I was supposed to Blog about Father's Day on actual Father's Day, but work got in the way. Work gets in the way of all my fun - which is not good. So - here it is..... Father's Day.....
I'm sure some of you will remember my fun-filled delight that was Mother's Day a truly wonderful day. Father's Day is Tom's special day. Lucky Tom.
His day began very early, he had to go to work. Which isn't such a bad thing as he gets away from the kids for a few hours. While he was out and about I started on the Father's Day celebrations. A trip to Asda to purchase the cards, gift (DVD that I wanted and some chocolate - hmmm.....I think I actually ate that....) and baking. Blaine was determined to bake cakes, Toy Story ones - Tom's a lucky man. I also decided that it might be a good idea to book somewhere for lunch, leaving it to the last minute but I managed to book a lovely place in town called Simpsons - kids eat free and dad's get a free pint for Father's Day. For some bizarre reason us mum's didn't get a free drink, which I think it ludicrous considering the amount of effort we put into sorting out Father's Day. Most disappointed.
Tom arrived home from work to be greeted by Blaine's lovely card, gift and home-made buns (well, more like rock cakes) and Imogen was probably crying about something. Then we all got ready and headed out for lunch.
Lunch was supposed to be a civilised affair, however Blaine put a stop to that. Blaine decided that Simpsons was more like a monkey's tea-party and started pissing about, rolling on the seat (well, more of a sofa) sliding about, refusing to eat, blowing bubbles in his juice. He even managed to lose his tie. Blaine does like to wear a tie when going out somewhere nice - I think he thinks it gives the illusion to other's that he's a good wee boy, maybe slightly posh even, which is totally not Blaine. Imogen then also decided that Simpson's was the ideal place to suddenly decide to hate sitting in a high chair - although, I will admit, satin knickers and a wooded hair chair are not a good combination - it was a tad slippy for her. She did, however, manage to eat her lunch and pudding. Yes, Imogen also decided that Father's Day would be an ideal time to sample my Creme Brulee - I think it was very tasty, but I wouldn't really know as she scoffed most of it.
Once that joy was over we returned home so Tom could "relax" - so I took both the kids to swimming lessons and Tom enjoyed some time to himself on the sofa. A stark contrast to Mother's Day may I add...... but I think he had a good day.
On a more sober note (which I don't do often) - I raised a glass to my dad, who I miss very much, although I'm sure's not missing all the crap pressies that I used to buy him lol
Monday, 27 June 2011
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Being a working mum - the reality kicks in...
I've added some pics to this blog, inspired by another blogger they are not actual photos - but home drawn things lol
Well, I've been back to work fulltime now for 5 weeks and 2 days and I've not turned into a raving alcoholic (yet) But reality is kicking in. Working full-time with one child wasn't so bad, but two is a bit of a drama.
The mornings I have down to a fine art now, the kids get fed (I don't), we run about like lunatics trying to get washed, dressed, make lunches/bottles, remember homework and leave the house looking half decent. When I first returned to work it was all fine - I got things ready the night before, woke up before Imogen to get ready, it was all peaceful and calm. I even managed to do my hair and make up, I kinda thought it would make me look slightly more human! However I have decided that sleep is much more important as trying to be "professional" on limited sleep is hard enough, then when I finally get in the door at night I can't be arsed getting anything ready - the sofa calls my name as I collapse in a heap and promise myself that I'll get up early tomorrow to sort it all....... So I go to work looking slightly harassed, no makeup on, hair kinda done (but not really) and I probably have baby puke or bogies splattered randomly on my work clothes. But I'm there and the kids are dropped off so I don't really care. We kinda look like this:
Work is plodding on nicely - it's like I've never been away really. I savour going for a piss in the toilet with the door locked and in peace. I also drink copious amounts of coffee - this keeps me awake and also reminds me how good it is to be able to drink a hot cup of coffee without forgetting it's there then taking a huge gulp and it's stone cold. Bleeeeuuuurrrrggh.
After my long day at work I run about picking up the kids then come home to what I can only describe as a total disaster area. The house is a tip. Let's start in the hall - as we enter the front door. Washing is hanging up on the airers, God only knows how long it's been there. The floor needs hoovered. Random crap (mainly Blaine's toys) are dumped at the bottom of the stairs. Shoes/coats/bags - flung everywhere, even though we have a lovely coat stand to put them on. Then I enter the "living room" - more like a tip. It needs polished, breakfast dishes left from the morning, more of Blaine's crap. Pyjamas randomly scattered where Blaine decided to throw them. I then go into the kitchen. Fuck sake - it's just a disaster, no tea made, dishes not done, washes is just a mountain getting bigger and bigger, the cupboards are bare and I have paperwork that needs to get sorted urgently. I kinda sigh and try to imagine it's not there.
After chucking some random frozen crap in the oven I listen to Blaine read his book (praying he doesn't swear) then chuck some food down our necks and it's time to get sorted for bed. Imogen first as she's normally exhausted after her busy day at nursery, she normally goes to bed OK, once she's down I get about 20 mins to try and sort out some of the chaos that is my house. Blaine jumping about like a loon in the living room, yapping on about Batugans or some other random crap. I run about picking things up, moving things about (mainly Blaine's toys and mainly to the bottom of the stairs) shoving a load in the washing machine - that can go on in the morning - then i get Blaine sorted and he's in bed. Hurrah! 2 sleeping kids, 1 knackered mummy and one sofa calling my name.
So once the kids are in bed i kinda look like this:
and this is where I stay until bedtime calls at about 9:30pm. This is how I rock. Check me out. I'm in my jammies by the way.
So there it is the reality of working fulltime - looking deranged, the house a bomb site and totally exhausted. But I'm surviving! Wine helps.......
Well, I've been back to work fulltime now for 5 weeks and 2 days and I've not turned into a raving alcoholic (yet) But reality is kicking in. Working full-time with one child wasn't so bad, but two is a bit of a drama.
The mornings I have down to a fine art now, the kids get fed (I don't), we run about like lunatics trying to get washed, dressed, make lunches/bottles, remember homework and leave the house looking half decent. When I first returned to work it was all fine - I got things ready the night before, woke up before Imogen to get ready, it was all peaceful and calm. I even managed to do my hair and make up, I kinda thought it would make me look slightly more human! However I have decided that sleep is much more important as trying to be "professional" on limited sleep is hard enough, then when I finally get in the door at night I can't be arsed getting anything ready - the sofa calls my name as I collapse in a heap and promise myself that I'll get up early tomorrow to sort it all....... So I go to work looking slightly harassed, no makeup on, hair kinda done (but not really) and I probably have baby puke or bogies splattered randomly on my work clothes. But I'm there and the kids are dropped off so I don't really care. We kinda look like this:
Work is plodding on nicely - it's like I've never been away really. I savour going for a piss in the toilet with the door locked and in peace. I also drink copious amounts of coffee - this keeps me awake and also reminds me how good it is to be able to drink a hot cup of coffee without forgetting it's there then taking a huge gulp and it's stone cold. Bleeeeuuuurrrrggh.
After my long day at work I run about picking up the kids then come home to what I can only describe as a total disaster area. The house is a tip. Let's start in the hall - as we enter the front door. Washing is hanging up on the airers, God only knows how long it's been there. The floor needs hoovered. Random crap (mainly Blaine's toys) are dumped at the bottom of the stairs. Shoes/coats/bags - flung everywhere, even though we have a lovely coat stand to put them on. Then I enter the "living room" - more like a tip. It needs polished, breakfast dishes left from the morning, more of Blaine's crap. Pyjamas randomly scattered where Blaine decided to throw them. I then go into the kitchen. Fuck sake - it's just a disaster, no tea made, dishes not done, washes is just a mountain getting bigger and bigger, the cupboards are bare and I have paperwork that needs to get sorted urgently. I kinda sigh and try to imagine it's not there.
After chucking some random frozen crap in the oven I listen to Blaine read his book (praying he doesn't swear) then chuck some food down our necks and it's time to get sorted for bed. Imogen first as she's normally exhausted after her busy day at nursery, she normally goes to bed OK, once she's down I get about 20 mins to try and sort out some of the chaos that is my house. Blaine jumping about like a loon in the living room, yapping on about Batugans or some other random crap. I run about picking things up, moving things about (mainly Blaine's toys and mainly to the bottom of the stairs) shoving a load in the washing machine - that can go on in the morning - then i get Blaine sorted and he's in bed. Hurrah! 2 sleeping kids, 1 knackered mummy and one sofa calling my name.
So once the kids are in bed i kinda look like this:
So there it is the reality of working fulltime - looking deranged, the house a bomb site and totally exhausted. But I'm surviving! Wine helps.......
Thursday, 9 June 2011
"MUMMY! I just accidentally........"
Those of you who have boys will understand their obsession with a certain part of their bodies. In fact, scrap that, those of you who happen to know anyone of the male species will know about their obsession with it. Willies.
The day a baby finds his little tinkle is a Bad Day. They become obsessed by the bloody thing. Blaine is no exception to this rule. He can make a grown mans eyes water by the way he stretches the damn thing. I'm forever telling him to get his hands out his pants, leave your willy alone, it will fall off you know etc etc Tom is just as bad - lying on the sofa, watching some crap on TV with his hand in his pants. Nice. How on earth can I win when he's following in his dad's footsteps.
Potty training was fun, once he finally got the knack of peeing in the potty (and not on the floor, sofa, bed, pants etc) he then had to be trained to pee standing up and into the toilet. Of course I left his job to Tom as he knows what to do. So that was another willy trick mastered. Then Blaine discovered he could use his willy as a hose when peeing, I think I may have mentioned this before, when I was heavily preggy with Imogen I nearly crippled myself by cleaning up piss after Blaine had decided to use his willy like a hose. He thought it was funny. I didn't. So he thinks his willy is amazing. I think all blokes think this.
Tonight Blaine learnt a new willy trick. It was 6:30pm, Imogen was creating a big noise as she was exhausted and wanted to go to bed. So I'm wrestling her into her vest and sleepsuit and Blaine is in the bathroom pissing about. Literally. He's supposed to be getting himself ready for bed (nasty mummy I am, Blaine goes to bed at approx 7pm, he's tired.... nothing to do with me wanting peace.....) Finally Imogen is sorted in her sleepsuit and I settle down to feed her and Blaine announces the following....
"MUMMY! I just accidentally pee'd on my face!"
Yes. That's correct. Apparently he's pissed on his face. Sigh. I had to ask the dreaded question "What?! How on earth did you do that?" and he replied, ever so innocently, "I just pointed my willy up and pee'd - it hit my face!" I mean, why, why oh why would you want to do such a thing. It's been a long day, Imogen needs to sleep and here is Blaine standing in the door as proud as punch as he pee'd on his face. I don't even think this is possible as it defies the law of gravity surely?! But according to Blaine he managed it.
Give me strength.
The day a baby finds his little tinkle is a Bad Day. They become obsessed by the bloody thing. Blaine is no exception to this rule. He can make a grown mans eyes water by the way he stretches the damn thing. I'm forever telling him to get his hands out his pants, leave your willy alone, it will fall off you know etc etc Tom is just as bad - lying on the sofa, watching some crap on TV with his hand in his pants. Nice. How on earth can I win when he's following in his dad's footsteps.
Potty training was fun, once he finally got the knack of peeing in the potty (and not on the floor, sofa, bed, pants etc) he then had to be trained to pee standing up and into the toilet. Of course I left his job to Tom as he knows what to do. So that was another willy trick mastered. Then Blaine discovered he could use his willy as a hose when peeing, I think I may have mentioned this before, when I was heavily preggy with Imogen I nearly crippled myself by cleaning up piss after Blaine had decided to use his willy like a hose. He thought it was funny. I didn't. So he thinks his willy is amazing. I think all blokes think this.
Tonight Blaine learnt a new willy trick. It was 6:30pm, Imogen was creating a big noise as she was exhausted and wanted to go to bed. So I'm wrestling her into her vest and sleepsuit and Blaine is in the bathroom pissing about. Literally. He's supposed to be getting himself ready for bed (nasty mummy I am, Blaine goes to bed at approx 7pm, he's tired.... nothing to do with me wanting peace.....) Finally Imogen is sorted in her sleepsuit and I settle down to feed her and Blaine announces the following....
"MUMMY! I just accidentally pee'd on my face!"
Yes. That's correct. Apparently he's pissed on his face. Sigh. I had to ask the dreaded question "What?! How on earth did you do that?" and he replied, ever so innocently, "I just pointed my willy up and pee'd - it hit my face!" I mean, why, why oh why would you want to do such a thing. It's been a long day, Imogen needs to sleep and here is Blaine standing in the door as proud as punch as he pee'd on his face. I don't even think this is possible as it defies the law of gravity surely?! But according to Blaine he managed it.
Give me strength.
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Nights out...and hangovers....bleurrrrgggghhh
Life with 2 kids means I don't get out much. Pre-kids I used to have a pretty damn good social life, getting pished most weekends, most of them now a total blur in my memory bank - although I'm sure there's a few folk out there who have stories they could tell...... but life with kids kinda put a stop to that and drink fulled evening out are few and far between. This means that when I go out I get drunk ridiculously quickly and that I really suffer for it in the morning. Gah.
Having had Imogen on the boob also meant that my drinking skills took a massive bashing - although the latest research out tells us that you can be 4 times over the drink drive limit and still whap a boob out for feeding, as long as it's not every night then it's groovy apparently. Why this information wasn't available last November I'll never know, my Xmas "nights out" were a sober affair, normally involved dragging Imogen along to them as well or popping off home to feed her - not the most exciting of evenings as she's not the most entertaining of things at a party and she doesn't like vodka.
I had an opportunity last weekend to pop out for a few drinkies with some mums from school. A civilised affair, take-away, few glasses of wine, then off home. With Imogen taking the bottle and actually beginning to realise Tom is her Dad I thought I would take full advantage of a wee night out. With booze.
So off I pop, skinny jeans and heels on, cocktail in hand. After a couple of glasses of wine I start to feel slightly tipsy, fling in some more wine, cocktails then a large voddy and I'm pished. WAHAY! It's been a while.... the alcohol was flowing nicely and then I had to call it a night and head home.
At home the reality hit me of how drunk I was. Head spinning in the living room I know the porcelain truck would be calling my name anytime soon. And it did. Boak. Not nice. I crashed out in bed at silly o'clock, got up at 5am to deal with Imogen, then crashed out until 7am. I woke up feeling like shit. When I was younger, pre-kids, I had a great technique of dealing with a hangover - curl up in bed and ignore the world or get up, and do it all again. Sadly that can't happen now so I have to attempt to carry on as normal while feeling like someone is battering my head with a hammer, my stomach doing somersaults and tired beyond belief. Also, I have to endure a family birthday party in the afternoon. Which means a 2 hour car journey with Tom driving, eating a meal, attempting to hold civilised conversation and not throwing up everywhere. What a drama.
The drive down the road was OK, I wasn't sick. We stopped for hangover food - Skips and Irn-Bru, but Blaine insisted on having my Skips so I had his Monster Munch, it didn't have the same effect, but it was better than nothing and I really couldn't face Blaine having a hissy fit beside me in the back of the car - my head was sore enough. His constant wittering wasn't helping, but luckily he fell asleep. I did try to fall asleep but Tom's driving makes it nearly impossible - I get battered about and worry that he's falling asleep at the wheel and things.
Tom flung the car round roundabouts, driving like he was in some kinda F1 race - thinking it's hilarious as my face turns a shade of green. He won't be laughing when I vomit all over him. Git.
We arrive at the in-laws and all is well. I manage to eat a 3 course meal (even being hungover can't put me off food) and the ridiculous amount of coke manages to keep me awake and feel slightly more human. I manage to hold conversations with all the rellies, Blaine runs riot (I'm sure someone must have slipped him some coke) Imogen refuses to eat her baked tattie and just wants held (what a surprise) and I just prayed I didn't spew. But I survived!
I have, of course, vowed never to mix my drinks again, in fact I think at one point I did mutter something about never drinking again (probably when I was being very sick) - which won't last long as I have another night out planned in a few weeks. This time I will make sure I have nothing planned the next day so I can just curl up in my duvet and hide. In fact I wish I could do this most days!
Having had Imogen on the boob also meant that my drinking skills took a massive bashing - although the latest research out tells us that you can be 4 times over the drink drive limit and still whap a boob out for feeding, as long as it's not every night then it's groovy apparently. Why this information wasn't available last November I'll never know, my Xmas "nights out" were a sober affair, normally involved dragging Imogen along to them as well or popping off home to feed her - not the most exciting of evenings as she's not the most entertaining of things at a party and she doesn't like vodka.
I had an opportunity last weekend to pop out for a few drinkies with some mums from school. A civilised affair, take-away, few glasses of wine, then off home. With Imogen taking the bottle and actually beginning to realise Tom is her Dad I thought I would take full advantage of a wee night out. With booze.
So off I pop, skinny jeans and heels on, cocktail in hand. After a couple of glasses of wine I start to feel slightly tipsy, fling in some more wine, cocktails then a large voddy and I'm pished. WAHAY! It's been a while.... the alcohol was flowing nicely and then I had to call it a night and head home.
At home the reality hit me of how drunk I was. Head spinning in the living room I know the porcelain truck would be calling my name anytime soon. And it did. Boak. Not nice. I crashed out in bed at silly o'clock, got up at 5am to deal with Imogen, then crashed out until 7am. I woke up feeling like shit. When I was younger, pre-kids, I had a great technique of dealing with a hangover - curl up in bed and ignore the world or get up, and do it all again. Sadly that can't happen now so I have to attempt to carry on as normal while feeling like someone is battering my head with a hammer, my stomach doing somersaults and tired beyond belief. Also, I have to endure a family birthday party in the afternoon. Which means a 2 hour car journey with Tom driving, eating a meal, attempting to hold civilised conversation and not throwing up everywhere. What a drama.
The drive down the road was OK, I wasn't sick. We stopped for hangover food - Skips and Irn-Bru, but Blaine insisted on having my Skips so I had his Monster Munch, it didn't have the same effect, but it was better than nothing and I really couldn't face Blaine having a hissy fit beside me in the back of the car - my head was sore enough. His constant wittering wasn't helping, but luckily he fell asleep. I did try to fall asleep but Tom's driving makes it nearly impossible - I get battered about and worry that he's falling asleep at the wheel and things.
Tom flung the car round roundabouts, driving like he was in some kinda F1 race - thinking it's hilarious as my face turns a shade of green. He won't be laughing when I vomit all over him. Git.
We arrive at the in-laws and all is well. I manage to eat a 3 course meal (even being hungover can't put me off food) and the ridiculous amount of coke manages to keep me awake and feel slightly more human. I manage to hold conversations with all the rellies, Blaine runs riot (I'm sure someone must have slipped him some coke) Imogen refuses to eat her baked tattie and just wants held (what a surprise) and I just prayed I didn't spew. But I survived!
I have, of course, vowed never to mix my drinks again, in fact I think at one point I did mutter something about never drinking again (probably when I was being very sick) - which won't last long as I have another night out planned in a few weeks. This time I will make sure I have nothing planned the next day so I can just curl up in my duvet and hide. In fact I wish I could do this most days!
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