboyant swish my brother would declare plate one superior and tease, tease, tease how much he was enjoying the lion’s share! The treat always lost its shine through these shenanigans!

The one year old thought this bag of coins was great fun, rather tasty in fact! The five year old couldn’t understand that if I forgot to bring out his bag of money I could lend him my money and pay it back.  He couldn’t understand change and thought he’d won when he gave a shop assistant one coin and got three in return!

One thing he chose to buy with his pocket money was a Ben 10 magazine – not you understand for the magazine but the mask, plastic phone and disc flyer as well as the dvd attached. As you might imagine we have been working on adverts and how they entice you, exaggerate and infiltrate your brain! The dvd was an advert for playmobile – ‘It’s not an advert!’ he insisted preferring to believe it was a lovely little present from Ben 10 himself!

Stubborn is not the word for my beautiful boy – to prove the dvd was not an advert but an enjoyable programme he watched it over and over again and just for good luck he watched it in French, Greek and Spanish too!

And guess what?

He’s asking for playmobile for Christmas!

hurrah, hurrah it's a holi-holi-day!

Rain, Rain Go Away!!!

So the family has just got back from our holiday in the Lake district.....due to financial restrictions this year, you know, mainly my partner being made redundant and us just living on my poor public sector wage – don’t believe the hype of golden handshake, pension or inflation related pay – we have been staying at my Aunties house in the beautiful and picturesque village of Hawkeshead .

It was totally grim.

It did not stop drizzling for more than an hour. There is only so much fun you can have in waterproof trousers.  

I spent a large part of the holiday under the heavy stress of ensuring no children (or partner argh!!!)  walked over the white carpet with muddy wellies on, reminding children (but more often partner ARGH!) to use a coaster on the highly polished coffee table and ensuring there were no nappy spillages – (the baby did poo in the bath – leading to the eldest leaping out quick smart but fortunately was easily cleaned!)

How people manage house swap holidays I do not know, I can only assume they have better behaved children, (PARTNER ARGH!!!!) than me and they go to sunny places where they can throw kids (and partner!) into the garden.

My partner muttered,’ Happy f-ing holiday’ under his breath at one point during a conversation involving me either reminding him again to keep the bedroom door shut so the incontinent old cat did not find her way to the eldest’s blow up bed, my pyjamas or the toddlers favourite teddy or asking him to clean up after himself in one way or another plate in dishwasher, flush the chain,  sweet wrapper in bin, beer bottle in recycle tub etc.

‘Hmmm’ began my tirade – highlights of which include, ‘This is supposed to be my holiday too.... I’m only asking you to look after yourself.... show some respect..... this is not our home....... you are the children’s role model’ he did appear to try a little harder after that....... even making the bed after his lie in one morning!

The whole thing literally caused me a pain in the neck and I felt the tension through neck, shoulder, back, leaning forward, chin in completely the wrong position daily.

 Aching thighs from the hill walking but aching neck from the tension of keeping someone else’s house clean.

When today we finally made it home to Manchester through the continuing stormy weather, I felt a shift in tension and sheer relief to be back in my own much loved but slightly shabby home.

I sprung upstairs and danced to Dolly Parton’s favourites  ‘Here you come again and here I go’ ‘The day my mother socked it to the Harper Valley P.T.A.’ and  ‘Pour myself a cup of ambition’ as I made the beds up with lovely clean but slightly creased sheets, and apologised to my partner for the (maybe) over eager policing of his behaviour he asked me a question...

’Yes I am ‘on’ as it happens but what has that got to do with it??!!!!’  was my reply.

500 Words a Week on Being Mum: Rain rain go away.....

500 Words a Week on Being Mum: Rain rain go away.....: "Rain, rain, rain and we’re all claustrophobically crammed together in the house on a Sunday afternoon suffering from cabin fever! My other..."

500 Words a Week on Being Mum: Rain rain go away.....

500 Words a Week on Being Mum: Rain rain go away.....: "Rain, rain, rain and we’re all claustrophobically crammed together in the house on a Sunday afternoon suffering from cabin fever! My other..."

Rain rain go away.....

Rain, rain, rain and we’re all claustrophobically crammed together in the house on a Sunday afternoon suffering from cabin fever!  My other half has sloped off for a sleep, as he was on ‘crack of dawn’ duty with son number 2 who is a fully paid up member of the wide awake club from 6 o’clock every morning.....

If I could summon up any energy I’d take them out but it means a car journey really and my car is holed up in the body shop after I lost a fight with a metal fenced corner of a car park.

My good friend and nursery teacher says,

‘There’s no such thing as bad weather, just inappropriate clothing!’

.....as she trails her little class around the school yard doing exciting and interesting things through hurricaines and storms – she’s much less ‘jolly hockey sticks’ than I’ve made her sound but she does believe in fresh air and wellies for all kids!

It’s not that I mind rain per say – I mean I do live in Manchester, but it’s August and Sunday and I want to relax and drift to the park maybe pop to the shops not wrap up in kagools and race to where I’m going with water creeping up my trousers. Is that osmosis? It’s incredible how far rainwater creeps up from the ground to your knees unless you are fortunate enough to suit cropped pants!

Still it’s good for the grass and at least we rarely have hose pipe bans in these parts....

So far this morning we’ve had  arts and crafts, construction and a puppet show i.e. a make shift television was drawn on the washing machine packaging and the eldest bobbed a toy meercat around while the baby crawled in and out clutching a lunar toy and giving his world famous winning smile!

The eldest is trying to get to grips with two forms of entertainment at the moment – magic and comedy. The magic consists of,

‘Look at this box, there’s nothing in it (noises emit from the box clearly indicating that it is crammed full of toy cars) absolutely nothing, nothing at all in this box!’

‘Now say the magic words.........’

The magic however is much more bearable than the jokes the meercat in the puppet show told one of the best.

‘Can kangeroo’s talk?’

Answer: ‘Kangeroo’s talk!!!’

This one was usual in that all his other jokes regardless of what they might be end in ‘to get to the other side!!!’

Language is not his strong point!

Physical comedy is more his thing, he can make me laugh with a head wiggle or eyebrow lift or deliberate fall on the floor – I think he gets humour so hopefully this will develop and we won’t be sat at his 21^st cringing through a speech full of ‘to get to the other side!’ punchlines!

Every time I think it’s easing up another down pour appears! What is a mum suppose to do?

I think all but the most perfect mum knows the answer to that.

T.V.

Lovely, calming, smiley, friendly T.V.

Phew!