The One With The Holiday Packing

At the end of last week I was delighted that Tesco Magazine published a review article I had written for them, all about a weekend away in the New Forest.

http://www.tescomagazine.com/living/holidays/oakdene-forest-park-review.html

Tellingly the article starts with these words:

"Travelling with a toddler isn’t always the most relaxing experience. Packing for a holiday with one is a military operation!"

I hate holiday packing. I find it really stressful. It actually impacts on the first day or so of my holiday because I am so stressed. 

I make lists. I tick things off. I highlight the stuff I have yet to do, or shop for, or wash, or find, or mend. I start days in advance. I have lists for me and separate lists for the boy. I have lists for things that need doing at home before we go. I have lists for things that need doing for work before we go. 

Hubby does all his own packing for the love of Pete! (this is the boys latest saying, a cross between hubby's "For the love of God" and my favourite "For Pete's sake") 

Still everything seems to need doing at the last minute! And we end up leaving about 3 hours later than we planned, because I'm still running around packing things, whilst crying and pulling out great clumps of my hair in anger and frustration.

How can that be?

Am I in fact spending all my time writing lists and not actually putting anything in a suitcase?

We have two holidays planned this year, one early summer (summer..HA!) and one later in the autumn. Both are in this country so there's no weight allowances to trouble us. We should be able to just load up the car and go.

Whether we do it with relative ease or whether I have a melt down worthy of my 3 year old boy remains to be seen!

Does anyone else hate packing for holidays with toddlers? I'd love to hear if you have any tips that will stop me becoming a gibbering, weeping wreck of a woman before I even get in the car....

The One With "The One With The Potty Training" Guest Post

Recently I replied to a request on Twitter by fellow blogger thismummyloves for guest blog posts on potty training.

We have been trying to potty train the boy on and off now for quite some time with limited success. The weekend I wrote this

The One with The Potty Training

as my guest blog post we'd had a breakthrough and I thought all was going well.

We have, shall I say, regressed since this was written. The boy now knows he wants to go but demands a nappy on before he will. I've tried brazening it out and being strong but he's now holding it in and has made himself constipated on occasions, which I've read can be quite common if a child just isn't ready to use the potty of their own accord.

I fear we will just have to wait until he is ready! 

All the experts, health visitors, friends and family have said the same. It's loads easier when they want to do it themselves. As long as he's done by the time he goes to school who cares. 

But I'm feeling the pressure. I was told recently by my chum Vintage Songstress that some Pre-Schools won't take children that aren't potty trained! Luckily ours will, but how much pressure does that put on a parent and child if that's the case? It completely takes away the "do it when they are ready" option. 

The other problem, I feel I have, is the boy is unusually tall for his age. He's 3, but looks 5 and is still in nappies so therefore, in the eyes of some, behaving like he's 2.

I know, I know I shouldn't care what people think and basically I don't. So why am I feeling so stressed about it all?

I've never been the sort of Mum for charts and plans and timetables. I like things to go more organically than that. Maybe this time though I'd like a little more uniformity, a bit more normality and conformity. I'd like him to just DO IT. 

However I think I just need to suck it up and except that it will happen. One day. 

He will run to me one morning and say

"Mummy I want big boy pants on today."

(Or something equally endearing and cute probably punctuated with the words Whaleshark or can I have Finding Nemo on again for the 8 millionth time please). 

I just hope that day comes soon that's all. 

The One With By George!

Right, I can't dress this up as anything other than shameless self promotion.

I've launched a new website for my business, so here it is

By George!

It's been a long time in the planning and preparation but now it's out there. 

I feel like I do when I've written anything and I show it to someone for the first time; nervous, excited, apprehensive and like I'm giving a part of myself away. 

This is how I am every time I write a blog on here. You hope people will like it, whether they agree with the views or points I'm making or not, I just want them to respect what I've said and how I've said it. Maybe that's why bloggers check their stats so much? We're searching for approval and what do numbers make? Approval! 

Either that or spam!

But with the website I feel I've given a whole massive part of me out to the world. The world wide web no less. I'm on the net. You can Google me. Blimey I suppose I'd better think about Google rankings now too. 

Because this is a serious website. It's not like on here, where occasionally I talk about something in the news, but mostly I witter on about toddler tantrums, being locked out of my house by my son or random people called Alan phoning me up, trying to make me claim PPI back I never bought in the first place.

This is work. I've got to get clients from this. I've got to keep clients from this. I've got to impress people and sound like I know what I'm doing!

You know me. I like to bugger about. This is going to be a tall order! 

I know I'm a writer and apparently the pen is mightier than the sword but, lets face it, it can't perform miracles...

So I hope you enjoy the website and thanks in advance for visiting. 

The One With Thatcher and the Top 40

On Monday lunchtime, as soon as the news broke of Mrs Thatcher's death, I text my husband and I simply put...

"Ding Dong the Witch is Dead"

He knew exactly who and what I meant.

I don't intend for this to be offensive, it was after all a private conversation between myself and my husband, but I transcribe it here, not to force our political views on you, the nature of which from the text I'm sure you can guess, but more to highlight the use of the phrase. 

A phrase which has dominated the news this week. 

I would venture to say that the only thing I think we would all agree with, whatever side of the political fence you sit on, is that Mrs Thatcher was divisive. After the week of news and social media I've seen it would seem she is as divisive in death as she was in life! 

Which brings me to "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead". 

The 51 second track from The Wizard of Oz has been downloaded all week since Mrs Thatcher's death and is set to be number 3 this afternoon in the charts. In reaction to this, pro Thatcher supports have been downloading an early 80's punk song called "I'm In Love with Margaret Thatcher" which is also due to chart. 

I have listened to the Top 40 countdown on a Sunday night since before Mrs Thatcher came to power and I will continue to listen long after she's dead. 

Apart from tonight!

Because tonight the BBC have been put in an impossible position and have decided to play a 5 second clip of Dong Dong the Witch is Dead within a news item to explain why the track has been downloaded. A compromise certainly, and in the circumstances all they could probably do to maintain freedom of speech whilst balancing issues of decency and taste, but do we really want.... 

"And now in at number three it's a new entry for ... the news".

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead contains no swearing, racial, homophobic or sexual references. It's from a feel good musical that is over 70 years old. Banning it couldn't be justified because the song itself isn't offensive. However the reason why it has been downloaded has been deemed offensive. Offence is as subjective as politics, it all depends on your point of view.

And herein lies my problem. Mass downloading of a song, any song, to cause offence is manipulation of the charts. It corrupts the very core of what the charts are intended to reflect. 

So to not put to fine a point on it I wish people would stop buggering about with the Top 40 to score political points off each other. The Top 40 is part of radio history and heritage. It's supposed to reflect what people are listening to in their homes and cars and what they are dancing to in pubs and clubs. It is not there for people to download a track they'll probably never listen to just to make a political point. 

As a kid I remember listening to the Top 40 in the bath, excited by each track as we got ever closer to the number 1 song. Back then I knew all the bands and all the words to all the songs. I still listen now while I'm cooking dinner. I barely know any of the groups and I often moan I can't hear the words but that's just my age and grumpiness. I still love the nature of the countdown, and hearing new music and what's number 1, whether I like it or not, is still as vital to me now as it was to the little girl, having her hair washed before another school week started, over 30 years ago. 

The charts have always contained protest and political songs written specifically for that purpose and using music to spread a message is nothing new but this download has nothing to do with music. This is just about publicity. 

Neither song, for the reasons they are being downloaded, have any place in the charts if that's the only reason they are there. 

A friend of mine on Twitter said to me "But it's only music it doesn't matter". But to me it does matter. It matters because it's part of my childhood, my youth and my culture being highjacked for a "cause", and I use the term loosely, that has no business being in the Top 40. And where will it end? Does including downloads now give rise to using the charts as a way of pushing social and political propaganda? After all we can find hidden meanings in any song title or lyrics if we look hard enough and have a social media campaign to strengthen and back it up.

Perhaps we should settle the next general election by download and whoever's song comes the highest wins. If this weeks antics are anything to go by it would be more popular that actually voting and more young people would probably do it. The irony is it's free to vote whereas downloading these tracks has cost each person 79p a time! 

I want music in the charts, good music, loud music, terrible music, rock music, rap music, indie bands, girl groups, boy bands and punk, I want ballads, soul, R&B, grungy guitars and yes I want protests song but not random songs picked just to protest.

So tonight I won't be listening because I want the glory hunters and the opportunists to leave the Top 40 alone please, before its very nature and purpose gets ruined forever. 

The One With The Hospital, The Hot Doctor and the Swift Kick

As I mentioned in my previous blog about my Grandad's funeral, the boy has been in hospital.

In fact the boy has been in hospital twice. Once for 7 days while they tried to control the swelling in the lymph gland in his neck with antibiotics then, after a week at home, back for 5 more days while they did a short operation to drain the fluid from the gland, after it became clear that the drugs weren't going to be enough.

Hospitals aren't a natural environment for me. I'm scared stiff of people being sick, as I've mentioned before, so I am in turns baffled, grateful and admiring of people who choose to spend their working lives caring for the poorly. I couldn't do it, but thank goodness for those who do.

You hear horror stories about the NHS. I heard one only the other day about a good friend that frightened the life out of me, but the staff on the paediatric ward were amazing and the ear, nose and throat doctor who treated the case was... well... how shall I put it... easy on the eye. Well he was easy on my eyes anyway.And those of Nanny P who also confessed that he was "very nice indeed".

Don't judge us. We're only flesh and blood.

So on the day the boy was released from hospital after his operation, said Hot Doc (for that shall be his blog name- I'm shallow I know) had to exam the boys neck and throat area where the swelling had been.

"Hold him tight up against you" he advised me "With his back towards you, and put your hand on his forehead so you are holding his head back."

I duly obliged. Now as many of you know I'm a rather well endowed lady in the bosom department and I was wearing a wrap around top. I wouldn't say the boys were out of the barracks but they may have been just peeking over the top a bit!

I was sitting down and in order to check the boys throat Hot Doc had to look downwards as he stood over us. Not only did he get an eyeful but he had no option, with the boy jammed up against me jubblies,but to get a hand full as well. OK, more of a brush past the bad boys but it didn't stop me blushing like a schoolgirl on a first date.

To his credit he was extremely professional. When he left Nanny P turned to me and said

"You're embarrassed. You never get embarrassed."

She was right. I was. I must be losing it.

Then last Friday we had to return to the hospital for the boy to have a check up and make sure everything was healing nicely two weeks on from the op. Who should we get for our appointment but the Hot Doc.

He recognised us straight away. At this point I will say that was more to do with the boy and his reputation for screaming the moment a doctor or nurse came within 3 feet of him and not because of my charms.

The results of the swab were back and nothing nasty was found in the pus drained from the abscess. It was completely sterile and nothing to worry about, just a result of severe tonsillitis and nothing more sinister. What a relief. So Hot Doc just needed to have a feel of the neck, make sure the wound was healing OK and look down the boys throat to check the tonsils were now clear.

"You hold him again Mum, right up against you. Hold his arms down with one hand and his head back with the other."

I knew the drill. I was more modestly dressed that day with a high neck jumper on.. well it was a cold day... and I didn't know we were seeing Hot Doc again did I!

The boy struggled. Having one of those lollipop stick things down your throat is never popular, with anyone, but let alone the boy. Hot Doc leaned in to try and look into his mouth. Suddenly I realised that while I had the boys arms and head no one was covering the legs....

Too late!

The boy lashed out with alarming speed and accuracy. Hot Doc got a swift kick in the nadgers for his trouble.

If you thought I was embarrassed last time I was mortified now. For a brief second I considered offering to rub it better but even I thought better of it.

"Got his own back there for the scar on his neck didn't he" Hot Doc winced through a professional smile.

Either that or revenge for you feeling up his Mum's boobs....

It's a tough call.

And it's tougher in the NHS than we ever imagined.... especially when they have to treat the boy!

The One With The Poem For My Grandad

Sorry for the lack of blogs after my new year pledge to post more often.

It has, as we say in Suffolk, been a 'rum old time'!

For anyone who followers me on Facebook and Twitter who'll know that the boy has been in hospital with complications with tonsillitis causing an enlarged lymph gland and had to have an operation to drain the fluid from the nodes. He was in for 7 days, then home for a week, then back for a further 5 days. He is much better now and that saga is a blog for another time, but it was while he was at home, in between hospital stays, he celebrated his 3rd birthday.

And on the morning of the boys 3rd birthday my grandad died.

Grandad was my Mum's dad and my last surviving grandparent. He was 86 and had been in poor health for the last few years. But it was still very sudden, unexpected and bitter sweet on the boys birthday. He died peacefully in his sleep and that is all any of us can really ever ask for isn't it? I know it's the end he would've liked.

During his national service he was a chef in the Royal Marines and was posted down in Kent where he met my Nana. In tribute, at the funeral, we walked out to 'A Life On the Ocean Wave' as it's the official anthem of that regiment. Without the Royal Marines my Mum, Uncle, myself and the boy wouldn't be here. It was a rousing, jolly chorus. It made me smile.

I got to thinking about what I'd like to be played at my funeral, which I know is morbid but you can't help it can you. Something jolly. Something funny. Something a bit showbiz. Cabaret? Make 'Em Laugh? Bring Me Sunshine? The Theme from The Good Life? I want something that will have people tittering rather than crying.

I also got to thinking about how lucky I have been to have had 3 out of my 4 grandparents alive for a good proportion of my life so far, and how my boy had a Great Grandfather for the first 3 years of his. I also thought about how I love watching the boy with Nanny P & Grandad Atu. Their relationship is so precious and loving. The joy they all get out of spending time together, playing and laughing, is beyond measure.

So for Grandad's funeral I thought back to my childhood and the Saturday afternoons and Sunday teatimes we'd all spend together. Then I wrote the poem below and read it at the funeral. I didn't even get to mention the games of snooker on my Uncles snooker table he bought from my Mum's club book, or battenburg cake and Bullseye, or how much Grandad loved my wedding day, which he generously helped to pay for, and for ages afterwards said to me "That was a good day out girl. I haven't had a day out like that for years!"

So here are the things I remember about my Grandad. His garden, his veggies, darts, cards and homemade Suffolk rusks.

Rest in Peace Grandad. I'll raise a glass of malt to you every year the boy gets older.

Remembering

I remember as a little girl, in the garden picking peas,

Both of us together crouched down upon our knees

I'd eat more than I picked and you always used to say,

" Save some for our dinner" but I knew it was ok.

You grew radishes and onions and runners on a vine.

In the greenhouse were tomatoes . Your new potatoes were divine.

How everyone called you Charlie, but Oscar was your name

And how you laughed when I got a cat, and his name was just the same.

On Saturday, in the scullery, standing on a chair,

You taught me darts and round the clock and why you must play fair.

You liked a drop of whisky, and I used to sneak a nip.

You'd say it was our secret, but now I've let it slip.

And you liked a litle flutter on the horses, just for fun.

You'd put 10p on, just for me, and sometimes I even won.

We'd get a cake from the Newstead van, but you prefered home made.

So for Sunday tea you'd make rusks with the table neatly laid.

And after tea, a game of cards, Nine Card Brag was your choice.

We'd play for pennies and laugh so loud you'd almost lose your voice.

You tried to make me eat Pheasant, but I used to wince and say,

"I don't like it Grandad, it's too strong, please take it away".

And when I had your great grandson, you were proud and all a glow,

But you teased and said "You know you should have done that ten years ago"

A Dad, a Grandad and a Great Grandad, your love was strong and true,

These are the things I remember from the time I spent with you.

The One with the Whaleshark

Happy New Year!

Is your house choc full of plastic? Or is it just me? 

The tree is down, the wrapping has been recycled and Oscar has jumped in and out of every box so now we're just left with all the toys!

Don't get me wrong I love a toy and I have no objection to great chunks of brightly coloured plastic, but I do rather seem to be swimming in them. Swimming being the operative word as the boy has developed a under sea creature obsession fuelled by the Octonauts. 

For those of you uninitiated in the Octonauts they are a band of creatures who "Explore! Rescue! and Protect!| under the sea in a giant octopus shaped craft the Octopod!

The Octopod

This is commanded by their estimable leader Captain Barnacles, who rumour has it, is based on the suave actor David Niven, and possesses incredible polar bear strength.

The dashing Captain Barnacles

What the hell a polar bear is doing 20,000 leagues under the sea with a rabbit, dog, cat, octopus, penguin, sea otter and a half vegetable half tuna looking thing that trills and makes fish biscuits all day long, is anyone's guess. 

But hey the boy seems to love it. And more to the point so do I!

Captain Barnacles is a bit of a dish and I'm learning loads about the sea.

Enter.. The Whaleshark.

It's a Whaleshark Mummy!

The whaleshark has caused an obsession in the boy the like of which we haven't seen since his fire engine "Nanu" stage! It's just another episode of the Octonauts like any other but something about Dashi the Australian photographer dog thinking a Whaleshark's mouth is a cave and then getting swallowed by the beast has fired his little imagination (seriously I know it sounds made up but check it out on You-Tube).

Since he watched it all we've heard about is the whaleshark! 

"It's a whaleshark!" goes up the cry as anything vaguely resembling a whale or a shark is thrust at you with alarming speed including his purple dolphin bath toy and for a long time the fake fish from his basket of play food. There's only so many times you can say "Yes darling it is" before you lose the will to live. 


Then his godmother Clementine thankfully bought him the item pictured above for Christmas. Now he really does have a whaleshark. A proper one. A whaleshark isn't actually a whale, it's the biggest fish in the sea, as big as a school bus and it doesn't use it's teeth for biting, oh no, it's a filter feeder, that's why Dashi, Captain Barnacles and his right had cat Kwazi (the former pirate) all survived being in his stomach.

Kwazi in the mini Gup A - shiver me whiskers!

Can you tell I've read the book and seen this episode a hundred million times?

I'm sure it's just another phase but I quite like this one. Apart from nearly having my eye poked out from a half chewed fin several times a day, as the boy rushes at my with unbounded enthusiasm pretending to be the aforementioned whaleshark, it's very educational and fun.

I can't however decide if I like how he's embraced learning about the sea and the Octonauts ethos to help any sea creature who is sick or in trouble, or to be worried that he's basically obsessed with one creature essentially swallowing another three up!

I'll try and focus on the former but hey, he's a boy, I fear it's the later!

But in the meantime - all together now - Sound the Octo - Alert!

The Octo- Alert flanked by turtle and crab - yet more plastic.