Fraping...

Warning: moaning about Facebook again.

This, unless you have cleverer, wittier friends in your news feed, is the MOST boring, obvious and unfunny part of FB.

Ok, so I'm ranting about Facebook. "Well just get off it" I hear you shout. I can't. It has me by the balls in so my ways, its not even funny... but please come on, are we not over logging into someone's account and writing the most "obviously not them" updates?

Even its name bugs me - anything that includes the word 'rape' should not be associated with humour? They just don't go together, onFB or anywhere else.

Some of the worst offenders...

Lad(s) logs into friend's account and updates status as "I'm gay" / "I'm finally coming out of the closet." / "I play with barbie dolls... " *yawn*

Husband/boyfriend loggs onto partner's account and writes "My hubby./boyf is the best in the world" (Well half of my newsfeed appears with this, written by the girlfriend, so what's new?)

Now this would be funny...

Husband logs into wife's account and writes "My husband definitely deserves a blow job tonight'

Lad(s) log into freind's account and writes "Do you know what I've always thought __________ (name of twattish friend) is a complete and utter nob!

Lad(s) log onto to mate's account and write on the wall of girl they have had 2 dates with "I know this is really early days, but I think I'm in love with you." or..."It's been 2 dates, when am I going to get laid?"

Am I missing something. Is it just my sense of humour, or lack of it?

Please share any Fraping updates that you hate or... Ones which are actually funny!

Eight years on...

It's time for the Rugby World Cup again. I think I have only ever watched one Rugby match from start to finish. This just happened to be the world cup final; the one we won. Apparently I chose a good match. Unfortunately, it didn't spark much further interest.

Back then...

We woke groggy, minging and still a pit pissed from the night before. I have no idea where we had been, but it was a Saturday or Sunday and it was a rare event if mornings (or afternoons) didn't start this way. From the bed, using a coat hanger as a remote control, The FH turned on the TV. The match build up was on. We filled the time by him teaching me the basics, me asking which one Jonny Wilkinsoin was  (he had just starred in an advert with David Beckham) and generally nursing our hangovers with small talk, painkillers and badly buttered toast.

His small flat smelt of stale beer and cigarettes, the walk from the bedroom to the kitchen was an obstacle course of Stella bottles and overflowing ashtrays. The only thing separating us from debauchery of the night before was a few hours’ sleep, a cup of tea and piece of toast. We were undressed, unwashed and unconcerned. He returned from the kitchen, swearing as he stood on a upturned bottle top,  a bottle of lager in each hand and a cigarette dripping from his bottom lip. "Well… How often are we in a world cup final?" he asked, climbing back into bed.
"Exactly" I said taking a bottle from him.

We won, which meant our behaviour was acceptable, we got showered, dressed and became semi-respectable. Hungry, we scavenged the freezer and found a packet of Birds Eye Chicken Pies, which we cooked and ate before we headed out to pub for warm up drinks before the footy kicked off. 'Boro were playing Liverpool at home. I have no idea what the score was, or where we went afterwards, but I know we went to the match and I'm pretty sure it was messy.

Now...

The FH swaps his weekend lie in to ensure his "get up" coincides with when  England are playing. I lie in bed, trying to find my missing hours of sleep. Usually I'm trying to block out the screams, wails and shouts from the children downstairs. However, this morning this is mainly what I hear

Fearless: (I imagine is pointing at the TV) Gargees?  (Loosely translated as "please may I watch In the Night Garden?'
The Future Husband: No. Rugby.
Fearless:  Gargees!
The FH: Rugby.
Fearless GARGEES!
The FH: RUGBY.

... and this continues for what feels like many hours (as Rugby matches often do).

 Later on that day, The FH turns to me and says "My Pint and Pie never arrived."
"Pardon?" I reply perplexed.
"I signed up for a promotion with O2, they said they'd deliver me a pie and a pint before every England game."
"Right." I nod and turn back to the laptop.
"Not that I'd have them that early in the morning" he adds "That would be a bit grim."
"Yeah disgusting.” I agree, as we catch each other's eyes and smirk.

Oh life - how I love how you change us!

This is what September brings...

Another Goodbye 

Moneybags (my brother) came back from Australia, with his Future Wife, for a flying a visit. It was a wonderful week, just having him part of everyday life again, but it ended all too quickly and we found ourselves, stood on the front step, once more, holding back the tears.

"It's just nine months this time"  he reassured us. "Then I'm back for good"

"Oh that's nothing" I teased, rubbing my bump, "Just a pregnancy then - that flies by."

I held it together till the car's engine erupted into the street, then turned by back on the scene and let the tears roll out.

A new homophone

We were driving in the car, me and the boys, and happened to pass a factory...

Little O: What’s that building Mamma?

Me: A factory.

Little O:  That's not a fattree

Me: Yes it is, it's a Fact - tory.

Little O:  No, a fattree is a tree, like in the wood, which has a big round tummy, bigger than mine or... (looking at the bump)  yours. That's a fat- tree.

A 'Who's Who?' page on my blog.

I forget, a lot, that it is not just me and my family who read this... Therefore, I take for granted that everyone understands the blog pseudonyms. And with new followers (a warm welcome, by the way), who missed earlier introductory posts, I understand how 'Fearless' may be mistaken for a dog and 'The FH' as some mystical god, so I thought this may help with any confusion, or maybe not. It's gushing with compliments, to keep them all on my side - all true though. It can be found in the top right hand corner.

Another bollock of day

During this day, I often felt like I was reliving Michael Douglas' emotions in Falling Down, but as I now put it into print, it doesn't seem at all that bad and I am suddenly aware of what a drama queen I am. Hormones must have been raging on this day.

The day started with a tooth ache, which whenever things started to go wrong throbbed and ached a little bit more. Then, I spent too long in  the shower as I was pleading with my tooth to stop hurting, when I came downstairs I discovered Fearless had removed over half my laptop keys and had squeezed as many as he could  into his mouth. FEARLESS!

Any spare moment I had in the following, torturous nine hours were spent either a) looking for microscopically small clips on the floor or b) at the laptop with tweezers in one hand, the other acting as a guard between the keys and Fearless, whilst my one armed pair of glasses continuously slipped down my nose and I frustratingly jerked my head to hold them in place.. This was tedious, stressful, mostly fruitless and generally resulting in me screaming child-friendly expletives at the lap top and making deep throated growls at the Fearless.

The tooth ache continued to gnaw at my nerves and I attempted the first school run of the year, by foot. Fearless screamed all the way there, baby no.3 jiggled and wriggled against my bladder, and Little O cried all the way home because he was tired and thirsty. It was joy.

The final hours before The FH returned home included: the underwire pinging out of my favourite bra and carving its name into my left breast, Fearless smashing a glass, me dropping a plate, a neatly folded pile of laundry been thrown around the house, a bin bag splitting open  as I tried to carry it outside and, finally, discovering too late I had stood in  a piece of regurgitated banana and a soggy pool of Coco Pops.

Consequently, the Ctrl and Shift buttons still remain empty, their skeletal holes forever reminding of that bollock of a day.

The Return of Strictly

Yay for glitter balls and over-the-hill celebrities dropping two dress sizes! When will their celebrity intake list include part time bloggers too? I am a woman of extremes - I either watch excellent TV (e.g. Luther) or terrible (e.g. 90210) there is no middle ground. I'll let you decide which one Strictly enters, then I'm pleasing you all. It has been a whole year since there has been anything to watch on a Saturday Night - and now, as a little blessing from ITV and the BBC I have Strictly and X Factor to count me down through the last 3 months of pregnancy - oh it's going to fly!

A new school year

Little O starts reception. *Gulp*. He's ready. I'm ready. But it isstill is such a massive step and the end of such a wonderful time. However,  I am determined to have some quality time with Fearless, if the bump will allow; it's ever-growing presence seems to have other ideas.  Elsewhere, The FH is still sulking that the holidays are over.

Another embarrassing moment

Sunday is swimming day. As a family we half a 45 minute swim before Little O's lesson, Then O patiently drips dry on the edge of the pool, waiting for his lesson to start. We make a dash for the changing rooms so we can watch him and 9 other 4 year olds, drift around the pool, crashing into one another for half an hour. I take my time getting changed with Fearless whilst The FH makes a swift transformation, superhero style, to watch Little O start his lesson.

Normally, I stick to a strict routine, quick shower, game of hide and seek amongst the lockers (Fearless when stood upright, fits perfectly inside the family sized lockers), then he has a drink and snack wearing  hooded towel in the secure play pen whilst I get dressed, finally,  I get him dressed. Simple. However, today the changing room was empty, so I decided I would enjoy the freedom of space, I thought I would use the communal changing space and let Fearless roam free, exploring the cubicles, playing in the mirror, rolling around the soggy floor etc. Whilst I was, just fastening my bra, I noticed Fearless, had made it through the first set of exit doors. "Surely the second set is too heavy for him" I thought, grabbing my towel and heading that way, just in case. When I got there, the hooded crusader had already gone. I dashed through the doors, only in underwear and a towel, which was wrapped around me barely meeting due to bump and suddenly realised I was exposed to various, fully dressed, members of the public and Fearless, looking like a little gnome, his hooded towel open to reveal all his delights, had already made it to the extremely busy canteen. I just had time to think "fuck it!" and put by best foot forward when I heard the reassuring voice of The FH behind me. “I've got him Fran, you just get back in there” .I still don't know if I was pleased or mortified that he had found me there.

Back inside, Fearless was passed through the door by a giggling FH, as I carried him to the play pen, the look of mischief still glittered in his beautiful eyes, I told him in my teacher voice: "Next week we will NOT be deviating from the routine."

Long discussions, with no resolution, about baby names

So, naming a third boy. That's hard. The first was quite easy, we thought we had picked something original, and like most things, it becomes trendy and now is in the top 20 boys name for 2012. Originality score: Zero. So, with the second, determined to be original, we only considered names that were ridiculous - and when he was born did not name him till hours later - a name that is very original, so original some people question whether it is a name and ask if we made it up,  "There is a sportsman and a semi-famous antique specialist called it" I reply defensively.

So this time if feels like with have already discounted every other boy's name at least twice. Finding a third one we agree on feels like a bigger task than picking the winning lottery numbers.

His list: Leon, Cameron, Ralph (girl's remember Forever, Judy Blume)

My list: Hugo, Roddy, Jude,

You can see why we're getting nowhere. Any suggestions will be greatly received, but we've probably already vetoed them, but you know it's worth a shot.

The Jack Duckworth look... Still!

 The one armed glasses mention earlier, were stood on two weeks back by The FH. The consistently unreliable Specsavers mean I have resulted in sellotape to keep my glasses on my face. By this I mean sellotaping the arm to my frame, not sellotaping the glasses to my face. That would be ridiculous. It's a great look; I think it adds to my charm. Especially, as in public, I take great care to cover said sellotape with hair and then when talking to someone I barely know, like a shopkeeper, nursery teacher, parent of tutee, the arm drops, glasses fall from face and the whole sellotape debacle is publically revealed. *sighs loudly*

An auntie's promise.

I've become an auntie; it really is quite special, so much more than I realised.

I always thought I would be an auntie before a Mum. I was terrible with relationships (...before I fell in love.) I never expected to be the first of us to have children.

So I was left waiting, for the auntie status. But when my nephew’s due date got close I worried I might be complacent about this new role, having two boys of my own and another arrival looming. But, alas, I was wrong. I'm uncontrollably smitten. I didn't know you could feel this amount of love for a child that is not your own.

I'm not sure if it's his tiny charm, (all 6lb of it) or my new role as an auntie, but this new relationship has bowled me over.

So my adorable nephew Titch (your blog name may change in time), this is my promise to you...

1. You will always be welcome to come and play with your cousins and I promise when you do I will never smother with you baby wipes or perform the "spit rub".

2. I will be honest about your girlfriends; I have no daughters, therefore I can be objective.

3. I will never burden you with bags of hand-me-down clothes. I'm saving those for number 3.

4. I will search high and low (through Google) to get the best Christmas presents.

5. I will be available, any hour, to give fashion advice. I am an expert on inappropriate school uniform.

6. I will always help you with your English homework and can guarantee it will be the best in the class.

7. I have terrible taste in Music, but if you ever want to go watch Girl's Aloud (or the equivalent in 15 years time) - I'm free!

8. I'll dedicate a one of my books to you (you may have a long wait, I have promised this to a few others too and they are all very much a pipe dream).

9. I will unashamedly play any computer game until I can annihilate you on it - bring it on!

10. If you are ever stuck in a blizzard, after nightclubbing, in the middle of the night with your cousins - I'll come and get you, not tell you to look for a B&B. (take note Mum and Dad!)

But there is one thing I can not promise... I will never be able to keep a secret from your Mother. We're just not built that way. If you have one, then I advise you steer clear of me - may I suggest you go visit one of your uncles.


Meanwhile, amongst all this love I've found time to put some new blogs on Smile Sweetly and Nod.

Back on my high horse!

I was listening to Simon Armitage (poet/writer) on the radio yesterday, when he bowled me over by saying "Most of us a born with language as a free gift". I love language; speaking, reading, writing,..

But there are things people say which result in me physically cringing before your eyes.

On my little blog, I vow I will never utter the following phrases.

1. 'Curling one out'

2. 'Jog on'

3. 'You al'right chick?'

4. 'On a proper downer'

5. 'Chillaxing'

6. 'Nearly split his difference'

7. 'Rubbing tummies'

8.  'Lady garden'

9. 'Proper buzzin'

10. 'Coffin dodger'

Please feel free to add your own to the list. Language is a gift, after all!