Madame at her Station

Mr Man has just sent me this picture for my profile thingy. Taken a couple of weeks ago after Minx had had her fun on my face - practicing her make-up techniques. Let her express herself I say.

He has just re-named me Lady Blah Blah.

Not sure if I think this is funny or not.

Not sure I look evil enough.

It's a start.

We thought she was such a nice girl

Got me thinking about my swearing. Remembered my finest moment. About 9 years ago.

After an extremely long and emotional wrangle with a cowboy garage not fixing my car properly after a smash, and having to threaten to get another garage to do it for which I would charge the first garage, they agreed to buy the car off me. Their gorilla slapped a cheque at me and drove off my precious but violated little red mini late on Friday afternoon.

First thing Saturday Mr Man dropped me into town to stick the cheque in at Nationwide. Then the bastards wouldn't accept it 'cos one of the letters in my name on the scrawled cheque looked a bit like another letter, sort of, if you were a cunt.

I said lots of high pitched things to her and her supervisor and to anyone else in ear-shot before stamping out, knocking someone over in the process I recall. Picked up my mobile, stabbed in the number and screamed my message on the home answer-phone - 'You won't fucking believe the fucking cunts in that fucking bastard place they wouldn't fucking take the wanking fucking bastard cheque the felching shitkicking wanking fucking cuntshaped cock-sucking fucking wank bastards I'm going to fucking throw a wanking brick through their bollocking fucking window and burn the fucking cunthole place down.' Click.

Oh look, the bank's open.

In I trotted. Put the cheque in no problem. Have a nice day. I'll just ring Mr back and tell him it's OK. Tap tap tap......clonk - the sound of the penny dropping.

You know when you don't actually dial your own home number that often... ? But there is a number I can dial in my sleep and that number is....... ah.... oh. Tap tap tap.... 'Ah..um...hello. I think I just left a message on your answer-phone by mistake. I was a bit cross and um...well it's alright now and um...sorry about that. Byee.' Oh god oh god.

Tap tap tap.....'Hello darling...um...I kind of just left a message on your mum and dad's phone......'

Meanwhile, back from the shops come my father-in-law, mother-in-law, sister-in-law, her husband and their 2 children. 'Oh look - there's a message on the machine' ............

Yes, it still gets mentioned.

Bedends to Everything

Firewood - that's what it is. I now have nowhere to sleep.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to flick bogeys from.

And when Ninja-Flying-Monkey Boy's little chum's parents came to pick him up this evening he described the swearing and screaming with perfect clarity.

Scooby Doo chuckles all round.

Well we really must be going........

Finally mended N-F-M Boys football team socks after about 18 months. Guilt?

Bollocks.

Not enough plain chocolate in the house.

Bottom Bunk Bedends to the Brown Stuff

I have now been clearing, cleaning, rearranging, dismantling, remantling, grappling and groaning under the weight of toys, books, bricks, shelves, bedding, beds, boxes, baskets, dead flies and mouse poo for about 2 weeks. And I'm bored. I'm still living in filth - albeit moved about a bit - and I've got back-ache, head-ache and bottom-ache.

Everyone has moved bedrooms - which always seems like a good idea. It has been a major operation. And still not complete. Dismantling the Big Bed tomorrow (no Mummy not the Big Bed Yes darling the Big Bed) - which I'm convinced will disintegrate on contact with my little friend Allen (key) and never stand up again but it has to be attempted. Living in a wonkey fun-fair joke house built for asymetrical midgets with Alice in Wonderland door frames and sudden slopes at head level and/or feet level is a challenge for any furniture mover-abouter. PG Tips chimps would have had a ball. And this comes from someone who pretty much IS a midget. I feel I am becoming more asymetrical and chimp-like with every grunt and stumble. But hey - by the end of the week-end (yes yes yes) we shall all be in the right place. In my case - a mental institution.

That'll be here then.

But this is the first night that my little Rock Godling has stayed put in his (HIS) bed despite still being awake when I got out. This really is a bunting event. We were kind of doing OK up til a couple of weeks ago and then we went to see Horrible Science on stage and it terrified him from the off. As soon as it gets dark now he is limpeted onto my leg, tormented by the thoughts of giant talking bacteria. Spongebob amputations and Ben 10 alien mutations and general cartoon and computer game savagery etc is fine. Some lovey dressed up in a purple velour blob-suit - WAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wasn't sure that contructing the bunk beds was going to be a good move during this crisis but they seem quite popular. Apart from the inability to sit up on the top bunk due to midget house - it's not pretty seeing me clamber, drag and slither on either. And there's not much wallpaper left as it rips off wonderfully well while Mummy's pretending to be asleep - 'and this bit looks like a crocodile...' But I did hoover up all the Hogwartsy spiders (dead and alive) before I started which was an education in itself. More fun-fair cobweb special effects down the stairs however. Sod that tho'. Minx and I building the damn bunks together was achievement enough. Still basking actually. Not going to spoil that with cobweb ski-jumping even if it would be blog-heaven. Sod you.

I often find that after a day of high achievement, I inevitably follow this with a day of total crapness. So progress is slow. I'm also like this regarding eating healthily. I celebrate a day of being 'good' with being remedial - like if noone sees me devouring brown stuff then it doesn't count. And then my bottom reminds me. I used to consider having allergies was just an affectation - look at me I'm special - pander to me etc - and so my punishment for this intolerance is now Intolerance. First it was the tiny delicious sesame seed. Little pellets of pure evil. And now I seem to have suddenly become Lactose Intolerant. How fucking boring. It's mostly fine as I prefer goats' milk and cheese anyway and hardcore dark chocolate but it's all the irritating questions I now have to ask people in cafes and friends' houses. And it's the innocuous munching of the kids' stuff when we're on the move. I've obviously used up all my chocolate tokens. I've only got a couple of alcohol tokens left as it is - just enough for a small sherry at Xmas. So what's next? I can't do drugs - too paranoid. I can't drink anymore - too much too young. Don't smoke - was always crap at that so stopped pretending years ago. Sex? Well...... I have very effective contraceptive kids so that's more of a thing to look forward to when we 'retire' - along with Scrabble and hedgehog rescuing. So that leaves chocolate doesn't it? Bugger.

I suppose I've still got coffee. And swearing. (I even called a rogue escapee cushion a cunt this evening thinking that Python Boy was asleep - oops. I usually keep that one for Daddy). And flicking bogeys at the wall. But they're a bit lame for vices aren't they? I need some suggestions for badness. I'm too old for mooning (but in my day .........), and too young for prescription-amnesia. I NEED HELP. I know you won't let me down.......

Basket Case

Will somebody please tell me to stop reading through everybody else's blogs and go to bed! It's about 2.15am and I've been awake since 6am and I am not doing anyone a favour by still being here.

While I'm asking for sage advice - what do I do with all those bloody Hot Wheels tracks that don't fit back into the boxes they came in even if I still had them? I've got about 4 sharing a couple of baskets that I cannot tell apart with dinosaurs and aliens and god knows attached to bits of them. I cannot make them comply with the rules of this house - ie if you don't fit nicely in one of Mummy's baskets you will be evicted. Only I can't evict Hot Wheels. That's a step too far for even evil me. I have been ruthless in my dealings with the previously mentioned delightful wooden toys. Hidden in a cupboard rests about £50, 000 - worth of bloody natural organic treasures your children will cherish forever hand-made by dyslexic dolphins on a yoga retreat in Lindisfarne. Fuck 'em. Mutant deviants with flashing bits from the anals of China R Us after all. It's good to be back.

I suppose I have the bastard rodents to thank for this intensive clearing and cleaning of the past few days. Am now obsessed with seeing bits of carpet and patches of wall where there used to be just stuff. The stench of death hangs in the air but I can reach the curtains again.

I'm almost retching at the memory of money handed over in the past few years for all these Good and Worthy imagination-freeing toys. Cared for by ...... me. But the sense of liberation now I'm ditching all this crap is truly imagination-freeing. We just don't need it - they never did! It was only me thinking this is Good For Them.

I still hate bright beeping plastic things in my house but a while ago I just bought a big sea-grassy trunk thing so I can hide the worst of it in there when I'm feeling all delicate. Battery things may still mysteriously disappear when the first battery runs out (or is ripped out) here and there but I am much more chilled about dealing with stuff I know they actually play with. And the battery things that are granted asylum will now be unscrewed - replaced - screwed up again by the small people themselves now - Good. I'm busy chucking out their other stuff while they're occupied doing that.

I've also concurred that they do not get their kicks from collage - just because 'when I was their age...' and they're not dedicated to weaving, nor do they spend much energy making clothes for their toys, or even bother making camps that often from our old voile curtains and so in finally realizing this I have freed up 4 more large baskets of patronisingly provided raw materials.

And then I started on my Home Ed Heaven Cabinet of Wonder. Oh wow. I really am a fucked-up mind control freak. Unfortunately alot of it has ended up back where it was - maybe it visited another basket for an hour or two and lost a few old hangers-on but I can't change everything about me overnight. But I reduced and reorganised and even now celebrate the purple and orange and green boxes and boxes and boxes of dinosaury bits. Colour and wicker live side by side. My bin is overflowing. I have a tower of about 12 (last count) empty baskets - to either dump (oh-god-oh-god I need basket counselling) or to refill with my next wondrous plans to compartmentalise the world (no-No-NO!!!)

The sea-grassy trunk needs attention too. I'm sure the beeping stuff is held aloft by georgette scarves of all soft tones and Aesop's Fabled finger puppets etc.

And the next stop - the musical instruments trunk. I'm shaking like a maracca (help with spelling here please Not Waving?) already at the thought of relinquishing my coconut halves and bottle cap rattlers. One step at a time eh?

Noone can say I didn't try. I did more than dip my toe in the pure gentle waters of Conscious Parenting and can say with total honesty that Unconscious Parenting is way more preferable - and more effective - and cheaper - and ...... more colourful.

And that's not just my language.

RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS

RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS RODENTS

IN THE BOYS' BED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As I wriggled in tonight to convince Thuglet that bed was a good idea my feet crunched around in something. Biscuits? What have they been up to now?

Not biscuits. Pellets. Lots.

How had I missed this earlier when I was cuddling Rock Godling to sleep on the other side of the bed? YUCK!!!!!

Another tantrum. Still shaking in a baboon-bottomy-pink-eyed way 2 hours later. Want to leave home. Nowhere else to go. Feel sick. Will have to clean our all their toy baskets that line the walls on the floor. Burn the mattress. Hated that bloody futon base thing anyway - THE most annoying bed to make of all and the mattress wanders about all over place every day so I have to totally remake the bloody bed every night anyway and it's up against a damp wall and and and and When Are The Bunk Beds Arriving? At least I've finally ordered them. But I don't want to live here anymore!!!!!!!

Stomach in nautical knots. Head still hurts. Never felt so cold. Hate everything. Especially fucking RODENTS!!!!!!!!!!!

I know they were here before us but......... DIE YOU STINKING PERPETUALLY PISSING RANCID LITTLE FUCKERS!!!!!!!! DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There is no consolation that the pellets were poisoned as they hadn't bloody eaten them. I suppose they must have eaten some and stored the rest - IN OUR BED!!!!!!!!!!!!

Had to scoop little Godling out and put him 'Mummy and Daddy's' bed. Back to Daddy's and a boy's bed again then. 'Mummy and Daddy's' bed lasted 2 days. A new record I suppose. Am now downstairs, made up the settees as I was still too fire-spitting to claim The Big Bed - but I'm still ranting and Thuglet's still Peppa Pigging. Maybe sleep would be a good idea. Big day tomorrow - cleaning Cleaning and CLEANING!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Less Would Be More - if only I could master this.....

At the risk (already achieved) of being the type of blog I abort after 3 words, I am going to continue in my list of tedious failures:

Wednesday - forgot an important message for Himself to do with his business - to do with something he needed to have done at least 11 hours earlier. Himself not impressed. And not civilized enough to mask it. At least I got lots of folding done. Lots.

Also levels of filth in our charming health hazard of a historic hovel (ie - it's old - for god's sake enough aliteration already - aaaaaagghhh!) plummet to the point where we now have rodents making free ON the fucking KITCHEN BLOODY COUNTERS.

Resolution to stop swearing buggered.

Full blown adult tantrum. Marriage shaky. Again.

My husband and I fall asleep on separate settees to the hypnotic sounds of Peppa Pig on telly, meant to soothe the savage (tyrannical) Thuglet. Desperate parents.

Thursday - EVERYTHNG!

Including the boiler packing up - sounded like a massacre of mechanical elephants.

And making a scene in BHS at their 'Inconvenience Store' (with thanks to The Farside - but no royalties forthcoming) peering up like Jack at the bottom of the beanstalk at their illogical and very very very high up sheets and pillowcases display - which are also bloody dangerous. Another bump on my bleedin' head. That's the third in as many days. I hadn't mentioned the second one - spared you. (It was the car boot again in the bunk bed shop car park last Tuesday.)

Python Boy took his now familiar stance of holding my sleeve and begging me to stop crying. I'm not sure if this is due to his warm heart or acute embarrassment. Bless him.

Diesel consumption has doubled lately as my sense of direction has taken a turn (sorry) for the worse. Can't find my way round a mini-roundabout lately. Not even the one 400 yards from my house.

Repeated incidents of total memory loss, chronic tiredness in the morning, many examples of lunatic driving (not speeding necessarily, just not advisable - OK, so I can't find my paper part of my Driving License to send off again since they sent it back last month), major cravings for sweet things, temper snapping at slightest blip, bloody headache......... DON'T EVEN THINK IT!

Anyone unfortunate to still be reading this please join me in prayer to the moon to send me my fucking period!!!!!

AND ANOTHER THING........... That'll be 18 episodes in already tonight of Peppa Bleedin' Pig and Thuglet still going strong. Any anti- 'Toxic Children' smug perfect parents out there can keep their 'warm milk, firm routines, clear boundaries...' opinions to themselves. He's had his warm milk, Peppa Pig is our firm routine now and I'm very much adhering to the clear boundaries he has set. I know my place.

Blimey! As I tapped that last word in he said 'All finished now', (even though it wasn't), turned the telly off and has climbed on my lap and kissed my neck. See?

Achievements? (Compulsory night-time head-patting): Did 'maths-y-like' stuff for HOURS yesterday - string, straws, coloured wooden blocks, chopped up bits of a cardboard box with numbers (0 - 144 - oh yeah) and all the maths-y-like symbols scribbled on and colour-coded - all from a vague notion whilst laying in bed (while they were trashing downstairs and foraging for 'breakfast') of a non-penandpaper approach to things. Et voila - Venn Diagrams don'tcha know. I thank you. The vague notion was to make circles out of snipped straws threaded onto the strings and to play around with the blocks - and maybe offer a few numbers for my own amusement. Full blown times tables adventures and trickier and trickier sums fitted onto a small square tray was all their doing. (And so was the demolition of precious towers, waves of violence, siblings tied to the big post with finger-knitted Venn-inspired lengths, and a return to an uninhabitable living room but a creative home is a happy home.....) Lunchtime came and went. Eventually Minx (who'd skipped breakfast - well, had slept through that bit and woke up to find a cold cup of tea by her bed and then texted me 'Where are my biscuits?' and then, when she didn't get them HAD to get up, and just joined in with our wholesome elevenses ie crisps) decided to go off and make lunch for everybody herself. That's self-motivation that is. Or hunger. Whatever. But that's more 'Living In The Moment' oh yes it is.

And today we found a recycling site that isn't scary AND takes card after only a few tours round the Business Park just down the road from the ice rink. Finally got rid of the mince pie packets, Amazon packaging, live-culture harbouring pizza boxes, newspapers from last August........ That cleared up one of the ranges. Going to tackle the larger peaks of bottles and cans tomorrow......... um........ next August probably.

And we did the ice rink. That's another one.

AND Mr Alpha Male returned with the mammoth - in lots of lovely crinkley bags - remembering all the things I forgot on Tuesday AND fiddled with the pressure thingy on the boiler so we have heating and hot water again and can ring up the plumbers and crow! And I can have coffee again! I've been wondering if my latest bout of brain-dead psycho behaviour was to do with lack of coffee. I'm recalling the scientific research of a link between coffee-drinking being a possible Alztheimers preventative because caffeine-fuelled rats remembered how to get out of a maze quicker than camomile tea-soaked hippy rats. I read this in The Mirror while I was waiting for a kebab. I've been downing huge barrels of the hard stuff ever since. Apart from the last few days because I keep forgetting to buy more. Hmmmmmnnn..... Something isn't adding up. But the kids are! You see what I did there? I hate people who say that.

And Puppy-Guinea-Pig-Python-I-Don't-Mind-What-I-Get Boy is back in his own bed after god....aeons, which means I can nestle in the warmth of my Alpha's buttock-scorchers and listen to his snorting and teeth-grinding again all snug and knowing that it just gets louder and smellier if I squeeze my head under the pillow. But it is a positive step. It is. Shut up.

And little cute squidgy fluffy Thuglet is asleep. All is quiet. Tomorrow is another day. I have coffee. I have heating. I have a new book - The Idle Parent, which looks like it is right up my unkempt garden path, (despite using 'it' instead of 'him' or 'her'). And I now have a pair of new pedestal mats to cover up the rotting stinking fermenting festering rented-house carpet around our aromatic toilet. Bliss.

All I need now is a well-blobbed on gusset.

Instead of a wee'd in one. Actually let's not mention that again.