Dear Saint Nick

I've (mostly) been a good girl this year. If you could overlook the incident where I accidentally told a class of 8yr olds that you might not exist, that would be greatly appreciated. And I didn't mean to damage hubby's new glasses when I threw a cushion at him, he's clearly got a tougher nose than I anticipated.

So because I've been dutiful, generous, loving and kind, I would greatly appreciate a little something from you in return if I may?

Yes of course a lottery win would be nice. I could give up work, pay off my debts and be there for my son 24/7. (Although if hubby could still do the night-shift I'd appreciate it, we all know what a bitch I can be when I'm tired). And you're quite right, a larger house would be amazing. Then we could have even more crap!

But no, what I'd really like is my mojo back. I'm not talking in an Austin Powers way here Santa baby. Just my 'get up and go', because well it seems to have got up and disappeared without leaving forwarding instructions. I'm sure it was there a few months ago, but no I've checked and it's definitely not where I left it for safekeeping.

It seems like such a small thing, but would make such a difference Father Christmas.

Many thanks,

The Boy's Mummy

P.S. If you've got a spare iPad, that would be marvellous!


The Boy:

Mummy. Daddy. Nanny. Grandma (actually means Grandad). Diddie-diddie (tickle). Brrrm. Car. Lorry. Bus. Eh-ore (donkey). Ta. Ockle, ockle, ock (cockerel). Ow-meow-me (cat). Bottle. Drink. Water. Milk. Bambi. Baby. Ball. Army (arm). Knee. Eye. Brocolli. Strawberry. Properly. Greyp (grape). Bubbles. (Mr.) Tumble. Buttons. Oh dear. Star. Moon. Sun. Book. Oliver. Giraffe. Nope. Not. Yep. Uh-oh. Stop. Go.   … (his own name). 'tato. Carrot. Onion. Train. Beep. Click-clack track (!!).



Quite simple I find it completely and utterly mind-blowing that my tiny baby (now 18 months old) has managed to learn all those words. It fascinates me.

Oh Christmas Tree, how plastic are your branches…

In an effort to find my inner mistletoe (I am seriously lacking in the Christmas enthusiasm department this year) I made hubby drag down the trees from the attic on the weekend. Yes I said trees. Plural. One for the living room (three-footer, piddly thing so it doesn't count) and one for the dining room (six-footer, a proper one that shall from henceforth be known as the beast).

On Sunday night I assembled the smaller one as a warm-up to the main event. I dressed it in regulation whites, silvers and blues to match the room. With the oversized star firmly instated at the top I admired my handiwork and couldn't wait to see The Boy's face the next day.

He walked in and ignored it. I pointed it out to him. He looked at me like a teenager would.  "What do you want me to say Mummy? It's a tree. Let's face facts, it's a bit pathetic really isn't it?" said The Boy. (Only he didn't because he's 18 months old and single words are the extent of his repertoire at the moment)

I spent the day mildly disappointed with his reaction and pampering the tree to boost its already inferior ego. The Boy spent the day wondering how to get me sectioned as I had clearly lost the plot.

Last night I decided to tackle the beast. I managed it with some help from hubby, I ended up having to send him away; he was doing it all wrong. I decided to go for the minimalist look. Apparently though, just lights and tinsel aren't enough so on went the obligatory natural wood and golden decorations. I left the bottom third of the beast for The Boy to do in the morning, but didn't hold out much hope.

This morning, The Boy sauntered into the dining room and stopped in his tracks. A look of awe and wonder crossed his little face, and a huge beam broke out on mine. This was the desired reaction! We decorated the tree together just as hoped whilst listening to Christmas songs. When I say 'we', I clearly mean he repeatedly put three baubles on one branch and took them off again. But we had fun!

Oh and I found my inner mistletoe!



…is anybody there?

There are a few things I really would rather avoid; spiders, nuts, frogs, her from the X-Factor that raps continuously & spoils every song (someone hand the lass a facial wipe too).

Then there are those things that I'm scared of; scorpions, the colour orange (probably best not to ask) and making a fool of myself.

So this is a very big deal for me. I'm 33 and still people's opinions of me matter a great deal. It feels like I'm standing infront of the four judges on aforementioned 'talent' show & that they are about to discover I am certainly not the next Leona Lewis.

There are so many great bloggers out there (MammyWoo, The Moiderer & More Than Just a Mother are some of my favourites) that to even try and dare to put myself out there is daunting. However, with their encouragement I am.

I'm not guaranteeing side-splitting laughs where you are reminded that you didn't do your pelvic floor exercises like everyone told you to. I'm not even suggesting heart-wrenching posts which will have you wiping your drippy nose on your already snot-encrusted sleeve (if like me you have a toddler, you will know what I mean). It's more likely to be idle ramblings to pass the time of day. I get a bit bolshy sometimes, I can be a bit opinionated, but generally I try not to offend.

I can guarantee (hopefully) the correct use of an apostrophe however.

Oh and if you ask nicely, I might explain the orange thing.

ShowOff Showcase

Love – 22nd December 2010

New and complete love

My husband took this of The Boy grasping my hand when he was five days old. It is one of my favourite photos ever. End of!

This was put together for this week's gallery over at Sticky Fingers where the subject is "Love"

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