A fun run, a grumpy Smartie Artie, terrible Buzz Lightyear and a shockingly nice reality TV star

Saturday 26^th March

Today I attended the local church Fun Run to raise money for their centenary.  This was also a chance to show off our proposed new community playground for the local area whilst drumming up support.

There was the obligatory C-list celebrity, the local MP and lots of kids and elderly people ready for the one mile run.

During the registration we were showing our plans when a man got really annoyed that we were using up more space on the common where he normally walks the dog.  It is worth pointing out at this point the common is over two acres of land and we are proposing to take about half an acre.  I appeased him by pointing out that the wayward children would be penned in the playground allowing his mutt full reign to poo anywhere he wanted.  The stupid idiot bought this and didn’t see the irony in my comments.

After the fun run we dragged ourselves to a friend’s 4^th birthday party where the Smartie Artie had obviously had a massive row with his partner and was taking it out on the kids.  He was in a foul mood and managed to make the birthday boy cry.  He was a right miserable bastard.

Sunday 27^th March

I thought yesterday’s party entertainer was bad.  He may have been a moody bastard but compared to today’s car crash he should have been up for entertainer of the year.  Today’s debacle was a young man dressed as Buzz Lightyear ... badly.  He was sweating profusely and his arsenal of entertainment equipment included a big tub of sweets and a small stereo.

He had obviously been on the lash the night before and spoke very quietly as one would after a heavy night of drinking.

Tormenting Ms Jobsworth and the farm animals

Thursday 24^th March

After dropping my eldest off at school I went home to await Ms Jobsworth from the local Council Planning office.  She was coming over to find fault with our planning application.  Ms Jobsworth would have come over earlier, however she cancelled the last appointment due to having a slight cold and as a public servant working for the Council, obviously took that as a sickie.

Ms Jobsworth was very annoyed as our plans are pretty accurate and fair, however she was able to find a petty and pathetic fault with our boundary wall declaring that the gutter was slightly too close to our boundary.

We are obviously going to contest this as we can’t afford the extension for a while and therefore have time on our hands to waste with the local Council.

Later that day I took my youngest to a Farm where he tormented the guinea pigs and threw balls at any child near him in the ball pit.  After 10 minutes I gave up shouting at him and took him out to enjoy the tractor ride. 

By the time we both left the animals were scared and the farm hands were harassed.  My son’s work was done for the day.

Dressing like a geek, trying to look chic and feeling like a freak

Friday 18^th March

Red Nose Day and that means stress for parents of young children who have to do something for school like dressing up.  In my case my eldest had to dress as a school teacher and in my opinion looked fantastic as a geeky science teacher.  In true geeky style, when he didn’t win the fancy dress competition he burst into tears.  I too was upset, I’d spent ages on his costume.

Saturday 19^th March

After eight months of split ends, looking like a witch and starting to resemble a hobo I decided to treat myself to a much needed haircut.

I bravely went to a hairdressers I had not used before that my friends had recommended.  The fact it is named after chocolate was a good sign.  So venturing into this new shop I realised I had left my wallet, phone and other worldly goods at home by the sofa.  Luckily they said my husband could pay over the phone despite the fact they didn’t know me from Adam.  Very impressed.

The hair washing experience was fabulous with a massage chair which forces your feet to go up and relaxes your whole body.  The only glitch to this experience being the client next to me crowing about her “bruvva” and “step-dad” and “man-u” and “’ow it don’t bovver ‘er”. 

The attractive male hairdresser decided to tell me my hair was lanky, thin, fine and “needed work”.  I felt very sexy and self assured at that point.  However he actually did a half decent job and I came away looking a few pence more than when I went in.

When I got home however I was confronted with an angry husband, crying child and frightened toddler.  I knew then that England had lost the rugby.  This did not bode well for the night ahead which involved eating at a restaurant my husband hates with a couple he can’t even remember because he found them so dull last time on a night when we are both exhausted.

As it turned out the evening was as predicted.  The food was hideous, the company monotonous and my husband a moaning bastard.

At least the hairdresser’s appointment was a treat.  

Sunday 20^th March

I tried to subtly tell my husband I have “women’s pains” and my son says “oh, does that mean they are not as painful as men’s pains?  Men have more pain than women!”  He has much to learn.

A shed, a Kev, a luxury and a chav

Thursday 17^th March

Today has been a surreal day.  It started like any other Thursday with my regular workout at the disease infested indoor play where I was, as always, confronted by lazy parents drinking their cup-of-chinos and others who were very annoyed at my youngest son bumping them on the bumper cars.

Arriving home with a catatonic toddler enjoying his nap, I bought my first shed.  This was an enlightening experience but I am now fully versed in all things shed-like.  I can tell an apex from a pent and a superior to a classic.  I can even tell you whether you will need timber bearers or not.  But most importantly I have discovered that sheds are bloody expensive!

On to my next endeavour, I finally booked my night away with a girlfriend at a very exclusive hotel where I shall be pampered to within an inch of my life.  This is happening in June but already I am planning this major event with microscopic accuracy.

In the afternoon I was pleased to see it was cloudy and damp as the mums organising the renovation of the playground wanted a dull day to photograph the kids looking like orphans from Oliver!  It didn’t go quite to plan as we discovered asking kids to look miserable makes them laugh uncontrollably. 

After this event, a child in my eldest’s school, I’ll call him Damian, decided to target my son as practice for his evil amusement.  Pushing him off the balance beam infront of his mum he immediately pronounced his innocence whilst his mum, as usual, screamed like a banshee at him but actually did nothing about the event.  Wiping the tears from my son’s face we angrily left to go to swimming practice where I can again enjoy indoor play with my youngest whilst the other one catches feet and ear infections in the public swimming pool.

Today I was blessed even further to have 2 chavs in the indoor play talking about “Shazza” and “Tray” and then encouraging their darlings to demolish the place.  I believe their names were “Paris” and “Kev”.

Giving to Japan

A funny thing happened on the way to 2011 ... we went from enemies in the 2nd World War to Friends to Admirers of a Great Nation who has shown true bravery and comradeliness for their fellow man during this time of great crisis.


The other day I was saying to a friend I wonder how good we would have been in Blighty with such an awful disaster and I could only hope we would be half as great as they have been.


But as much as they are dealing with everything Mother Nature has given them, they are friends who need help from us.


There are 2 charities that are helping Japan during this crisis:


www.redcross.org.uk/JapanTsunami


www.savethechildren.org.uk


There are many more but these two spring to mind as one helps the children and the other is a National Symbol of help for anyone in the world.


Good luck Japan, we are with you 100%

Because his heart belongs to daddy ... Part 2

Monday 14^th March

After a night where my youngest on waking would only go back to sleep if “Dada” put him back to bed I felt relieved that finally I would catch up on my much needed sleep and restless because no longer does my baby want me to put him to sleep but his daddy.  I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night fretting about this!  Irony at it's most cruel. 

Because his heart belongs to daddy!

Sunday 13^th March

It has dawned on me today that my youngest son who was always a mummy’s boy has defected to the dark side and started to vie for the affections of daddy.  Bastard!  My eldest was always a daddy’s boy and I had reluctantly accepted my position as second to the alpha male.  My youngest however made sure I was the alpha in my family, coming to me to show me the work he had done – translated into the mess he had created – crying to me when he had scuffed his nose on the concrete or to get food for him. 

But in the last couple of weeks he has been nagging my husband more than me.  In practicality this has offered me the opportunity to actually enjoy my weekends a little more but emotionally this has left a small hole in my heart.  The cries for “Dada! Dada!” are frustrating.  Why not “Mama! Mama!”? 

Mr Kingston has rightly pointed out in the next few years he will bombarded with activities with two boys whilst I can leisurely enjoy my weekends.  I’ll go mad with boredom!

Garden Centres are the new black ... and gastro pubs hate families

Saturday 12^th March

Going to a garden centre when the sun comes up is the new black and with this in mind we ventured out to a large one with a mini steam train, lots of small animals and a beautiful florists.

The day started off brilliantly with my sons eating a “99” each although it should of course now be called a “£1.75”.

After covering themselves in ice cream and chocolate ensuring my washing duties are up to speed we went to have a look at the chickens.  My husband decided that we should get a couple for the garden which sent my eldest in a frenzy wanting it “NOW!”.  Needless to say he was disappointed.

Once my son realised his cruel mother was not going to give him a chicken or three, we went on the small steam train which broke down half way through and made a funny burnt tyre smell.  The kids loved it.

After the broken steam train we ventured into the shed section where my youngest thought he would test the saying “people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones”.  It seems now they are hardened glass this phrase is no longer relevant.

Getting to the cafe ten minutes too late for the hot food my husband said he noticed a pub less than five minutes away.

So into the pub we went.  And the moment we arrived I knew it was a mistake.  The pub was a very smart gastro pub which meant two things – very child unfriendly and very expensive.  The waitress seemed really pissed off we had arrived and told us they were booked up from 8pm.  It was 5.30pm and pointed this out.  “Oh, right.  Sit here then.”  Putting us next to the kitchen we asked to move.  We were put in a much better position next to the toilets. 

Ordering food and drinks and asking it all to come as quickly as possible the drinks for the kids were in pint glasses (apple juice) with no straws and lots of ice.  My two year old thought they were fun for a few minutes.  We were fortunate enough to wait for over 45 minutes for our food resulting in tantrums, yelling and lots of throwing things.  My children were very embarrassed by me.

When the food did arrive it was lovely but we had to rush it and the bill was ridiculous ... £66 for two kids meals and two main courses. 

And the worst part, I left a tip.

When you start to succeed you forget the reason why you started in the first place

Let's start by saying that I started this blog under a pseudonym allowing me to look at the world as a Middle Class Mummy with my very dry sense of humour.

I am lucky to have people who actually read my nonsensical rants and because I am conscious people are actually reading this I have started to make my posts less dry and wicked for fear of upsetting the reader. 

Yesterday I went out for dinner with a friend whom I shall call "J".  J pointed out to me that the reason people read the blog is because it was raw and funny and to get back on track.

I wrote a post about 2 birthday parties and very politely suggested why the latter party wasn't very good.  Last night I told J the real story and after pissing her pants she asked why I never put this in the blog.

Needless to say the real reason we left the party was because it was full of nerds (not geeks which I am very partial to) who were hostile, unfriendly and let's face it ... not particularly good looking or well groomed.

Mr Kingston and I walked in looking ... well ok, I'll say it ... bloody hot ... and all we got were sore looks and sideways glances.

I said in my blog that my youngest was crying enabling us to leave.  Did he bollocks.  We sat down for 10 minutes to debate whether or not to use our kids as an excuse as we don't believe in this ... but we did.  And do you know what, driving home we had a lovely time and Mr Kingston even tried to treat me to a crepe ... it was shut!

So I promise you from now on I will be honest, brutal, real and only tell it like it is ... with a humourous eye of course.

Today for instance I had son number 1 at home with a severe case of bullshit-itus and son number 2 was acting like he was on speed.  Tonight I shall be getting very drunk to forget I have kids.

So welcome to my blog and happy reading xxx

Feet Eating Fish and The Star Struck Stalker

Monday 7^th March

There was a glimmer of hope today from Mother Nature.  And what better way to celebrate the beginning of spring than with a school of fish eating your feet whilst drinking a Chai tea latte and talking shop with a close friend.  This was followed by a lovely walk in the sunshine and a debate about the benefits of fish nibbling dead skin off your toes.

The day only got better when I became star struck at my youngest son’s nursery, coming face to face with a very famous pop star which resulted in my staring at her for a full 10 seconds until she gave me a look to indicate I was a stalker.  My day is complete.

The Sunday Rush

Sunday 6^th March

Sundays for us are always rushed affairs, making sure our son makes his rugby game.  I say “us” and “our” to convince you that my husband is part of this manic process.  In reality I am barking orders to three men of varying ages to do certain tasks in order to be ready for the off.  “Go to the loo!”; “Have a shower!”; “Pack spare clothes!” etc etc.  At least my husband takes full glory when we are in the car on our way.  “We made it in time again.”  Yes darling.  What would I have done without you?

A Tale of Two Birthday Parties

Saturday 5^th March

Today was very much like a game of 2 halves.  Both halves revolving around birthday parties and ironically the 6^th birthday party was more fun, more relaxing and more sociable than the 40^th birthday party.

Dragging my husband to the 6^th birthday party meant I could interact with adults discussing such important matters as who is the sexiest male in True Blood and why we hate Artie Fartie – or whatever his name is.

The 40^th birthday party was a more mature affair with a gorgeous marquee, alcohol on tap and lovely food served on a regular basis. The host and hostess were as always fabulous.  The right recipe for a beautiful party, except for the 150 attendees who were cliquey, nerdy, uninteresting and unsociable.  I have never been a wall flower but after being rebuffed by a few individuals who were more keen to stick to their group of friends, my husband and I cowered in the corner contemplating whether or not to leave.  As luck would have it our youngest was not happy with the babysitter and screamed for our return.  He must be psychic.

Half Term Hangovers Are My Idea of Heaven

Thursday 3^rd March

It must be the aftermath of half term but the indoor play was quiet today.  Very, very quiet.  I am used to going to indoor play areas to mix with spoilt children left to run around whilst their mother’s drink their coffee and talk manicures. 

Because of my attention being put solely onto my son rather than keeping a keen eye out for a maniacal toddler wielding a stick I got to see my son’s first in two things – jumping off a little step and  sliding down the big boy slide.  Thank goodness for half term’s hangover.

The True Sadness of Playground Politics

Tuesday 1^st March

My eldest is in Year 1 at school and already I have noticed there is exclusion, segregation and isolation and I wish this was from the children.  This I can excuse.  This I can fix. 

Today I came home crying from the school playground.  No one was nasty to me, but no one came to talk to me either.  At one point my youngest who is obsessed with babies went over to another Year 1 mum to look into her pram and I overheard her talking to another mum about rearranging the girly night as no one could make it.  Had my emails been mislaid?  Had my phone not worked properly?  No, this is the second clicky group who has arranged a mum’s evening without me.

Don’t get me wrong, some of the mums really like me and I have even had a night out with a couple once or twice.  But as my husband always says I am marmite.  I am outspoken, honest and share my feelings with others.  I am NOT nasty, bitchy, rude or hateful behind people’s backs.  I make the mistake of showing my true self. I do not put up fronts, smile inanely and make small talk about makeup, the weather or show business.

And for this I am persecuted.  I have learnt over the years that shallowness makes for good acquaintances.  Do I sacrifice myself to be liked or do I carry on being who I am, risking no invitation to an inane evening of coffee and bitching.  I know the answer is to stay true to myself.  But just once I would like to be liked for who I am, not who people want me to be.