Flowerisms

I should imagine you've heard of malapropisms. Well, I was brought up on Flowerisms, which are similar, but deliberate. Unfortunately, they tend to get me into trouble with the uninitiated and they become markedly less funny when you have to explain.

It's mainly come from my mum, but my grandad (her father) is partly to blame. I rather think my humour was inherited from that side of the family. Some Flowerisms are pinched, for instance, worms was a misprunt in a newspaper, possibly the Grauniad. If I ever say "I 'm having awful trouble with my worms today," I get some really funny looks.

If I comment on having to delapidate my legs? I need a shave (!?) and distructions speak for themselves. It can be a real nuisance if I have to change a blub and a pretty scene is generally very pictureskew. My sister often likes to follow a reciep when cooking, I like to wear massacre when I put make up on and of course, everyone likes to park in a par cark.

Having a simple conversation with me can be a bit of a minefield, it is terribly habit forming and I usually just forget to talk properly. How I ever expect my children to have an intelligible conversation, I'll never know, which is not good for the daughter of an English teacher.

But it can be terribly good fun!

The Good Old Times

Otherwise entitled :
Getting My Own Back!
I also remember a certain blond vicar's daughter having a favourite best dress. I think it was a white or cream background with flowers in various shades of green. One day, I arrived to play with my bestest friend to be told she was upstairs. I went upstairs and couldn't find her, but became increasingly aware of sniffing in the bathroom. I think it took a little persuasion before she allowed me to join her and oh, what a state.

Not just her, the dress... Ruth had decided to play with her mum's make-up whilst wearing the dress and somehow managed to miss her mouth with the lipstick. By about a foot. It was bright. Pink I think. She had tried everything she could think of, bless her, even resorting to giving it a good scrubbing with a nail brush and soap. Guess what? It didn't work and I can remember thinking at the time that things were not looking good. Luckily for Ruth, she had her sensible, reasonable, loving parents and not mine (not that they were that bad, bit strict and old fashioned perhaps...).

Oh, Sunday School. Ruth took the lead in the Sunday School production one year. Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat. I can't shout, I was Pharoah, but that was because I couldn't sing! I vaguely remember another time being one of the Three Kings. Ruth was Mary that year.

I don't intend this post to besmirch a really dear friend. I have such wonderful memories of our childhood together and what I wonder is, will my children have amazing times to remember like we do? I restrict television as much as a sane person can, I encourage them outside at the meerest hint of no pouring rain, we do not possess computer games or playstations, but we have plenty of books, bikes, wellies and bugs in the garden. They even have a few friends!

My hope is that whilst times have changed and moved on, I am at least trying to give my children the opportunity to be creative because, in essence, that's all we were. I loved it!

PS Ruth, I still love you dearly, please laugh too!

Note to Self

The freezer is a dangerous place. It hides things and disguises them.

The other day I took a container out of the freezer, "Ooo", I thought, "I fancy a bit of Apple Crumble, that's quick and easy for pudding after a Sunday Roast." As it happened, it didn't defrost in time, so I decided to be creative with the contents of my cupboard and make crumble when it was defrosted.

Well, the next day I forgot. After dinner I found the container again and thought "Crumble! Oh well, tomorrow will do."

I did actually remember! I made crumble topping, fetched a dish and got the container out of the fridge. On removing the lid, I thought "Oh. It's not stewed apple. What is it?". I decided it was unrecognisable and resigned it to the bin. It may actually have been homemade chicken stock, there seemed to be traces of pepper at the bottom.

Note to self?
LABEL IT!

I'm Worthless!

My blog is worth $0.00.
How much is your blog worth?

I pinched this idea from someone elses blog. I know my true worth , even if noone else does!!

Children

I love my children. Don't always like them, but I will always love them.

I think one of the biggest problems is that children attract other children. When you have four of you own, if they all bring a friend round, the number is obviously doubled and nearer that of a football team. They also have a tendancy to resemble a plague of locusts, rather than children. My cupboards are bare, my fridge stripped and no fruit juice or squash remains in the house. Anything that is left is either either a non-food item or they "don't like that...".

Then, ofcourse, there's always the slightly 'odd' child. You know the one. Severe selective deafness. Doesn't understand the simplest spoken english, "Well actually, we don't play chase indoors in our house, but if you'd like to go outside..." and they've obviously never had to do anything for themselves. If you suggest they put on their shoes and coat, they'll offer you a foot, or an arm. Worse still, they expect to be escorted to the toilet and have their bottom wiped after a number two.

I did't take all this into consideration when we had the discussion, not if but how many. I think it was a mistake.

But I really do love them! Just not all their friends...

Don't Even Get Me Started...

...on the Parlimentary lot! How are we supposed to trust people that are obviously so completely untrustworthy? (For example, 2 Jags.) It never fails to amaze me that the people who run the country are so lacking in morals and yet the majority vote these dishonest, unprincipled, egomaniacs into Parliament.

Honesty and trust has to be at the heart of any relationship, whether it be with a parent, partner, child or friend and I can't see the point of electing anyone I wouldn't consider worthy of my belief in them.

Who rattled my cage anyway?

Suffragettes

On Thursday this week, my children are being turned out of school so that it can be utillised as a polling station. This in itself irratates me, do I not have enough time together with my children? Regardless, my problem is the electioneering that ensues as soon as such an event is announced.

As a teenager, I was a little rebellious and refused to vote on principle. I could not see how these people could possibly run the country, as their behaviour was no better than that of the children I'd left behind in the playground. However, I was persuaded in my early twenties that I owed it to the suffragettes, who fought for our right to vote, to use it. So, I did. I dutiflully followed my parents to the voting booth and made my mark and have done ever since.

I am getting less and less enamoured with the idea as, yet again, the antics of the campaigners for our local election has degenerated to playground abuse and I have no idea who wants to raise the issues and standards of local education, or who will champion the local recycling scheme (we need more! I want to do plastics), not to mention traffic calming schemes etc., that I may be interested in. I'm almost past caring and back to square one of letting down the suffragettes.

Come to think of it, they've all been supporting the recycling. I should just have placed my box beneath the letterbox...

You Know When....

You know when things are getting a little too much for you when you take your contact lenses out, then try to put sunglasses on, which are sitting next to your glasses on the shelf. I have tried, several times, to get into the shower with my glasses on. I've also hunted high and low for my glasses, when already wearing them.

Actually, it started earlier this week, when I woke up convinced it was Friday already, only to realise, seconds later, it was in fact Tuesday. That was so disappointing. I'm glad to say, none of this has anything to do with overindulgence of alcohol. Merely old age, I'm afraid, with perhaps a sprinkling of sleep deprivation.

I had thought that in itself would be long gone, being as my youngest is now five and will be starting school in August. (They start a year later up here!) Oh no, it's not that simple, just because we have no babies anymore. The annoying thing about it is we have just had two weeks off school for the Easter Holidays. We didn't get any 'long lies' as such, but weren't disturbed before 7 am, which is quite a treat. The day they went back to school, Conall wanders through, "I've had a nightmare..." Mine was just starting. The next day, somebody else went to the toilet (which I am grateful for!) at 5.30 am, very noisily. Just a shade early. We're also on the flight path of the Grey Lag geese. They leave at around 5.15 am, so they have disturbed me the last two days.

However, it is Friday tomorrow. You know when it's been a long week and you have a wine rack full of Kumala Pinotage/Shiraz? I won't have on Saturday!

Ooops, Don't Mean To Keep Copying You Ruth,

But I had to have one too! I like surprises...

Ruth, you gave me this idea

Only children could come up with those amusing little mispronunciations. You know, like:-
Melicine - medicine ofcourse!
Cargoeen - little tricky, cardigan
Pentice - pencil
Bebobbies - Teletubbies. Don't ask me why, that was my eldest, Rhiannon's.
Imputor - computor
Ingusting - disgusting
Mrs Skellington - Mrs Skelton was the new Nursery student, introduced at Hallowe'en. Ooops, that'll stick...
Hairy Potter - don't think you really need a translation for that one.
Serious Black - same again!


Conall's mispronunciation of sucking, as in "Ciara's sucking her thumb again" is unprintable, but I'm sure you can imagine. Imagine me, standing in a narrow corridor, full of parents (some with young, impressionable offspring) waiting for my eldest son, Aedan, to finish Beavers. Conall decided to announce to the world that "You used to *uck my nose, Mummy, when I was a baby". The earth did not open up beneath me, but I did wish it would.

My sister won't be happy with the first three of the above, they were hers and I can't even remember her saying them! Sorry Cathy, but they were rather good.

Marigolds and a Torque Wrench Please...

Have you ever noticed how, when the significant other in your life (SO, the one who fixes everything) goes away for a few days, in this case, months, the clutch on the car will go. The washing machine will flood the utility and little Johnny will get a puncture on his pushbike?

I actually think it's worse when SO has tried to 'help' before his departure, but that's probably an entirely different blog. Just to add to the fun he's left behind to deal with, I switched the dishwasher on as normal, as I was retiring to my bed. It gurgled at me, hummed for a while, beeped and flashed an error message at me. A new one, one that doesn't clear if you turn it off, open the door, close it and switch back on.

Pants.

No, that wasn't the cause of my problems. I deny ever having tried to freshen my frillies in the dishwasher, although I have heard you can dry socks in the microwave...

Ofcourse, it's only going to happen at 10.30pm, Maundy Thursday, when SO is out ot the country, the dishwasher is FULL and we had fish and chips for tea. Can I bear the stench if I don't empty it and wash up in the morning? Pass the marigolds, please. Then you have those silly ideas that "I can fix this, who needs a man?". Out comes the bottom tray and I find myself nearly to the brim of my gloves fiddling with the filter. Only the odd chip end, a few peas, nothing to cause a major blockage.

I am ashamed to admit I resorted to consulting a man, but my brother-in-law is actually better than the average bear and a few of his suggestions made sense. Apart from the one about ringing an engineer. I don't need one of those! I'll just give in and buy a new dishwasher!!

As I approached the offending appliance for a rematch, I had another idea. What if I switch it off at the mains? Haven't tried that. Then on again, select programme, depress button and hey presto, dishwasher hums into life, empties it's drain and begins to wash. Hurrah! Who needs a man who can with his little white van.

And you can keep the torque wrench...

And another thing...

My dearly beloved spends quite a bit of time abroad, no, not in a glamorous sense and it's certainly not lucrative, but nevertheless, he does. At this time of year, the weather is slightly less cold and nature decides to liven things up a bit. So, not only do I have the normal humdrum everyday life with four children, the cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, etc, etc, the garden is coming to life.

Now, what I want to know is, why are the spiders that live in the shed SO enormous. I mean, they are HUGE. And, they guard the door.

David, in his wisdom, has put the lawnmower, (new, 'cos he broke it on Sunday, 'helping' me before his departure...) at the back of the shed, so now I have to run the gauntlet of the shed guardians. Deep joy.

Mind you, one good thing. Nobody is ever going to be able to steal anything from my shed. If they're not caught in the webs, they'll be scared half to death by the size of them!

Sunday Lie In

Not everyone wants a lie in on a Sunday. I realise that and respect them for it. I would love a lie in any day, but a peaceful Sunday would be nice. It's just not going to happen, is it? If I really have to wait until they've all left home, I'll be in my early 50s already and probably onto the next phase in life, have to get up and on so as not to waste what I've got left! There's another depressing thought and a wasted Sunday lie in worrying about it. Might as well just get up and get on!

Addiction!

I've always thought I have an addictive character, now I know for sure. Why else would I be lieing awake at 4.30am, planning what to write for my next blog? It must be addiction or else I am extremely sad and lacking in my life.

So many people appear to suffer a similar affliction, not necessarily to blogging, maybe the usual alcohol, cigarettes or caffeine. Maybe something more serious with medication or drugs involved, or maybe something more simple in someones lifestyle, like cleaning, or the way washing has to be hung on the line (used to drive me to distraction, but I'm better now). Is it a massive change in society or is the world such a different place that modern civilisation needs more than family life, employment and a future?

I personally crave for the life of my grandparents, when the expectation was to marry the girl or boy from the neighbouring village, live close to their families all their lives, have support, love and caring on the doorstep. There was no need to venture further than the garden for a few potatoes or fresh beans for dinner. Eggs fresh everyday from your own hens or maybe a swap with next door for vegetables or maybe a good turn. No trolley rage in Tesco first thing on a Monday, after the rush to deliver four children (and the friends that turn up on the doorstep) to school, preferably before the bell goes.

A touch of the rose tinted glasses I know, they had the war to deal with and long seperation was inevitable. Not everyone had the luxury of that little garden plot, maybe living in city squalor and smog and the diseases associated with such an environment. I suppose the craving is for the stressless society, where there was no pressure to have the highest specification car, cinema screen television, most lifelike sounding stereo. In fact, all the materialistic trappings of modern life cause the majority of my stress, constantly explaining why we can't go to Landmark, because we don't have a car we can all fit in at the same time. No, you can't have the new Playstation little Johnny next door has because Mummy chose not to work. Camping is a great holiday and you will enjoy it, because we can't afford the alternative in Lanzagrotty!

It is my stress however. The children don't really notice the things they don't have, because they've never had them. They actually make up games in the street and fields like we used to as children, play with a skipping rope or football, go for walks to the marshes. They are happy, healthy and lucky to be able to escape outdoors and I worry too much that I can't give them 'things' when I've devoted myself to them, more of a sacrifice than any amount of money could replace.

Murder and Mayhem

Is it only me? I'm sure it can't be.
I know that when I first started to have children, I spent the day, desperate to get through it and get the little treasures to bed. I felt dreadful, such a bad mother, because I so dearly wanted to be rid of them and have some peace and quiet.



Ofcourse, it rarely worked, someone would cry, or wander downstairs for a drink/toilet stop or throw up over the just changed bedding. Always the top bunk ofcourse and when daddy is on nightshift, or better still, out of the country!
We've just had yet another of those emergency visits to hospital, on a Sunday. Always the best day to choose when the drunks from the previous night have woken to find themselves battered and bruised, with no recollection as to how. It was only a relatively minor injury, but very awkward to dress, so a professional was required. It's just another of those tedious events that throw a day completely, despite the wonderful and swift care we received.



I still strive to get through the day, with as few incidents and attempted murders as possible. By me or their siblings and I still feel dreadful about it, because there is nothing else in life when you bring children into this world. It's all sore boobs/making bottles, changing stinking nappies, sleep deprivation and it's all you have, so you should be grateful and enjoy it.
It's so hard to love it, even when I love them so dearly, I'd never be without them and yet, I do resent them and feel dreadful again! After all, it was at my own behest that they are here.
It gets easier. No quieter. Maybe a touch less smelly. They still manage to deprive me of sleep, especially when daddy is on nightshift. Or out of the country!


Mind you, I can now savour the wine I've always enjoyed. They are capable, with a little bullying or gentle reminder, of cleaning their own teeth, finding fresh pyjamas and reading or listening to an audio book. So I can spend a little longer reclined with that chilled Chenin Blanc, or briefly aired Grenache Shiraz. If I'm feeling happy with life, I might even treat myself to a perfectly chilled bubbly, just because I can and I deserve it.


Cheers!