Christmas Pudding Dash

For the first time in 400 years, thanks to song called 'Valerie' sung by a big-haired drug addict from Camden (and yes I know it's a cover- but with that bouffant and that voice she's always going to be remembered for it more than the Zutons), ginger hair is fashionable again. And you know what- I had a horrible recollection last night of being chatted up by Miss Winehouse's perverting husband Blake Fearnley-Whittingstall about ten years ago in a nightclub after he had sold me some crack (it was for my friend). This freaked me out a bit as he must have been about 15 years old. I'm sure it was him.
Back to the fluffy world I live in nowadays, I've just signed up to do a Christmas Pudding Dash in Battle, near Hastings, on Saturday 22nd December. I'll be running five miles (well there is a glass of mulled wine at the end- I have been known to run further if there is a drink awaiting me) around the beautiful grounds of some posh house, and if you sponsor me the money will go to the Martha Trust, which is a charity for severely disabled people. Will put details on here tomorrow of how you can sponsor me. And if anyone wants to run alongside me let me know (it's worth it just to laugh at my purple face).

Tits Up

I hate arguments. As much as they are necessary I feel as flat as a Keane record after venting my PMT annoyances. Couldn't get out of bed this morning as still recovering from yesterday's slanging match with my lovely other half. He had very sensibly scarpered for 24 hours to have a break from hormone-nightmare ME, so this morning I was left to deal with the early morning wake up call from Sadie Spec. In order to ensure that I was able to stay firmly under my comforting bedding until at least midday I conjured up an igloo with my king size white duvet and Sadie and I were Eskimos for the next few hours, lolloping about (well- I was laid flat most of the time, pretending to be a very scary polar bear) and playing make believe. Kids are very pliable sometimes if you use a bit of imagination.
I have done nothing this month to avoid the usual moodiness. When will I ever learn eh? I'm off to eat some more comfort food and then sob into my pillow until I pass out. Not really. Well- I will be eating some chocolate but there will be no tears. Yesterday's rant seems to have vented some frustrations it seems. I will sleep like a baby having been burped successfully.

I am officially SAD and no I'm not depressed

Due to the fact that I bit through my bottom lip the other night (NB: cuddling hyperactive children can be dangerous) and decided, as it was HEROES night last night, to polish off a bottle of red wine ('oh really? How unusual!' I hear you cry) with Andy, I woke up this morning with red wine stains imbedded in the holes in my lip. I looked like I'd drunk a BARREL of wine rather than half a bottle. Much top-lip-over-bottom-lip mumblings went on today I can tell you...and that was only to myself!
Onto an entirely different subject, I realised my old personality is definitely coming back lately as I am becoming more selfish about Christmas. Although I still revel in the enjoyment to be had in buying my little girl Christmas presents, my mind is somewhat preoccupied with what I have to add to my ever-expanding list of wants. My selfish, greedy, nature is returning full swing it seems.
Speaking of Christmas, and you will not believe this, I have just placed my Christmas food order with Ocado. How organised am I??!? And how posh to be shopping at Waitrose online???!? I have even booked for us to go to panto, bought an advent calendar and started looking into what carol services are on in our area. I am a girl OBSESSED. I just can't get enough of the fairy-lit season of frolics. And it's not even started..
I should perhaps chuck away the mouldy pumpkin head before I start thinking about buying the tree....

Herdy Gurdy Mushroom Man

I woke up this morning to find that the Oedipus Complex had taken over my daughter's development- she suddenly only wanted daddy to pour her shreddies and to get her dressed. This, by the way, as you can tell by the bags under my eyes, has NEVER happened. It's around this age that little girls, according to Freud, go through a phase of wanting only their fathers and tend to then reject the mothers, and if this is a sign of things to come (as much as I will revel in the fact HE has to do more) I'm not a happy bunny mummy. What if I am no longer the apple of her eye?- more the dried prune wilting in the corner, seeped of most of its life and goodness? All the years I've put in giving her my undivided and unconditional doses of love/attention/organic vegetables, and she might turn around and want the man who's spent most of the last five years hidden behind a copy of the Friday Ads. Nah- I'm exaggerating slightly, but it hurt. I shall attempt to wallow in my new found freedom and it is ace that she and Andy are closer.
We went to a brilliant exhibition today called 'Sonic Body' at the Blank gallery in Portslade. The installation basically invited you to stand inside a human body created from felt and foam: a throbbing, intestinous, red tinted vessel, with an orchestral soundtrack, created by how we moved and touched the various body parts inside; whistling veins, squelches, gassiness (is that a word? she says- the would-be copy editor...according to spell check- no) and high pitched squeaks...I felt like Raquel Welch in Fantastic Voyage, only with more accessibility to prodding and poking the bodily bits. And also not as hot, obviously. It's only on for another couple of days so if you are from Brighton GO AND SEE IT; see www.sonicbody.co.uk
I also got a lovely pressie from my mate Luce today- a badge of a sheep called Herdy-very cute. Thanks Luce!

Soundtrack- Britney Spears vs B52s- Toxic Love Shack

Later: Oh my god, Malcolm McDowell, with his strawberry nose, is Mr Linderman in Heroes!

Lets get ready to ramble....

So last night I spent a very enjoyable evening (except for getting acid reflux- ah the joys of bodily dysfunction after childbirth) with a gang of great mums and kids, watching the fireworks from a window which overlooked Hove cricket ground. We were a mixed bunch; some single mums, some working mums, some stay at home mums- but we all had only children which made a refreshing change, as lately I seem to be surrounded by people having more and more offspring and it makes my head fuzzy.
So there we were, supping our wine and eating our sausages, and we ooohhhed and we aaahhhed at the technicolour explosions before us, from the comfort of her warm living room. As we chatted about what we did outside of being mums, it got me thinking about being a parent and how each one of us has to work around our kids and work out our priorities. I've been lucky in that I haven't had to go back to work in order to make sure we had food on the table. Some extra money would have helped but I had the choice, and I chose to stay at home whilst occasionally taking on the odd part time job. This is all very well and good, and now that Sadie has started school I am so glad I was able to spend so much time bringing her up, but my brain has, quite frankly, turned to houmous. The part time jobs I have had over the years have varied in their ability for me to use my brain (I've been known to go from being a PA to a saleswoman in less than 24 hours), but as an example of my gooey brain I will tell you about my job working in a maternity shop;
A simple occupation you may think, yet my brain could not even deal with this level of a challenge. On numerous occasions I would forget to turn on the burglar alarm (I was the only one working there), close windows, take items to the post office before leaving them inside the shop and posting the key through the door, and, on more than one occasion, would forget to charge someone in pounds rather than pence for a pair of rather exclusive designer maternity jeans. Oh the shame.
I think there should actually be a course specifically designed for us women (or men), who've stayed alone at home for 4 years with a small person (save for the odd playgroup where you are just surrounded by equally mushy minded adults and more small people)to help get our brains retrained into the adult world. Ask me how to draw a skilfully-drawn stick person, or make alphabet brownies, or play 'What's the time Mr Wolf?' and I'm your girl, but ask me to do a simple task like go to a post office before it shuts, and I'm lost. And also probably out of a job and back at home making rockets out of pritt stick and fairy liquid bottles.....

Soundtrack: David Bowie- Oh You Pretty Things

Mommies Who Drink

Yesterday's Observer Woman magazine (well I always manage to read the colour supplements, the tv guide...) had extracts from Brett Paesel's new book 'Mommies Who Drink'- it sounds fantastic and I'll certainly be getting a copy. Brett's honest account of bringing up kids (the boringness of it, the need for wine involvement, her experience of post partum depression just seeming a sensible reaction to having to look after a person 24/7 who screams all the time) is right up my street. I shall also be buying it for all my "mommy" friends this Christmas!
see article: http://observer.guardian.co.uk/woman/story/0,,2202294,00.html

Ban the Bratz!!

Just been on the phone to Joni at Planet Boo HQ and we've been ranting about the hideousness that is the Bratz. Joni has two daughters, aged 8 and 6, and has never allowed the mini-skirted tart toys through her front door. That was until a relative bought her youngest one a doll and now she feels they are invading her household without her control. These whore figurines have only recently entered my parental stratosphere in the last few months and I am horrified. Sadie actually got bought a baby bratz doll last christmas but I didn't even know what it was and it's so small I never worried about it. But now, after witnessing their DVD recently, with its emphasis on vanity, boys and shopping, they are officially banned from our humble abode. Sadie will probably hate me for this, but I will just explain my reasons and hope she gets into the Care Bears instead. Hopefully, by the time she is 8 the f*****g money grabbing men who design these stupid toys will be out of a job.
This subject sprung to mind after I went out last night and saw the worst dressed young girls I have ever seen. There they were, queueing up for a bar in the centre of Brighton wearing nothing more (yes I know I am starting to disturb myself by my motherly ways) than suspenders, thongs and a waistcoat!! We walked down the road behind them as their little (what looked like) pre-pubescent buttocks were just THERE for all to see- and there were plenty of people looking. Judging by their faces these girls were no older than 16!! I nearly cried. I wanted to wrap them up in my big fluffy cardigan and take them home and tell them a few home truths about men and what they want when they see that much flesh, and how little they would get respect, and how they are beautiful and probably lovely girls who should be giggling with their friends, not walking around like prostitutes. But I didn't. I just left them to the lions.
I wondered if they were Bratz fans when they were little, or whether they regularly watched MTV music videos. They had obviously been brainwashed into thinking that walking around at night in your underwear was a normal and sensible idea.
Christ, when I was 16 (in my day) I used to think Chrissie Hynde was an icon, and the skimpiest thing I would be seen wearing was a tight Elastica tshirt.

Soundtrack: Spice Girls- Say You'll Be There