Hairdresser hell

What is it about hairdressers? Why do they scare me so much?

I skipped off to the hairdressers today, excited at the thought of having a bit of pampering, being child free for the first time in months and having my tresses cut. I should have known how it would go when I was asked if I wanted a coffee with Baileys in it...it was 9 in the morning!

So, onto what cut I wanted. A nice straight bob please cut just below my ears. "Are you sure you don't want it graduated" no, I just want a plain, STRAIGHT bob please..."really? It would look much nicer graduated and are you sure you want it that short" NO to graduation and YES to length. Phew, got my point across, albeit meekly.

So I bury my head in a trashy magazine and drink my Baileys free coffee. I take a glimpse in the mirror. I'm sure the lengths a bit longer than I asked for...and is she graduating it? I decide I'm being paranoid and carry on reading said magazine (ok, looking at pictures in said magazine). She starts up the hair dryer...I look up...it's a lot longer than I asked and bloody hell she has graduated it. I sit there feeling uncomfortable, I can't talk and I'm trying to perfect a fake smile. Why, why, WHY can I not tell her to cut it like I asked her to? Why did she ignore me? Why ask me what I wanted? I feel my cheeks burning...

Not only do I get a graduated bob thats too long I get one thats wonky, its clearly longer on one side. I also pay £47 for the privilege AND tip her £3. What is wrong with me? Why can't I say I'm not happy and can you cut it how I asked you to in the first place. I don't know what it is about hairdressers but they make me feel like its my first day at junior school. At least it gave my husband a laugh, its usually him that sports the dodgy haircuts, mainly because I cut it.

Wanna get shredded!

So after 3 babies in 32 months I have quite a bit of baby weight to shift, in fact I find myself wondering if Beatrice had a twin and they left her in my mountainous tummy!

Last week I found myself trawling the net to find the ultimate workout, one that could miraculously transport my body back to its heyday of 1994. Well, I think I may have found it, The 30 Day Shred. The trainer (who was overweight herself before developing this routine) promises to change your body in 30 days if you give her just 20 minutes of your time everyday for 30 days. How hard could it be right!?!?

Day 5 and amazingly I'm no longer dying at the end of the workout, I still resemble a beetroot and can't talk to my husband or kids for 10 minutes post workout...but my stamina is definitely improving. Whether it will take my body pre-pregnancy remains to be seen but I'm enjoying having 20 minutes of the day to myself.

The ten minute rule...

Discipline, its something I struggle with, giving it that is. I find myself either feeling bad because I've upset my children or I'm trying to stifle my laughter when mid flow my nearly 3 year old calls me Stinky Pete or tells me to behave. I fear I've said "no" too any times for silly things in the past that now its lost its meaning.

I was talking to my cousin about it and she told me about her ten minute rule. It's a way for grading telling offs. So I now ask myself, will it matter in ten minutes? Will it matter in ten hours? Will it matter in ten days? So I "tell off" according to the grading. It seems to be going well so far, I haven't  been called Stinky Pete for a while but I do get told to be quiet, but I comfort myself with the fact that he says please.

Bye bye Mrs Mop, hi hi Mrs Slop...

Well first things first, baby number three arrived on Thursday 9th August 2012, bump turned pink when Beatrice Ann came into the world kicking and screaming.

So, almost twelve weeks in and my house has turned into what some might say is a health hazard. Gone are the days when all I had to worry about was tidying up a few toys...not only do I barely get the chance to pee i just don't seem to get a chance to (in no particular order) hoover, dust, sweep, mop, scrub, wipe....blah blah bloody blah. I have turned into Waynetta Slob minus the lying about bit. I don't understand why I can't find the time. I see other mums and not only is their house pretty much spotless they also wear make-up (wtf!?!), have painted nails and their hair does not look as though they have a scouring pad stuck to the back of their head...

Maternal instincts?

When I was growing up, I heard my mother and her friends talk about 'maternal instincts', I had no idea what they were and quite frankly I didn't want to know. I was far to busy dreaming of marrying Axl Rose and going off on tour (lucky for me I didn't, have you seen him recently...).

Fast forward a good few years and I absolutely know what they are.

When you have your first child, those first few days and weeks are never quite as you imagined, its a lot tougher, breastfeeding is not so easy, the tiredness is immense but the love you feel for your little baby is unbelievable. Somehow you get through, you learn when your baby needs more food, a nappy change, to be winded etc and you do learn to understand their different cries. This is, I believe, if you don't buy any of those so called 'baby training manuals'. You know the ones by Gina Ford and her cronies.

When I was pregnant with my second child I decided to purchase her Contented Little Baby book just to see what all the fuss was about. I was rather shocked at what I read. Strict routines of when to feed the baby (and when to feed yourself, I kid you not!), when to change their nappy (that would be when its dirty Gina), when they should sleep, when you should wake them (are you kidding, wake a sleeping baby, make the bloody most of it!). While I was reading it, I thought how it does not encourage the NATURAL maternal instinct and how, in fact, it can completely destroy it. I know of mothers who cannot function without GF telling them what to do, its like living in a communist regime. Kids need to be kids and funnily enough, they do find their own routine. Its ridiculous to think that all babies need to go to bed at the same time (do adults?). It makes me so angry that some people seem to try and take away the natural parenting instincts.

Its not just GF. I remember the first health visitor for my son giving us a leaflet on how to play with your child...

So throw out all those baby manuals (and those patronising health visitors) and do it your way, it is after all, the best way.

Tidy, tidy, tidy

As a mum I find myself constantly tidying toys up. My husbands philosophy is to not bother, but I just cannot leave them strewn everywhere for all eternity (his other philosophies include, putting dirty clothes next to the laundry basket, doing the washing-up so badly he isn't asked again, creating such gems as chicken nugget curry and tuna surprise - the surprise being he added green food colouring - so he is never asked to cook again and finally, putting up smoke alarms with sellotape and if that fails, blu-tack!).

I admit that I probably am a little obsessive about tidying up toys, I just like to have a clear path in which to walk and not break my neck by slipping on a racing car. I also find it strangely therapeutic, yes I think that my life has reached the point where I am getting pleasure from putting building blocks back in the toy basket.

But on a less neurotic note, I think its great for the children that their toys keep getting put back in place, just so they can keep emptying them again!

When the little things become the big things

Before babies came along, going to bed early with a cup of ovaltine and a good book wasn't really anything special (in fact I probably would have laughed at the suggestion). But now, well I look forward to Tuesdays - husband at band practise and I get to do the above.  Bliss.

Folds of time

I am a highly emotional person and this only got worse once I became a mummy. Just looking at my beautiful boys can reduce me to tears in a second. Last night I was reading my book and started crying at this beautifully written passage (reminiscing about her now 19 year old son):

" How thin and near-transparent the folds of time are. I could almost step through them into another dimension, where the child Jasper would put his hot, sticky small hand in mine, dragging me towards the swingboats, or to ride his favourite giraffe on the little roundabout..."

My boys are still at the hot, sticky hand stage and the thought that one day they won't reach out to put their little hand in mine burns right through my heart. Time really is so precious. I used to get sick of people telling me when my first son was born to make the most of every moment because it goes so quickly, but my god, how right they all were.

Pushchairs, Push off!

I never thought that trying to find the "perfect" double pushchair would be like trying to find the holy grail. I just thought buy one and there you go. Oh no, I have now been through 4 different ones in less than a year and have now decided to go for the one I originally had that I sold after a couple of uses for a £100 loss. Yes, not the brightest spark I hear you cry, and my husband will probably be crying later when I tell him...

Vegetables and vomit

Well it's Friday night and I was welcomed kicking and screaming into the weekend not by a glass of bubbly or being whisked off to dinner but by my youngest covering me from head to toe in vomit.

Oh my goodness, I didn't think he ate that much! I have just spent the best part of an hour picking up pieces of carrot from underneath the sofa cushions and the smell of vegetable chilli and neonate is stuck up my nostrils. Plus its so cold that the heating is on and it just makes the smell a whole lot worse...

I have no idea why he vomited because he seems perfectly happy and doesn't have a temperature. I hope to heck that its not a bug, I could not cope with the toddler going down as well and I already have all day morning sickness.

On to some good news. It seems that R the toddler has finally overcome his fussy eating habits. I don't really know how it happened it just did, thank god, I had visions of him turning into a piece of bread or pasta but luckily he is now wolfing down his veg and everything that is healthy and delicious, long may it continue!

I hope you have a good weekend and that it got off to a better start that mine...cheers!

Snip, snip, snip

If you are anything like me you will remember the first haircut you were given, you may even have had the same cut. Yes, the very fetching pudding bowl, gosh those were such stylish days weren't they...

I remember it so very clearly, being led into the kitchen where the chair awaited me. That was all fine, what scared me though was what else also awaited me, my father with a bowl in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. I gulped and begged for my sister to go first, which she gladly did, a proper little daddy's girl. She hopped happily into the chair, my father placed the bowl over her head and began snipping. Ooh I thought this is quite fun, nothing to it. So as I sat there swinging my legs in anticipation a god awful scream was let loose in the kitchen. My dad had cut my sisters ear, there was blood, but luckily it wasn't too bad, easy for me to say.

After she was all cleaned up and better my dad moved towards me with a grin. No I thought, he can't be serious, after he's just cut my sisters ear, are you insane! Well he managed to cut some of my hair but I struggled too much and ended up with a lopsided pudding bowl cut, but I was thankful that my ears were left intact.

So fast forward 30 years or so and it was the turn of my eldest son to have his first haircut. He has beautiful curly hair and it was getting so long that it was getting in his eyes, so I decided I would attempt to cut it. I think my son may actually have preferred a pudding bowl because what he is left with makes him resemble a dog with mange. Still, I comfort myself with the fact that it will grow back, mine did.

Food glorious food

Well I have been having a lot of different cravings in this pregnancy, so I thought I would list them. Purely because I am obsessed with food, eating it, looking at it, cooking it and dreaming about it.

1) Baked potatoes, plain with lots of ground black pepper or with coronation chicken (my husband is sick of having baked spuds)
2) Seeded bagels toasted with lashings of philadelphia and ground black pepper (can you see a theme forming...)
3) Plain grilled chicken (yep, with you guessed it, black pepper)
4) Lots of steamed green veg, spinach, courgettes, asparagus, peas....
5) Cheese scones
6) Pancakes with lemon and sugar
7) Tomato and lettuce sandwiches (with lots and lots and lots of black pepper ;o))
8) Strawberry milkshakes
9) Frosties and ice cold milk
10) Homemade hamburgers with tomatoes, onion, lettuce and toasted bap with cheese.
And finally...
11) Toffee and honeycomb ice cream (without the black pepper...) it really is to die for and I nearly did last night. I ate an entire tub, on  my own, while my husband was out...He doesn't know that we ever had any mwahahaha!

Pregnancy, hormones and ice cream

I am utterly shattered. This pregnancy seems to be a lot more intense that my last two. More sickness, tiredness, mood swings, the list is endless. The one thing that is getting me through at the moment is my secret stash of toffee and honeycomb ice cream. I am not sure that it is just the fact that it tastes so good but also that I am sneaking about eating it in secret.

I already look 7 months pregnant, mainly due to the fact that it was left over from my previous two pregnancies. This was apparent when the lady at the checkout asked me when my baby was due and this was before I was pregnant. I wonder wistfully whether I will ever fit in to non maternity jeans ever again as I tuck into more ice cream...

Emotions in pregnancy, you have to love them. I told my husband the other night that he looked like Barry Manilow (he doesn't) but I could not stop laughing, I found it hysterically funny. Until, that is, that I put on Mandy by BM and started to ball my eyes out. My husband is not sure where his wife has gone but he's hoping that she returns soon...

Alcoholism, a little too close to home

The main reason I have been absent from blogging over the last few months is due to my father-in-law. He has been a chronic alcoholic for over 30 years and last autumn we thought it had got the better of him.

He was admitted to hospital with pneumonia. A terrible and dangerous illness for most people let alone a man in his 60's who is an alcoholic and has been smoking since he was 9 years old (yes, shocking isn't it).

It was touch and go for about 6 weeks. My husband, the eldest of three children, went to the hospital everyday, because although his father has put him through hell for most of his life, he is his dad and he loves him. We would get phone calls from the hospital saying, "you need to come to the hospital, he isn't going to make it through the night", only for my husband to get there and miraculously he had pulled through. Then he needed an urgent operation to his bowels and was not expected to make it through the operation, he did. He made it through 3 months of induced comas, operations and every antibiotic ever manufactured. He was a broken man and it was devastating to see him, he literally became a frail old man overnight.

He had also seemed to change. Gone was this beaten man that loved nothing more than to drink and not care about anyone and in its place was this man who was almost childlike innocent, as if he knew he had been given a second chance, and we really hoped that he had.

During this time, my husband seemed to take on all the emotional responsibility, which was painful for me to witness.

During this time we also had to deal with our younger son needing to go to hospital. Thankfully he is OK but I hated that my darling husband had to take on so much on his shoulders.

Well fast forward a few months and it seems that my father-in-law has decided he doesn't need a second chance. He is back drinking and hurting his children all over again. I really don't know how to feel about him. One minute I feel so sorry for him, because I don't believe people choose to be alcoholics, I really think that its a horrific illness. Then the next I want to tell him how I feel, how disgusted I am that he can hurt my husband the way he does and then just laugh about it, how he treats his grandchildren, how he treated my husbands mum and just scream at him to stop being such a selfish bastard because the world does not revolve around him. And then sometimes I think it would be better if he wasn't here, so that my husband and his siblings could get some sort of closure and move on with their lives, and then I feel incredibly guilty for thinking that.

Everyone who is anyone has an opinion about alcoholism, but really, I wonder how closely we look at ourselves. An alcoholic isn't just a vodka swilling tramp, it could be the smart middle class lady who gets through a bottle or two of wine (or more) every single day. Or the young professional who has several drinks too many most days. You see, as with most things, they come in all shapes and sizes. I wonder how many of us would be shocked if we saved up the empty bottles of our monthly intake of alcohol.

One positive thing that has come out of this whole sorry mess is my love for the man I married. He truly is an inspiration as a husband and as a daddy. Seeing him with our sons just melts my heart. How he is so sane after everything he has gone through is a miracle. He really is one beautiful man and I am so very lucky to be his wife.

It's been a long time coming...

My return to blogging that is. Wow, a lot has happened, hence my lack of blogs and I must firstly apologise for that. I will, over time, explain my absence but for now I'd prefer to talk about pregnancy!

Yes I am expecting baby number 3. We are very happy and excited and maybe a little worried about having 3 under the age of 3...

Although it was only 9 months ago that I had Arthur I had forgotten about pregnancy hormones and how one minute I am blissfully happy and hysterically tearful the next. Nothing emphasised this as much as this morning.

My darling husband has been so wonderful, letting me have a lie-in most mornings while he gets the boys up and feeds them. So I saunter down this morning, singing his praises and thinking to myself that I am am more in love with him now than ever before. This is the moment I decide to go to the downstairs toilet and OH MY GOD, nothing prepared me for what greeted me in there. An overflowing, blocked toilet with, well you can imagine can't you. I ran out, screaming at him to go and sort it out, or get a man out that could, and why the hell did I ever marry him, I wanted a divorce! He did sort it out, eventually, after lots of death stares from yours truly. Men, and there was me thinking I would have more trouble potty training Rufus...!