What is in a name?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet." - W. Shakespeare

Not really true when it comes to blogging though. First of all, they haven't invented scratch and sniff blogs (yet) and, secondly, if it's not working you've got to change it. So I did. And it may change again, because that's how I work, I'm afraid. 

You have no idea how torturous the process of naming my two children was. Seriously, every waking moment was shared with a conveyor belt of names whizzing round my head with a little woman at the end emptying them into factory trolleys labelled 'common' / 'pretentious' / 'daft'/ 'cruel' / 'already taken' and so on. Fortunately, when born and their names chosen, this eternal label instantly became part of their very being, and very difficult to imagine then without it. I  pretty much thought that would happen with the blog as well. Unfortunately, changing your blog doesn't cost 42 quid and require a mammoth amount of forms, (I looked into Deed Poll just in case) it's just a quick click and re-type  - which means I'm going to be rubbish at this consistency thing!

Whose day is it?

It's Mothers' day, so I'm sleeping in. We pretty much stick to the rule in our house that the minimum requirement for a lie in is that it lasts till 9am (remember when that was an early start?), anything you get after that is purely down to the genorosity, or guilt, of the early riser. However, today I get woken at 8.50 because The Future Husband wants the kids to give me their cards (the kids really aren't that arsed - let’s be honest).
"10 minutes early" I wail “you’ve ruined my day" - there's nothing like a drama queen.

First thought was I wanted us all to go swimming together, but then remembered you couldn't eat chocolate whilst swimming, and all Mums have got to eat chocolate today, it’s one of my rules. Plus there's only certain days when you want to stink of chlorine, today isn't one. So the bigger boys have gone to the baths, whilst I'm hoping the littlest will have a nap whilst I go round to my Mum's house to do her housework and cook dinner (things which are forbidden to do in my house today, another one of my rules.)

The law, according to me, is Mothers' day includes no housework (in this house anyway) and eating chocolate. Which has left me wide open for The FH to take great pleasure in telling me, every other day of the year: "it's not Mothers' day you know". Hilarious isn't he?

Therefore, I'm not dedicating this blog to my mother, she gets enough mentions anyway, and she'll know how much I love her when I'm cleaning up her rubbish later on. I'm dedicating it to everyone out there who is eating chocolate and not doing housework - go on, you deserve it! And you will deserve it tomorrow, and the next day and the next...

Personally, I am going to take extra pleasure it making FH sit through episodes of 90210 and Glee later on too - punishment for waking me up 10 minutes early!

My Favourite American

More and more, I've discovered my blog reading list has to make room for American bloggers (in the future they'll write about it as The American Invasion). I seem to be attracted to their humour - and when I think about it I do get hooked on American TV shows very easily. But a note to all American bloggers, script writers and authors, the spot for my favourite American has already been filled.

The story begins with a package holiday to the Caribbean (this was a time before The Engagement and The Children). The Future Husband and I stumbled across the all-inclusive late night bar (alright, we had it ear marked), where we sat and supped cold unbranded beers from plastic glasses.  We were joined by a young American teen, who had purposely lost his parents and was a bit pissed (how he had managed it we'll never know- we tried for two weeks and felt nothing but gas). We're not sure if it was because he was drunk, or we were British, that he spoke to us as extra-terrestrial beings who were hard of hearing, but it was a little bit annoying, being patronised by a drunk, 14 year old.

The Future Husband, having taught PE and worked in America, is brilliant at humouring all males and Americans - so immediately they found some common ground. I sat on the peripheral, listening.

They established his sport was wrestling, some other facts about tournaments, weight and strengths that will forever escape me, but this is the bit I remember. The bit I liked.

"Yeah I got all the way to the regionals man. It was awesome, I was, like, the most popular kid in school... but ..." he pauses, looks down shaking his head "...I lost man." he looked up to see that the British man, who knew about American sport, was empathising with his pain "Yeah Man - to Booby Mills" Then he remembered who he was talking to and felt an explanation was needed "he was black".

I don't know if it was an excuse for the loss (it's ok in wrestling to lose to someone who is black?) or an explanation, to us Brits, of a black American's name, but it was enough for us to remember Booby Mills forever and be thankful that he kicked that obnoxious white boy's ass!

Booby Mills - my favourite American of all time.

'I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose.' ~Woody Allen

I didn't even see it coming,  but when my Mum asked  if I was all right the tears had already formed and dropped. They were dripping off my nose before I'd realised things weren't (how do Mums do that?)

Pre-menstrual?
Tired?
Trousers feeling a bit tight?
Clingy child  repeating "I don't wanna stay" when being left at school?
All of the above? Maybe.

Didn't help that said clingy child made it impossible to leave school building to get to pilates class. Didn't help that I can't go to the gym to make said trousers feel less tight as arse is still knacking from yesterday's session on the exercise bike.

"Maybe you need to write something from your heart," Mum said, "that'll make you feel better."
"Pah" I thought. But logged on anyway.  The Sassy Curmudgeon's blog popped up on my reading list- and with one click  it had made me smile (even though I was trying not to) and laugh (which cracked the ice) and suddenly feel a whole lot better. A little bit of laughter solves a lot of woes.

The real wish list...

So this is what I really want out of life. Warning: shallow and fickle content!

Do you know your body shape? Yes it's a squash!

I want to be able to afford good fitting clothes, and if I can't have all my clothes fitting well then I'll just choose trousers... or jeans. And if that store doesn't exist, I want to pay someone to alter everything that I "shouldn't wear" (according to a gay bloke or a pair of middle class witches) so I can wear it.
Sometimes, when the TV, or a Mag, has asked me for the billionth time if I know my body shape,  I envisage myself appearing on a Gok show (it doesn't really matter which one does it? Same show - three different names)… the producers hand me over, a lamb to the slaughter, "right here she is, do your bit". Gok then looks at me for a long time, pulls that face that my 3 year old does when you ask him a question (thinking face). He then starts turning me round. Looking for a sign or something? Nothing. Gok then takes time to pat both hands against the big 3 - shoulders, waist and hips - and looks more puzzled. He waggles a finger to a producer (the brains), she looks puzzled, shrugs shoulders and walks away. "Well my darling" he says at last "I'm totally clueless here, I ain't never seen one of you before. You know what my darling, I'm running out of vegetables so  I'm thinking we just call you a butternut squash, maybe squash for short?" How apt - like someone took a girl who was five foot ten, and squashed her down to five foot three and this is what they got - me! A butternut squash.

No More Tesco Tees  (T Shirts washed once and look like they've been handed down four generations - "It's great yeah - it cost 2 quid" - really?)

For my children I want health, happiness and clothes from mini Boden! Maybe, occasionally, something from GAP, but only if I've bought it from the REAL GAP store, not the outlet, where I spend the whole shopping trip looking for the reasons it didn't sell on its first go. Oh I know there are meccas for middle class shoppers, but they know something we don't - they are indestructable. Sometimes we  are given-hand-me down bags from said middle class shoppers and we both rifle through the black bin bag till we find a mini Boden item, raising it to the air we kiss it like it's the FA cup.

Step away from the catalogues

I want my house to look like a John Lewis Showroom, dotten with the occasional Item from Pedlars (but not the sloany stuff, just those pieces that I drool over occasionally and then slam the catalogue down in disgust at the prices.)

 

How to solve the 'what if?' conundrum?

I want a time machine. Now, let's not get excited I ADORE the place I've ended up, but you know just to go back and play around with it a bit to see what could have happened, just for fun, then come back to here and now. How handy, you know for those nights that you're suffering from a bit of insomnia - "just popping out in my time machine, back before you know it - literally!" Marvellous.

 

Well, I better stop pratting about on here and write something that's going to make me some money then, heard those time machines are pretty expensive. Flash forward glimpse of epitaph: 'Well she didn't win the lottery...'

Too cool to Blog? Not cool enough!

I can't believe this has been here for so long and I've had my eyes kept firmly closed. The world of Blogging! I have come home!

My Mother (wise woman that she is) suggested I should Blog years ago. I turned my nose to her white ceiling and said "no, I don't like it." I was cutting and short, as us daughters can be, and that was enough for her never to mention it again. What I really meant was I knew someone who blogged and I didn't like her, or want to be like her, so I had disregarded it as a pastime - a writer who is dismissive of new ideas - no wonder I'm unpublished!

Now, as I've left my career behind me (temporarily? maybe?) and embarked on full time Motherhood, the passion of writing has once again taken its gruelling hold over me. But the downside is I now try to get paid for things that I would have once done for free... "Can you just check this? Would you just edit this? Can you just write a few words for me on..." I call myself a Freelance writer, but I'm just a writer who doesn't get paid... YET! A writer who doesn't get paid yet.

Anyway in a sweet and delicious nutshell: Blogging - I love it! More than I ever realized I could, and it is frightfully addictive. I am already terrified by how much time I can spend on here when I have thousands of other things I really should be doing! Not only am I now addicted to writing my own, I have fallen head over heels for numerous other blogs.
At first I found one - "oooh I want her life", now I have about five different bloggers (strangers who I feel I know intimately) that I fantasise about being. There's probably another 400 out there. For a neurotic daydreamer and compulsive people watcher this platform is procrastination at its best.

Well it's better than eating cheesecake I tell myself, but I am eating cheesecake. Right now. Mouthful. Type. Think. Daydream. Ponder. Type. Mouthful... you get the idea. And that's another thing the world of Blogging is full of females who are slightly obsessed with cake, or ice-cream, or French butter or some other caloricious delight! I think it’s because they go so well together, we must be all tip tapping on keyboards smeared with grease marks and have cake crumbs nestled between our letters.

Yep Blogging is an inspiration. Already today I've wanted to see more, listen more, write more. I want to live in Paris, I want to ramble in charity shops, I want to take better photos, bake better cakes, customise my own  clothes, try out new hairstyles... must most importantly I want to write about it. And who cares if no ones reading it - I'm enjoying it!

Flipperty Flip Flops!

So spring's here! And the Flip Flops have come back out to play. Actually, a confession first: I have had my new pair since January, lovingly telling them most mornings "not long now"

Each year I wear them earlier and earlier. My feet, having been suffocated by a variety of socks and boots for one of the coldest winters they remember, let out a little yelp of Joy this week as they slipped into something more comfortable. ...And then the inevitable... the cold blooded female in the shop queue eyes my open toes 'Oh, that warm is it?'

"Only for some..." I reply, "you'll take another decade to warm up you frosty crow" I tell her in my head!

After wearing Sketchers tone up boots all winter, I decided to try Reebok's Easy tone - which, so far I like. They don't look as clumpy as some of the other brands and subtly add a bit more height than the regular Flip Flop. Now, whether they are toning or not is a different matter, but just wearing them around the house makes me feel better about gracing the Gym only once this week! 

Unfortunately, having just checked the week's forecast, it seems we may be dipping back into big boot weather - I just don't know if I can face it! The freedom of socks this week has just been bliss - socks alone must add on 10 minutes to leaving the house - and that's just to find a matching pair!

My two children have been adorning Crocs and Sandals this week too! I fear tantrums may be ahead when I have to wriggle them into socks and shoes again! I'll just have to whisper softly, "Not long now!"

Now, if I still had my disposable income I'd be indulging in a dozen pairs of flips for the spring/summer but times are hard - so I've have to pick versatile pairs to match different outfits and outings. With my practical pair sorted, let's shop for the impractical...

Bows are making yet another summer comeback - YAWN!. But, bows on Flip Flops - CUTE!                             

Red? Isn't that versatile, but very trendy!

Black? ...That'll do!

Inspired? Then get your flip flops out!