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And while the shepherds kept their watch... It's the nativity play season again. More opportunity to mess up on the mothering front. Up until last year the school issued us with a list of items required for the costume. Not this year. The school seems to think that a 7 year old can tell their parents what costume is required with enough notice to procure the outfit. I beg to differ. What has made me reach such a conclusion? Yesterday morning, we step out of the house, I lock the house, push the bike onto the pavement and The Boy turns around to me and says "mummy, I need my costume for the play today". Arrrrrrghhhh, thanks for the warning child... Quick chat on the pavement, the costume can wait until the next day. On the way we chat about the requirements. It sounds like The Boy's school's went for the same nativity play as Princessfairytoes' Boy Wonder's school as the outfit consists in baggy trousers, a hooded top and a baseball cap. I am also told The Boy has to speak his lines in an American accent (that, I've got to hear). So this morning I packed the outfit in a plastic bag with his name on and check all is correct and between 2 mouthfulls of porridge, The Boy says "I also need a pair of shorts and a light T-shirt for when I do the singing". So I run up the stairs relieved that I am not the sort of person who puts away summer clothes in the loft and dig up a pair of shorts and a white T-shirt. I get back downstairs and ask "will it do". The answer is "no, the t-shirt won't do, it has printed stuff on it". Back to the cupboards and the only light coloured t-shirt I can find with no print is one of mine. So just like last year, he will be on the comfortable side on stage (last year he was a donkey and needed a plain grey t-shirt and all I could find in the shops at such short notice was a size 18 Tesco value long sleeve t-shirt). Some things just don't change. Looks like my reputation as a not too clued up mother is safe. |
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3.12.04 23:13 |
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Mon beau sapin A bit like Maggie I've recently been living in a place called Denial. In Denial Christmas is not just around the corner, I have done all my Christmas shopping, there will be no need to go and brave the December crowds in town, I have booked the ferry crossings to go to my parents over the festive period and the boxes of christmas cards have magically written themselves. In denial I also have not said yes to more parties than I can possibly cope with. I am more of a grouch than a big Christmas fan but since I share my life with The Boy and Him Indoors I have to give in every year. I have come to terms with the fact that there is no tasteful way to "do" christmas and with a cheer from the men in my life I have "embraced the tack". Today after rugby, we went to the garden centre to buy 1 new decoration for the tree - The Boy gets to chose 1 every year and the only guidelines are that it should be gold, dark red or see through to go with what we already have. This year he has gone for some golden filigree reindeer (last year's was a gold and glass angel and the year before a gold and perspex reindeer). Credit to the couple in the garden centre car park who raised a few smiles by trying to fit a tree in a Mazda RX8. We put the tree up decorated it and wraped fake spruce and fairy lights around the bannister while carols were playing on the stereo. We decided we should go continental with the nativity so our wise men are somewhere to the East of the room and will only reach the stable for epiphany. The Boy enjoyed some warm spiced berry cordial and I baked the firs batch of mince pies of the season. The house smells christmassy (I maintain baking is worth it just for the smell and it beats shake and vac any day). Maybe all this domestication will help me snap out of denial. Then again maybe not. |
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5.12.04 22:45 |
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Bright and shinny light. Him Indoors has had enouh of the dark mood I sink into in winter. His exact words were "you are a right pain when it starts to get dark". Being the practical man that he is he has done his research and has decided I would benefit from a light box. Apparently they are supposed to start working in a few days. Today was day 1. I can't claim the mood has improved greatly since I managed to shout at somebody before 0900. Then again I feel I was justified. There I am cycling to work, I spot a pedestrian who just got off the bus. The pelican crossing is a few metres away but she decides to take her chances and her kids' by ignoring it. I have slowed down, but not too much, after all it is slightly uphill and I need to keep some momentum as changing gears is for whimps. She steps onto the road, then looks right (bad start already), sees me, steps back and stops. She has made eye contact so I think, ok, I can pick up speed again. Then for some unknown reason she decides it's ok to start crossing again. I brake as hard as I can and manage to stop only a whisper away from her. I then start shouting "Is that how you teach your kids to cross the road? You would not have step out if I'd been a car would you you stupid, STUPID, STUPID woman!". Then she walked away rather sheepishly. Anyway I have some sewing to do tonight, The Boy managed to get his 50m badge so I'd better stitch it on his towel. On the down side we had been putting him offf water sports by saying he needed to be able to swim 50m first, looks like we are going to have to find new excuses. Maybe if I make the fudge he has been asking for he'll forget about rowing long enough to grow up a bit. |
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9.12.04 21:49 |
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Fashion crisis I have no dress sense, I tend to just throw a few clothes on on the basis of suitability for the weather, comfort and suitability fot the purpose. However, I am going out tomorrow and need to scrub up. If the yellow card the delivery man dropped in the letter box while I was at work is anything to go by then the shoes have arrived (black patent, T bars whith heels). All I need to do now is take a trip to Cranford with some ID to go and collect them. I am taking a leap of faith and assuming they fit and are comfortable enough to allow me to walk to Trafalgar Square, slightly tipsy to catch a night bus. The dress is a black Jasper Conran, wrapover cocktail dress Him Indoors bought for me last year (long sleeves, just below the knee length). Perfect to hide the pre-christmas indulgence (I have given into the Christmas spirit... it's all about gluttony right?). Now the question: which tights should I go for? Black opaques or tiny fishnets (assuming I can find some in town in the morning that are not the massive holes ones)? BTW I found taking fudge into work is one way to spread a little happiness and spread some of the calories around. Lets face it, it does not keep more than a week and it contains a packet of sugar (yes a whole kilo) and half a packet of butter (125g) which is a whole lot of calories for 3 people to share. Oh and I know it tastes lovely but if people don't eat some of it for me I'll never get into the black velvet number I want to wear at the work christmas party next week.
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10.12.04 22:50 |
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Random post party observations Beer on an empty stomach is not a good idea. Remaining seated while absorbing beer will give the false impression one is not really that drunk. Getting up will send illusions crashing down. When I have a fit of the giggles with Anna of Little Red Boat there is no point calling Pixeldiva' s boyfriend to the rescue as he'll only make it worse. When I am already drunk and still have 1/2 pint left in your glass at last orders, it's probably wiser to stop Tom from getting me another pint with his round. Just when I think I am a grown up I find I can still get star struck and behave like an average take that teenage fan on meeting Annie Mole. Sometimes it's good to be woken up by a mobile phone to save me ending up at Heathrow, especially if the reason for the call is to offer a lift from the tube station. Note that when asked which was the last station I stopped at so ETA can be worked out, answering I don't know will give a clue to the caller as to current state of drunkedness. Hangovers are a right bummer. I am never drinking again... well not until next time. |
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12.12.04 19:08 |
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Another mixed bag Heather's post dated 10th Dec has managed to shed some light on why I did not enjoy "The Incredibles" as much as I felt I should have.
The answer is in there: too close to home (and I don't have any superpowers to get me out of the suburban mum role). On another subject the light box appears to be working and as a result I was chirpy at breakfast, singing off key while making breakfast while The Boy attempted to make me sound better by singing on key next to me. The general impression was that of a Duracel bunny plugged on mains. The Boy is unsure about my new happy energetic in winter self but he is going with the flow. |
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13.12.04 21:31 |
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I cried victory too soon The light box's magic effects did not stretch into today. The energy was there but the mood was turned to full on strop. Had an argument with The Boy over coats before leaving the house. He has lost 2 coats at school in 2 days last week. I was unimpressed (especially since his school has some daft rule over parents having to write in before the child can be allowed to look in the lost property box and I have had to write one such letter already this term). Yesterday I followed the Lois from Malcolm in the Middle school of parenting and sent him to school without a coat, the idea was at break he would be cold and spured into looking for the mislaid items. Fat chance - The Boy is made of sterner rugby player stuff and laughs in the face of the cold and damp or at least he does not let it get in the way of break time. Anyway, this morning he wanted me to give him a coat. I considered the options. I could send him to school coatless until spring or until Social Service go onto me (whichever came first) or not. After stern lecture about mummy not being made of money, we negociated. He was sent with a fleece with the understanding that failure of the fleece to make its way home in the evening would result in my having a personal chat with Father Christmas and a request that all toys be withdrawn from christmas list. Partial result - The fleece is back and he has found one of the 2 missing coats. Who said bribery and blackmail were useless as parenting tools. At work according to A I was "crusty" and she said "you even manage to argue with your lunch today" (well surely, if it glows it is alive!). I think she had serious doubts about leaving me on my own to go and watch her son's school play. Well for at least 15 seconds and a half anyway. I am sure she will be relieved to find I did not break anything while she was out. Better luck tomorrow. |
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14.12.04 22:53 |
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