Childrens Personalised Books

I was going through a box of stuff the other day for either a car boot, the charity shop, the local nursery or my grandson and I found a really old and dusty box full of jigsaw puzzles. It took me right back to my very younger days of doing puzzles in the commercial breaks on the telly. I would line them up and Mum and Dad would time me to see how many I could do in the break. I was also given a new puzzle every time I went to the dentist ( no I don’t know why either- but hey who was complaining- not me). Well I have to say my love of puzzles has lasted my lifetime and the major regret I have is I don’t have a spare table I can put a huge puzzle on which will take me 2 years to finish. My love has passed down through all my 3 children and now to my Grandson who is just about at the age now where he can put the wooden shapes into the spaces. So we bought all kinds of puzzles for him, Thomas, Postman Pat, Tweenies you name it they sell it- and brought them out when he came to stay. We did all of them and afterwards there wasn’t a spare inch of floor that wasn’t covered in a puzzle. Strange this was though the Grandson was nowhere to be seen- he was outside putting worms down his trousers!! Maybe he’s just not ready yet?

I’m not a jogger- and never have been!! At school I hated it- be it sprinting, the killer 400 meters or the dreaded cross country (until a group of us realised that we could take a short cut and hop on a bus back to the school). As I got older I would watch in amazement at the people happily running round parks, roads and the running track in the park. I couldn’t quite figure out why anyone would actually choose to inflict this particular pain on themselves. The one day some bright spark at my son’s football club decided that we should have a sponsored run- for the parents. After picking myself up from the floor, and thinking in my head of how I could get out of it I heard a little voice saying- ” My Mums a great runner and she’s going to beat your Mum”, and yes it was my wonderfully misguided trusting 6 yr old son. Seen the film ‘Run fat boy Run’- it was more ‘Run fat Mum run’!! The first few days were absolute torture, round the block felt like the London Marathon and falling onto the sofa afterwards felt like bliss. I persevered and slowly it all became bearable- I won’t say I enjoyed it because that would be lying- but I got through it. Come the day of the Sponsored run and the parents were all on the line ready for the off. My 6yr olds smiling face and brave brave words of “come on Mum” gave me a bit of a lift. The whistle blew and we were off- 4 laps of what seemed like a never ending vast area of the park later and I came in a respectable 2^nd of the Mums ( after someone who wasn’t’ even a Mum- a ringer of a neighbour who was 22 and an aerobics teacher!!). Collapsed on the floor attempting to breathe, face a violent magenta colour and enough sweat to swim in was not the best moment for me to be in a ‘group photo’. So now as I leisurely do my Wi Fit yoga I stare at the photo on the shelf at the shiny, purple faced lady and breathe a sigh of relief that exercise is now something I have confined to my home!!.

Please can someone explain to me why men end up using every single pot, pan and utensil when cooking a meal. A simple meal like egg on toast calls for the spatula, the big spoon, the little spoon the wooden spoon, the big bowl, little bowl and on and on. Not only that, they then proceed to scrutinize you intently as you attempt to eat. Giving you a life long phobia of eating whict being stared at!! If that’s not bad enough they ask you constantly how good it is- if it’s tasty, cooked right, are you enjoying it, and to top it all after you’ve finished ( and for the rest of the day), they keep asking you if you’re feeling full and good after the meal they cooked. Imagine if us Mums were to require feedback on all the jobs we do everyday. We would never get anything done, and nobody would be able to go anywhere as they’d be too busy answering our questions about our accomplishments. Oh no I’ve just had an awful thought- it’s not just my man that does this- please say it’s not!!!

So the football season has officially finished and the football tournaments have begun. With World Cup fever running through our veins the players and parents came out in strength on what turned out to be a blistering hot Sunday. The cars rolled into the car park at 8am and 2 hours later the bags, balls, cool boxes, blankets and gazebos were unloaded. Another 45 mins later and the gazebo is up!! For the next 4 hours the tension becomes as unbearable as the heat of the sun on that patch of skin at the back of the neck that is always forgotten about. South Africa had nothing on the U9s semi-final. Screaming parents, shouts of ‘referee’ and the pungent smell of a portaloo. Ah- World Cup- who needs it!!

another major issue caused by deforestation

another major issue caused by deforestation

My daughter has started a new school and is in yr 3 so when they said easter egg competition we dutifully allowed her to make her own easter egg farm all by herself( cough). Carrying the tissue wrapped rice cooker box proudly into school, making sure the chicks and half shelled eggs didn’t move we were flabbergasted by the entries- all manner of creations beheld our eyes. Not one of which had had an under 21yr olds fingers within 10 feet of it. There were Egg Factors, Jegwards, SpongeBobs, Hairdressers, the ski jump complete with skiers and my particular favourite the London Eye!! So now the old man wants to start next years around Christmas time and is already interviewing architects for the job as we speak- competitive- not us !!!

Having finally decided to take the leap and move out of London we scoured the Right Move website until we found the perfect little terraced cottage a bus ride away from the 12yr olds school. No more getting up in those wee hours and driving him to the lonely bus stop where he would run the gauntlet of fear each morning wondering whether or not the bus would arrive to take him to school. No more taking over an hour to drive back on the polluted , packed A40 arguing with lorries and mascara wielding women desperate to get 2 cars in front on their ever so depressing morning journey. No more screaming at the 7 yr old to hurry up and eat those mega crunchers or we’ll be late for school- again!!

Our new idyllic country cottage although in rural South Bucks does happen to be situated next door but one from McDonalds. Now this may sound awful, but it does have it’s advantages ( and I’m not talking burgers here). The 12 yr old now leaps out of bed like a greyhound chasing the hare round the last bend. “Mine’s a bacon roll and easy on the ketchup”, I hear him shouting as he runs en route for the school bus. As he goes off to school and I take my leisurely walk around the garden gazing at the horses peacefully grazing in the field below. I am acutely aware of the lack of police sirens, gangs of youths bellowing in drunken voices and the loudness of local madeye mcjack arguing with himself- until that is I hear the distinctive sounds of “Can I take your order Please”, and my eyes are forced to look over to the left where the Mc D’s drive through breaks up the serenity of my country cottage setting. Ever get the feeling you can never quite get it right!!

Our new family adventure…no TV days. Yes, I call it an adventure and the kids would call it pure torture, cruel and unusual punishment, my mom/sister is being mean. You know the drill when you impose rules on the babies that they are not in favor of.

The babies want to know how we could be so mean as to take away the TV. We did this because the kids were not playing games, reading books, playing outside or using their imagination as much as we wanted them to so we took away the one thing that occupied a major part of their day the TV.

It has been nice to see them dust off the big dust bunnies and knock down cobwebs to find the games, toys, books etc. that in some cases have never even opened up and finding new adventures that they didn’t even know existed. Now they haven’t been thrilled about it just yet… No jumping for joy or cheers for no TV day, they are still too upset about losing a day of TV which they do get back at 7pm. Right now they spend the day counting down the hours until seven. Yes, with each hour that passes I hear 6, 5, 4, 3 etc. hours left until I can watch TV…silly babies have not given any thought that I could and will add another day or two to the no TV days…nice to know I have the ability to enrich and disrupt their little lives with just two little words…4 letters and a space….No TV….the power of mom…oops! Sorry about the power trip I’m going on…

I’m now creating little musicians, whiz kids, writers, readers, make-up artists….Oh the possibilities with having them have no TV time is working out great. They are learning to do things outside their normal routine. The one little tiny itty-bitty problem is that they FIGHT more or should I say they bug each other more.

For a final note…. I have not saved any money on my electric bill which I thought was going to be a bonus…joke was on me.

So once again the kids are home and we’re snowed in!!  I just don’t get it- we’re in the worse stages of global warming since the invention of the wheel and yet here we are digging our way through UK Snow!!

I didn’t mind it so much before Christmas as it kind of ‘got us in the mood’, even when I skidded the car into a metal fence and needed the assistance of 4 burly builders to save me ( Maid Marion eat your heart out). But AGAIN ????

The 12 yr old is of course in 7^th heaven as he just can’t get to school- and if he could get there he wouldn’t be able to get home. The 7 yr old though has school. Tried driving yesterday and can’t say I enjoyed the experience so we decided to walk through snowy London this morning. Well we didn’t so much walk, as hobble to school. I give walking with caution a whole new meaning  . At one point I was overtaken by a 75 yr old man with a walking stick who floated down the street, whistling- I mean how relaxed was he?? It all came to ahead when I hit a bad patch. The 7 yr old described it as ‘spectacular’. I describe it as painful. I can only say I think I may have performed the first triple axle on concrete. Hey maybe the producers of Dancing on Ice should give me a call- or not!!

P.S- the next person who throws a snowball at me and laughs will face my wrath- Bah Humbug.

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