Mummy at the School Gate

I love christmas and birthdays, as BH buys me the most amazing presents. Me...I'm rubbish at getting him anything that resembles a "desire, want or wish", and end up getting him the most practical of items. Last year I bought him a pair of ski gloves, a garden vac, and some aftershave (which seems to end up in Barts room!). For my birthday this year, BH bought me a ipad...I was so excited and shocked, I think the excitement nearly made me faint! BH kept asking me, "Do you like it? Do you like it?"...I think he was more excited at my reaction! I keep wracking my brain for a "surprise" for BH that will knock his socks off. It's not that I lack imagination (probably is) but he really doesn't want or need anything unusual...apart from a pair of cowboy boots!! I've bought him a crate of wine from the wine club, and I had to tell him because I was so pleased with myself and I've already given him the ipod case, so all I've got to give

Yesterday, I met with "the girls" for our annual Christmas lunch...no drinks as I was driving! It is always a practical event as Marion organises a little shopping jaunt post lunch so that we are able to fit in a bit of Xmas buying. Some of the other mums join us and it's nice to catch up sans men. We can talk about them without the interjection of rugby or golf! Yesterday though, Marion brought a little shocker to the table. She was unusually subdued, but I'd put that down to the fact that her mum had been unwell. I'd been seated next to her and could feel her agitation. I'd been laughing with Jude about her reluctance to shop (and spend money) despite the fact that her hubby a partner in an accountancy firm. She had decided to shop at Poundland this year and was impressed with the vast array of gifts she could get...all for a pound. Her hubby is to do the three peaks challenge next year and she bought him an emergency tent...just in case. Anyhow, just

Peewee has settled in nicely and gets on very well with Chubba. Chubba plays with him like a doting grandfather and although it's nice to see, I just wish they wouldn't play fight near my feet. If I move into another room, they chase after my feet and tumble and flail, with gnashing teeth and deep throaty growls. I know they're enjoying themselves, but my poor feet seem to be the focal area for their games! This morning whilst I was emptying the teapot, Peewee tangled himself between my legs. Now, if I had been younger, lighter and fitter, I would have been able to simply hop over him and nimbly land on my two feet...unfortunately I landed on my knees! Collapsing into a heap, the pain and nausea was too much to bear and I lay face down moaning, with lovely loyal Chubba kissing/licking my face, trying (I believe) to revive me. Peewee had scuttled off to a corner and sat watching. BH heard the grunts (it's how he described it!), and came running into the kitchen sh

No one can bear liars, but I forgive them because they are either not brave enough or strong enough to deal with the consequences of the truth. But what about those who make excuses for their actions? "I did it because so and so made me do so" or "I did it, but I was suffering from blah, blah". Is it excusable? For me, excusers are worse than those who lie. The liars do it for a reason, either to protect themselves or to protect others. The ones who make excuses are deluding themselves, and although appearing to accept responsibility are placing the blame on the shoulders of something or someone else. This morning, as Bart was brushing his teeth, he was as usual fiddling around with the loo roll. He'd decided to unravel the roll and re roll it. I have no idea why nor does he, but he thought it would be a good idea. However, during the process he dropped the whole lot down the toilet, but instead of fishing it out, he flushed the toilet to get rid of the ev

Its been three weeks since Peewee (aptly named by Mimi), joined our household, and he's settled in as though he's always been here. Chubba has taken him under his paw, and together they make forays into the garden, sniffing, doing their business and "reading the papers" as my ma says. They make a handsome couple and Peewee is never far from Chubba's watchful eye. Persuading BH to get Peewee, was easy. "Chubba will teach him the rules" was one persuasion. "It will teach the kids a sense of responsibility" was another. Walking him won't be a problem as I always do it anyway, and in my own weird way I plan to train him with love, after all I've potty trained 3 kids and never lost my temper. I know, I know, like kids dogs and puppies need to know the boundaries, they need to know how far they can push and they need to know who's boss...and it isn't me! Peewee has me feeding him by hand. He just won't chow on down like m

Yesterday morning I decided that the chaos at home deserved more attention than my attire. The school bags had been lost and the packed lunches hastily cobbled together. The shopping hadn't been done this week because the new puppy couldn't be left on his own...and anyway I didn't want him destroying the relatively new kitchen!! As usual, Miriam (au-pair) was lazing in her pit, while Armageddon was close to destroying her slumber. She was planning on visiting 82 year old Mrs B down the road to do some cleaning and needed to get some well needed rest before the onslaught of cups of teas and more rest. Now I've seen Mrs B's house, and I know for a fact that no cleaning gets done. I've told her she's taking money under false pretences and I've told Mrs B to make her earn her money, but it all falls on deaf ears. Mrs B thinks Miriam is a sweet girl (she is), and she needs a rest from us! Miriam thinks Mrs B is a sweet old lady who only really needs a

Bart (the eldest) had the stuffing knocked out of him a several months ago, whilst playing rugby. He had a black eye, and what seemed to be bite marks on his arm!! He was in a sorry state, and my heart went out to him. Who like to see their child in pain, and who wants retribution? However, I can't take my frustration out on the child who caused the pain, (apart from the fact that I wouldn't recognise him) and I can't stop Bart from playing rugby!! "What can I do, to make it all go away? Shall I kiss it better?" I'd asked, knowing that this was a rhetorical question. I haven't yet learnt the art of manipulating a conversation to go my way. "No..it hurts!" "Shall I beat that boy to a pulp?" "You won't catch him, anyway his mum would be as angry as you are now, anyway Dad said it was my own fault. I shouldn't have let him tackle me. " Oh thanks BH, for your wonderful words of wisdom! "...and dad said that next