Get into the groove.

Today is a bit of a dry run in our house, as Mummy has gone into work to get her classroom ship-shape for next week, and that has left us to try out a new routine, ready for the coming term.

This time around it will be slightly different as Jessica will be at school all day instead of just the morning, which will mean an extra afternoon school run, and George starts preschool three mornings a week, which means a mid day pick up. Throw in Matthew’s feed times and his need for a nap or two and the days are starting to look very busy.

Indeed the only plus side will be that days should, in theory, run like clockwork with everyone knowing where they should be and at what time.

However experience tells me that it won’t be quite that simple.

Now where did I put those new school shoes?

Rainy days.

Sometimes you’ve just got to…..

Can I play football Daddy?

Whilst walking with Jessica and George in the rain yesterday I had a conversation about what jobs they would like  when they grow up.

Jessica started out by saying that she would like to be a Mummy and have babies, at least three, but also be like Daddy and cook and clean for everyone as well.

So far, so good. Then she stopped for a minute and thought a bit harder, “actually Daddy, I would like to play football for Norwich on their pitch!”  I explained that she could do whatever she wanted and if football was her desire than football it shall be.

Then after another pause she said “If not a football player, then I’ll be a superhero”. At least she’s setting her sights high!

As for George, He wouldn’t be drawn on what job he would aspire to, just saying “No!” to every offered suggestion before ending the conversation with the news that he would be “Just George”.

Endless summer….

For some of you, the last week or so will have been spent indoors looking out through the window at the rain wondering when, if at all, you may get to laze in the sun, sipping on a cocktail and drifting in and out of consciousness.

For those of you with children it may have been a lot worse.

After the morning has been spent glueing, sticking, painting and drawing, lunch has been eaten and you start to look forward to bedtime, the warning signs start.

All of us know that at a certain time of day the children will hit the point of no return and “cabin fever” will hit with a vengeance. Nothing will calm them down and it will invariably end in tears, sometimes theirs.

Then there are only two ways to go, plea bargaining or alcohol. As most sane adults wouldn’t dream of wasting precious alcohol on children, more often than not the TV is wheeled out as a carrot to tempt rowdy children back down to earth.

But in our house, this is when the trouble really begins.

What to watch first?

Who gets to choose?

Who’s choice was it last time?

How many times can we watch the same episode of peppa pig, without gnawing off our own foot?

OK the last one was me but if, and it’s a big if, we manage to settle down to watch something we can all tolerate, then maybe we can broker twenty minutes of relative calm.

And then that’s when the baby will wake up……….

Mum is most definitely not the word…

I have just watched a programme recorded last night on BBC 3, and to say I was left speechless is an understatement.

“Glamour Models, Mum And Me”  a link to which can be found here, leaves you wondering how the daughter, Georgia, will cope with the unrelenting pressure from her mother Alicia, whom she clearly adores, to follow in her chosen path of becoming a model/actress.

Georgia appears a strong enough person even at 14, to be able to speak up for herself and achieve her own ambitions of becoming a chemist, architect or world-renowned actress, despite having to act as the Mother in this tempestuous relationship.

But also one can’t help feeling sorry for Alicia who obviously has her own problems to deal with, not least the fear of losing the love and respect of her daughter, but mainly her refusal to accept she is suffering from body dysmorphia. Just listening to her adolescent outbursts when told she doesn’t need any more plastic surgery makes you squirm in your seat, as well as being heartbreakingly sad.

Unwittingly Alicia also seems to be singlehandedly setting the feminist movement back twenty years by advocating that by “getting your tits out” you can achieve fame and fortune a lot quicker than the other young girls who are unwilling to do so. A fact that Georgia, thankfully, seems aghast at.

It would be interesting to see this relationship in two/five/ten years time, if only to see what state the plastic surgery has left Alicia in, and whether Georgia is running the chemistry department at Cambridge or designing buildings for wealthy clients.

I just hope for both their sakes that they are not comparing liposuction scars and how many times they’ve appeared in the pages of the red tops….

Nom, nom…

Sometimes the only way to eat a piece of cake, is all at once!