Nurses and doctors and a mayhem mother…………..

a wine story 1My darling Lucy

You have so cheered me up with your tales of drunken exchanges with the head teacher and such like, I’d love to tell you that I have never made such a dreadful faux part, but do remember trying to get myself out of a rather awkward situation with the previous headmistress where I was suggesting that a wonderful way to make great hords of cash for the school would be to shake a bucket at the largest gathering of the Slinfold parents ever known to man (the pub on a Friday). From the rim of her specs she cast a dark shadow over me and said, “We are a church of England school Mrs Falize and couldn’t possibly take any money raised in a “public house.” It was at this point that my valiant friend (whose bloody idea it was to raise money for the PTA at the piss up in the first place), said with her just perfect Yorkshire accent, “Didn’t Jesus turn water into wine?……….At some point……….. just sayin………..” The pauses indicate the density of the glare that she got as her line of questioning went on. We raised a lot of money that night for the scouts.

Anyway my lovelie, I am extremely jealous of your escape from our fine land, for I have been put on bed rest after a little op down at one of the loveliest hospitals in our land. I set out on Monday morning, an utter bag of nerves, absolutely determined to endear myself to all the hospital staff so that they would think I was no trouble at all. In the reception suite (ie RIGHT at the beginning of the process), I was asked to give a wee sample to check that I wasn’t, “with child,” (slightly amusing considering the nature of the op), so ok I can do this, minimum fuss, no mess. Wee in cup, put cup on bin lid, wash hands, dry hands, put foot on handle at base of bin to open bin lid…………….. cup full of evidence fired quite immaculately all over loo wall…………….. feck! Ok, start again, new cup, tiny last drop of wee that can be found, in cup, cup on very different, far more appropriate surface, pull orange cord to flush loo, every alarm in reception suite going off, every member of staff alerted, all emergency staff assuming I have collapsed and am unconscious. I emerge, small cup of wee, red faced and not exactly having achieved my goal……..

Post op, straight into a wonderful ward with some amazing nurses and health assistants. All have been told about my wee cup incident, it’s amazing how news like that travels so fast.

So onto making some friends on the wards, it always makes time pass more quickly if you have people to talk to. My first victim was a lovely lady named Alice who, very young, told me she had basically gone through the same procedure as I had (I am a tad older than she is ) which was a hysterectomy. She was understandably a littIe tearful so I thought I’d cheer her up by asking about her family. She has two little boys. I then proceeded to ask her if she’d like anymore children. It’s amazing how often Ed spends time with me with his head in his hands, I’ve often thought to talk to him about his head problem but I think I may just have got to the bottom of it right there, in my medical hour of need……..

I left the hospital to a lot of waving and whooping from the staff. I thought this was really sweet, but for some reason Ed kept mouthing what looked like, “Really sorry, really really sorry.” But I can’t be sure. Anyway, am on the mend now with a long list of things I can’t do for about a year and a half, all seem to be housework thingies which is odd because even though I did  contribute generously to the recovery physio’s personal fund, he wrote the list himself, totally unaided………….. here’s to the next 18 months of wine, song and utter mayhem! Come home soon Lucy!

Never mix wine with school events.

Dear Emma,

I can’t believe we’re hurtling towards the Autumn holidays already and I’m not sure about the children but I’ve certainly learnt a lot this term. For instance, I’ve learnt that you should never turn up to the school quiz night a bottle of white wine the worse for wear. Let me tell you neither gushing over the headmistress and telling her how much you love her, nor correcting the quiz master on his poor use of grammar and punctuation are likely to be well quizz night

And in a similar vein, I also learnt that telling your daughter to tell her teacher that I don’t care if her handwriting is bad because she’s going to be a doctor is unlikely to make you popular in the staff room and confessing to the school secretary that the reason you missed parent consultations again, was that your school filing system amounts to nothing more sophisticated than the foot well of your car, never goes down well.

school holidaysI also learnt that when giving a speech to the local Speakers Club you need to be careful when describing your husband as a porn king and finally I learnt that as the holidays approach, you should always be mindful of the fact that your husband has fitted the roof box and never, ever under estimate the size of your when negotiating a small car park unless you are entirely happy about lieing to your husband about the resulting damage.

But on a lighter note, the said offending husband has kindly chosen the week that the cat got fleas and that we leave on holiday, to strip out the utility room, re- decorate the kitchen and fix the washing machine. bad parenting The result is I have several industrial sized piles of washing, water spraying everywhere, a Bulgarian stranger called Boris camped out in the kitchen in fear of the dog and a sitting room piled from floor to ceiling with miscellaneous kitchen and utility items that I hoped to never see again.  Is it unreasonable to be cross about having to step across a chain saw, punch bag and set of golf clubs in order to mop up the flood and feed the children? We leave for France tomorrow and I may not come back.

Highlights from an inept mother!

Dear Emma,

There’s nothing quite like receiving a message from you, when I’m half way up a ladder and contemplating doing an undignified forward roll through an upstairs window which I’ve just jimmied open to the cheers of my feral children. A skirt was the wrong choice today, as my neighbour pointed out in the face of my disappearing behind and yes, you’re correct in assuming, that for the 5th time recently, I’d locked myself out.

humorous look at parenting

Likewise I can report it was a summer of mishaps and fuck ups on my part. At the end of term I had the dubious pleasure of driving the bus on the school trip. It wouldn’t have been so bad that I took the children to the wrong venue had I not already heard an anxious tutting noise from the teacher after I put my foot down and accelerated hard passed that long line of queuing traffic in an attempt to make up time. How was I supposed to know that poor child suffered from travel sickness or that mini buses had quite such bad cornering abilities! funny blogs

Another high point of my summer cringe-worthiness  was the moment in the French vets when in order to alleviate a palable air of tension, I light heartedly joked with the women next to me about how nervous her dog looked about his visit, only to watch her leave 10 minutes later with a dog shaped box under her arm!

And I’ve hit the deck running this term already, winning the worst parent of the week award no fewer than three times already for my failure to remember school meetings, my inability to get my children into the correct school attire and my refusal to sign forms requiring my own good behaviour.

But I set out this week full of good intention to buy my husband a birthday present, only to find myself momentarily distracted by a BeeGees song and subsequently knocking myself out in the frozen section of Tesco. I’m still not what sure what the causal link was but I do know that I still feel distinctly ambiguous towards frozen peas and Maurice Gibb.

parenting blogs - the other side

So as I said to myself, as my middle child asked a group of young men if they were pikeys (and I’m reasonably confident from their reaction that they were), things can only get worse.

Here’s hoping your week was better than mine!

My darling Lucy, I cannot apologise enough for my rather lengthy absence. I would love to tell you that it was due to a serious lack of cock ups in my brilliant parental life, but the opposite has been true and I have been somewhat tied up with the transition of one of my children from Primary to Secondary school. This is the transition that every other parent that I know has made not only look easy but look really enjoyable too. I on the other hand have had already to issue my blanket “8 year apology” to the new school as I have turned up to 2 different parents’ evenings with the wrong children on both occasions. Alice was thrilled to sit through a discussion about her sister which her sister should have been present at and fully relished inventing a whole load of codswallop that the teacher quite simply did NOT say about poor G but who is still recovering from her first tutor analysis by her 10 year old sister…………. So, we are straight back into the swing of things after a rather hectic summer holiday which included taking Ed’s boat down to the coast and it falling off the roof of my car on the way down there, getting in the wrong car at the petrol station much to the shock of the poor lady sat in the passenger seat, flooding the garden twice and whilst trying to hide the flood from Eddie, slipping over in the slush that was my lawn and finally dip dying the dog’s ears. So with the autumn nearly upon us I am preparing myself for the influx of our 8 legged friends who always provide great entertainment for the whole family who seem to spend a rather large part of October throwing hoover cylinders around in the wee small hours and standing on chairs. However, a rather different surprise this morning was a sweet little robin that had found its way into my kitchen. I thought this was a sign that I had made a new friend that I could feed little bits of left over toast that is burnt daily in our house, illusion shattered as the poor, petrified creature flew straight at me, hit me on the forehead and then shat on my newly washed hair. I opened all the windows for both our sakes, we have still not made up…………… until I hear from you again my lovely friend. With the new term fully underway I bet you are throwing yourself into all the after school club activities, which in my case so far this term has only been to race back and collect one of my children that I forgot…………………………..

cnv00067a wine story 2


Dear Emma,

You have done this entire post as a headline! You eeejit!

Dignity lost and weight gained.

Oh Emma,

We started the week on what I thought would be a high with the arrival of our French exchange student but what on earth persuaded my beloved to introduce himself by singing the French national anthem whilst doing the goose step I will never know! It certainly wasn’t the start I’d hoped for.

And as it turns out (as we discovered at his very first meal with us, only half an hour after his arrival) he has (our French student not my beloved) a fear and revulsion for all things slimy so it’s perhaps unfortunate that the children should’ve produced 2 newts, a toad and a grass snake at the dinner table.  I haven’t persuaded him to eat with us since and can only assume he thought they were pudding.

Dinner is served

Dinner is served

It also turns out my entry into the Sports Day parent’s skipping race in a bra that was never designed to endure that level of intensity was ill advised. My children remain mortified and in light of the current ban on my ever taking part again, I’m not convinced the head teacher believes that the unveiling of my frontage was not deliberate on my part. Let’s just hope that the dad’s campaign to make me an annual event doesn’t gain any momentum.

And I finished the week with a salutary lesson in smugness which I now know to be a short lived emotion. When you see a posse of mothers who you know are collecting their children from the same event that you are, and they appear to be heading in a different direction at a different time to you, never ever assume that you, for once will be on time and at the right location. Humble pie, served half an hour after everyone else’s children have been collected and you finally track them down, can be hard to swallow. But at least I didn’t forget…..oh no, the French student! Got to run…

An inadequate bra is a  dangerous weapon.

An inadequate bra is a dangerous weapon.



Pond life.

Dear Emma,

When you start a Monday (and your wedding anniversary) with a naked stranger in the woods, you know it’s going to be one hell of a week. I can only hope that my new and fleeting acquaintance got the experience he was hoping for, but it was remiss of him not to check whether or not I had a very large (and not under enthusiastic) dog with me before he tendered his wares quite so blatantly.

She ain't small and she can do "scary"

She ain’t small and she can do “scary”

But I have to say the look of what I think was genuine fear in his eyes and then the sight of his naked behind bobbing away through the undergrowth as he scrambled to pull up his trousers before the dog tore them off him, is one I’m unlikely to forget in a hurry and neither, I suspect, will he.

Tuesday can’t have been said to have gone much better although I have to ask what thoughtless fool at the school thought it would be a good idea to encourage children to show an interest in “mini beasts”? Whoever it was, had clearly not spent any time with mine, who have taken pond dipping to a new level.  So how do you explain that one of your children fell in a pond on the way to school and the other appears to be sporting pond weed in their hair?

By Wednesday I was quietly optimistic that the worst was over until it became apparent that a packet of crab sticks is lodged somewhere under the back seat of the car. Let’s just hope the good weather holds until the worst of the decomposition is over and as usual, I’m trying not to park near anybody else (especially Brown Owl Who let’s face it already has a very poor opinion of me and my animal welfare record).

The sweet smell of success

The sweet smell of success

So Thursday should have been a breeze and all I had to do was give a short but professional presentation to the Chamber of Commerce. So what in god’s name possessed me to start manhandling a very large and ever so slightly decrepit guinea pig cage into the back of my car 5 minutes before I was due to be there. I didn’t have the heart to tell the man sitting next to me that the stain on my white shirt was not chocolate but on the plus side, the car has taken on a whole new aroma (note to self: never, ever open the sunroof when you have a car full of wee’d on sawdust because the resulting sawdust tornado doesn’t make for perfect driving conditions).

How to make an instant impression.

How to make an instant impression.

Tomorrow is Friday, thank goodness and I’m not going out.



That middle aged spread!

left over wineOh darling Lucy, the time has come. I can spend no more of my days in denial. I am middle aged. Every part of me seems to have come to terms with that except my interpretation of the reflection in the mirror. When did this all happen?!

My first realisation that I have, “taken my eye off the ball” in the middle aged spread department was last week when, for the first time in a couple of years, I was required to put on something other than jeans and wellies. Well the only stretchy thing I had was definitely two sizes too small. I know this because two of my larger assets were attempting to leave the dress on a regular basis. I had to wear those enormous pants that I can only liken to having an abdominal plaster cast. By the time we got home the beloved asked if there was anything he could do to help with my evident discomfort. Other than helping me out of my torture costume there was little I could suggest. “No, my love,” I said, “I just need to give myself a very large kick up the jaxy.” To which he quietly replied, “except you can’t lift you leg that high these days………..” I intend to speak to him before the end of the month.

So, the diet and exercise routine have started with a vengeance. So far I have gained 5 pounds and have managed to cut down my alcohol intake by 10% (it may not sound much but I comfort myself with the knowledge that if the Bank of England were to raise interest rates by anything close to that there would be riots all over the country), as it is, I am rioting inside with this decrease I can assure you. I have upped my calorie burning by running around Tesco whilst shopping although falling flat on my back in the bacon aisle has slightly scuppered that form of exercise. I tried taking the family on a nice walk on the downs but when we all ended up arguing at the top of the hill and I muttered under my breath to my beloved, “Oh get lost.” he pointed out rather loudly, “Emma, I think you’ll find we already are.”

So, all in all, I am discovering that I can no longer hide behind my, “still trying to get rid of my baby weight,” excuse as the children will be learning to drive soon. It’s time to face up to the reality, this is possibly not water but cake retention. Gin has less sugar in it than wine, am I right about that?

Hello there!

Hello there!