Hiya, how the devil are you? I'm treating myself to a G&T and a sit down because I've done all my chores (oh, alright, not the downstairs bathroom or the hoovering - don't be unreasonable about it) and New Girl is on the telly and I went to circuits today for the first time in two weeks so I'm aching a bit and because it's gone nine and I bally well feel like it, alright? Blimey, give a girl a break!
So, yet another exciting/exhausting weekend in the big smoke just gone - I've just bought myself some herbal stress-relief tablets from Tesco, to cope with the whole reverse-commute-with-three-kids-and-an-undead-dog, which I suspect has been causing me the strange chest-pains-that-aren't-cardiac-arrest things. Apparently you're not supposed to take them with alcohol, though, so I'm not sure what will happen once the G&T has gone down though...still, I'm feeling pretty good right now...

I'm too scared to go upstairs. Big H and small G have come for a sleepover with the twins. Son is hiding down here with me. When the squeaking and thudding stops I may think about going up. I'm in quite a nervy mood. You know the type when you eat lots of chocolate and behave in a manic/shouty way. Yes, you know what I'm talking about...You may think that inviting other people's children for a sleepover when you're in that kind of mood is a bit silly, but you'd be wrong. Firstly, because Big H and Small G are very nice children, but also because when they're around I'm largely redundant Someone has to cook the pasta and hand out the creme eggs, obviously, but apart from that, I've been free to sew cushion covers in front of 'A place in the sun: home or away' (it's always away, in my experience - you get jack for your money in this country).
Did I mention that I was sewing a cushion cover? Oh yes, and I repainted a table and a mirror frame yesterday, all the better to turn the Twins' room from an undersea kingdom to a shabby chic boudoir. The transformation is almost complete (and for a mere £23 as well - I'm less domestic goddess, more domestic skinflint), but I don't trust myself with a drill and screwdriver in my present mood (or ever, in fact), so I'm afraid Hubby might get spammed with putting up the polka dot blinds.
It's still thumping and whooping upstairs. Son has fallen asleep on the sofa. I think it might turn into a long night...
take care xxx

So, my dad's on telly and I'm feeling embarrassed. But not in a good way. Not in a oh-look-at-the-tanked-up-old-coot-entering-the-worm-charming-competition-at-the-local-pub way. No, the reactionary NIMBY has been protesting against community-supported renewable energy schemes. He doesn't want any wind turbines on the hill near his home, thank you very much, and he's happy to go on television to say so. It's not just that it feels like he's happy to mortgage his grandchildrens' futures for the sake of his view, it's just downright embarrassing to be associated with someone who holds those kind of opinions. Sigh.
Anyway, I think I may just be on a slight downer because I have had a less than great start to Valentine's Day (not that I was expecting anything from anyone, you understand), because I was up all night with a vomiting Twin 2 (Twin 1 was momentarily jealous and said that it wasn't fair that her sister got the day off school - then I reminded her that if she stayed off school herself, she would miss spending Valentine's Day with Samuel, and she suddenly stopped feeling aggrieved). The poor thing is now lying on the sofa in front of Scooby Doo looking wan. I've had to cancel my thing at uni this morning and am looking forward to spending the day washing vomit-soaked sheets/towels etc. I have a fairly critical meeting to kick off my new job this afternoon, which I haven't backed out of yet - still hoping that Twin 2 will feel well enough to sit in a cafe for an hour playing angry birds whilst I talk to people about ways of showing that a specific art exhibition has broad cultural impact. Hmmmm. Fifty-fifty chance of making it, I think.
Anyway, Happy Valentine's you! xxxxx

ps - now several hours later and yes, she is still vomming, poor thing!

Twin 1 has got her first ever Valentine's. It's from a boy called Samuel. They had a date at the school disco on Friday and she gave him a card and now he's reciprocated. It's a nice big glossy one, too, much nicer than the 50p one she gave him (because I was too tight to buy anything more expensive for her). But now she's in a bad mood  because I won't invite him over for supper on Valentine's day. I think she feels super proud of the fact that she's ensnared Samuel, because apparently Sophia and Olivia were also after him, and last year he went out with Katie for the whole year but they had a row and split up and the whole school knew about it (according to Katie's mum, who's a dinner lady, and knows about such things).
So well done her for getting the class 'catch'.
She's seven, by the way...

And the award for worst mother goes to….

Yep, me.

Here’s what happened: we’ve just had a weekend in London, tramping round the National History Museum and eating overpriced sandwiches in the rain. The only problem with the whole weekend flat thing is that I barely sleep there. I have no idea why – perhaps it’s the muffled sounds of sirens and muggers footsteps echoing outside, or perhaps it’s the weird memory foam pillows on Hubby’s bed. Anyhow, I always come back exhausted and mildly stressed. This morning we were up early with Twin 2 crying because nobody believed she was ill, and Twin 1 crying because she had to wear the ‘horrible’ school cardigan (no, I have no idea what’s wrong with it – it’s exactly the same as all the other school cardigans). I had to teach this morning, which was fine, but I was slightly distracted by the chest pains I had throughout the lesson. When I got home I phoned NHS who reassured me (again) that I’m not having a cardiac arrest, and then I thought that maybe, instead of going to circuits and doing my lesson planning, maybe today, just for once, I could have a teensy little nap.

I woke up at 3.40. School finishes at 3.20.

The school probably now have me on a list of possible drug users/alcoholics/generally unfit mothers. I am expecting a call from social services any time now.

What’s worse is that because I’m rubbish at lying, I didn’t even claim to have been at the hospital or stuck in traffic, I just ‘fessed up to sleeping through school pick up time.

Yours in embarrassment and utter mortification xxx

Hi, how are things? I'm waiting for Bertha to finish the kitchen floor so I can mop it. I'm out of crabsticks and balsamic vinegar, so my tummy is rumbling and I'm wondering if there's anything else in the fridge worth raiding (I know the answer: no - unless I want to eat sushi nori, mango chutney or out of date yoghurt).
This morning I had chest pains. I looked on the NHS direct website, which told me that I should dial 999 and call an ambulance, so I whipped into the GP's and asked them what they thought (I didn't feel ill, just as if someone was poking me in the chest). A very nice doctor popped out of her room and told me it was probably just muscle strain and not to worry. Phew. I'd rather not have a heart attack right now, thanks (and in future I might not be quite so manic on the rowing machine).
Apart from the unnecessarily dramatic start to the morning, today has been pretty good.
Twin 2 got a headteacher's sticker for being able to stand on one leg, well done her. Twin 1 got ten out of ten in her spellings. Son got over-excited about his maths homework and did double what he was meant to. The dog is still alive, and it turns out I'm not on the brink of a cardiac arrest, so it's all good. Take care xxx
ps - I'm off to make myself a nice sushi nori and mango chutney sandwich now...

ps - I did post this in January, honest (I didn't stay that late at book club), but I think my blog is still on Nepali time!

Hello, how are things? Thought I’d try to get one last post in before January ends. I know, I’ve been a bit lax about blogging, but my kitchen floor is gleaming and all the sheets are washed (we won’t talk about the mould on the windowsills or the frankly parlous state of the wii room – yes, we do call it a wii room, because it’s got the wii in it, and the rats, and the sofa bed, and the robotic hoover…so I s’pose we could call it the wii, rat, sofa bed & robotic hoover room, but it’s a bit of a mouthful).

I’ve just got back from book club. I only stayed a bit, because I didn’t have a baby sitter, I just went armed with a walkie-talkie and a ten-year-old baby monitor and the knowledge that if the house started to burn down, the kids would know to run in the vague direction of Georgie & Harriet’s house.

I love going to other people’s houses; they have scented candles and snacks that haven’t come out of a Tesco Everyday Value packet (yes, I managed quite a few smoked salmon blinis, thanks). The problem is, I always get a bit too passionate and nerdy about the books, and I’m sure that nobody likes me for it – I don’t think anyone else really goes to book club to discuss the book.

Anyway, nice as it is to fraternise with the neighbours, I can’t continue to go to book club. Why? Because at some point someone will say “Who’s hosting it next month? Who hasn’t hosted yet?” and all eyes will rest on me, and I will have to ‘fess up to the state of the wii room and the rats and only buying Tesco Everyday Value snacks (no, Waitrose isn’t cheaper, it really isn’t, and neither is Ocado, unless your husband is a brigadier or something and you are beyond thinking about supermarket bills). Sadly I am the hostess with the leastess – unless your idea of a good time is sharing your party space with two rats and eating Everyday Value crab sticks with balsamic vinegar (my snack of choice at the moment). I think I can get away with another two months and then I’ll have to make myself scarce, and spend book club nights on my own, eating crab sticks in my rat-wii-hoover room and talking to myself about books. Oh, no, writing that has given me a sudden image of what I’m going to be like in old age – and the unnerving realisation that it’s not quite as far into the future as I thought. Anyhow, time to let the undead Dog back in and set Bertha off now. Enjoy your February! xxxx