Posted in Children, Christmas, memories, parenting

Oh go then, it is Christmas…

Hello lovely people.

How are we all doing?

Who’s still in the ‘time twixt Christmas and New Year’ haze?

Let’s check:

🔶 Do you know what day it is? (Erm, well Christmas was on a Tuesday and that was a few days ago-ish, so it’s definitely…….a day ending with y.)

🔶 When is your next bin collection? (Hmm, normal day is Tuesday….. we worked out a minute ago that Christmas was Tuesday so no noisy bin folk… so probably…..hang on what day is it today anyway… I don’t know where the dangly bit of card with the Very Important Reorganised Dates on is. Let’s just keep on an eye on next door, they’ll know…)

🔶What did you have for breakfast today? (Was it standard, run of the mill, everyday, socially acceptable breakfast fare? Or…..not? For example; yesterday I enjoyed Baileys Roulade for breakfast and I’m not even sorry.)

🔶Have you answered any questions with the words “oh go on then, it is Christmas”? (Shall we open another packet of Brie?/ Can we stay in pyjamas all day?/ Drink?/Another drink?)

🔶Are you regularly refereeing Selection Box Ownership battles? (That’s my Fudge bar, he’s had two Crunchies now, she’s eaten my Oreo bar – er nope she hasn’t, it underwent quality control -)

🔶Are you still discovering gourmet worthy ways of serving cold turkey? (We’ve had ‘cold meats and cheeses’, turkey soup, turkey carbonara, Christmas dinner pasta bake, turkey rolls…..)

I think we can safely say that we are all suffering from ‘holiday season hangover’.

So. Christmas at The Circus was fairly standard. We recently got a new oven so it didn’t take 27.6 hours to cook the turkey (and for anyone who remembers the soap opera worthy goings on of last year, you’ll be pleased to know that no wildlife pretested the poultry this time)

Noodle decided to be my sous chef for the Christmas cooking, especially with the very important pigs in blankets. However, he discovered upon opening the bacon that it had been packaged in Suffolk so therefore must be posh. So it transpired that our meaty side dish was to become ‘porkers in ponchos’.

Pickle had the double delight again of her Christmas Day birthday. She was over the moon to receive the only two things that she craved in life; a violin and a microphone.

It sounded so idyllic, ah she wants a violin, how sweet, we shall of course purchase one with haste. Oh how wrong we were.

The Noise. I cannot begin to describe the sound that a five year old can make with a violin.

But this is me so I will, of course, try: imagine a hybrid animal somewhere between a mouse and a hyena (I’ll give you a minute). Then imagine that this creature is forced to walk barefoot on Lego whilst simultaneously having its teeth pulled out with pinking shears. Then. And only then. Will you be any where close to the melodic harmonies that are produced. You live and learn.

All due respect to CircusHusband who remembered my desire for a pyrography kit, and further respect for an afternoon of lone parenting while I sat with three of my fingers submerged in cold water after my first go. In case anyone has ever wondered; human fingers are not designed to withstand the heat required to burn wood (who says these blog posts aren’t educational?!)

The finished article.

So, all in all. Not a bad Christmas period I suppose. I have to be honest, I struggle with Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, I love the lead up; the music, the lights, the present buying. It’s just the day itself, it always feels a touch anticlimactic, and rushed and chaotic (yes I know, I have control issues which don’t help). But we made it through, and Boxing Day was much easier to digest (it may or may not have had something to do with the discovery of chocolate orange Baileys) so all was well.

The 28th of December is the anniversary of losing my Mum which, even after many years, always clouds my Christmas somewhat. This year we spent it quietly at home and played some of her favourite songs on the Echo (we now have three in the house, if you have never used them as walkie talkies then you haven’t lived). It wasn’t sad, but acts as a reminder to tell people you love them while you can, and to show appreciation to those in your life who deserve it. Everyday is a gift, that’s why it’s called the present.

A few more limbo days now until we hit the excitement of New Year. What will 2019 bring? In The Circus we are hoping for health and happiness; for CircusHusband’s new career path to continue expanding, for my writing to hit the wider audience (I know, god help everyone), and for lots of laughs.

I hope you all had an enjoyable Christmas in whichever way you choose to spend it.

Welcome to my world.


Posted in Children, parenting, Random musings, Uncategorized

An Ode To Summer…….ish.

The holidays are on us, they landed with a bump,

They came in like a wrecking ball, complete with twerking rump.

A rundown of our summer, lightened with a rhyme,

I’d try a sonnet or haiku, but simply don’t have time.

All The Monkeys are off school, yes all four, all day long,

Four small children, in one house, whatever could go wrong?

Let’s start off with the mornings, no need to rush to wake,

Yet still we’re up before the birds, but why for pity’s sake?

Mealtimes can be relaxed, time to eat and chat,

But really, what was I thinking? Where’s the fun in that?

We have to argue over plates, who gets the sacred green,

Wombat tends to win that one….he has the loudest scream.

No need for boring uniforms, wear the clothes you choose,

It’s not my fault that you can’t find, your socks, your skirt, your shoes.

Do you want to play outside? yes you can use the pool.

Did you get in, in all your clothes? You soppy, soggy fool.

No I can’t heat up the water, I can’t control the sun,

Yes the grass had turned it green, isn’t science fun?

No you can’t watch television, not because I’m mean,

But mostly cos you can’t agree, what should come on the screen.

The list of things that we can’t watch, is as varied as can be,

Things that scare the middle two, or bore the brains off me.

Videos of Minecraft crap, are banned if I’m about,

The people and their creepy voices, make me start to shout.

So far we are two weeks in, and we’ve learnt quite a bunch,

Like just how many snacks are needed twixt breakfast time and lunch.

It’s makes me wonder how the hell they last the whole school day,

Twenty minutes without food and it’s like they’ll fade away.

Thank god we have a super fridge, that magically refills,

It’s funded by the mystic elves who pay all of the bills.

It’s also these almighty elves who plant the money trees,

So I can grant all whims and wishes, with monetary ease.

We’ve learnt The Monkeys can get on, they can be nice and kind,

Just not when in each other’s reach, or at the same time mind.

I’m being pessimistic. It’s really not all bad.

At least there is some sunshine and laughter to be had.

Froo’s developed sarcasm, she’s witty, there’s no doubt,

Sometimes when she opens up her mouth, I hear myself come out.

The little two spend hours outside, rolling in the mud.

“Pickle, what’s that in your ear?” “Grandma said it’s crud”.

Then of course we have the pets, a veritable zoo.

Four hens, a pup, a hamster and Noodle’s ant farm too.

The hamster is a new addition, Jeffrey is his name,

If he squeaks his wheel one more time, I swear I’ll go insane.

It all adds up to chaos. Noise and one big mess,

Baking, cooking, painting. glueing and endless games of chess.

You have to choose to laugh or cry, or opt to loudly sing.

But one fact is for certain. I wouldn’t change a thing.

Posted in baking, night out, mums, back to school, Children, parenting

And today we baked…..

Today I decided on word association activities.

It was baking (hot) so we baked.

Tenuous possibly but it gives me leeway, imagine a day with lots of whines……

So, anyway, baking and making it was and surprisingly I had a full quota of willing helpers.

The first was easy. Bread. Focaccia bread.

This was a very simple recipe; self raising flour, oil, warm water, herbs and salt. No need to prove.

45 minutes in the oven and it was done

It might not win any prizes (or a Hollywood handshake) but wow did it taste good!

So, what do you need with fresh bread on the hottest day in the history of the world ever……drum roll please……..

Soup. (Yes The Monkeys are decidedly odd)

So we dug out my faithful multi cooker and homemade tomato and vegetable soup did appear.

You can buy really expensive multi cookers but mine is a £20 Wilko’s jobby which does me just fine

The soup was a hit. So much so, that the vat of soup I intended to portion and freeze (yes I’m scared too, the heat must be affecting my domesticity, don’t be alarmed this heat has to give way soon and normal service will be resumed) actually only did one lunch time with a bit spare.

Finally. It was decided we needed pudding so we put our heads together and an invention was born.

I present to you…..

Nutella (other brands of chocolate spread are available, most notably Aldi’s Nutoka which if you remove the label bears a striking resemblance to the market leader, and apparently passes the taste test of continually ravenous Monkeys…..) and candied mixed peel bread and butter pudding.

For administrative purposes I was forced to test the results (the proof of the pudding is in the eating after all) and I can quite honestly say that if you looked up ‘divine’ in a thesaurus there would be a picture of this dessert. I am known for my modesty so that should give you an indication into the deliciousness of this creation.

To summarise; my kitchen looks like a bomb site, my dishwasher is going on strike for being forced to work beyond normal conditions, there’s no ingredients left for anything else but it was great fun and that’s all that really matters (oh and they inadvertently ate shed loads of vegetables which was probably counteracted by the second course but that’s the way the pudding crumbles).

Welcome to my world


Posted in Children, parenting, Random musings

Read all about it…..Hold the front page……

I am able, tonight, to share some very exciting news.

Monkey number 2 has decided to undertake a new business venture.

He is becoming Editor of his very own newspaper.

In case any of my readers are considering a career change, I’ll outline his proposal.

He will be Editor. He will employ ‘writers’. He will answer to Boss, Sir, Captain or VIP.

Writers will be required to live on his premises. They will be given the combination code to the gate for when they return from errands but it only works one way and there will be a really big fence so they can’t climb out willy-nilly. Writers are on duty 24 hours a day but are allowed an hour off on a Saturday afternoon and a Sunday evening to play a board game (a long as no big stories come in of course)

Writers will be provided daily with sweets and hot chocolate. Unfortunately if they don’t write quick enough this privilege will be removed sharpish. As Editor, Noodle will join them for sweets and hot chocolate but will also indulge in crisps (McCoys only, no Aldi ones) which he will ensure he eats in a room that’s three doors away from the workers so the crunching doesn’t distract them from their work.

Writers are allowed water as and when needed. The Editor, however, will require coca-cola in a glass. Slightly worryingly he originally planned to fool his writers into thinking he was also drinking water by putting gin in a glass because that’s see through (“you know gin mummy, gin with a g”).

Writers will be paid monthly at a rate of £10 each. There is no time off for a cold, they’ll just have to be brave and bring tissues. Time off will be granted for a broken leg, this time will be charged to the writer at a rate of double his earnings. <His explanation of this had me in actual floods of tears. I asked what would happen when the writer had been to hospital and he replied “well they’d come to work, presumably the doctors had successfully fixed the broken leg, that is their job after all is it not.” I explained that broken bones take weeks to heal, he had a think and said “well I guess he could come back and put it on a stool……or he could stay at home and miss out, and anyway unless he was trying to climb the big fence however did he manage to break his leg anyway.”>

The main role of The Editor is to choose what the writers will write about, to read what they’ve written, to argue with what they’ve written and ultimately make them change what they’ve written.

Newspaper production happens daily. Any writers who do not perform effectively will be dismissed (but if they’re really sorry they can pay to come back). Once someone is sacked, then the combination lock code is changed for safety. There was some talk of a cane but I think I managed to negotiate him away from corporal punishment for misdemeanours and he decided shoddy workmanship would be dealt with by the removal of board game privileges.

Each daily edition costs £2.99 but customers are expected to pay more and will not receive change as that money is needed for the Coca-Cola (or gin apparently). Each edition will have 3 stories, a puzzle page, an interview and adverts.

Issue number one will focus on polar bear danger. It will helpfully inform the readers in quite graphic detail about why polar bears are not as friendly and cuddly as they look. It will explain that if you find yourself in an area inhabited by polar bears then you should panic as polar bears are meat eaters and food is scarce, thus anything that enters their local vicinity is considered lunch. It will also touch on their cannibalism tendencies.

Apparently the next story will be funny so as not to upset readers too much that they don’t buy the paper the next day.

The highlight of issue 2 will be an article about Space Debris. Followed by a StarWars noughts and crosses/sudoku hybrid puzzle.

Exactly who will be interviewed is yet to be determined. His heart is set on some Russian astronaut that he’s discovered but he’s worried about the translation issues. He may decide to interview Donald Trump (no he can’t say that without sniggering) as he’s developed an interest in American politics and last night shared with me the three rules that have to be followed to allow you to become president. These are long and complicated rules with many numbers in relating to age and heritage and citizenship. It amazes me that the child reciting them to me is the exact same one who only ever knows the location of one glove. Or he may just interview himself, he is Editor after all.

So I’m sure you’re now all desperate to come and work for Sir Noodle Sugar, he’s awaiting cvs of potential candidates as we speak but I really wouldn’t put it past him to have some sort of recruitment process in the style of Total Wipeout. I truly fear for anyone that ends up working for him in the future because let me tell you I do it on a daily basis and he is a slavedriver.

But anyway this business proposal completely brightened up my evening, especially when he was so into that he was following me round to explain his next strategy to me. That boy will go far, I have no doubt.

Welcome to my world


Posted in Children, music, parenting

Lyrically Speaking.

The circus is always noisy. Probably not helped by the fact that there is music playing almost continuously, quite often from more than one source.

For example; Radio 2 is nearly always on in the kitchen (who doesn’t love Ken Bruce?! plus I have to brush up on my PopMaster skills), if Circus Husband is home then you’ll be treated to anything from Blink 182 to The Stereophonics streaming from ‘The Office’ (we squeezed two desks into the playroom). As you head upstairs you will invariably be met with a cacophony of melodies, maybe Taylor Swift from one room and some 90’s classics from another (oh yes, Noodle has unearthed all my teenage years albums and can be found wandering around chanting about a boot scooting baby who’s driving him crazy, his obsession from a western, his dancefloor date…..followed by a change of tempo to accompany an enthusiastic rendition of Cotton Eye Joe) and of course, someone, somewhere will be attempting a mashup of Let It Go from Frozen fame and Moana’s You’re Welcome.

So, yes, all in all music is quite a large part of our lives. Fortunately the Monkeys have inherited my ability to not have any idea what day of the week it is but can recall every lyric to a song they’ve heard fleetingly on the radio. I am obviously viewing this as a sign of intelligence even if it does lend itself to slightly awkward conversations; Noodle went through a phase of being obsessed with Bruno Mars, he had the hat and everything, his favourite track was ‘The Lazy Song’ which on the surface seems fine………until you listen properly and have to try and convince a then 3 year old that the lyrics actually say “I met a really nice girl, she had some really nice specs….”

Pickle is the same, loves music, remembers lyrics…………latches onto inappropriate songs! Her favourite is ‘Don’t Marry Her’ by The Beautiful South, fortunately she has only heard the album version but I am not looking forward to the day when she enquires what ‘Sandra Bullocks’ are, there’s also a few minutes panic when she launches into song in the supermarket, the scene goes:

Toddler singing: “You gotta wash the car, take the kiddies to the park, don’t marry her…”

Everyone in earshot: stops, turns and prepares to judge


Everyone in earshot: wanders off disappointed.

Right so now you understand the full importance of music in the circus, I’m sure you will be just as astounded as me to find out that IT IS NOT FUNNY OR HELPFUL if I answer questions in the form of song lyrics. Nor, apparently is it amusing if I interrupt them speaking to carry on with a lyric that they’ve inadvertently uttered (I know, it’s shocking right?)

For example these are some conversational interactions recently that have been classed as ‘annoying’:

“Mummy, you’ll never believe what happened at school today”

” I wasn’t expecttttting that”

“Mummy, How….”

“Do you do that thing that you do to me……I wish I knew”

“Thank you”

“What can I say except you’re welcome”


“in the name of love”

“right now, thank you very much”

“wait a minute, fill my cup, put some liquor in it”

“collaborate and listen”

“Mummy, where should I start?”

“Let’s start at the very beginning, that’s a very good place to start, when you read you begin with ABC, when you sing you begin with Doe Ray Me”

and so forth, I’m proud to say I have many back catalogues worth of these witty comebacks for them to enjoy for years to come. Although Pickle (3) got her own back the other day, she had had a toileting accident earlier in the day then yet again didn’t quite make the toilet, she looked at me and sang “oh my gosh, I did it again, I weed myself, it keeps happening” Look out Little Mix, the next generation is on it’s way!

And that brings us to the less positive side of constant exposure to music. Earworms. You know, when you have a piece of a song spinning on loop in your head for hours. Sometimes, it’s a recognisable part of a well loved song, other times it’s simply random lyrics that you never recall hearing before in your life. You spend all day humming the same tune and trying to block everything else out while you work out what the hell the song even is (or you realise it’s a theme tune to a CBeebies programme and decide to keep that information to yourself.)

I suffer with these a lot. And I have recurring earworms, that can be brought on by the mere mention of a song. I spent three weeks once with the lyrics “where’s your head at <boom boom boom>” taking up all the space in my brain, I came out the other end relatively unscathed but every so often Circus Husband will mutter those words and that’s it, groundhog day. I quite often wake up with songs already etched into my psyche like I’ve slept in an erratic jukebox, this unfortunately means I’m prone to singing short bursts of the song in question out loud at inopportune moments (sorry monkeys!)

If anyone’s curious, my current earworm is the lyrics “I can’t feel my face when I’m with you”, I know the song but I don’t know where I heard it for it to be imprinted in my brain. But, nevertheless, round and round it goes just waiting to be overtaken by the next ready and waiting track of randomness.

Oh and if anyone has never experienced earworms first hand then do let me know, I’m very willing to share, because of course, I cant feel my face when I’m with you.

Welcome to my world


Posted in Children, moving, parenting, Uncategorized

Me casa, Su Casa

Helloooo  <knocks on screen> anyone still out there?

Sincere apologies for the radio silence.

My mind has been somewhat distracted with the unfeasible task of moving four children and 7 years of an undiagnosed hoarding condition lovingly collected belongings from one property to another. Due to our spontaneous, fun-loving personalities (aka, hell if we’re paying another months rent if we don’t need to) we had slightly over three weeks between the decision being made and  ‘the big day of move’. Now; imagine that you are the kind of person who takes decision making verrry seriously, can debate things so successfully in your own head that sometimes you have to declare stalemate and approaches change in the same way that Peppa Pig might approach a hotdog convention…..are you there? Good, so you can probably empathise slightly with what I’m saying.


Step 1: The viewing – the first opportunity to suss out whether this property will be suitable for your needs. We approached this with a sensible, methodical system; checking room sizes, assessing outdoor space etc. Meanwhile two of the three children we had brought with us were performing there own tests “Mummy, we can both fit in the cupboard…look…MUMMY…the door won’t open…STUCK”.

Step 2: The application – applying for a private rental property is akin to attempting admission to MI5. There are application forms that put war and peace to shame and cover aspects of life you have never before considered, they have more appendixes than the staffroom fridge in a theatre department. For some reason, as soon as my eyes spy an application form they cease communication with my brain. I’m suddenly completely unaware of my own details to the point that I feel like an identity thief with every box I tick. I managed my name and date of birth…phew… I hit a hurdle with national insurance numbers, I have both mine and my husband’s stored in my head…unfortunately they are stored as a random mush of numbers and letters, they all there just not necessarily in the correct order or assigned to the right person. I also have them stored on my phone, except I know that one of them is incorrect but I can never remember which one or which part is wrong; so all in all a useful use of phone memory. Then there’s the reference element; bank, previous landlord, employee and character. That’s a lot of people to find who will say something nice about you. The employer reference is also slightly dicey when you spend your days being bossed around by a 3 year old, ‘you should give my mummy this house because if you don’t she’ll put you in timeout’.

Step 2: Checking your things fit in the desired property – now let me share some wisdom; when you visit the property again to ‘measure up’ be absolutely sure to take a tape measure. This will avoid the slight awkwardness of ‘will our bed fit?’ ‘erm, well if I lay on the floor and you take account for the headboard and the bit at the end…’ and also negate the need to come back later with said tape measure and attempt to measure up for curtains from the outsides of the windows. Note: accuracy can in no way be assured when you’re on your tiptoes in the mud trying to gauge how tall the windowsill is likely to be.

Step 3: Packing – Easy, we’ll place all our things in sturdy boxes, label them clearly and job done. And then there’s the reality: pack 3 things into a box, turn around to reach item 4, turn back to find an empty box. Children and packing DO NOT MIX. Suddenly every toy/book/potato masher that you attempt to pack is their absolute favourite that cannot possibly be put in a box. The pile of ‘stuff I’ll secretly pack once she’s asleep’ becomes considerably taller than the pile of stuff that’s actually packable. Then there’s the ‘packing tape black hole’, I swear there’s some sinister force at work, I never managed to finish an entire roll before it vanished into the ether, yet there was constantly a length of it attached to my slipper/the letterbox/the baby, although conversely I did find 12 open packets of baby wipes so at least the force was offering a swap. Finally there’s the labelling; I started off with good intentions ‘2 medium sized saucepans and a lemon – KITCHEN’ by the time I was halfway through I had boxes proudly bearing the label of ‘crap I found behind the sofa’. There’s also the boxes that I neglected to either tape or label which made me incredibly popular with those loading the van.

So, finally, after you’ve gone through these steps and completed all the admin (unsuccessfully attempting to remember every password for every website that needs an address change, then unsuccessfully attempting to remember every password for every email account for every ‘forgot password’’s a vicious circle I tell you).

Then you reach M Day (the big day of move). The day when you realise how much stuff you actually have and come to the conclusion that the property you’re leaving behind must, in fact, be some sort of tardis. The day you find out that when your husband painted the bedroom he actually left the wardrobes in situ and painted around them. The day you realise that your daughter’s beloved piano weighs more than a healthy baby hippo.

But, anyway, we are in, yes we are tripping up over boxes, but we are in. We finally have a table in the kitchen so the monkeys can sit and chat while I lovingly cook (they can sit and complain about the meal while I’m cooking it rather than after I serve it),  we have tall ceilings so my impulse buy 7ft giraffe doesn’t get concussion, we have open fire places so with a bit of training I’m hoping we can perfect ‘chim chimney chim chim cheroo’, and most importantly we have an understairs cupboard so the eldest can move in to await her letter from Hogwarts (fingers crossed we haven’t raised a muggle).

Here’s to the next few weeks of cardboard box jenga.

Welcome to my world.



Posted in parenting

And my specialist subject is:

I’ve been muddling through this parenting lark for nearly 9 years and that time has thrown up some questions . Allow me to outline a few:

  • Why do my children blatantly refuse water all day but suddenly develop chronic dehydration requiring endless cups of said beverage as soon as bedtime rolls around?
  • Why will my children not eat stew (fortunately they are quite partial to ‘meat and chunky veg in gravy’)?
  • How do they change from smart, well presented model citizens to scruffy, slightly feral creatures somewhere between home and school?
  • Why is the phrase ‘sleeping like a baby’ touted about so much? My babies don’t sleep…..I want to sleep like my husband.
  • Why will my toddler happily eat nappy cream, hand soap and paint yet mushrooms are ‘stinky’?
  • Why can they recite the entire theme tune to a TV show yet they can’t remember what I sent them to their bedroom to fetch?
  • Why do they always, always, always need a wee when there’s no toilet in a mile radius despite going twice before leaving the house?
  • How, when my phone memory is full and it won’t let me take a photo, does it let the two year old take 472 photos of her own ears?
  • Why can they not replace the lids on felt tip pens but can very vocally complain when aforementioned pens *shock horror* won’t work?
  • Why can’t they eat couscous without causing some sort of pulse based snowstorm covering the entire lounge?
  • Why don’t they understand that a cheese sandwich will taste exactly the same whether is it cut into rectangles, squares, triangles, bunny shapes or origami swans?
  • Why did I receive ones with factory faults such as no volume control and tendency to disobey orders? I didn’t get a receipt and the warranty is rubbish!
  • Why can I not read ‘Guess how much I love you?”without Big Nutbrown Hare having a Yorkshire accent?
  • How can they flood the bathroom, use all the soap and leave wet towels everywhere, yet still look like they’ve been recruited by the SAS complete with warpaint?
  • How can the weather be beautiful and settled for 22 hours of the day but suddenly decide to recreate the disaster scene from the film Twister as soon as it edges close to school run time?

If anyone can shed any light on any of these ponderings I’ll accept answers on the back of a postcard……. unfortunately the toddler is very reminiscent of a poorly trained puppy so the chances of me getting readable, unchewed post varies from slim to unlikely.
Welcome to my world.


Posted in parenting

From the mouths of babes.

So. We’re nearing the end of August and nearing the end of the summer holidays. A 6 week break from normal routine with four small children presents it’s own individual challenges and is a rollercoaster of a time.

It also allows time for more random conversations and ridiculous debates and as an end-of-holiday treat I thought I’d share with you lucky, lucky people some of the more bizarre things to have graced my ears these last few weeks. I suggest you abandon all sense of understanding and expectation of logic right here before reading on!

I was making a cup of coffee the other day and was hounded by Pickle for some milk. I absentmindedly poured some of the almond milk I was using into a cup for her and thought no more of it. A few hours later she asked for a drink “but none of mummy’s special yucky milk, I’ll have normal moo-cow milk please”.  Discerning tastes that one.

Noodle was discussing ages with his friend, they proudly told me how old they’d be after each of their next few birthdays. After a while I commented that they’d soon be as old as me. They glanced at each other and Noodle pipes up “No, it’s still a lot more years til we’ll be 1000” his friend joins in with “and we don’t want to be 1000, do we?” to which Noodle replies “nope, cos that’s when you start shrinking” These holidays have obviously aged me more than I’d realised……shrinking, however, I could definitely get on board with!

I was looking at an animal picture book with Pickle and she pointed at a butterfly, “look Mummy,an owl” “lovely, but it’s a butterfly” “it’s an owl” “no honey it’s definitely a butterfly” there was a long pause followed by………..”actually Mummy it’s an owl pretending to be a butterfly”. OK. You win.

One evening last week Froo baked some buns. It was getting quite late so Daddy was left in charge of removing them from the oven once they were cooked……Daddy remembered approximately 90 minutes later. They were somewhat past the ediblee stage, so the next morning (once I’d ensured that no blame rested on my shoulders) I suggested that they be broken up and put on the bird table for the birds. A little while later I find Pickle covered in black crumbs. “You were supposed to give those to the birds” I say. She wanders over to the window and finishes the conversation with “no birdies out there, I looked. I eat it for the birdies. I do good sharing. Yay. Well done me” In a month of Sundays I couldn’t have come up with an appropriate response for that!

The last few days Noodle has planning his birthday (slightly premature as it’s not until next year) he’s already uninvited me to his party numerous times. This is more than a little worrying as I don’t remember actually being invited to this non existent party in the first place. Then he moved onto his birthday presents…..these may need some fine tuning as they currently involve me stealing him a real life bin lorry.

That last one fits in nicely with Pickle starting to understand the concept of Christmas and Father Christmas, the jolly soul who is apparently bringing her: 2 dollies, a purple horse in a purple stable and a new pet lemon.

It’s been a brain stretching few weeks to say the least but each day has been fun and with each day the monkeys have grown into slightly older, slightly more independent and slightly odder children and despite the madness I will miss them like crazy in a couple of weeks.


Welcome to my world, Rx







e stage