Tuesday, 19 November 2013

Excitingly mid 30s

Hello and good evening. England are playing football again so I have the evening to myself to catch you up on all the happenings. A lot has occurred in a short space of time - I have turned 35, I have become lodged in a multi storey car park, adopted a kitten and most importantly, I have new boots.

So, shortly after I left you K arrived home one evening with a surprise. A little black kitten which would go on to be named Charlie The Spider (Ted can think of little else than spiders and was pretty insistent that Spider should be his only name but the other children objected heartily to calling something so cute such an un-cute name so a compromise was met). His cuteness is in no question but he does actually need quite a lot of looking after which I am less than thrilled about. Particularly as his arrival now brings my poo quota up to a new high with the frequent emptying of his litter tray. Even with only one child in nappies, you would be surprised how much of the stuff I have to deal with on a daily basis and from the most surprising of sources. Aside from the rancid nappies from the baby who eats everything and anything and the kitten who does the same (I must investigate what they can actually eat - he is quite obsessed with melon and the milk from their cereal but is happy to try soy sauce, curry and spag bol - I am unsure if this is dangerous/normal?) I am also chief bottom wiper to Ted who refuses to wipe his own bottom which means that wherever I am in the house (even in bed trying to sleep) if I hear the plaintive and repetitive 'muuuuuuuuum' I have to hurry to find him in either of the loos where he will be naked from the waist down and facing the wall in what I have named the 'prison search pose'. He is so against having anything to do with the business end of proceedings he closes his eyes and rests them on his hands against the wall and will only open them once he has ascertained that I have 'finished'.  No one is allowed to see what goes on preceding my role in matters - there is a strict privacy role to Ted's lavatorial habits. He refuses to allow anything to happen until the door is closed and he's definitely alone. He told Cybil's lovely Godmother on a recent sleepover that she best close the door and 'give him 5 minutes' which is far more polite than I ever get - should I ever be attempting to use the bathroom/utility room at the time he needs it, I am yelled at to get out. 'Now'. Other than this, I also get the daily 'oops I forgot to flush' moment when I walk in and discover an horrific gift from the previous tenant. Now, I am sympathetic when it comes to the 7 and 8 times tables, spelling 'accommodation' and all the 'there' options, I am exceedingly understanding when it comes to not realising where countries are in the world (I could hardly comment after placing Vietnam in the wrong continent for two decades) however, flushing the loo is so simple some cats and dogs have mastered the art. Ted is so keen on flushing that the ritual has to be performed before I am permitted to enter and he has only recently turned 4 - which begs the question - WHY WHY WHY do the older ones not have it sorted yet?  I don't mind (I do actually) having to clean the loo every day because other people are too little/don't feel it's their job (it is) but not even making it to the flushing process is beyond lazy. I shout very loudly every time I make a new grizzly discovery but to no avail. Just as Cybs will no doubt be breast feeding until she hits puberty I am quite sure that G's girlfriend will be calling me up in 20 years and asking why I never thought to fully toilet train him. (Bea is less forgetful but it does happen, although girls get to an age where everything is so mortifyingly embarrassing that I am hoping there is no chance of her getting past 13 and still not mastering the art).  Extra poo quota aside, Charlie The Spider (hereonin known as CTS) makes an excellent addition to our family. After initial shyness he decided to become part of the pack after 24 hours, when the children devoted their after school time to 'training' him and coaxing him out from under the playroom sofa. Cybs is now very adept at picking him up and throwing him before pointing her finger and yelling (my new daily routine requires me to remove him from the work tops/table tops/beds/pillows/children's faces about a million times before shouting at him in what I hope is a scary arsed manner - so far he seems terrifically unafraid); George has decided to channel all the animal husbandry expertise he has gleaned over the last few years, in to caring for the cat and is constantly picking him up for a cuddle or more 'training'; Bea is acting like he is her new baby and as well as lavishing attention on to him has devoted much memory space on her ipad to cute pictures and films of him; Ted is happy to have found something more energetic and naughty than he is and is most pleased that he even loves Spiderman. A friend bought Ted a knitted spiderman finger puppet which was very lovely for Ted, but he only had it for a day before CTS decided it was a mouse substitute and runs from one end of the house to the other chasing it and jumping around catching it and biting it. I am most hopeful that he will be an excellent rodent deterrent (the main factor behind his purchase) - whilst he may not be much cop in a ring with a rat quite yet, they will hopefully not know he is only a baby from his smell and will therefore stay away on the off chance. Mice, which I now view as an almost welcome alternative to rats, should be very afraid as I am pretty sure he would decapitate them on sight even at his tender age.

Anyhoo, on to brighter things. Let me explain the car park. I must add that although I am quite large as normal-sized people go, I am not quite American-fat sized so I am unlikely to physically get trapped in a multi-storey carpark in any capacity - it was in fact my car. Ever since Cybs was born and we went away on holiday we have been borrowing a roof box from K's brother and as it is quite useful every time I go to mum's, we have left it on. The car is already quite tall as it is one of those seven seater people carriers and with the roof racks and roof box added on to that it makes us the height of a van. I give the height of my car such little thought on a yearly basis that none of this has ever bothered me. It was exceedingly tight in the Bromley car park when I visited in October so i gave it a bit of thought then, but it did fit and I managed to exit sans incident. Lewisham is a different story. Whilst G was at a party last weekend, I had promised Kent Sister that I would journey in to Lewisham (a task not performed for many years) and procure the last Flutterbye Flying Fairy doll on sale in what appeared to be the whole of the UK.  With no children on board and a whole hour to achieve my task, I was quite looking forward to the fun and larks I may get up to in a town centre full of shops. My excitement ended as I exited the one way street and went up the one way ramp and discovered at the top of the ramp, was a low hanging sign warning me of a low ceiling height in the car park. It was then that I casually pondered what height my mini-bus-sized car with roof box might be. It was mere seconds as it turned out, as I then hit the said sign and ascertained that the car was too tall. At this point there was nothing I could do as there were cars behind me and so, hoping for the best, I ventured further in and collected my ticket from the machine. My trepidation grew as I looked forward and saw that this car park did indeed have the lowest ceiling height I had ever seen, ever and I panicked. I drove slowly forward and realised that as I did so I was making a loud scraping sound. Once through the barrier I truly panicked and decided to attempt a U turn. I have no idea why - there was nowhere I could go. The cars trying to come through the barriers were now beeping at me and getting pretty irate. I decided to abandon the U turn and continue further in to the too small car park. This was an error. I scraped loudly up the first ramp and turned on to the first level. This was slightly better and I had about an inch clearance overhead. I pulled over where I could and panic dialled K. "Helpful" people pulled up beside me and "helpfully" pointed to my roof box. I wound down the window. They did too. They said, "It's your roof box". It's at times like these I wish I wasn't British and I could respond "no shit Sherlock - did you think I was such an idiotic woman that I might think my inability to advance forward freely might be something to do with the gear box?????". Alas I am British so I said - "yes I know!" (apologetically obviously for causing them this momentary delay) - "I don't know how to get it off - any ideas?" They replied no, wished me good luck and drove off - being unencumbered as they were, by a giant vehicle. K failed to answer the phone for quite some time as he was, as it turned out later, dealing with Cybs. The time I spent sitting and waiting for him to answer allowed me to survey the lay of the land and I realised that I could just about scrape through the car park as long as I avoided the strip lighting which was affixed to the beams and reduced clearance by a good three inches. I slowly advanced forward skillfully avoiding the lights and as a car exited their space I attempted to get in to it, going in at a peculiar angle to avoid yet another flipping light. K called. I spoke to him. He had no idea how I could remove the box without tools. He said to rip the lid off. I thought that was genius. Until I realised that I couldn't even open the box as you need space above it in order to allow the hinge to serve a purpose. Defeated, I abandoned the car parked at a peculiar angle in its space and went in search of the fricking fluttering fairy. I felt sick the entire time but managed to achieve my task and return back to the scene of devastation. As I tried to drive away more "helpful" people pointed to my box. Again, I asked if they could help. Again they could not. There was only one thing to do. G needed collecting and I was becoming panicky at the idea of spending the night in Lewisham multi storey car park. I was going to just keep going regardless of damage to box or car park. So I did. Although I had to first negotiate the ramp on to the next level to get to the freedom of the car park exit. The ramp I had to drive up had a bloody light hanging down and there was no room for manoeuvre either side. That was unless I put one set of tyres in the pedestrian path which was separated from the car ramp by a 5 inch concrete wall. I attempted to turn on to the ramp keeping the wheels in their allotted spaces. Failure. I scraped the side of the car on a sign which was rather unhelpfully stuck to the wall. I reversed and swung out further before turning up the ramp and this time I managed it - just about avoiding the strip light and not scraping the car too badly on the other side. Then I just had to mount the 5 inch concrete divider whilst not bursting my tyres and I was a few inches nearer freedom. Mercifully the tyres stayed in one piece and the next level up had a few more inches on it so the scraping was only bad when there was something hanging low and we collided. The next ramp was downwards and had another low flying light but there was no room for shenanigans with this one and as I was so close to freedom, I just drove straight at it. The noise as the box and light scraped together was not easy to hear but by then I could see the sky and I was determined to get out in to the open. However one more hurdle stood in my way. As I handed the machine my ticket I noticed that the barrier allowing my exit didn't fully open up  - it was hinged in the middle and gave a very low clearance height, yet again. There was nothing for it. I just drove at the barrier and hoped it wasn't going to fly off as my box collided. I also noticed that there was a rather large camera aimed right at the barriers and exit pay machines. At this point I really had no choice so I just drove forward and didn't look back. I didn't see the barrier fall in front of the car but I also didn't look in my mirror to see if it had fallen behind. I was so happy to have open space above the car and the chance to get to G in time I just kept going regardless of cameras. I am dreading a letter through the door asking me to compensate the council for damage to their lights and barrier but luckily nothing yet. The car needs a bit of TLC and the box isn't quite what it once was but at least I am not living in a car park and my niece will have the toy she wants for Christmas. (Even though all the reviews say it doesn't actually work that well, at least she can discover this for herself on the big day. The car and an hour of my life were totally worth it).

What else. Ooh yes. I turned a year older. This is largely uneventful. I went to bed 34 and I awoke 35. The day itself was lovely and full of being made to feel special which is what a birthday was designed for. I do not quibble over the age gain. I used to dread the whole getting older thing but then I realised how lucky I am to have birthday after birthday so I have decided to enjoy each and every one. I started with this one. After a mini lie in and a bath I went downstairs to discover that K had decorated the room with banners and balloons and had even got me a cake, complete with burning candles. The children sang happy birthday and I opened my gifts. I had been expecting a pair of boots as my gift. I had sent the link, a follow up email confirming size and colour and a follow up follow up email with a discount voucher to K in the hope that this subtle help might aid his present buying. It did not. He went, as expected, to Sainsbury's, and purchased a number of more random gifts I wasn't expecting at all. An extra pair of slippers - lest my other two be out of reach; a collection of 3 Christmas CDS - lest my other collection of 3 CDs be lost forever; Jennifer Saunder's biography - I have finished my last book and although biographies aren't totally my bag, I did enjoy Micheal McIntyre's, which is where he got the idea; and finally an alarm clock - lest I want to awake long before dawn and the awakening children..... Actually that is not fair - the alarm clock was not what he thought it was. Since the change of my iphone I have been requiring a new docking station to charge it and listen to my music through and I had also said I wanted a digital radio so, he had failed to notice the 'alarm clock' signage on the box, but had seen the 'docking station' and 'digital radio' information and decided it would do be the perfect gift and do the job required. Sadly it didn't even do that as it wasn't compatible with iphone 5s (he took it back for a refund and will retry at Christmas). Odd present choices aside, I appreciated each and every gift and was very grateful to have something to open. He had even wrapped up my sisters' gifts which had arrived via the post direct from their suppliers. All in all it felt very birthdayish and lovely.  Quick school run over and I raced (literally - thanks to a traffic jam slowing things up I managed to beat a truck - a triumph for a fat mid-30yr old pushing a buggy) up the Honor Oak hill and to the home of Events Organiser who had organised a birthday coffee morning and lunch in my honour. It was delightful and full of yummy treats, yummy people and the most delicious cake ever. I drank a little too much Cava which I probably shouldn't have done but it made the tricky afternoon with small children far more bearable so who cares. That evening I went to the beautician's at the end of my road and utiltised my birthday vouchers from last year for a luxury facial. It was bliss. If I had the money I would go for one on a weekly basis. Although, as I was lying there I couldn't help but think of all the things the money for one 45 minute session could have bought instead. Most pertinently I imagined how exceptionally clean my house would be if I paid my lovely cleaner to clean for six whole hours a week. It would also pay for school dinners for half a term for one child. That is a lot of hot meals and cleaning in place of 45 minutes. Mercifully I wasn't paying hard cash for the treatment so I did enjoy it immensely but I can't imagine a time when we are so rich that I would ever be able to lie there and not think about what the money could have bought in place of such luxury. Also I am not convinced that they do your skin any good whatsoever. It is a nice luxury having a woman smear gloop on to your face and then clean it off again, before applying more gloop and repeating over and over again, but I don't think my skin is any more rehydrated or rejuvenated which was kind of what I was expecting for £60. The birthday celebrations continued with a manicure the following evening (K's gift from last year), hair do (K's main gift to me for this year but as it couldn't be wrapped he felt I needed smaller gifts in compensation to open on the day) and a fantabulous night out with girl pals at the local tapas place that coincidentally also had a live band playing which made the night feel a lot more celebratory. All in all I definitely marked the occasion and am happily and officially now mid-30s. What a relief.

And finally the boots. Sadly missing from my birthday table my lovely lady friends took pity on me and gave me a card stuffed with vouchers at my meal celebration. I was so happy - it was the perfect end to a great deal of celebration and my new exciting boots arrived yesterday to great fanfare from me. I love them.

And that is about that. You are by and large up to date.  I must go to bed now as today has been an incredibly long one as Cybs and Ted are both ill. Not that I don't feel sorry for the ill baby who is just lying around being ill and whiny and looked after and stuffed with medicine but I feel far more sorry for the poor adult who has to look after it and attempt to carry out menial tasks with a clinging chimp hanging on to them constantly looking for boob to latch on to for comfort. It really makes the day a ridiculously long one. yawn. Buenos Noches.



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Sunday, 3 November 2013

The Tedium of Life

Well hello and good evening. Isn't this a treat? Just you, me, a laptop and the X factor.  K is out watching our eldest offspring skip the light fantastic in her annual dance show so I have the sofa and the remote control all to myself which means I can sing along to X factor unchecked - wahoo.  Although sadly this also means there is no chocolate and no one to get me any. I have some Maltesers which will just have to do but they really are not a good substitute for the good stuff.  They certainly don't count as actual chocolate in my eyes.

So, let's get on with all the tedium. On reflection 'The Tedium of life' would have been a far better blog name for me. I am kicking myself that it has taken two and a half years to realise this. I might re-launch. Anyway, wrong name aside there has been an awful lot of tedium over the last few weeks. If you live a high octane kind of life you might find it all a bit much so best rejoin me for another post. 

I will start where we left off last time - which I believe was just as the teachers went on strike.  I am all for a bit of striking as it goes.  Although I am never thrilled at the prospect of a weekday with all of the children, the plus side is that I get to earn money looking after the poor unfortunates whose parents can't also strike. I did idly wonder, when I heard they were striking yet again, how many stay at home parents would need to join together to form a Union of Stay at Home Parents so that we might also go on strike. Our pay conditions, pension and holidays are SHOCKING so we could legitimately strike on a very regular basis which would be quite fun, but I cannot imagine it would do anyone any good and we would just wake up the next day to a filthy house and feral children.  But, back to reality - as the teachers enjoyed their day off  (all except G's year who very kindly agreed to go ahead with the year 2 school trip regardless)  I took five children to Crystal Palace Park and spent an enjoyable-ish three hours messing around in the mud whilst fielding endless questions as well as trying to placate Ted who was tremendously disappointed with the whole experience. It appears that when I told him we were going to see the Dinosaurs at the Dinosaur Park, he was expecting actual, real life ones in all their gigantic, vicious beauty and the impressive statues we actually saw were an extraordinary let down. I suppose, in a world where Father Christmas is able to drop off presents to every child in the world in one night, fairies appear and donate money in return for lost teeth and magic bunnies give you chocolate eggs - real dinosaurs are totally a possibility.  An extra child did  valiantly try to convince him that a T Rex had eaten all of the dinosaurs which was why the statues were the only things left, but it did little to pacify a newly four year old who was looking forward to a Jurassic Park experience.  An attempt to steer his attentions towards the live spiders at the farm was also thwarted when we walked in and saw that the whole 'exotic animals' room was closed for refurbishment. By that point I deemed the trip had lasted long enough, particularly as another extra child had done a full on mud splat and was covered head to toe with the stuff.  All this combined with the fact that Bea was having a particularly 'special' day. I have no idea what goes on internally with children, but I am pretty sure there are occasional chemical imbalances which causes the most improbable behaviour from them. Bea had been having a chemical imbalance episode for quite a while and the strike day was the very pinnacle.  By bed time that evening I had stropped out of her bedroom vowing to never parent her again and that she was 'on her own from hereonin'.  There is only so much a person can take and I had totally reached my limit.  She was rude, stroppy, a total know it all and although I'm not a big fan of the word 'disrespectful'. And not just to me.  Her siblings and the extra children were not safe either.  It is just terrifically wearing. I was also terrified that it was how things were heading on a permanent basis as she moved in to the dreaded 'Tween' stage. It made me tearful to think about it. Mercifully my strop finally seemed to make her see sense and her chemicals have been far more balanced since then.

George took his chemical imbalance turn last week when we visited the dentist to check out a filling he thought had come out.  Due to his rather weak teeth and potentially my terrible parenting, we have had cause to frequent the dentists on a number of occasions, so I wasn't expecting anything particularly out of the ordinary. That is always how these episodes get you - you are going about your daily life not worrying about anything and then BAM a class A chemical imbalance of a melt down hits you right between the eyes. This one was over an Xray. Initially G was particularly jovial to the lovely female dentist as he sat in her chair - answering her questions and seeming genuinely excited about the prospect of an xray. But THEN the lovely dentist attempted to put the plastic instrument that holds the xray film, inside his mouth. The hell that broke loose started off innocently enough with him exclaiming that he didn't like it and that it hurt. Further attempts to convince him only served to rattle his cage and push him further in to the path of full on hysteria. By some miracle and quite a bit of stern talking by me, we just about managed to get an xray by me holding the film next to the tooth in place of the plastic instrument and the lovely lady dentist grabbing Cybs just as the Xray was taken. However we didn't realise this attempt had been successful as no one had heard the beep and he had struggled loose before we could be sure, so as i tried to (quite forcefully) get him to let me hold it next to his tooth once again - he became manic and his shouts, cries and protestations became louder.  He tried to escape - I got angry, the dentist and technician became desperate. Cybs continued to potter around. Luckily, just as it looked like G and I might enter in to a physical fight they discovered that the xray had come through and we had enough to go on. We all relaxed and returned to the dentist's chair - all except G who was still sobbing and hyper ventilating and very keen to leave. He did agree to get back in to the chair and I thought we were almost through the ordeal as he opened his mouth and the dentist began her work.  However by that point G had decided that nothing further was going to happen and he kept moving his head and forcing them to halt proceedings after a few seconds of each attempt to work on the tooth.  The lovely dentist managed to, eventually, remove the half of the filling that was still remaining and was all set to try and refill it. However G was still sobbing and refusing to stay still. Me holding his hand, the technician being kind, me getting cross, the dentist being firm, none of it convinced him to stay still or cope with even slight discomfort. At one point he said it hurt too much before they had even touched the tooth - it was then that everyone in the room lost patience and I saw the technician roll her eyes and sigh more than once. I became increasingly angry. None of it helped. We gave up. The dentist agreed to put a temporary topping on to the exposed tooth. G relaxed. He lay back and was suddenly able to hold still. She applied the temporary fix. G went crazy. He was screaming about his tongue. He went red and started gagging. He tried rinsing. It didn't help. We left as soon as possible and as I stood at reception trying to book another appointment, G started acting as if he was going to be sick. He went bright red and doubled over making throat grunts and retching through his hysteria. I was so cross and the woman waiting next to him seemed so alarmed, that I sent him outside where he just alarmed a number of passers by with his grade A performance of a child in great distress and about to be sick. I was having none of it. AS soon as Cybs and I walked out I began quite a tirade of angry hissing before we shut the car doors and I did a lot of actual shouting. Luckily for G the car journey was ridiculously short as we stopped to pick up Ted from a friend's house. Within minutes G was able to control his hysteria and the tongue issue disappeared. I am a tad apprehensive about returning on Monday for round two. I hope this isn't the beginning of a full of dentist phobia..... I really need lessons for how to cope with this sort of thing.

I have had my fair share of tantrums recently as well.  My last one culminated in a rather unfortunate incident with my phone. After a quick swim in the bath, the phone had become increasingly temperamental, eventually becoming almost unusable as the 'home' button kept sticking meaning that it was impossible to navigate the phone, and even if you did manage,  the voice of Siri (an allegedly helpful service apple provide) piped up asking if he could help me with anything. By the time he had asked me for the millionth time and was preventing me from doing something vital (I forget what it was now) I threw it down with such force that it smashed in to a million little pieces. So for a ridiculously long time (not hours or days but actual weeks),  I had no phone. It has been quite an eye opener. We have no land line or Internet (an ongoing battle) either so it meant I really had no way of ringing anyone or using the Internet until K came home each night.  There were no doubt texts I failed to reply to and events I missed out on but as I have no idea what they were, I have to conclude that it wasn't much. When the schools rang to inform of bumped heads or lost fillings, K passed on the message via email (my ipad worked for emails and selective texts with my phone sim) and I did what i could through the ever helpful FB in the evenings.  After a week we discovered that my new iphone was not going to be arriving for some time and it was then that I had a small (big) breakdown and began to panic. Luckily Kent Sister very kindly sent me her old iphone to help out. Sadly her help wasn't reciprocated by the Royal Mail who are exceptionally annoying. They delivered it a day late when I wasn't home. I had to wait until the following day to pick it up from the sorting office a mile away. The exciting day came and I set off full of hope that I might be reunited with cellular communication. I drove the mile, parked the car, exited the car, put Cybs in the buggy, walked the short distance to the sorting office and proudly produced my red card and driving licence which had my address on it. However, the package was addressed using my married surname and my licence still had my maiden name (I STILL haven't changed anything - I am definitely planning on it though I promise) and as it was a special delivery package the man behind the glass was not at all impressed with my lack of surname organisation and refused to hand over the package. My subsequent imploring fell on deaf ears and it became quickly apparent that he was not to be moved and insisted I return another time. I almost cried. I did the reverse journey - buggy, car, collapsing buggy, drive keeping cybs awake by opening windows and shouting etc. I couldn't park near the house so had to park a way off, get out, carry an angry Cybs who was quite keen to stay put and fall asleep, walk home, find Marriage Certificate even with a screamingly unhappy cybs, walk back, drive the mile there, exit car, put even angrier Cybs in buggy, walk to sorting office where a different man took an extremely cursory glance at my ID and handed over the package with very little ado. Finally I thought - a phone. NOT so. Kent sister is with O2 so the phone needed unlocking for me to use my Orange sim card. Cybs was not going to undertake another trip so I retreated home and let her sleep until we picked up Ted. With Ted collected and a packed lunch proffered, I set off with more high hopes towards the delightful Catford and the shop that had fixed my ipad.  Parking was yet again an issue so we opted for Halfords car park and a small walk over a potential parking ticket and convenient parking space. This involved emptying both children, looking around Halfords (I know they don't actually know I am not intending to use the shop but I feel guilt quite intensely so felt obliged), walking under the bridge courtesy of a vile subway, up the other side and triumphantly in to the shop through the fog of fag smoke. I produced my broken phone and asked how much to fix it - he sucked in breath and said "£65 - if you can find the home key" (I had thrown it away that morning) - I asked how long it would take and he said "while you wait". I gave him my sister's phone and asked how much to unlock it. He said "£45". I asked how long it would take. He said "5-7 days".  I sighed loudly, bundled up the children and walked out.  I was a broken woman. Neither option seemed a good one and I knew for a fact that many people had had their phones unlocked within minutes so I was very suspicious of a man who needed a week to do it. I went back through the stinking subway and up the other side, down the hill and back in to halfords to purchase the Spiderman bell Ted had seen and taken a fancy to. As he was buying it i saw an O2 pay as you go sim for 99p and purchased it. It worked. On a different number obviously but I was once again 'mobile'. Relief.

Unexpectedly and two weeks earlier than promised, my new iphone arrived 48 hours later. I was THRILLED. In time for half term and G's bday. However as we had no internet I couldn't get it up and running which was crashingly disappointing. I had to bundle the children in to the car, drive to a friend's house (who was out) but whose wireless broadband was already set up with my laptop which meant that we could sit there and configure my new phone via itunes without having to get out of the car.  The children were remarkably patient and eventually the phone was raring to go. We were all jubilant. Until I inserted the new sim once we got back home and it failed to work. I had to wait another 24 hours for EE to sort it out and then I was finally, finally back up and running.  It was actually something of an anticlimax as I was expecting a deluge of missed texts and voicemail messages.  However the phone remained belligerently quiet. Nothing momentous occurred.  And nothing momentous has occurred since either. Although I am greatly relieved to be back in the world of modern technology. 

That was duller than you thought wasn't it?


Hello and welcome back to another weekend and another X factor. I wrote that bit before half term but then fell asleep and didn't have a chance to finish it.  You didn't miss much - there was just a Halloween disco for G and Ted (it wasn't that much fun for me but they had fun) and a 'date' with G's hot teacher left to fill you in on. Sadly the date didn't go as planned as he kept talking about G and even gave me targets for him and what with me having to keep half an eye on the three children who were also on the 'date' with me and him dismissing me after ten minutes, it was not entirely what I had hoped for. The fresh make up application and perfume were a total waste of time.

Half term has been and gone - I went to see Bea's dance show which was fabulous, and then we packed up and braved the storm and travelled safely to Suffolk. It was an incredibly busy time with a lot to cram in to an abbreviated trip - particularly with halloween and G's birthday. It actually flew by. I had no time to get anything sorted or even finish off this post. Still, I am back now and G's birthday is well and truly over and done with. He has been exceptionally spoilt and has had an awful lot of celebrating.  Oooh and thanks to a bit of a tummy bug and the fabulous 5:2 plan I managed to lose weight on a school break! My new exciting total weight loss for the month is a heartening 9.5 pounds! I am beyond thrilled. Other than that life is pretty much as it ever was. The children are all getting bigger, the house gets messy and then gets clean and then gets messy again, money comes in and then goes straight back out again. Cybs and Ted keep me on my toes  so i don't tend to get too bored. Cybs is developing at an alarming rate and can now scooter which makes life a bit tricky as she can't even see over the handlebars of Ted's microscooter but that doesn't stop her thinking she should be allowed to scoot off as he does - albeit at a much, much slower pace. On one of the last days before half term she was casually scooting across the playground with one hand on the handles and the other by her side holding a cereal bar. She occasionally took a mouthful of it whilst still on the move. It was then that I really missed having my phone. I would have loved to have that on film. I write it now in the hope that I can bring back the memory if I ever re-read this. She insists on her breakfast being just the same as the others - Cheerios served in a bowl with milk and a spoon and she also likes to drink from a glass and isn't a big fan of the sippy cups that i keep trying to force upon her. She is still not a fan of milk but I am now really and truly over breastfeeding. I think I have now reached a point where I could happily put my baps firmly back in my bra never to release them again.
So, that is all that there is to report. We had a jolly half term, I now have a phone back and I am less fat than I was at the end of September. It really is a thriller of an entry. I shall go and investigate if The Tedium of Life is already taken as a blog title.

Let's re-group when I am 35 and see if I am a bit more interesting then. It is beginning to sound decidedly middle aged which doesn't sound decidedly fascinating but you never know.
Goodbye 34 - you were just as useful as all the other years. I thank you.