Posts (page 2)

I won't be blogging about anyone for a while. Unfortunately, people have been reading my blog and taking it as an accurate portrayal of reality, and crucially, passing information on. Whilst not intentionally harmful, it is intrusive and potentially damaging.

1.  What were you doing ten years ago?

Probably skiving off work early to sit outside a pub in Marylebone high street.

2.  List five (non-work) things on my to-do list for today.

Sort my mum's finances

Make a prawn and pea risotto, and fish fingers new potatoes and green beans for the lads

Get a tan without burning

Watch big brother

Sleep 

3.  Snacks I enjoy:

All snacks. ALL OF THEM. Except sweets because they're essentially sugar and therefore shit.

4.  Things I would do if I were a billionaire:

Everything

5.  Places I have lived:

Eccleshill

Roehampton

Surbiton

Tooting

Wimbledon

Idle

6.  Jobs I have had:

1st job was when I was 14. I worked in a freezer shop (selling frozen food, not freezers). Me and Lynn got sacked when the owner discovered that the freezer might be destroying our ovaries, and we might in years to come, sue him

"Dunnes Stores for better value everyday" I remember the canteen did reasonable food and I worked far too many saturdays under the influence of the night before.

Roehampton Tennis and Golf club. I was a silver service waitress, and I loved it. I wore incredibly short skirts.  The intrigue, the poshness, the stinginess of wealthy people, the frogs legs, the stolen booze and whole sides of beef. I met John here. He was the KP, and I first saw him sitting cross legged on the stainless steel work surface, reading the sun and wearing pigtails.

Playworker. Best job. ever. 

Sitel Communications. Needs must/callcentre work, straight after uni which was fun and piss easy. They sent me on secondment to a major own brand retailer with an annoying food ad. Worked in Customer services, with own brand retailer, then Merchandising in Foods, before moving into Product Development and becoming a Trends Analyst. Which was wicked and involved lots of free food and lots of nice restaurants and insulting lots of famous chefs when a bit pissed. However, all of the successful people there worked 90 hour weeks and women took about 2 days maternity leave, and a lot of people left their families and actually lived in town all week, and had affairs with suppliers and colleagues rather than just living at home. Madness I tell thee. I realised this world wasn't for me and luckily I got knocked up just in time to welome voluntary redundancy, rather than becoming one of the successful people (or probably not)   

Parent       

Counsellor

I'm tagging everyone

I don't usually win anything, and I suspect I might've won this because no one else entered, but this weekend (babysitters pending) John and I will be here, quaffing and noshing.

Ok, so its not the 2 weeks in Mauritius tickets, nor is it the american double fridge freezer, and its not the Lotto (however, I'd have to buy a ticket to win that) but hells bells, I've won something. Thats good karma, right?  

How many houses have you lived in? How is where you live now different from where you grew up?

Loads

1974-1984 small terrace in eccleshill, bradford. shared bedroom with stinky little sister

1984-1993 slightly bigger semi in Eccleshill, gets biggest bedroom all. Source of major resentment to myself

1993-1994 Froebel hall of residence, Froebel College, Roehampton Sarf Lahndan. All girls, I had my own room next to the toilet and my next door neighbour and I had exclusive use of a very large bathroom. Nice.

1994-1995 Flatshare in Roehampton with 3 friends. 2 of them completely insane. One of them liked Keith Sweat, her room smelt fishy and her boyfriend turned out to be an armed robber. The other was just a complete pain in the arse. Met John whilst living in this house 

1995 few months?- More roehampton- bigger house, Got rid of the pain, and moved with fishy girl and best friend. Lived there for a bit but hated it. Moved out

1995-1996 Rat infected massive semi in Surbiton with John, and his twin brother, and fraser the chef and anorexic bekki. Great times were had- mostly because it was cheap, a stones throw from Kingston and had a garden.

1996-1997 3 months living with my inlaws in Battersea- nuff said.

1997-2000 Moved in with John and Jojo and her then boyfriend- (Jo changes boyfriends during our stay in the flat)Tooting Bec

2000- moved out, left John and moved into a studio flat in Tooting Bec

2000-2001 Wimbledon flat. Nice location, but I just wasn't feeling it. Got married-to John

2001-2002 Back to Tooting, my spiritual home. 

2002-2007 Slightly posher flat, Jo and Matt move round the corner. We have two sprogs

2007-2008- Idle, Bradford. Big semi, big garden. round the corner for my mum and sister 

2008- wins lottery, buys massive house in Rawdon and pied a terre in London.      

*It tipped it down. We were so wet and cold beforehand and my fellow runner had an awful cold. Still everyone seemed to set off running so we we tagged along. We walked up the big hills but ran the rest of the way. On the home straight I spotted a red hooded small person and knew it was Seth. John hurled us a couple of cans of beer and we actually sprinted toward the finish.  

We did it in about 26 minutes (we're not sure because I threw my phone to john just before the end and had to ask someone the time as we crossed the finish)

I then dashed up to the hospital to give my mum my medal.

She kissed it and gave it back.

(I'm the one on the right, Nat is on the left) 

*For all those who have been touched by cancer

The last two days me and the kids have been looking after each other, as John swanned off to the smoke for some R&R with his menfriends. Alledgedly they played bowls, proving that he is infact 83 years old. He is also sporting a ginger handlebar moustache. Oh, dear.

So, back to single parenting. It was hard this time. Not least because Seth has got his face up against the boundaries and is trying to kick and scream his way through as only sociopathic psychotic two year olds can.

So, far;

* He has stolen my hidden chocolate bar. Good stuff. 90% proof. I hid it in the letter rack. Seth found a stool, placed a cushion on top, found my chocolate, ate it then hid the wrapper in the bin. Apparently he is sorry he ate my chocolate, and I am his best friend. (opens his mouth to display absense of chocolate) 

* Refused to sit still in the cinema and demanded we leave after 45 seconds. He went for four poo's, three wee's and spent the rest of the film screeching to the other viewers before we left. I have a strong embarassment threshold when it comes to my kids but even I was mortified.

* Managed to wet the bed twice in two hours on thursday night despite wearing a bedtime nappy.

*Screamed every 45 seconds for 3 days. Why isn't he hoarse yet?  

*Spilt my last G&T. Boys were newly bathed and pj'd up. teeth brushed about to slumber. Glass with ice, dreamy condensation forming on the outside of the glass. Slice and a twist. The plan: Throw boys in bed, speed read 2 books, run downstairs. Savour drink. Seth then walked passed, swung his teddy in the air and my drink flew in slow motion, splattering the carpet. Apparently he is sorry he spilt my drink and I am his best friend.

*Got himself stuck in a bush, under his bed, in a cupboard, behind and under the sofa

*Demanded not just kisses, but precise kisses. The duration, pressure, angle and position, under pain of death. Kisses are not a happy event after 10 minutes of agonising frustration- on both our parts.

John will be home in two hours.  

Dear Gordon Brown,

I can tolerate bargain pasta (I just don't eat it. Food snob till the bitter end)

I can accept life without the gym. (I've heard walking counts as exercise and running outside is like a treadmill, only windier)

I can use basic soap and moisturiser (Especially after that documentary that shows beauty products make your wrinkles deeper!)

I can handle walking rather than driving (Ok, so its wet and windy, but the fresh air does us all good during the frantic march down to Ezra's nursery) 

We can live without the heating (We are wearing three jumpers and huddled together in one room playing jumping games tstop our extremities turning blue) 

I cannot, and will not tolerate life without gin. 

Sincerely,

Minks

cc. John

     Inland Revenue

     Man who runs Lottery

     Lady Luck    

References received. exam certificates in the post. (tsk, how ridiculous to have to dig out ancient a'levels and gcse's when I've got a bonafide degree with a stamp on it!) No idea how I'm going to pay for the course. At the moment I'm thinking about selling the old baby gear, and the kadrillions of books we've accumulated over the years, to cover the first installment. After that I'll be looking to selling organs.

The credit crunch has hit us hard, and I'm sure everyone else is feeling it too. We've got one income, which is on the cusp of any additional benefit support, meaning we're too rich to claim, but too poor to live the high life. Every bill is a challenge and luxuries like haircuts, shoes and clothes have to wait.

We sat down this month and again worked out what we'd have to give up to make the books balance. My gym membership bites the bullet, as do John's weekly squash games. We always tried to have one family meal out a month, but that is being shelved for the time being (the last vestiges of our middleclassness are ebbing away.....)      

As I debated whether to buy a new bra (much needed, I'm ashamed to confess that there are still some breastfeeding bra's being used!) or a vest (with hidden support for those I want to wear a summery dress but my dog eared boobies look ridiculously saggy without support) I had to chuckle. I realised I'd budgeted up until september. Mentally, I've worked out how much I need to syphon to pay for the kids new shoes, ezra's school uniform, lunchbox and school bag. I've stashed some cash to pay for petrol and food when we go to cornwall. I was shocked. I've officially 'grown up' when it comes to money management. 

This might sound ridiculously scary. Afterall they are two and four so I've been in charge of my children and our money for a while. However, making the adjustment from hedonistic twentysomething with money to waste on booze, fags and makeup, to fulltime parent has been a huge learning curve.

I am feeling pressure from the olds to get a part-time job. They find it hard to appreciate that working 3 evenings a week (in addition to college, and counselling work and looking after the kids) would not bring in much money. I understand how they feel. They did it when we were kids.

We have the same circular discussion every few months. Going to work fulltime would mean kids would be in childcare and away from us for 8-10 hours a day. We would have more money, but less time together. That is something we will do anything to prevent. Part time work would mean my wage being consumed by childcare costs. The money I would have at the end is hardly worth the effort. Working evenings and weekends would mean never seeing John, but more importantly (sorry John) giving up the college course and volunteer work. The way it works these days is what I earn in wages, I'd lose in tax credits. Its a sad fact. Unless I can do a bit of cash in hand work (anyone who knows a pub close to me who wants a saggy boobed barmaid in a vest, let me know) Its not gonna work.  

I know the olds think I'm lazy, I know they think that I'm putting myself before my family. I am thinking about my future. I am thinking of a career that will fit around what I want. What I want is for my family to enjoy each other. I want to pick up my children from school. I want a job that I enjoy and is stimulating. I want a job that means John could leave his grindstone and do something more interesting instead. I want our cake and for us all to eat it. Its at times like these when I am glad that I am so stubborn and pigheaded. I've always had this inner voice saying "I want it, and I will find a way to have it". That voice infuriates people, my parents look on in bemused horror, but it keeps me ticking and plotting and scheming. We're not starving, and we're not dead. So, I'm still listening to my voice.     

Sometimes I get scared when the sums don't add up, but the children have never ever gone without (unless you feel that not having designer stuff is deprivation) We still have the odd night out, and still see friends. We are having a holiday.  I don't envy people with more money. I just assume that oneday, if we work hard and together we'll have a bit more. 

What we do have is time. We see each other regularly, and have enough time to get bored sick of each other. 

The decisions we have made are ones which other people cannot fathom. Its simple for me. Its a trade off. Time versus Money.

We are lucky to've been able to make the sacrifices we have. I know they think we're mad. I think we're incredibly wealthy.      

The dance of the custard took it out of us both yesterday. I want a custard, mummy. I want that spoon, no not that spoon, I want to eat it there, no there, no I want to open it. No not that way, No mummy I want a custard. Custard mummy, no not there. there. No mummy- All screeched at ear bleeding pitch. It went on for an hour. And that was after my confiscating said custard after the first five minutes of tantrum. Seth is hard. I forsee great things for this one. But perhaps not a happy marriage.

Also, they've taken to battering each other. Despite separating them, and removing treats, and toys and putting them in seperate rooms, they still pummel each other at every possible opportunity. Every game involves some form of battle. Even the teddies end up brawling.  

They adore each other and can spend hours building dens and airships and pirate ships. Then make guns and swords and wands from anything they can find and 'do battle.' I really am sick of hearing them cry, because bit of rough play has ended in someone getting hurt. I catch myself saying "well, perhaps you'll think on next time" rather than focusing on the hurt. I have been known to throw them both in the garden in desperation and suggest they 'beat each other to death outside so as not to dirty the carpet.' Only the bemused looks on their faces and my grin emphasise the sarcasm. They might not be so shocked the next time I condone violence. Parenting gone wrong in face of extreme and constant noise and violence. I threatened them with Asbo's the other day. Offering to phone the police if they didn't stop flicking each other. Scary thing is, I remember doing this with my sister, and mum saying exactly the same to me. Though we were threatened with the orphanage and borstal.  

Its probably far too much telly, far too many Ben 10 episodes. Probably the bickering that goes on between me and John at all times. Probably the stories we tell them (about pirates, and wizards and magical beasts) are too graphically violent.  It does make me stop and wonder why there has to be a battle or struggle in every narrative. Even Smelly Bill fights with Aunt Bleach.

I am one of those mum's that ban guns and swords. When Ez fashions a lazer gun from a straw, I mantra "guns are dangerous, and seriously hurt and can even kill people. They are not toys, and playing at hurting people is not a fun game" to which he replies "don't worry mummy, its a pretend gun, and I'm only pretending to hurt people."

I am giving them mixed messages. Buzz Lightyear can use his lazer blasters all he likes, but Ezra can't pretend to shoot Woody's pistol.

He recently asked. "Mummy, deading someone is naughty. Why do animals get deaded for meat?" I answered honestly, but could tell my skewed moral code, confused him. Needless to say, he is definitely a veggie in the making.

Being a parent is confusing stuff. Sometimes I wish I could think more clearly and broadly before making decisions about what they learn and how we teach teach them. Honestly, it gets a bit boring sometimes, and sanity dictates I take time out otherwise I would go insane. Perhaps my sanity is not important. I should ditch the blogging and hoovering, if favour of even more constructive game play. As I hear Ezra yelling at Seth, "get out of here, young man. I'm sick and tired of hearing you screech" I could shoot myself in the head.        

The good news

a phonecall from a headhunter.

"blah blah, job with bit company. retail. blah blah. You've got merchandising experience with big well respected company. blah blah. Competitive salary of (insert very big number, unheard of in Bradford kind of number, and quite big for London kind of number"

"Ah, that is competitive (meaning 'How much? bloody hell fire, thats loadsa money. like looooooooads') I will only work parttime, due to children blah blah."

"They've seen your CV and really want to meet you. Will ask about part time. how long since you've worked?"

"(f*cking ages) 4 years. 6 years since I've merchandised. I've been out of the game for a while"

"Still, really positive blah blah, want you. Salary reflects your experience at XXXXX in London"

"Ah, sounds interesting. Look forward to hearing from you"  

The bad news

I am really truly awful at merchandising. Really really really bad. Incompetant. Terrible.