Phyl's Blog

The shortcomings of using plastic clogs as slippers

2012-02-09T14:09:00.000Z

I bought a pair of these as slippers recently. I hate having cold feet but couldn't stand using my summer clogs as the plastic is freezing first thing in the morning. I wanted something that was waterproof even in pouring rain or deep snow so I could take out bins and vegetable waste without constantly changing into shoes. They are absolutely perfect... or so I thought until I decided to give my husband a loving embrace one night! I reached up to put my arms around his neck and nearly set his ears on fire with the static I'd built up shuffling round the house! I have since singed my finger on the screw holding on the light switch cover too! I am beginning to suspect I could become rather unpopular if I don't buy myself a more conventional pair of slippers soon!

Uniform madness

2012-02-08T14:14:00.067Z

Starting primary 1, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I have to admit when I blogged about uniforms six years ago, I could never have imagined we'd be taking a huge leap back to my own childhood as late as 2012.

East Renfrewshire Council decided it needed new policies on school uniforms about a year ago, claiming kids weren't smart enough. When I look at my two above, they look smart enough to me - certainly as smart as I'd expect any 4 and 10 year old (when this photo was taken) to be. I assumed, stupidly, that what the council was intending was to have high school pupils pay more attention to standards. Girls' skirts had been becoming obscenely short, jackets with expensive logos had started creeping in to replace blazers. I was not against them disallowing skirts short enough to reveal underwear before Lots starts high school in the summer.

A year long consultation took place, but ultimately it became obvious that although parents and kids could state a preference, head teachers would have the final say and their suggestions would be backed by the council assuming they weren't seem to be excessively eccentric.

First I saw St Cadoc's primary's new legislation when it came out at Xmas. P1-3 would keep the comfortable and functional polo shirts and sweat shirts, p4-7 would be forced back into the 1970s style white shirt and boring tie. School jackets would become obligatory, despite the expense, given the kids all have non-school jackets too for weekend wear. I was appalled and braced myself for similar, but certainly not for worse. Kirkhill dragged its feet till last Friday when the full horror of the new plan was dropped on us like a bloody H-bomb. The polo shirts and sweatshirts would be banned from August for all years. Kids as young as 4 would be forced to sit all day in uncomfortable shirts, ties, and grey everything else - but not just grey - it has to be the correct mid-grey shade, even dark grey is a criminal offence! The cheerful sea of blue that has greeted me every morning for the past ten years is being replaced by a gloomy grey to match the Scottish climate in all its horror. The bag of 40 odd (£10) sweatshirts in my loft is simply meant to be tossed out in favour of me forking out money I don't currently have to add to the sea of grey. The sweatshirts tumble dry time and time again as they are durable. Léon's one grey jumper turned into a limp rag after its third wash. A quick canvassing of opinion at the school gate on Monday morning found not a single parent who was happy with the new uniform.

When every other council is moving towards comfortable and functional, why on earth are we heading backwards at such a rate? Of course, the school sees itself as somewhat better than your average school - its results confirm that but getting above its station prescribing private-school-type uniforms isn't fooling anyone. This is a good school, but a state school so people may very well struggle to buy the newly compulsory school winter jacket, school spring/autumn jacket in both waterproof and fleece materials. Because of the climate, I can't see any of the three I can leave out. School tracksuit tops are also now compulsory and you can even add on a non-compulsory blazer if you have not yet gone bankrupt! (That'll be likely!) I have checked East Ren's clothing grant for poorer families. At £50 those families will not be able to buy anything else once they have forked out for the compulsory jackets. I know Newton Mearns isn't normally associated with poverty but who lives here? Middle management - the very people who have been losing their jobs in this recession and who are struggling to pay the overpriced mortgages they took out to get into these very schools! When middle management and directors are made redundant, they don't simply walk into a new job the following month.

At the school gate people said they were feeling particularly sorry for me with five kids - given the number of hours of ironing real shirts entails! (Poloshirts can be worn from the tumble drier). I know non-iron shirts exist these days but they are much more expensive - especially in a year I have to replace every item on the uniform list (unlike in normal years where most things have simply been passed down). I hadn't even taken that gripe on board given Marcel has done his own ironing since starting high school. It's a definite added burden. I won't be asking Anna, at four, to do her own ironing, will I?

I may be strange and unusual but I have no desire to advertise my kids' school on weekends so object to having to buy school jackets for during the week and separate ones for weekends. Until now my kids have happily gone to school in their pink or green anoraks, or ski jackets and left them on a peg at the entrance. Apparently this makes them too messy-looking on school trips off the premises - they go on at least two trips a year... Is this worth my expense? No! Try to ask your 10 year old to wear a uniform jacket when she's out on weekends in the park with her friends. She's no more likely to wear the jacket that she associates with school than the tie! Thanks Kirkhill for doubling all my expenses (for each of my kids!)

I feel in banning the uniform long associated with the school, the head has ripped the heart out of Kirkhill. It is a hugely negative, backwards step. I feel painfully sad to think of my kids being forced to sit unnecessarily in uncomfortable, non-durable, depressing grey uniforms, with boring ties like little 4 year old executives when it was such a happy and carefree place till now. I am appalled at the endless list of jackets I am meant to buy while still burdened by the recession. I'm not sure why they think any of this is necessary in this day and age. Learning should be happy and fun not boring and stilted.

I am also not sure what has happened about the real issue that started all this? The high school doesn't seem to be suggesting new uniform policies! How ironic!

It's probably pointless but as always I will email off an official complaint to the head, cced to the council and Ken Macintosh! Wish me luck!

Potty-training

2012-02-05T22:21:00.016Z

Potty-training, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I find it hard to believe. For the first time since 2005, no one in my house is in nappies.

It seems odd to think Amaia is big enough for 'big girl pants' already. And yet Anna was exactly the same age when she was potty-trained (2 years and 3 weeks). Because Amaia had been born that week, Anna seemed huge and capable, but Amaia just seems like a tiny baby compared to all the other family members who are so much bigger. I guess that's what happens when you are dealing with the baby of the family.

But she is ready all the same. We started last Monday, and went through eight pairs of pants while she looked at us in surprise. On Tuesday she had one accident, by Wednesday she was going through the night without a nappy too. The only other accident we've had all week was when she climbed into the spare high chair (that she refuses to use because she uses an adult seat at the table, but condescends to use when mum and dad visit because we only have eight dining room chairs), strapped herself in and then couldn't work out how to undo the seatbelt when she needed to! This morning she even had a lie in so managed a whole 14 hours between last night's last pee and this morning's first.

Interestingly, like Anna she has dropped the idea of the potty almost immediately and gone for the toilet instead. I think when you live with so many children who use a real toilet, the potty seems somehow babyish to you, in a way that particularly Marcel and Charlotte wouldn't have found back in their day.

So I really am going to have to accept my baby is starting to grow up.

A cold front

2012-02-02T23:53:00.001Z

I was just watching the French news. It is fascinating to see snow on the beaches of the Mediterranean. So I went of a quick tour of Europe, checking out el País and Corriera della sera for snow news. After reading what they had to say, I'm not sure I'll be moaning if it's -5 again tomorrow morning! Finally I checked the BBC as we don't tend to notice here when half of Europe is freezing to death, but even they've picked up on it for once. Would you just look at Romania!!!

Voice recognition technology

2012-02-02T21:35:00.000Z

I was sure I blogged this back at the time, but it seems I didn't!

Enjoy!

What do you do with a baby engineer?

2012-02-02T00:06:00.005Z

Amaia is a taxing child. I don't mean she has tantrums, refuses to eat or sleep or the likes. Quite the contrary - she's a delight. She's affectionate, easy-going, happy, and full of fun, but she's an engineer at heart and that is getting her into worse and worse scrapes.

When she was little, she'd empty a packet of wipes, or unravel a toilet roll to see how it worked. She graduated onto removing DVDs from their boxes and taking ballpoint pens to pieces. She unscrews lightbulbs when she can reach them (bedside lamps, and the likes). She likes to cook, so tries to push chairs against the cooker to stir things and has worked out how to set the timer on the cooker. Leaving the room while you are cooking is now impossible.

Of course, she can spend hours with age 3+ lego, building things, which is harmless. But today she moved up to a new level...

I was tidying the dining room table after breakfast when I heard the microwave beep. The microwave is on a high shelf out of her reach. I have been working a lot this last week and am a bit tired so I questioned whether I had actually stuck something in it to defrost. I came through and found no one. I opened it and it was empty. It must have been my imagination. I was alone, so it couldn't have been Thomas. I went to the loo. I heard it beep again. I returned to find Amaia had moved a dining room chair to in front of it and was playing with the 'quick start' button. I shouted at her, explaining that the microwave wasn't a toy and she would break it if she turned it on empty. I forgot this was my takes-everything-literally child. Half an hour later, despite my having moved the chair away and shut the kitchen door, it beeped a third time. I stormed through. The chair was back, the Bopster was standing proudly on it and looking pleased. To stop it beeping, you need to pull the door open. I pulled it open to reveal two pots of petit filou, both open, each containing a plastic (phew!) spoon, steaming happily on the inside. She'd manoeuvred the chair to the fridge for the yogurts, then over to the microwave, having opened them herself! She really was quite put out when she was told off for a second time, but so far she hasn't dared try again.

(I'm glad we don't own a cat!)

Scandinavians in Fife?

2012-02-01T11:44:00.002Z

Too tall for Fife!, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I came across this photo from 2007 the other day. It started me wondering how large the ex-pat Scandinavian population of Fife might be. Thomas is just way too tall for some of the houses over there and he's only average in Denmark. I've still not got over the day I was on the Copenhagen tube at rush hour. There were no seats so I squeezed in and in front of the whole crowded train reached up to realize I actually couldn't grab the hand straps hanging from the roof, not even on my tiptoes... it was so humiliating!

Foot binding

2012-02-01T00:10:00.004Z

While we're on the subject of Wild Swans...

When Jung Chang is talking about her grandmother, in the early chapters of the book, she goes into some detail about Chinese foot binding. Of course, I was well aware of the practice but I hadn't read about it in the depth she goes into before. I found the psychology of it fascinating. Women were made to believe they had to be forcibly disabled to attract men of the right social background, men forced into believing women who had not been mutilated were somehow less desirable. Over time, poorer and poorer families subscribed to the idea as a way to social mobility until a point where more than half the female population had been disabled by their own parents from early infancy.I somewhat condescendingly looked at the whole idea as something that could never have happened here, until...

Last week Lots was watching Big Brother, as I mentioned. Two (almost) children - I believe they were around 20 or 21 were discussing how breast augmentation was becoming the norm in the US. They believed men just wouldn't be attracted to a twenty-something without synthetic, potentially leaky, possibly carcinogenic, silicon implants. They were expected to return time and time again, to go through unnecessary cosmetic surgery to satisfy a fad of society.

I'm 43. I've never had an operation in my life. I've never had an anaesthetic. Why are we letting society go towards making cosmetic surgery an expected norm? It isn't disabling women en masse - yet - but it is sheer madness. The parallel isn't so far fetched that I can be made to feel in any way comfortable about it. It's time normality reclaimed the world, before my little girls grow up and become adults.

Wild Swans

2012-02-01T00:01:00.000Z

I recently read Wild Swans after it was recommended to me by my husband.

Published by HarperCollins in the early nineties, all employees had been given a copy at the time, and I had somehow got it into my head - perhaps the thickness or the pastel green cover, that it was an ephemeral work of romantic fiction. Working for Collins for nearly two decades (and still freelancing for them today) means I have so many books that the odd one can escape my radar, hidden in a pile from time to time.

Thomas recommended it to me as a fascinating take on almost a century of political history in China, but I found it absolutely mind-blowing from a psychological point of view. The society it described to me, and the way of thinking for the whole of the last century was so alien to me, it might as well have been an episode of Star Trek. I couldn't put it down, though poor Thomas had to put up with gasps, expletives and a lot of head-shaking in bed every night as I trudged through. I'm sure it shows how any human can react under the thumb of an authoritarian regime but as a free human being, I spent a lot of time shouting at the book in frustration!

I suppose, given the children of Jung Chang's generation are running the planet currently, it would be useful for us all to gain some insight into China, through this insider's account.

OMG!!!! A seven-seater chuggy!!!!!?

2012-02-01T00:00:00.000Z

I just can't believe what I'm reading?! I just have to have one of these as my second car! That's it - Thomas's Micra is for the bin! I don't care what they cost, or how tough things are in this recession - nothing else matters. I neeeeeed one... in fact - it's my birthday on Saturday - so club together everyone - now!!! (Otherwise I'll be forced to sulk until 2020!)

Lemon curd

2012-01-31T22:45:00.004Z

My sister-in-law was recently after my lemon curd recipe. I assumed I'd have blogged it so I wouldn't forget it but I hadn't, so for next time...

Lemon curd

zest and juice of 4 unwaxed lemons
200g caster sugar
100g unsalted butter
3 eggs
1 egg yolk

Put the sugar, the lemon zest and juice, and the butter, in small chunks, into a bain marie over a pan of simmering water. Whisk slowly until the butter melts.
Mix the eggs and yolk lightly and add it to the rest.Stir regularly for 8-10 minutes, until it thickens.
Stir occasionally while it cools
Sterilise jars by heating them in the oven for 10 minutes. Add the curd to the jars and keep in the fridge for approx 4 weeks (though, personally I have not died from eating it in the first 3 months after preparation!)

My duck

2012-01-31T14:45:00.001Z

My duck, a photo by viralbus on Flickr.

Amaia has decided the best word for a duck is a rap (Danish for Quack). She's been constantly gibbering away about her rap for weeks, but it only came to me yesterday what she was on about... parenting a bilingual child in the early developmental stage of language is always amusing!

Danish flags

2012-01-31T14:25:00.007Z

Miriam and the cake she baked till midnight on the night before the wedding, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I know I go on about Scandinavians and their flags ad nauseum but I think it is because I didn't really fully get them till I read this cartoon Thomas found yesterday. Like the little German guy, I find all that flag-waving a bit nationalistically sinister - I wasn't sure why my wedding needed a Danish flag (but no Scottish one) on the table or why my babies all get Danish flags in their birthday cakes. It feels a bit like a strange religious sect is trying to indoctrinate or ensnare you, but if, as the last paragraph explains it represents happiness and not nationalism to them, I'm at least starting to get it!

Equity and divorce laws

2012-01-31T14:13:00.001Z

A teeny wee house, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I've had occasion this last ten days to be thinking about the way housing and equity is settled in a Scottish divorce (not me! my ex is getting divorced again!)

Anyway - when I got divorced, during the boom, the calculation was easy. We had bought a house together and it had gone up in value, so he simply paid me half of the equity we had accrued over our time together and I moved out leaving him the mortgage.

Given he only married his latest wife two years ago and she moved into a house that he owned (with a mortgage) and had been paying for ten years, does that mean he owes her half of the value it has gained over those two years, or more likely she owes him half of what it has lost in the meantime?

If the latter is true, I may have come up with a perfect business model for single people trying to recoup some of the negative equity they are currently running up!!

Big Brother

2012-01-25T18:24:00.000Z

I know it'll do nothing (or perhaps everything?!) for my street cred but I have to admit that until last week I had never seen Big Brother. I have no interest in what Class E celebs get up to when locked up in a large plastic Wendy House but we only have one TV and I happened to be working in that room when the teenagers stuck it on one night last week. I won't give you a two page rant about how appalling the experience was - I will simply leave that at 'life's too short...' but I was taken aback by one thing, maybe I am getting old...

Two young women (twin American Barbie dolls) and an older (perhaps 30 year old) Nicola somebody have been discussing plastic surgery and Botox the twice I have been present. They talk about it in such a nonchalant fashion, you'd think they were talking about the most natural thing in the world for girls that age - like going out clothes shopping or the likes. One was suggesting which cup size the other should get next time, swapping their current implants in the way I would have talked about swapping a dress that didn't fit me at that age. Maybe I'm an old fool but what kind of message is this giving young women? You need plastic boobs and Botox before 30? I am completely appalled.

I hope I will somehow, despite the media, manage to instil in my daughters a self-belief that will allow them at twenty to look in the mirror and see that they are truly beautiful, the way I made them.

Schooling

2012-01-25T14:17:00.001Z

76 Derek starting p1, me in p5, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Thomas has been out delivering fliers all over Crookfur recently (at the request of a local politician). His findings are very interesting from a schooling point of view.

He's chosen mainly to do it between 1 and 2 pm, given that is when Amaia takes her nap, so it's easiest to leave me home working and jog around. He says many of the houses he visits seem to contain two pensioners in their early to mid 70s watching TV. This, of course, stands to reason - these houses and the local school were built around 1970 so many couples with kids moved here and didn't get round to leaving once the kids left home... my own parents are in that category (though a little younger).

Presumably some time in the next fifteen years many of these houses will become empty and retired couples will not be snapping up the overpriced (because of the catchment) housing. Families will move in because of that. I wonder if capacity has been built into Crookfur, St Cadocs and Mearns primaries for a sudden explosion of 30% in the next decade.

Having the Barbapapas to tea

2012-01-24T16:27:00.002Z

Having the Barbapapas to tea, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I'm sure this table says something about Amaia. She was pottering about the other day with her tea set and Barbapapas. Next time I looked she'd sat them at the table, served them each an egg (though only the female had been given a spoon) and given Barbamama the Economist to read!

Have I been moaning too much about the economy recently?!

What are the chances?

2012-01-22T00:50:00.000Z

My old uni friend was helping out at an animal shelter in Vienna last week (she lives there), when someone brought in two lemmings asking for them to be rehoused. Taking down their details, she was told their names were Leon and Lots! Unable to believe the coincidence (I'd seen her just the week before), she decided it was fate, so took them home herself! She describes them as little fighting machines, rarely being gentle with each other! Although my own Léon and Lots do know how to wind each other up like all siblings, they are also inseparable, so lets hope Leon and Lots turn out to be the same. The only question remaining is when Linda is nipping back to the shelter to pick up Marcel, Bits and Bopster? ;-)

Another issue with never going to Denmark!

2012-01-19T22:54:00.003Z

Birthday cake for a one year old, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

As I mentioned last month, Léon hasn't been to Denmark since he was two (because Thomas's parents usually meet us here or in their Tuscan home since they retired.) Last month I realized Léon had started to believe Danish was one of the dialects of Italy.

Today I noticed another issue. Any non-Dane who visits Denmark a lot notices their obsession with flags. They have them in their gardens, on their wrapping paper, birthday cards, and stuck to little cocktail sticks so you can stick them in cakes or whatever takes your fancy. Thomas's cousin even had dummies for his babies with flags on. The equivalent of ASDA sells 10 metre tall flag poles for your garden flag and they don't just fly them on special occasions, they have them up all year round. Therefore, anyone who spends more than ten minutes in Denmark knows the Danish flag!

Today I saw wrapping paper that was red with a big white cross on it. Oh look Léon, I said, That looks just like a flag, doesn't it? Do you remember which flag looks like that? I was 100% sure he'd instantly reply Denmark - he speaks Danish half the day after all! His reply... It's the birthday cake flag, mummy!

All five at one

2012-01-15T23:40:00.004Z

All 5 at 1, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

After stitching all of my kids together at the age of two last night so I could compare hair growth, one of my flickr friends suggested it was a cute way to imagine what quintuplets might have been like! I got the idea to do a comparison photo once a year around Amaia's birthday. That way I will be able to see at which ages my kids have looked most or least similar. Obviously at the moment, if I want to compare all five, I will need to stop at age one and age two comparison shots, but it gives me a lot of scope for future fun.

Orange peeler

2012-01-15T23:27:00.000Z

Thomas is a big kitchen gadget person. A few years ago I was struggling to find something he didn't have when I came across an orange peeler at about 80p. I don't know about him, but I just love it. As the only person with long nails in my house, and with so many kids, I used to spend all winter being handed oranges to peel. Inevitably everything I subsequently ate tasted of orange because of the peel under my nails. Now, thanks to my favourite kitchen gadget, I have no such worries. No family should be without one!

Hair would be good

2012-01-15T00:43:00.001Z

By the age of two Marcel and Léon had had many haircuts. Had they not, they'd have had hair half way down their backs on their second birthdays. Their hair was thick, luxurious and fast-growing. A hairdresser actually commented once while cutting Léon's hair that it felt like the hair of a man and not a baby! Charlotte's hair was slower-growing than the boys' at first but today is at least three times the thickness of my own. Anna had thinner hair but she too had it past her shoulders by her second birthday. So what is going on with Amaia? I am beginning to wonder if I had run out of hair genes before she was conceived. Not only is she still almost bald, her temples are so thin, I can't even grasp the fluff there. Every morning Anna brings me various accessories to put in her hair. My heart sinks minutes later when the little copycat turns up holding the same hair clips or scrunchies and I am unable to attach them. I sometimes wonder if Amaia's start in primary school will need to be deferred, not because of maturity but because of baldness! Marcel was born with more hair than Amaia has managed to grow in two years!

I hope she's just a slow starter!

London English

2012-01-14T21:33:00.001Z

London, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I thought I blogged this at the time, but apparently I forgot... Given I don't want you missing out on the most outrageous typo I have come across to date (when you are in my business, you can't help but proof-read everything you see when you are out and about and in the twenty or more years I have been mentally correcting the local restaurant's misplaced apostrophes, this stands in a league of its own, I'm sure you'll agree!) I found it in an ethnic supermarket in a run-down area not far from Greenwich a couple of years ago. Marcel was speechless when I pointed it out to him! I'm so pleased I had my camera on me as I was on my way into London sightseeing with the kids!

Come to think of it, maybe that's what went wrong with last night's satay sauce... I used coconut milk instead of this variety!

Enjoy!

Satay sauce

2012-01-14T01:10:00.002Z

Thomas made a wonderful satay sauce last month using his Thai Beautiful cookbook. Tonight he was working late, so I thought I'd surprise him by rustling up the same. How hard could it be given it only contained a few ingredients: peanuts, red Thai curry paste, fish sauce, coconut milk and sugar? Mix together and simmer for fifteen minutes - piece of cake and a perfect send off on our post-Xmas diet (starting tomorrow). His sauce had been so good that I kept the leftovers in the fridge for days just to dip a finger in whenever I passed by, and I'm not generally a snacker!

So I followed the instructions and instead of a slightly oily, divine dipping sauce, managed to create a vaguely fusty-tasting, solid mass of nutty wallpaper paste that was so thick and so awful I ended up throwing it out!

Of course I am now regretting that decision, having since remembered we intended to work on repairing the post-Bawbag fence tomorrow and the satay sauce would potentially have made wonderful fence-post cement.

I have learnt a valuable lesson - just because Thomas makes cooking look easy, it doesn't mean it is easy. So the moral of the story is definitely - leave the cooking to him in future!

Why so headstrong?

2012-01-12T20:27:00.004Z

Anna's got a big seat now, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Little girls are so much more determined, headstrong and stubborn than little boys in my experience. Apart from my nephew(!), I have never met a little boy who would question what you wanted to dress him in (before about 8), what seat he should use in the car and so on.

Yesterday Amaia turned two, (not six, two). Today I took her out to the car. Currently she uses the chair Léon is pictured in here (at one month short of three). I put her down, she made her body rigid, screamed, twisted, flailed and generally looked vaguely similar to the Tasmanian devil of the old cartoons, until I calmed her down enough to be able to ask what was wrong with her. She pointed at Anna's seat (one of those age 1-6 seats (- see photo))

I tried again to get her into her seat but there was no way to physically sit her down. I put her down for a minute to catch my breath after the battle. She leapt into Anna's seat and sat smugly quiet. I guess all that birthday fuss has made her believe she had moved up an age bracket, somehow.

10 mins old

2012-01-11T11:22:00.003Z

10 mins old, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Two years ago my big baby was born. At nearly a whole kilo heavier than any of my other kids, I expected Amaia to be a huge girl but she's grown up to be a strangely dainty little thing and there are no longer any signs she was nearly a ten pounder (4.5kg).

I remember walking with her to my bed just after she was born looking at all the other tiny little babies in the ward who were older by hours or days but who looked a month younger! But I felt smugly proud I had defied all the scare stories I had been given about how I would need an emergency caesarean because she would become wedged in my pelvis. I stuck to my guns and had her naturally, and drug-free in just three hours, while the medical staff ran about in a panic about how to help deliver her!

She is our special little Bopster.

Self confidence

2012-01-09T22:17:00.002Z

Rouken Glen, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

So we drive to nursery after a break of two weeks and a day. As Thomas parks, Anna comes out with: Come on, hurry up, let me out! I need to get in, my teacher has missed me! I ask how she knows her teacher has missed her and full four-year-old logic clicks in: Well she can't have missed herself, because she's been with herself all along, therefore she must have missed me!

It isn't quite Descartes, is it?

Birthdays

2012-01-08T00:34:00.004Z

Charlotte's birthday, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I've been thinking a lot about birthdays over the last year. As a mum of five, you have to attend more than your fair share of birthdays. I think I have now reached a quota where I am able to analyse the absurdity, on the whole, of the current UK birthday party norm.

It seems to me that from about age four up, the average middle-class 2.4 children-type, feels obliged to invite their child's entire class along to a party venue - softplay, laser party, townhall with Coco the clown and face painters, disco, golf/football party - the list is endless - seen them all (many times over), got the the T-shirt... got a whole pile of them!

How many of those parents ever stop long enough to ask themselves how much is a reasonable expense to make their child's birthday memorable? Will spending £10 a head (or more) to let each of their classmates run wild in a softplay for two hours make them happier than for example asking your child to choose two or three special friends to run around the same play area? Suddenly your bill is £200 lighter and your child feels more special, not less, because he is having a special time, rather than attending the same venue as he's attended every other second week this year with his entire class! I recently attended a venue that charges £12 a head. On arrival I found the child in question had had fifty children invited along - several classes, cousins, extended family etc At the end, as often is the case, party bags were handed out valuing, I would estimate £15 each! How can anyone believe it takes £1350 to make two hours of their child's birthday enjoyable?

Then there is the gift budget. If other parents are meant to spend at least £10 per gift (which definitely seems to be the case) then you are not only meant to set aside £250 (approx) for each of your children's birthday parties, but also £250 per child for presents for his or her classmates. I recently asked one of my kids for a suggestion as to what to buy as a present for a class party. I don't know, came the reply, I hardly know him and I've no idea what he's into! I am stunned at the stupidity of it all! I know it is pc to invite everyone, but it is mad!

I don't know about anyone else but my heart sinks when I receive the tenth invite in a month - what to buy, how to arrange my day and the rest of my kids round the drive to and from wherever. (Don't forget the petrol costs for going ten miles there, ten back home, ten there two hours later and ten back again!) I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I would be thrilled if someone chose my child as a guest, but to be ticked off as an unknown but necessary statistic irks me somewhat.

During a recession where budgets are getting tighter, I wish those who were struggling with this whole keeping-up-with-the-Jones nonsense would realize the pressure they are putting on others. I am self-employed with five kids so the whole thing is so beyond sanity, I don't even consider it, but some must be doing it despite their finances, not stopping to ask whether their child will be that much happier for it. How was the next child in the class ever meant to compete with Mr and Mrs £1350?

We have a family cake and get together on birthdays.We have special birthday breakfasts with presents and croissants and a train with candles. My kids don't seem devastated that no one has popped in to paint their face and give them a plastic bag of sweets. I'm sure they will remember their birthdays as happy occasions despite the lack of Coco. Occasionally I have a few friends round - they make a mess and a noise but they don't cost and the kid is happy! Sometimes I paint their faces (badly) and they feel happy and special.

So if I have been thinking about this for more than a year, why blog it today? The absurdity of it all was brought home to me tonight in all its glory. Anna was invited to a softplay party for her friend who was turning four. A private venue had been booked at £250 (for ninety minutes). I duly went out and got a present and card and drove her to the location stated on the invitation. The friend's mother was standing outside the venue in the cold and the rain with a large bin bag in her hand. Hi, she said, I don't know you but are you here for my daughter's party? I replied that we were. She handed Anna a present, that as usual must have cost the same amount as the one I had brought, while saying - I'm so sorry we're having to cancel, she woke up with chicken pox this morning but the venue won't refund at short notice so feel free to go in and play without us if you like! Paying £500 for your child not to have a fourth birthday party really takes the biscuit! I know it is more annoying to have four or five of their friends run round your own house but at least that way if they get chicken pox, you can simply put it back a week!

Tesco Clear & Confident

2012-01-07T20:30:00.001Z

Anyone else had any issues with this Tesco shampoo? I bought it recently and when I wash my hair with it, it ends up looking just as greasy as before I got in the bath, if not worse! I've never had that problem with any other shampoo. Weird!

The biggest Bawbag

2012-01-07T20:05:00.004Z

Bawbag the second damage, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

On December 7 2011 we received notice from the council that all schools were to close on the 8th because of a red alert weather warning. This was the first time in my life wind had shut schools. We woke up to find it was fairly blowy - we lost a fence, a few roof tiles and a pane from the greenhouse but all in all it was a little less windy than I had been led to believe. It didn't seem too windy to take the people carrier out.

On Jan 3 we received no warnings about the weather but I was woken at 6am by a much worse wind than the one the media had jokingly started calling Hurricane Bawbag. Slates were falling off the roof smashing all round my patio - going out without a hard hat was actually risky. We lost many more roof tiles second time round, possibly loosened by the first Bawbag, and the greenhouse was sent into orbit with a crash that made me think a car had come through the side wall of my house - we're going to be picking shards of glass out of the vegetable patch for the rest of eternity... I suppose we'll be able to grow pre-sliced carrots! And of course there's the tree issue up at mum and dad's.

I have to conclude that from a Newton Mearns perspective, the second Bawbag was definitely much worse than the first.

I'm just glad the useless insurance company hadn't actually got round to authorising repairs yet as nothing new was damaged, but everything that was damaged first time round was made much worse by the second of the Bawbags.

Coffee from our new machine

2012-01-05T18:57:00.015Z

Coffee from our new machine, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

For the first time ever today, I decided to make cappuccino in a transparent cup rather than a china one and now I am desperate for a whole set of glass coffee cups! It looks so cool! It reminded me of a trip about five years ago... As our first holiday, Thomas and I went on a long weekend to Latvia, where they had the cheapest and best coffee I had ever tasted. They added all sorts of wonderful, coloured flavourings to them which just made for a photographic delight!

Mini-photographers

2012-01-05T18:52:00.001Z

Mini-photographers, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Léon got an old Finepix of mine a few years back and is really interested in it. Then Anna asked for a camera for her fourth birthday and got one from her grandparents. Unfortunately it seems to work much better outdoors than in but we've had torrential rain almost constantly since her birthday - poor soul! Mind you, at the rate she's going through batteries, it is probably just as well!

It is nice to see they seem to have inherited my love of photography. I am sure I am going to have a lot in common with Léon and Anna when they grow up!

I cheese?

2012-01-05T18:39:00.017Z

Mini-photographers, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Could anything be cuter than Amaia's way of expressing things at the moment? Currently she has three photographic terms:

Cheese! (please take a photo of me!)
I cheese? (may I use your camera to take a photo of someone?)
I see? (can I see the photo you just took, please?)

Charlotte is 12

2012-01-04T00:44:00.001Z

I remember what I was up to 12 years ago now! Happy birthday darling girl! Mum loves you. xxx

Dad's latest scan

2012-01-04T00:42:00.002Z

Dad and Anna at Whitelee, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Dad had a scan on Anna's birthday (19/12/11). It was his first since the end of last spring. He had stopped one chemo regime in May and started a new one in July. Being moved from Hairmyres to the Beatson for a drug trial that was subsequently cancelled and then moved back, somehow resulted in his three month scan never materialising, so no one has had a look at his insides in about eight months.

These people love to wreck your Xmas - they did it last year and low and behold - they did it this year again... They call you in for a scan days before Xmas, then leave you biting your nails to the quick all holiday season, saying they'll get back to you at the end of the holidays. To make matters worse, the day after dad's scan, they cancelled his last chemo session, citing a hospital emergency. Personally, I figured no one would actually have had time to look at the results by then but, he assumed the worst - they didn't want to waste the last session on him having checked his results...

With Charlotte's birthday today, dad was told to come in for his results yesterday. He doesn't usually fare well on my kids' birthdays - having had his initial diagnosis on Léon's fifth birthday, and the last scan on Anna's (obviously I have too many kids!) Our hearts were in our mouths.

He woke up to his tree on the lawn and phoned to tell me about it. I figured that had to be a good omen - he'd wanted rid of it so long.

At lunchtime he phoned to say the results couldn't have been better! The tumour on his lungs had disappeared, as had the tumour on one of his kidneys. His other kidney and liver had shrunk since last May too and the original bowel one wasn't any worse! Why the hell couldn't the bastards have told him this three weeks ago! Not that I'm complaining really - it is definitely not what he seemed to be expecting - though as you can see from this photo (taken the week before Xmas) - he did look too well to me to be walking his final steps!

Go dad! This is the best news we could have heard today (other than them finding a miracle cure, of course).

More on apples

2012-01-03T23:15:00.021Z

Me and my brother, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I'm not a big fruit fan. I know fruit is healthy, and it isn't that I'm anti-healthy eating - I eat more than my five a day in veg. I am a big veg fan, but I find fruit rather watery and tasteless. I happily eat a really juicy orange in season but apples in particular bore me after two or three bites. I've tried many varieties from the local supermarkets but they don't taste like I remember real apples tasting.

Recently Waitrose opened here. Not only can I manage and even enjoy a whole apple from there, but Amaia has taken to dragging through a stool and helping herself to three a day, so I can definitely recommend the quality of the apples there.

Eye-apples!

2012-01-03T23:08:00.002Z

earrings?, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Amaia is creating her own vocabulary at an incredible rate at the moment. She gets the words for eyes and ears mixed up, often calling both eyes. All ball-shaped items from the size of a small marble to a football are apples.

In the last week she has become fascinated by earrings, so when I wear a pair that please her, she often comments Nice eye-apples!

Bawbag the second

2012-01-03T22:16:00.037Z

Bawbag the second, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

About 30 years ago either the council or Scottish Power erected about thirty fast-growing conifer-type trees around the small electricity sub-station in front of my parents' south-facing garden. No one asked the residents around the triangle of grass if they wanted them, they were simply put there. No one was particularly upset about them at first but ten years on they had become thick and tall. Groups of kids would sit in the trees at night talking, keeping the residents of the three adjacent streets awake. Also the trees obscured all the sunlight from my parents' garden from 1pm to 7pm on a summer afternoon. They were a nuisance. They phoned the council and asked them to remove them. They were told their maintenance was the residents' responsibility. A quote of over £3K was obtained to chop the tops off the trees and thin them down. The ten houses overlooking the trees felt somewhat aggrieved that they should pay. Dad and his neighbour, Steve, tried Scottish Power and his local MP to no avail. A fifteen year battle ensued but no one would budge.

Every summer dad, Steve and a few others went out with ladders and saws and chopped chunks of the trees but they were unmanageable. Their house was dark all day in winter and cold and shadowy all day in summer. They moved into my garden for sunbathing.

Dad never once said anything positive about the trees... well not until Bawbag last month. You know pet, he said, I think that tree might have protected us from the full assault of Bawbag!

6am today, and despite not receiving anything like last month's red alert warning, something much worse than Bawbag woke Newton Mearns up. I was shaken from my sleep by crashing and smashing at my house. At the other end of Crookfur, Dad was snoozing soundly and somehow managed to sleep through the event... so he got a seriously big shock when he drew his curtains to find the tallest and most annoying of the trees lying between his and Steve's garden. Steve was already in his garden dancing and taking photos!

On inspection, the lamp post outside his house was snapped in two and cables and wires from the substation were swaying in the wind. When I visited ten hours after the crash, the wires were still blowing in the wind! The roots were an impressive height off the ground. And I'm not quite sure how one is meant to use the footpath for now!

Let's hope the tree wasn't my parents' only wind shield, given the winter we seem to be having.

As I was saying...

2012-01-03T00:55:00.002Z

One Direction eat your heart out! a video by PhylB on Flickr.

on Friday... having a pre-teen indoctrinating her younger siblings can have fascinating results!

Music

2012-01-01T17:30:00.003Z

Little pianist, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

When I was a child I was made to learn recorder at school - everyone was. We started in p3 (around six and a half) and had to sit exams in it up to the end of s2 (around 13 and a half). I hated it with a passion and had no aptitude for it at all but it meant I was obliged to learn to read music properly and I imagine, if I had had some talent, a teacher would have picked up on it.

Long before the recession hit, music had been more or less removed from the school curriculum. They still have 'music lessons' but Charlotte describes these as - a class of 25 kids sharing ten glockenspiels, they are taught the basic notes and asked to play a few on the glockenspiel before passing it on to the next child in line. There are no exams, and no one is getting enough tuition to develop an interest in music, if they are not sent by their parents to private music lessons.

Private music lessons are out of the reach of more and more parents as inflation rises, jobs become insecure and house prices fall. They are out of my reach. If one of my children has a special musical talent I will not find out about it and nothing will be done about it...

My grandmother was a pianist, my grandfather and both my parents learnt piano to exam level. Thomas's sister and brother-in-law are both professional musicians. Thomas has a well-known opera singer, violinist and composer in his family.

It's sad to think that many of this generation's talents will simply never be discovered and will spend their lives working in an office or similar, while singing in their kitchen while doing their dishes. We are making this world into a much less interesting place than it needs to be.

Recession positives

2012-01-01T16:58:00.001Z

Every so often I try to find a positive angle to the recession - otherwise I fear we might go quite mad!

As I think back over the last two months, I can think of another positive to add to last year's list. As my parents did in my youth, I have started repairing things rather than binning them...

My dishwasher had not been cleaning properly for the last few months - I had tracked it down to a misalignment between the in-pipe and the sprayer on the top basket. Back in my non-self-employed days, I would not even have got that far, I'd simply have binned it and ordered a new one online. Dishwashers are only a few hundred quid... I was moaning about it to a friend over coffee one day and she complained in return that her dishwasher had also broken down the same week, but in her case it was the motor. We went through to fill our coffee cups when my friend noticed it was the same model! Her husband has been struggling through the recession, self-employed, so she thinks along the same wavelength. The following Sunday I was sitting in my dressing gown when the very same friend rang my doorbell. She was on her way to the dump with hers and she decided to see if her upper basket would perhaps align better if mine had been twisted. Ten minutes later I had a fully functioning dishwasher and a new best friend! It is just inconceivable that we'd have bothered trying that ten years ago. It is maybe time we all started to question what needs throwing out and what can be repaired.

Again last month my tumble dryer stopped closing. The door looked broken. I googled to see if I could get a spare door catch before binning it and ended up repairing it for £8!

I wonder if things had become too cheap in the 90s compared to what we perceived to be stable incomes and ever-rising house values to keep a sensible perspective?

GRAN

2011-12-31T23:05:00.004Z

Jean Stirling, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

New year always makes me think of my granny. Until I was about fourteen we always spent new year at my granny's flat and it always followed the same format.

From 6pm till just before midnight she became a manic demon. She got down on all fours scrubbing the floors with a tiny sponge, checking every corner for dirt. All hell would break loose if so much as a crisp wrapper remained in a bin her house as we approached midnight. She'd scream at us like an army sergeant major till she was safely into the next year. Superstitious to the point of insanity, my brother would be thrown out in all weather minutes before the bells with the last speck of dust in a bag while I remained in the kitchen baking the obligatory shortbread from her 'Lofty Peak' cook book. Burning it was not an option of course because it might then constitute rubbish and woe betide me if I should be the creator of pre-Bells rubbish!

One year poor Derek had the misfortune to be outside when the clock struck midnight... aged eight, short with dark reddish-brown hair, there was no way in hell he was getting to first-foot her so he was made to remain outside in the snow in his slippers until a kindly neighbour turned up with whisky and some more shortbread.

After the bells, we'd be allowed into her front room (a rare occurrence) where she'd play piano and we'd all sing till about four in the morning. I've no idea how the other three neighbours put up with the noise!

I guess if Anna had met her she might have called her Silly Mad Jean.

A DANISH PROBLEM

2011-12-31T22:26:00.043Z

From tomorrow things are changing drastically for Danish ex-pats. One of the main problems is that no one has told the Danes! Basically from midnight consulates will be banned from issuing passports to ex-pats (or children of ex-pats when they are born abroad), only embassies will be allowed to issue all future passports (because of finger-printing equipment). Thomas found out completely randomly a month ago because his passport was due to run out just after the new year. He phoned the consulate (in Bishopbriggs) to make an appointment and they told him to hurry up because the only embassy in the whole of the UK is in London! If he'd found out three weeks later, he'd have been obliged to do the round trip to London (twice) to apply for and then pick up his (and, as it happens, the girls' passports). Obviously two return flights to London cost slightly more than two round trips to Bishopbriggs! Being up north in say Wick would of course be even worse but there are many countries with a reasonably high ex-pat Danish population where there is no embassy!

Take New Zealand. If Thomas and I lived there instead of here, he'd be obliged to go twice to Sydney to get a new passport. When Amaia was born he'd have been obliged to take her to Sydney to get her first passport... which begs the question - how would he have got her into Australia without a passport or visa to get her first passport?! Family passports aren't synchronized either so a person with two or three kids could end up having to fly back and forth every other year. For instance Amaia's current Danish passport runs out in 2013, Anna's in 2016, Amaia's replacement would run to 2018 and Thomas's would be up in 2021 - that is a fair number of plane trips to the embassy! Someone hasn't thought it through!

Anyway Thomas is so incensed he's started a Facebook group to alert people to the change, and of course to try eventually to pressurize his government into a rethink. I'll keep you updated on the revolution!

ZOOPLA

2011-12-31T18:34:00.001Z

I was trying to find an address online yesterday. I was aiming for 192.com or the likes but somehow stumbled upon Zoopla instead by mistake. It is quite interesting because they have a database (which is freely viewable) of house prices. I don't mean it is interesting because you can spy on how much your neighbour sold his house for (which of course you can!) but it is a good way of seeing how house prices around you are falling in the recession.

Take it with a small pinch of salt occasionally however - I did notice one flaw... When André and I got divorced I sold him my half of our house so the last selling price for his house is in at half of that of all his neighbours despite his house being extended unlike his neighbours'! This could cause a future potential buyer to worry unnecessarily what is wrong with it. But other than that it makes for interesting, and sometimes scary, reading.

BEECH?

2011-12-31T00:01:00.027Z

Beech hedge, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

So the Bawbag storm has blown away our fence. Given the amount of rain we seem to be getting, a new fence will probably rot away before the next hurricane blows it over. And we all know that the insurance won't cover a new one blowing away so I've been wondering about a large hedge instead. I really hate conifer hedges - they are so incredibly boring (and I'm allergic to them which doesn't help!) Of course they are functional (the previous owner did put one round the front garden) but tedious. I was wondering about a beech hedge. Beech hedges are lovely half the year but I really think they look awful in winter too. Most of all I need something to keep Amaia in, so maybe I don't have time for a hedge... I need to look into it over the holiday, I guess.

TEENAGER OVERLOAD

2011-12-30T16:55:00.002Z

Teeny teenagers, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Charlotte has hit (pre-)teens big time - drooling over those little boys in One Direction and the likes! If that wasn't bad enough, she has discovered that her little sisters are just the right age to indoctrinate and even this week while she is away visiting her father, Anna won't be dragged away from looking at the Youtube video of their latest hit all dewy-eyed, singing along like a minipop-star with Amaia sitting beside her bopping away! I guess eight and ten years between daughters has its disadvantages as well as its advantages!

FAILED WELLINGTON

2011-12-29T20:55:00.020Z

Failed Wellington, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I always thought puff pastry was puff pastry but I am beginning to wonder if there is a difference between what we call puff up here in Scotland and what those south of the border call puff...

In the autumn Thomas decided to try to make Beef Wellington for the first time ever. He bought a chunk of beef and a roll of Jus-rol pastry in Tesco. It was a wonderful success. Even Marcel and Léon who are the least meaty of our kids loved it.

Thomas's parents and mine came to dinner a couple of weeks ago. I suggested the Beef Wellington would be a good choice as it had been so easy to make yet tasted as if you were in a restaurant. So I went up to ASDA and bought a chunk of beef and a roll of Bells pastry. The same steps were followed but as he turned the hot beef in the pastry it actually dissolved! It seems to me that the Scottish version of puff pastry is half butter, whereas the non-Scottish one is maybe 20% butter. Do we need our puff pastry to be more stretchy to fit across a traditional steak pie ashet?

In any case, whatever the reason, I'd warn against using Scottish puff on your Beef Wellington!

NOT JUST ROADS

2011-12-29T20:46:00.000Z

The roads here in East Renfrewshire are in a bit of a state. Two have been resurfaced since last year's big freeze (Firwood and Capelrig), several have had the odd pothole filled and refilled. There are at least three that will become virtually impassable the first time we get frost this year (I'm thinking Fruin, Corrour and Rodger). One thing no one seems to be mentioning however is the state of the pavements and paths. When I was a child I used to cycle these paths. Eighteen months ago, when we decided to teach Léon how to cycle without stabilisers, we actually had to take him to the park because we couldn't find a path that was safe to cycle on, as a beginner. The one pictured above at the back of Corran Ave is actually becoming so overgrown that it'll need mowing next summer! I'm not sure the look goes with the inflated house prices the local schools around here have brought!

WHY?

2011-12-28T00:30:00.002Z

Boxing Day, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Why do little kids (in particular, though not in this case, boys) watch TV upside down? I've always wondered why they consistently do that up to about eight? It doesn't look better that way round, does it? Do cbeebies send subliminal messages coded upside down on the screen? Or do we just stop watching it that way up when we get too tall for the couch?

HOW MUCH?

2011-12-24T00:05:00.055Z

Decorating the tree, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

How much do you have to spend to make your child's Xmas special?

Recently while shopping in Toys R Us a woman was buzzing around the aisle holding a large sheet of paper. In her basket she had three large toys each costing around £30-£35. The toys were aimed at a male child of maybe seven or eight. She was extremely organised, ordering around the man who was with her (presumably a husband or partner). Come on, hurry up - we've got the first three, it can't take that long! she ranted. Subdued, the man complained I don't see why we need so much. Completely unfazed, she explained that she had told their child he could choose ten things, so he would get the ten. Twenty minutes later, I passed them again and was more than surprised to see all ten of the presents were now in the trolley and the £30 one seemed to be the cheapest!

I have no doubt any one of mine would be excited if they were to receive everything they could ever imagine wanting, but is it really necessary? An hour after the child has unwrapped these ten gifts, he will have a favourite or two I imagine and the others will be forgotten or put to one side. This child, I guess, will probably also receive things from grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, family friends...

Yesterday I met an old friend of my mother. Léon was with me. She asked him what he was hoping to receive for Xmas. Léon actually didn't know how to answer the question. He looked quite surprised, as if he had never thought about it. She asked him again, he thought for a moment and then simply replied If I get a Harry Potter T-shirt I will be very happy!

Léon wants love, affection, attention. He wants to feel safe and happy. He doesn't need £300 of plastic to achieve that.

ROYAL MAIL

2011-12-23T23:53:00.001Z

What's going on with the Royal Mail parcel delivery service? Has the government run out of money to provide them with the little red vans they used to use? Three times in the last week a postman has come to my door with a parcel and the van parked at the end of my driveway has been sporting either an Arnold Clark or Northgate vehicle hire logo.

GROWING UP

2011-12-21T00:38:00.000Z

I was taking Léon, Anna and Amaia to bed on Sunday night. Anna was rather excited at the prospect of turning four the next day. I was lying beside Amaia giving her a hug in her bed when Anna let out a yell. I thought she'd got her leg stuck in the bars of her iron bedstead or something similar, the way she was behaving. What's up? I asked, worried. It's my leg, it really hurts! she replied and then completely believing her own over-active imagination, she added - I think I can feel myself growing!

SAAB

2011-12-19T23:03:00.000Z

I was sad to see SAAB reach the end of the road today. I learned to drive in my dad's SAAB back in 1985. I remember I was so small behind the wheel at 17, I actually had to sit my driving test on a cushion! So I will always have a wee soft spot for SAABs. I was sure I had a photo of the one I learned in, but it turns out that although this is indeed the right car, you will be hard-pushed to admire it in all its beauty in this picture!

CONSISTENCY WOULD BE GOOD

2011-12-19T22:18:00.001Z

09-02-09 (19), a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I'm the first to moan about the primary school's (or is it perhaps the council's) mollycoddlying of children.

The poor wee buggers are closeted in classrooms all winter at the first hint of a snowflake because they are so afraid a parent will complain if their precious actually scrapes a knee slipping in the snow.

I often pick up sad-looking kids who've been desperate to get out all day just to have a snowball fight or build a snowman. Of course, the first thing they do when I get them home is just that.

Today, however, I did have to question their consistency. It snowed a few times last week. Walking had compacted it into ice and rain and freezing temperatures had been added into the mix. By this morning the entire playground was an ice rink.

Granted, a small 30cm path had been de-iced round the edge of the building and out to the gate, so the kids would be fine when they dragged them in early... Of course, they would take them in early... wouldn't they? Or would they let all 600 slip and slide round the playground and fall into icy puddles for the twenty minutes till the bell? It was like watching a bad attempt at Torvill and Dean. Whole chains of them were sliding backwards down the little embankment, generally landing with a bone-splitting thump on the black ice. I stood and watched ten minutes, by the end of which Léon was possibly the only little boy I hadn't seen fall into a puddle and soak his school trousers. They seemed to be having fun but today - unlike on the fluffy snowflake mornings, it was genuinely dangerous.

So are they making a new anti-health-and-safety stance which will consist of giving them the childhood we had, or did someone just cock up this morning?

I'm betting they'll be re-cotton-woolled tomorrow. :-(

CULTURAL AILMENTS

2011-12-13T11:45:00.081Z

I read this article today and it almost made me laugh out loud. I'm not sure how aware people are that ailments are a cultural thing until you have live in a mixed culture family. I, of course, have the joy of having lived in two mixed culture families - first my French/German/Scottish one for twenty years and now my Danish/German/Scottish one for over five. Add to that that I have spent my whole working life with foreigners too (being in bilingual publishing), so I can so relate to this Italian woman.

The Italian story doesn't differ too much from my French experience. Even at 35°C, my former sister-in-law believed that opening two windows in her car simultaneously to create what I would consider a pleasant breeze might cause her kidney failure. With common summer temperatures in the high thirties, the same relative believed that walking barefoot on the tiled floor of her flat would cause all sort of dangerous goings-on to occur in her womb area, possibly resulting in the need for an emergency hysterectomy! She was completely serious. She had learnt from childhood that any draught could be near fatal, not realizing that while avoiding one at 3°C or 4°C on a cold December morning was advisable, a degree of pragmatism should come into it in July! I have often sat in her (and her mother's) house with the oven on, the outdoor temperature pushing 40°C and every one of them refusing categorically to open a window because of the danger! And when I would walk around the flat barefoot, and suffer no ill effects, they'd simply dismiss it with mutterings of 'What do you expect with her Nordic blood!' When the kids came along and survived open windows and cold floors, they too were deemed Nordic!

Medicine is another French necessity. Going to the doctor was an absolute must, even with the slightest cold, and because of the funny insurance system whereby medicines are paid for and refunded, you'd be prescribed a minimum of five items even for a cold - a nasal spray, an inhaler, some lemsip type thing, all sorts of antibiotics you didn't need and of course the cure-all suppository! A suppository is the standard for the likes of tonsillitis and so on.

My family members were also forever getting injections into their spines every time they had backache. That used to worry me. It seemed very OTT!

Like Italians, swimming after even looking sideways at a sandwich would, of course, cause you to drown so had to be avoided at all costs. I often had the pool to myself while my entire family sat looking at their watches after lunch. As I'd bounce about in the water with the kids, they'd shake their heads disapprovingly as if I should have my kids taken into care for the degree of irresponsibility I was showing!

Now Danes are a different kettle of fish. For example, all Danes I know own and treasure thermometers - usually anal ones and as soon as they or their child feels under the weather they need to know their temperature to the nearest tenth of a degree... Interestingly though, once they know it, they don't do anything about it! Calpol and baby nurofen are taboo words in Denmark. I had to haggle and negotiate to get paracetamol for Marcel once in a pharmacy in Aarhus when he was ten because he had an ear infection and a raging temperature. It isn't on the shelf in their supermarkets, it isn't even on the shelves in their pharmacies. Trying to buy a pack of kiddie disprol is like trying to buy cannabis over the counter here! And as for antibiotics, they seem to be taking the fear of over-prescribing them more seriously than anyone else on the planet. I am assured by all my family members that getting any antibiotics is more or less impossible! So in Denmark there are two degrees of illness: the first seems to be up to about 38°C where you do nothing, the second at higher than 38°C when you force your child to eat ice cream! :-)

I wonder what my foreign relatives, old and new, consider to be the idiosyncrasies of Scotland?

BARBAPAPA

2011-12-13T11:19:00.003Z

Barbapapa, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

As I mentioned a few months back, Barbapapa is big everywhere in Europe except here. As you can see, kids here seem to love them just as much as ever. I wonder who makes the marketing decisions for them over here? They are definitely losing the franchise a lot of revenue. (Possibly a close relative of our beloved Prime Minister?)

NAIVETY

2011-12-13T11:06:00.002Z

Happy Baby, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

There's a naive innocence in teenagers who aren't used to babies and their devious ways. On Friday last week Marcel invited two friends (who don't have young siblings) to stay over. They watched movies and played XBOX in the TV room till the wee small hours then disappeared up to Marcel's room to sleep. They left a full but open bag of M&Ms sitting on the couch, not realizing it'd be the last they'd ever see of it! Amaia got up two hours before them and discovered it all by herself. I think there were three left when the boys finally got up!

LUCKY TEACHER!

2011-12-12T22:27:00.003Z

Léon lost his first tooth today at school, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Léon came out of school jumping with excitement. His first tooth had come out. I asked him the story:
Well, I was in the dinner hall eating my lunch and it just fell out! he explained.
So what did you do? I asked
Well, I noticed my teacher was also sitting having her lunch so I just went over to her and gave her it!
Lucky teacher!

ROOF DAMAGE

2011-12-12T22:10:00.006Z

Roof damage, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I had discovered the missing fence. I had found the smashed greenhouse panes. The leaking dining room window, hall ceiling and wall had not escaped me during the course of last Thursday's Bawbag. Even the two missing roof caps at the apex of the front of the house had been noted down... but I couldn't see any major damage on my roof...

Then the bloke who lives across the road dropped by today to ask basically if we shouldn't be wearing hard hats every day coming in and out until it was fixed... Until what was fixed? You see from his top floor he has a much better view of our roof than we do. I walked as far as I could away from it to get a better angle.

Holy shit! Has someone been up there with a crowbar and a hammer?

I have now been back on to the insurance company sheepishly mentioning I have found a few more issues since we last spoke!

Oops... roof tiles bloody better be covered!

ANNA'S PRESCHOOL PHOTO

2011-12-11T23:51:00.003Z

Anna had her preschool photo taken last month, just a few weeks before she got her glasses. I really like two specific bits of it.

When Anna is all grown up and I look at this photo of her at three, I will smile, remembering the fascination she had as a tiny child with nail varnish. Up till the day before this photo, Anna had always opted for a single shade, but on this day she insisted that every single nail had to be painted a different colour, so she could look extra-special! Her smile shows how proud she feels.

The other thing the photographer has managed to capture is Anna's odd eyes. I have been noticing since Anna's eyes changed from blue around nine months, that while her right eye is green, her left one is noticeably darker!

SHAKER MAKER

2011-12-10T22:19:00.000Z

I got this Shaker Maker set for Xmas round around 1978. I hadn't thought about it in 30 years until I was on Miller's webpage last night looking for a present for my mum to buy Anna. They still make them! I can still remember the smell of the powder and the fun of painting my Florences, Dougals and Zebedees over and over! I can't wait to help Anna make some.

SPOT THE DIFFERENCE!

2011-12-09T18:23:00.006Z

Hurricane Bawbag, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

On the left - my greenhouse with its missing back wall and detached door - storm damage that is covered by home insurance. On the right - my fence which is not covered. But I have a cunning plan! I am going to install a wind turbine in my garden! Next time we have a mini-hurricane, the sparks from the exploding windmill might just set the fence debris alight! Remember fire damage is covered! How clever is that?

Facetious, me? Never! ;-)

NOW HERE'S A CLASSIC

2011-12-09T15:19:00.002Z

We phoned up about all our storm damage and were told the fence was not covered for snapping in hurricane-force winds...
What exactly do you cover fences for? we asked.
Fire and theft! was their reply!
Now, I ask you - what is most likely to happen to a fence? Storm damage, fire or theft?
So I guess I'm away out to try to cobble together a new fence out of all the shattered pieces of wood strewn up my street.
Should any of you feel like stealing my fence once I have finished building it, feel free! ;-)

EITHER IT'S DANGEROUSLY WINDY, OR IT ISN'T!

2011-12-08T12:09:00.000Z

All the schools in East Ren are closed (for the first time other than because of snow in all my parenting years). The Met office issued a 'red warning' of 90mph winds saying it was too dangerous to go out, so the council took the decision to close all schools. My fence (which has been in my garden at least five winters I know of without so much as a wobble) has blown over in the last hour, the crossbeams snapped and the posts uprooted so it truly does seem to be quite windy.

So I wonder what is going through the minds of the company that is currently installing cavity wall insulation all round Newton Mearns for the (very same) council? As I look out of Lots's bedroom window at the moment, I can see not one but two men currently up ladders (in this same wind) filling the walls of the house across the road.

So which is it East Ren? Too windy to open schools, or not windy enough to call off the insulation guys?

CONFUSION

2011-12-07T22:38:00.044Z

Siena, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Here is Léon in the country where he believes Danish is spoken! It doesn't look very Scandinavian, does it?

Léon hasn't been in Denmark since he was two and a half. (He is now six). When Brita retired as a minister at the end of 2008, they moved out of the manse that had been their home for forty years and now split their time between their beautiful, old Tuscan house and a small flat in Aarhus. That means of course that when they are in Denmark, they do not have enough space for us to visit, so as a family we visit them in Italy. It is such a shame they left the huge manse just a few years after Thomas and I got together, as it had so much space for us all and a wonderful garden!

Anyway, the upshot is of course that Léon is now beginning to think Danish is a language that you can only speak in Italy! Thomas only speaks Danish to the three wee ones, no English, so they know it can be spoken in Scotland, but are aware, as all bilingual kids are, after a mistake or two, that they can't get away with speaking it to many other random people here! In Italy though there is a lot of Danish spoken all day every day and many of the conversations around them are in Danish. Thomas's parents even have a new Danish next door neighbour with kids in Italy!

I became aware of this anomaly when Thomas started showing the kids Nissebanden as a TV advent calendar last week. It seems to be a story of a group of Danish-speaking elves who fly off to Greenland in a hot-air balloon - truly riveting ;-) I happened to walk in as they landed in Greenland. 'Where did they set out from?' I asked, feigning interest... 'Oh, they must have come from Italy', Léon piped up immediately, 'because they were speaking Danish to each other!'

I guess when you live in a family where a minimum of five languages are spoken in the home almost on a daily basis, nothing fazes you!

TYPES OF GLASSES

2011-12-03T18:18:00.003Z

Luss beach, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Since finding out she needed glasses, Anna has been observing the different types people use.

Yesterday she shared her findings with me:

You only wear glasses when you are reading Mummy, Pumpa (my dad) does the same. Granny, Léon and Farmor (Thomas's mum) wear their glasses all the time. Großvater (Thomas's dad) wears his for driving but not for reading. But Theodor (her Danish cousin who is 13) only needs his for sleeping!

You've got to laugh at the logic. Basically, Theodor has recently started wearing contacts during the day so Anna only ever sees him wearing his glasses at breakfast, so she assumes he only needs them for sleeping! Cute.

GLASSES - DAY 2

2011-12-03T18:09:00.002Z

Anna's glasses, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

What a pain in the neck glasses are!

All day they have been slipping down Anna's nose and sitting on the end of it so out we went in the torrential rain, back to the opticians to have them adjusted. Too loose is not good in kids glasses. Fortunately, I have learned from the Léon experience. We no longer choose opticians by the range or price of specs on offer, but by proximity to our house and usual haunts (yes, we opted for the one next door to ASDA again) because the number of times you have to drop in for repairs and adjustments (especially between nursery chuck-out at 3.35pm and closing time) really make an optician in town too much hassle.

We are home now and they've stopped slipping. The opticians closed eight minutes ago. Anna's latest complaint: They are too tight behind my ears!

Ho hum, I guess it's back to ASDA again tomorrow.

ANNA'S NEW GLASSES

2011-12-02T18:40:00.018Z

Anna's new glasses, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Anna picked up her new glasses at 5pm. She was absolutely thrilled... for the first hour. She had no complaints. Then she got home and was looking at the clock in the TV room. That's when the whining began. She couldn't focus on the numbers on the clock - all the numbers were black, fuzzy lumps. Distressed, because she could easily read the clock numbers without the specs, she started taking them off and on, claiming she needed to clean them.

Last year in September, when Léon first got glasses we had driven back and forward to the opticians at least twice in the first fortnight because they didn't seem to be the correct prescription, but what a difference a year of experience makes for the parent! We know now that a child who has always needed glasses but has never had them learns, with a struggle, to focus without them. When they first get glasses, it takes them a week to ten days to stop compensating. For the first wee while, they think that the glasses don't work. I swear I must have told Léon to look through his glasses, not over them a hundred times a day at first, until suddenly one morning he got up and was happier with them than without them.

I guess that fortnight or so for Anna has now begun.

ANOTHER SELACHIAN CHILD

2011-12-01T16:17:00.002Z

Shark man, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Like his brother and sister before him, Léon seems to have inherited the shark gene - with a twist. Marcel and Charlotte's big teeth all grew in before the little ones fell out but by the time they were half through, the little ones were always very wobbly. Léon, as you can see, now has an adult tooth through but his baby teeth aren't wobbly in the slightest. He has a dental appointment next week anyway so we'll see what needs doing then.

One thing is sure though - unlike his little cousin, who got his big teeth through much earlier than Léon, when the fairy turns up at our house, she won't be carrying anything like £5 per tooth! Let's hope they don't confer!

MORE FUNCTIONAL LANGUAGE

2011-12-01T14:35:00.001Z

Amaia often watches the older kids playing board games. Being competitive they tend to shout 'six' when throwing the dice, willing them to land on a six. Amaia, therefore, assumed from fairly small that a die was called a 'six'. She has gone more generic now, deciding 'six' in fact means anything cube-shaped. Consequently, when she's building with blocks, she is often to be found running around asking if anyone has found any more sixes! I guess this is another example of her functional language!

PENSIONS

2011-11-30T23:23:00.003Z

So today was the big strike day in the public sector. My initial reaction a month ago when I heard about it was flippantly to wonder if I would be on strike if I worked in the public sector, given their projected pensions are much higher than I can expect, having always worked in the private sector. It's been exactly ten years now since private sector pensions closed their final salary schemes, moving the money into stocks and shares... and we all know what has happened to stocks and shares since then. They got away with it at the time because the average earners saw their house price increase year after year and contented themselves with the fact that although they would have no pension, a simple down-sizing of their property would solve the cashflow problem of their old age... but of course that is a fantasy bubble that has since burst, and I suspect has some further bursting to do!

Of course there will be a small percentage of private sector MDs with decent pensions, just as there will be top civil servants with decent pensions too but an average worker will get a pension that will not allow him to retire ever. Add to that the issue of redundancy - when people lose their jobs they have to choose between continuing to invest in under-performing pensions or paying their mortgage. However short-sighted it may seem, many people choose to pay their mortgage! A quick poll of my freelance friends today (many editorial staff and journalists work freelance these days, having either been let go by struggling publishers, or having resigned, like me, unable to pay childcare costs from my very average salary, thus figuring working from home was the only option) reveals that next to none of my friends (all in their 40s) are currently paying into a pension at all. I wonder how many of the rich Tories in charge of the country are aware of that?

So rather than lamenting the fact that the public sector workers didn't exactly rush out in their thousands ten years ago in support when this was happening to us, I think it needs to be said that the government and country doesn't need to rethink their plans for the public sector so much as rethink pensions in their entirety. Twenty years from now we are suddenly going to hit a point when there are no jobs for us 60-somethings but we have no pensions either. It's time to break down that old us and them divide and realize all of us, public and private alike, are facing an impossible retirement.

It isn't the rights of public sector workers we should be fighting for, but the rights of all workers on average salaries, regardless of their sector. We should all be out there today pointing out to the buffoons in charge that a major rethink is needed.

(Here's an interesting quote from Macwhirter:

Here's a statistic to think about. At present annuity rates (that's what you get when your savings are converted into a pension) to buy an index linked pension of £24,000 - roughly what a teacher gets - a 60 year old would need to have saved over £600,000. It is impossible for normal people to save anything like this. The average personal pension savings “pot” at retirement is currently £30,000, which will generate about a £1100 a year, most of which is lost because the pensioner loses entitlement to means tested pension credit. And remember, a third of British workers, round 8 million, have no pension at all.)

ALPHABET PLATES

2011-11-27T22:25:00.001Z

My car, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Léon asked me yesterday why car number plates were called number plates when they are predominantly alphabet plates! It's funny how young children see the world through different eyes.

Then we got talking about number plates. He noticed a car with a number plate that contained only one letter and two numbers. He wanted to know why it was so short so I explained the UK's system of private number plates and mentioned that such a short number plate would have been quite expensive. The wee guy is now on the look-out (he says) for a car with the whole alphabet on the back because he hears there's a recession on so he figures someone around is going to be that poor!

ANNA

2011-11-25T17:37:00.004Z

Anna, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Léon is very long-sighted. Anna's now been to the hospital for her own eye-test and we've found out her issue is caused by astigmatism.

Of course, the result is the same. She too is likely to need glasses always. Ho hum :-(

Anna, of course, is a very positive person. She is completely thrilled that the only glasses that are small enough for a three year old on sale in Boots opticians are bright pink. She was dramatically claiming she was so blind she couldn't possibly leave the shop without her new glasses (despite not realizing last month she had any vision problems!) And she's already ordered Thomas to put a shelf beside her bed (he put one up for Léon's glasses a few months ago.)

Let's hope they don't take too long.

SKINNY

2011-11-23T00:01:00.002Z

Climbing, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Here is a photo of Amaia climbing the stairs in my hall. We have two halls downstairs - an internal one painted pink and the one leading from the front door upstairs which is painted light and dark terracotta.

Last night I asked Anna where she had left her nursery bag. 'In the skinny hall', she replied. The pink hall, being internal, with five doors off it, is substantially smaller, so I assumed that is what she meant, but her bag was nowhere to be found. I went out to the big hall and there it was. Odd... until I questioned her further. You see according to Anna, apparently 'skinny' doesn't mean 'narrow', it means 'the colour of skin'! So my pale terracotta hall is in fact my 'skinny' hall! Sweet!

PHOTOGRAPHIC SANITY RETURNS

2011-11-22T23:02:00.005Z

For the past three years my kids' school has been annoying me on sports' day and at school shows with their blanket ban on photography. I have no major interest in taking photos of kids I don't know but I do want to show mine photos of their achievements and milestones when they reach adulthood. How often when we are on facebook these days does an old school friend upload a photo taken in the school playground 30 years ago and we all fall about laughing with genuine affection for our youth? Banning that has been grating on me for some time... Then this year, I finally snapped.

School sports day fell the week after my mother's stroke. My son was in primary one and I was banned from taking a photo of him to his granny in hospital for no reason I could see. I didn't want a class shot, simply a photo of him alone in his sack or holding an egg and spoon. So I wrote to my MP.

Dear Mr Macintosh,
I thought I'd ask for your help on this minor issue. Today was Sports' Day at my kids' school here in East Renfrewshire. As has been the case for the last two years the head opened it warning parents not to take photos of the event for private use as a few of the children didn't have permission to be photographed. It seems to me that the majority of the parents did want to photograph the event - many sneaked out mobiles while the teachers' backs were turned. Why are the majority's desires ignored in favour of the minority? I agree publishing photos would be another matter. But a snap of your child for personal use is harmless. My mother is in hospital after a stroke last week, my father is terminally ill with cancer so neither was able to attend my son's p1 sports' day. I feel terribly upset I couldn't brighten their day by showing them a photo of him with an egg and spoon. I have no desire to take photos of others' kids, I simply feel aggrieved that someone is telling me I cannot document my own child's childhood because of the desires of a few paranoid individuals. Ironically if these kids are walking home from school on say Mearns road nothing stops me from accidentally snapping them as I take a photo of a nearby church for example. I don't need to ask permission of every individual on Prestwick beach on a sunny day before snapping the view. And of course the rules have changed over the years - I have plenty photos of my older kids' sports days. How do I explain to the youngest that his own mother is banned from photographing him? I think it is time we got back a sense of reality. And the reality is 95% of parents want a cute little photo of junior with his egg and spoon and 5% are spoiling that. Why are we allowing that? By pandering to this paranoia we are sending the kids the message that the parents watching them at school are potentially dangerous. That is completely wrong. I wish the Scottish government would step in and issue some guidelines for sense.
Thanks for your time.

I assumed it would be ignored but I felt better for having moaned at least. A month later I received a letter stamped 'Scottish Parliament'. Mr Macintosh said he agreed with my points, had kids in the same council area and agreed to take up my case with the council. I was surprised to say the least. Another month passed and both Ken and the council wrote to me saying new guidelines allowing parents to photograph their kids on condition they didn't upload the photos to social media sites had been sent to all East Ren heads.

Today I attended the school's p2 show where we were allowed to take photos of our kids for the first time in three years. So I guess the lesson is to be less cynical. Complaining sometimes actually works!

SCOTTISH PANTO SEASON

2011-11-22T22:44:00.000Z

I decided today it would be nice if I could take my kids just once in their childhood to see a proper Panto at the Pavilion or the King's theatre in Glasgow. What better time to take them than when Brita and Peter are over for Anna's birthday in December. It would be a fun and interesting experience for our foreign guests and kids alike...

So I fill in the booking form - 2 adults, 2 over-60s, 5 under-16s... that'll be £208 + booking fee! You are kidding, right? A two hour show, that you are meant to go to over and above your other December plans and Xmas presents buying costs around £25 a head and there are no family tickets or reductions for under-5? A baby pays the same as a 15 year old? I don't think this is anything like realistic in the current economic climate and urge a mass boycott by normal Glaswegians in favour of amateur equivalents until they considerably reduce the greed factor for the future.

HOW SWEET CAN ONE CHILD BE?

2011-11-21T23:31:00.002Z

Léon, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Thomas was reading the kids a story about a deer the other night. Léon, like many kids, got confused and thought Thomas meant a reindeer - after all, kids hear more about them than about any other type at this time of the year. Thomas told him he meant a normal deer, not a reindeer and Léon asked: What's the difference? Are normal deer just reindeer that don't know how to fly? The wee man was completely serious!

BILINGUALISM

2011-11-20T23:19:00.002Z

Painting the puppet theatre, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Bilingual kids have to memorize from as young as possible who speaks which language. Amaia, for example (at 22 months) is still at the stage where she comes out with completely mixed sentences and happily uses the wrong words to, say my parents or Thomas's. Anna (who is a month short of 4) already knows how to interpret for non-Danish/non-English speakers so would explain conversations between her Danish-speaking cousin Ursula and my parents.

Funnily enough learning who speaks what doesn't stop at people! Bilingual kids may have a teddy or similar who only speaks one of their languages!

This fantasy continues to quite an advanced age in childhood. I remember Thomas telling me his dad had a box of puppets when he was a child who could only speak German (Thomas is bilingual German/Danish from birth - his dad was originally from Germany). Thomas was happy for these puppets to only speak German but one day he had some kids home from school, so his dad was obliged to make his German puppets speak Danish so the other kids, who were not bilingual, could understand the show. Thomas told me he was beside himself - completely distraught, as the illusion had been broken. He had known for years that the puppets were German-speaking so speaking Danish was really wrong in his young mind.

Thomas has a box of puppets who only speak to Léon, Anna and Amaia in Danish! I have a horse and a dinosaur glove puppet who only speak to the three of the them in French!

Yesterday we dropped in on my parents and my mum asked Anna if she had any wishes for her 4th birthday next month. After a day's thought she asked me tentatively this evening: Do you think if we went out shopping we might be able to find any puppets who can speak English, mum?!

STIEG LARSSON

2011-11-20T00:20:00.003Z

Last year when we were in Copenhagen, we nipped across to Sweden for the afternoon because Thomas wanted to buy the Stieg Larsson trilogy in Swedish. Thomas never reads translations... if he fancies a book, he'd rather learn enough of the language to read it than read it in translation! (Yes, I know he's eccentric, but you have got to admire his madness!) That left me with a dilemma... I don't read translations when I speak the language, but I haven't read anything in Swedish for twenty years, and I noticed that even after one afternoon in Sweden, my Swedish was interfering with my Danish. On return to Copenhagen I noticed I was reading the 'K's on shop signs in my head as if they were written 'SH' and I could hear a ridiculous singing intonation creeping into my head as I read station names and the likes on the Copenhagen metro. Had I spoken the sounds out loud Thomas would have fallen over laughing at me. Danish is so much more macho sounding than Swedish! I learned Swedish at uni but given in its written form Danish is about 80% understandable to someone with Swedish, I never officially needed to learn to read Danish. Then I moved in with Thomas and after many years of hearing Danish every day, I now understand that better but in its spoken form it is very different sounding to Swedish. If a foreigner has only learned Swedish and hears Danish they are clueless as to what is being said unless the Danish comes with subtitles in Danish. Swedish is fairly simple phonetically - it looks like the words you hear. Danish is unfortunately like English - full of words like 'light' or 'write' with silent bits and bits that aren't pronounced like you expect if you haven't learned it! To sum it up - I understand spoken Danish easier than Swedish, but written Swedish as well as written Danish.

Having watched the nine hour television series of the Larsson trilogy in Swedish, I am now tuned back into that but if I spend the rest of the year reading Larsson in Swedish will my Danish become laughable? So do I break my own no-translation rule? (I happily read translations when I don't speak the language by the way!) Do I do the ridiculous and buy it in Danish (given the price of books in Denmark) or do I take Swedish to bed every night and start singing my Danish to the point where I start to sound like the muppet chef?

APPLE JUICE

2011-11-19T00:04:00.004Z

Amaia's linguistic expertise has taken on a new dimension today. Following on from her inventions of her 'tired' and her 'drive' the other day, she has now decided that things are called what she wants them to be called, and if that doesn't match the real name, then that's simply tough - we should learn the new name!

Today she came in and asked for 'apple juice'. It was as clear as day. 'Mummy, I wan appoo juice'. No problems there. So I gave her a glass of diluting apple juice in a plastic beaker. She was distraught! She has an inflated sense of her age, so I assumed I had offended her with the lid (she doesn't use a lid at the table any more, but I'd given her this so she could walk about with it). Even without the lid, this apple juice made her fall to the ground in dramatic, hysterical tears. She stormed through to the living room and started pointing at her auntie wailing 'appoo juice' over and over. Amanda was drinking a caramel cappuccino I'd made two minutes earlier. I took Amaia back through to the kitchen and pointed at the cappuccino machine. She became less agitated. I poured the remaining frothy milk, a dribble of coffee and a spoonful of caramel into a Toy Story mug, half filling it. 'Apple juice?' I asked. She smiled, took it from me and wandered back to the living room where she sat down in front of the patio doors happily repeating the words 'appoo juice' over and over while hugging her mug and sipping her coffee.

If only I had more money I could commission myself to write and publish an Amaia-English English-Amaia bilingual dictionary!

HERE WE GO AGAIN

2011-11-18T14:37:00.002Z

Paint fun, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Eighteen months ago when Hazeldene Nursery told us Léon had failed his eye test, we were more than surprised. Neither Marcel nor Lots has any eyesight problems and I didn't get my first reading glasses till a few weeks before my 41st birthday.

We took him to the hospital follow-up and were told he was long-sighted and would need glasses at least till he was a teenager, if not permanently. So the fun and expense of keeping glasses unscratched, unbroken, unlost etc began.

I immediately tried to get Anna's eyes tested at the time. Opticians refused because she was under four. I tried in vain to get the hospital to look at her when I was there with Léon. I asked for a doctor's referral but was told she would be checked at four anyway.

She isn't four until next month but the nursery contacted us last month to say she too has now failed her nursery sight test.

Yesterday, I phoned the hospital who said she'd be receiving a non-urgent appointment at some point in the future. Léon's first appointment had taken nine months to come through. I wasn't going to put up with that again. After speaking persuasively to them for half an hour Anna has now been given an appointment next week.

Given the hassle value of glasses and small children, I really hope they've made a mistake, but Anna is so excited about being old enough to get glasses just like her big brother, she's already picked out a pink pair in Dollond & Aitchison so if they tell her she doesn't need them she's going to be beside herself!

MEMORY TECHNIQUES

2011-11-17T20:48:00.001Z

On our way home from school today Léon was discussing his school winter show. He's one of the narrators. I asked his lines, and he told me them. I asked how he knew when to say them and he explained that he knew that as soon as Lily had sat down, he had to stand up and say his bit. Charlotte asked what Lily's words were. Léon looked blank and replied that he didn't know, he just knew she only said one thing so when she sat down it was his turn. Charlotte looked shocked. Ever since p1, I have simply memorized the school play so I know when to speak, she explained, somewhat matter of fact. The whole play? I asked. Of course, she replied! Given last year's offering was a cut down version of a Shakespeare play and she was only ten, I was more than surprised. So I guess I have the two extremes of personality in my kids - one who doesn't know the preceding line, the other who could give the whole half hour as a monologue!

FUNCTIONAL LANGUAGE

2011-11-16T23:32:00.002Z

Bouncing on the bed, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Amaia, unlike the rest of my children, has taken to making up nouns by taking the adjective or verb she associates with a particular item and substituting that for the real noun. You can tell her in English (or Danish) that she should go to 'bed' as often as you like but she insists on referring to it as her 'tired'. Yesterday, sitting at a junction, a rather nice car passed. 'Nice drive!' she exclaimed pointing at it.

It will be interesting to watch how this pattern develops.

FUTURE SHOPLIFTER/DRUG SMUGGLER?

2011-11-16T22:31:00.007Z

Old, wise Amaia, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I know many people dream of rich and powerful futures for their offspring, but I am beginning to suspect Amaia may simply grow up to be a shoplifter or drug smuggler! :-(

She has a habit of taking things and hiding them in her vest. She pops them in at the neck and we find them at various places throughout the day.

Take this last week. First, ten or so of Léon's lego men, complete with guns, spears, helmets and Viking horns all went missing. No one had seen them until I noticed Amaia had a limp the morning after they went missing. She was wearing her fleecy all-in-one pyjamas. The men were found in her left leg, after she'd managed to sleep a whole night with them.

The following day I pulled off her pinafore at bath time and her cutlery from dinner fell out of that!

Today I was about to change her nappy when I found sound strange dented patterns on her pelvis - I opened the nappy to find it full of paperclips, which once again had been inserted at her neck and fallen down through her vest into the nappy.

Finally, on another nappy change, I opened the poppers to reveal her stomach had various coloured stripes on it... and as I searched further up inside the vest, I of course found various crayons and felt tip pens minus lids.

Given we have so many relatives abroad, I really need to take great care before boarding a flight, especially with some of the more budget-end airlines... Trying to explain that I was not in fact trying to smuggle a knife, a cork screw or various unidentified powders, gels or substances in my baby's nappy might not just wash with them! :-\

O2

2011-11-15T22:32:00.000Z

Have you ever tried to buy a phone off O2? I wouldn't bother if I were you...

Lots has had her heart set on buying a new phone since her old Sony Ericsson(?) gave up the ghost a few weeks ago. After a rather large rant at her about her not spending half of the savings she's been amassing for over three years, she finally gave in and opted for the lowest spec Smart phone she could afford. Everywhere on the web seemed to be selling it at around £120, O2 had it at seventy something.

She has her own debit card these days - one of those teenage accounts to get you used to cards but with no overdraft facility - so first she ordered it with her own card, got a delivery slot of the following day and was very happy. I waited in and nothing turned up. She phoned and they had no track of her order. I asked if she'd followed the online instructions to the letter - nothing had gone wrong but she hadn't received a confirmation email so she reordered. She still got no email. I phoned again - no order. Assuming they had maybe tracked it as a child's card and were maybe blocking it that way but giving her no indication she was being blocked, I offered to buy it if she went to the ATM in the sweetie shop and got me the cash instead.

I followed the tedious instructions again all the way through and after a wait, I was told my transaction had been declined. This was the third time with no info. I was seriously annoyed at the lack of explanation. I decided to phone and buy it instead. Another half hour was wasted going through all the same details. And at the end my transaction was declined! At least over the phone they actually tell you why! My bank smile.co.uk wasn't authorising the transaction unless I rang to confirm it was me. For crying out loud! If I can spend £70 in Tesco without being hassled, why can't I buy a phone? Thanks Smile! 2/10 for customer services, but O2's online shop could easily have explained this to me too 2/10 to them as well.

I phoned Smile and told them I was me and they told me they'd authorise me spending my money, (thanks a lot), then I phoned O2 back. No, I have nothing better to do with my time, really I don't! Yes, back to square one, I re-re-re-re-ordered the phone and was given a delivery slot of today between 7am and 9pm! No I really have nothing better to do all day than man the doorbell, honestly.

At 2pm, O2 rang me to ask if I had any suggestions for their customer services department! Communication would be a good start - I explained the saga, and before I let him off the hook I asked if my phone had been dispatched. Yes, at 1pm! Great - no more moody female child to deal with... or?

8-30pm came and I had that sinking feeling for the third time. I wasted another ten minutes with O2 who gave me the phone number of Yodel who were delivering my phone. I rang them. The reference number didn't match anything they had, so I gave them my postcode. Oh yes, that's been dispatched from head office, said the bloke in a scouse accent, it should be in Scotland tomorrow but I'm not sure when it'll get to you. I explained O2 telling me to wait in today and was informed that they'd just leave it with a neighbour if I was out so I had been misled. I also mentioned that I'd been promised a delivery today and told them I'd stayed home to wait on it. Oh some of these companies we deliver for like to promise dates but they aren't set in stone, just best guesses, he informed me helpfully!

Great customer service O2, well done - you just went down to 0/10! Next time one of my kids wants a phone I'll be recommending the T-mobile shop who always dispatch my new company phones on the day I ask and are never late!

Rant over - I'll let you know what (if anything) tomorrow brings!

HOME-MADE POLITICS?

2011-11-13T22:35:00.001Z

Thomas has always been very political, blogging constantly about both UK and Danish politics but when I found he'd installed a home-made voting booth at the entrance to our bedroom this morning, I had to wonder what he was planning!

It turns out, in fact, to be a puppet theatre that he's been working on so he can throw puppet shows in Danish for the three youngest kids - he has a box of puppets upstairs - how sweet! Though rumour has it he expects me to paint it before use.

It is a shame really - I had this thought that if I installed it in my garden during the next general election, I could put up posters directing locals here to vote and have some fun with it! It could be quite a good way to influence the outcome of the local poll but it'll probably be less convincing in red or blue!

A CLEAR NIGHT

2011-11-12T22:55:00.002Z

Whitelee wind farm, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I was up at the wind farm again today just for half an hour. Unfortunately other commitments meant I couldn't hang about for sunset. I was quite surprised how far you could see. It's the first time I have noticed the sea and the Ailsa Craig in the distance.

PROUD OF THE MAN MY SON IS BECOMING

2011-11-12T22:22:00.034Z

This photo was taken yesterday... yesterday on my time scale but nearly fourteen and a half years ago in reality.

When Marcel was this small I couldn't begin to imagine the adult he would become but today I am starting to see who he will be.

Life doesn't always turn out how you expected but you do your best for your kids as they grow.

When I left his dad, when he was eight, I was convinced that I was doing the right thing. It was right for me because I didn't love him any more. But more than anything I thought it was imperative for my boys that I show them the consequences of neglect in a relationship. I figured that if I stayed, I was tacitly telling my boys that they didn't need to make any effort with their future partners and the ultimate outcome of that could be their partners walking out on them, potentially taking their kids away many years down the line. I had to leave to protect them from future heartbreak, otherwise I would have failed them.

Although I knew divorce was best, you never know if your kids are going to see that. It takes a certain maturity to get there, I imagine.

Today I was driving my child into town.

We talk a lot these days. Suddenly, spontaneously, he came out with the words I have secretly needed to hear for the last six years, but that I didn't expect to hear until he had a family of his own:

I'm so glad you and papa got divorced, he suddenly revealed. It was the best thing you ever did, mum. I can't begin to imagine our lives if you'd stayed with him. I remember what it was like, the others don't. You two together is unimaginable to me. When you were with him, you were frankly a bit weird, but now you're you!

Phew - what can you say to that? He is so right. André made me a nervous wreck, Thomas calms me but how can one so young, with so little life experience be quite so astute? I'm a very proud mum.

INHERITED CHARACTER TRAITS

2011-11-10T21:55:00.029Z

Watching TV, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Looking at your child and seeing yourself is such a special feeling. You see your expression in eyes of another colour, your smile on a man who was your little boy just a few years earlier, you hear your laugh in a baby - it makes you realize what everything is all about.

Listening to the little ones parent the littler ones is always amusing. I overhear Anna chastising Amaia (or even Léon) in words she could have only stolen from me and I laugh. She accuses me of procrastinating and I know she's heard Thomas and I chatting!

One of the most amusing things when you have as large an age spread as me is hearing the younger ones use their knowledge of what they hear from the older ones when interpreting what is going on around them. Léon occasionally refers to girls as 'fit' when he means 'pretty' for example! Marcel! And tonight Anna was standing on a chair above me singing what she thought were the correct words to the nursery rhyme: "I'm the king of the castle, and you're a dirty wee 'arsehole'!" I'm not sure that happens when three year olds don't have teenage siblings!

It is particularly fascinating to analyse the character traits your children inherit. Thomas hates embarrassing situations. Movies of the Borat type leave him squirming to the point he cannot physically sit on the couch and he dashes for the kitchen at the first opportunity on the pretext of coffee-making or the likes. Anna has inherited this character trait and I suspect from Amaia's concerned look in the above photo she probably has too. It was taken as they were watching the Swedish (dubbed into Danish) film Emil i Lönneberga. It shows a boy of about eight getting into all sorts of scrapes and up to all sorts of nonsense - he upsets his father by filling his wellies with water to check if they are water-tight and drops some black pudding mixture on his head for example. Instead of laughing, as intended, at the slapstick comedy of the situation, as Léon does, Anna squirms nervously on the couch saying he makes her feel ill at ease, while Amaia chews her fist worriedly, neither girl even smiling at the fun goings-on. Thomas came in last night and looked similarly uncomfortable. It is very sweet to watch!

SMARTER, OR... POORER?

2011-11-09T22:52:00.079Z

First day of primary 2, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

When Marcel started primary school back in 2002 the uniform at his school was a white polo shirt with a school logo, a blue sweat shirt with the same logo, non-branded grey trousers and black shoes.

When I was a child standard uniforms for little boys like Marcel consisted of a plain shirt, a school tie, trousers and shoes, as Léon is pictured wearing above. This was the original 1960s uniform and was still an option when Marcel started but was worn mainly for school photographs and perhaps on a child's first day when the parents wanted them to look extra-smart. When Marcel started in a year with 90 children, no more than five or six wore the 'smarter', old-fashioned uniform on a daily basis. I was greatly relieved as I am not in favour of four year olds having to waste time of fiddly little buttons and ties. I don't think they look smarter (after their first toilet visit of the day) as their shirt tails are generally flapping in the wind and after PE ties are backwards and the likes - little boys tend to look a state in the old uniforms! I have taught in France and been married to a highly intelligent Frenchman and Dane who both managed to get a first class education despite sitting in class in jeans and a jumper!

When Léon started at the same school last year, I ordered the usual uniform out of habit. He started to moan constantly about wanting to wear the old uniform. I figured it was a phase he'd grow out of, but he didn't and by p2, I relented, allowing him to wear the old-fashioned uniform on non-PE days. I hadn't asked myself why Léon had taken such a fancy to the uniform until recently. Standing at the school gate I started to notice the percentage of kids wearing the old-fashioned uniform had increased noticeably. Back in 2002, 6 or 7% of kids wore it, today I noticed it was closer to 25%-30%. Maybe Léon was simply seeing more kids in it and that was what was inspiring him?

I started to ask myself why it was coming back into fashion? It is not more practical, it is not more durable, and with the youngsters in charge, it is not smarter... I could think of one main issue. It is much cheaper. A pack of five shirts is £4 in Tesco, five plain grey (unbranded) jumpers cost £15, and a tie (which can be used for the whole seven years is £4.99). So a whole week's outfits cost just £19, with a one-off outlay for the tie. The branded polo shirts cost around £7 each and the sweat shirts are about £10 each. So if you wanted a polo shirt and sweat shirt for each day, a week's uniforms cost £85 plus trousers and shoes.

East Renfewshire contains some of Glasgow's most affluent suburbs. People pay inflated housing prices because the schools are unrivalled in the state sector. Most residents are typically professional or senior and middle management. The current recession is not following previous patterns where low-level workers are made redundant and find a new job or live on benefits. This is a recession where middle and senior management are being thrown out with no possibility of benefits to cover their hefty mortgages, and because their houses have not increased in value in four years, and self-certification is no longer accepted, they are unable to sell up and move unless they can find cheap, rented accommodation, which of course doesn't exist in East Ren. Public sector workers are also now beginning to be hit with pay freezes but rising inflation. I am beginning to suspect that what on the surface looks like people returning to the smarter, old-fashioned look for their kids is, underlyingly, actually something much more sinister.

BEANBAGS

2011-11-04T23:16:00.003Z

beanbag girl, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I remember being in B&Q many moons ago with my beloved ex-husband. We were walking past an assistant when he accosted her with the query 'Where can I find beanbags?' She thought a moment, then replied - 'We don't stock beanbags' Now, my ex was not exactly known for patience so he immediately jumped down her throat pointing out he'd often bought beanbags in B&Q. I am not sure if he'd just been annoying me that day or if I was an evil or twisted mood, but I didn't rescue him... You see, after many years together, I immediately realized he was asking about 'binbags', he simply had (and still has) a very French accent. Vaguely amused, I continued to look on as he became more and more exasperated with the poor girl who by then was adamant that B&Q didn't have any beanbags! He just didn't seem to be picking up on her repetition of his pronunciation. Childish, I know but everyone is allowed the odd amusement!

Years have now passed (this episode probably dates from 2002ish). None of my kids, though they speak French, has even a hint of a French accent, having been brought up and schooled here... or so I thought till this week. I was driving in Newton Mearns on Monday morning when all the wheelie bins and recycling bags were out on the kerbside for collection. Léon was riding up front with me when a paper recycling bag blew out onto the road in front of my car. 'Watch out for that beanbag!' he shouted very clearly. I was stunned. 'Binbag' I corrected, and he looked puzzled before correcting his pronunciation. How odd!

Still surprised at that, Charlotte (who had not been in the car when this event occurred) blew me away this evening. I have been negotiating with my ex for a pair of bedroom curtains on and off for five years. Given we don't speak, this hasn't been the easiest task but this week he finally relented and allowed me to have my ladybird curtains back for Anna and Amaia. Charlotte bounced in from the dining room at about 5pm and asked 'Did you see Papa dropped off those green curtains this morning?' 'No - where?' I asked, given I hadn't seen them. Her reply... 'They're in that beanbag on the table!'

What is that man doing to my kids suddenly?!

AUTUMN ENVY

2011-11-02T23:56:00.001Z

Bruyères from tower, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I've just been speaking to my mother-in-law in Italy. She described the wonderful, golden colours she's seeing from her house across the Tuscan valley while mentioning the warm temperatures and outdoor village gatherings she's been attending.

Here I am sitting in my cold Glasgow house watching the wind and rain rip the leaves heartlessly from the trees once more, giving little opportunity for a photo shoot or outdoor gathering.

I loved living in France in autumn. Every day I would get up to a different, more vivid shade of red or gold and sheer joy at being able to walk through the countryside in Franche-Comté in just a jumper with my camera around my neck.

One of the worst aspects of this recession to me is having my wings clipped by necessity, no longer being able to fly over to France for a long weekend on a photo shoot, or Italy to visit my in-laws. Sitting here knowing the autumn photo opportunities I am missing in France, Italy or even NY is just so frustrating. I want to throw all my kids in a plane and show them autumn is a beautiful season that lasts weeks, not one wet, stormy, dark Glasgow day that blows everything off the trees while you hide inside with the heating on. After nearly four years, even the oldest ones struggle to remember those days.

Closing my eyes I can still smell the air in October in Avignon, or the sea breeze in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. I so miss the pre-recession days of freedom.

Is it ever going to end?

OOPS!

2011-10-31T23:29:00.045Z

Halloween at Amanda and Derek's, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Léon is a bit obsessed by Harry Potter at the moment and insisted on dressing up as him for Halloween. I didn't think it would be too difficult given he has a Hogwarts cape and could just use his own school uniform underneath (albeit the tie is the wrong colour for Gryffindor). The one problem was Léon's blond hair. I have coloured the kids' hair before using the water-based face paint and it worked so well, dried immediately, washed out simply with water and was completely unproblematic.

Yesterday, as I went to dye his hair though I realized Charlotte had finished the black face paint making Léon into a pirate last month... crisis! No worries - I noticed there was a box containing just black and white face paint beside the rest. Someone must have had the foresight to replace it - phew.

I was in a rush - I had four witches and a Harry Potter to face-paint in less than half an hour! I got Lots to paint Léon's head while I made myself green. I was struck by the greasy look of his hair while she was applying it. Face paint usually looks powdery and dry on the head. I figured it wasn't dry yet and we set out for the party at Derek and Amanda's house.

At the party one of Amanda's friends was rolling and tumbling with the boys in the bedroom while I was in the living room. Suddenly I noticed her running for a basin of soapy water... some of Léon's paint had come off on the bedroom carpet while she was tickling him. I immediately decided to wash it out of his hair quickly so no further accidents would take place, though I was still puzzled it had rubbed off on the carpet as it doesn't usually... Then the fun began.

I stood Léon (protesting because he wasn't done being Harry) under Derek and Amanda's shower. Why wasn't the water paint running down his body like it was supposed to? Had Charlotte used so much I would actually need to apply soap? I lifted down the shampoo and put it on. His head felt greasy but the shampoo made no impact! I gave him a second shower using shower gel on his head - none of the black came off, then shampoo again, nada! Arg! After a forty minute shower my blond boy was still greasy and black. What the hell had Lots used on his head? The box definitely said face paint. I gave up.

Later that evening Lots was removing her face paint with a make-up wipe. I tried that and it helped a bit. The colour remained but the greasiness started to come out. I figured make-up wipes were an expensive option so after four, I reached for a pack of baby wipes. They worked too. Twenty odd baby wipes later his hair had gone from black to dark brown but he was wailing and moaning at all the rubbing.

Fortunately it was Halloween dress-up day at school today so I had an extra day to get it clean. He came out of school today with his hair now somewhere between grey and what looked like dark green! I had since checked the packet of (German) face paint that Thomas had bought ten years ago... professional, adult oil-based face paint complete with its very own make-up removal oil - for skin use only! I have no idea how it had come to be put with the kiddie face paint. Of course, Charlotte can't read German instructions, can she? I was bemoaning this at the school gate when a friend mentioned she'd managed to remove gloss paint from her own hair last week (after she'd painted her hall doors) using olive oil, so poor Léon was dragged home, scrubbed with a face cloth drenched in expensive extra-virgin olive oil and dooked once more - well actually four more times but he finally seems to be almost blond again, (though the bath is black)!

I'll be ordering more water-based kiddie face paint before I ever attempt anything like that again - assuming any of the kids will let me... not that any of my relatives will ever invite us back after that pantomime :-/

OWAMA

2011-10-26T23:01:00.003+01:00

Morning hair, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Anna got up this morning with her hair at the more extreme end of her morning spectrum.

Wow, you've got big hair this morning! I remarked casually...
Yeah I look a bit like Owama, she replied very certain of herself.
Who or what is Owama, I wondered, almost afraid to ask as she'd been so dismissive.
Her with the red hair Charlotte listens to - you know - she sing 'Owama - that's my name, Owama, that's my name!
I'm thinking she might be meaning... Rihanna!

I suppose that's what you get when there's and eight year age gap between your kids - 3 year olds who sing Rihanna instead of Twinkle Twinkle.

MOTs

2011-10-26T21:54:00.003+01:00

My car, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

This is my car. It is over three years old so it needs an MOT every September to check it is roadworthy. I care about my car. Life in a family of seven without a big car would be tough. Buying a brand new seven seater would cost me £25K. I don't have a spare £25K so I look after my car.

Since my MOT back in September (it passed without a hitch), I've been wondering about human priorities... Why do we give our cars (that can be replaced for £25K) annual MOTs but we don't give humans over a specific age the same?

Anyone who reads this occasionally knows that my dad is terminally ill and my mum had a stroke in the summer...

Think about it. Dad has bowel cancer - an easily curable disease if it had been discovered before it had spread to his lymphs, lungs, liver and other such places. If he'd had an 'MOT' every year from 40, 50 or 60 - whatever was deemed the human equivalent of the car's three years - then they'd have caught it on time. Mum had a stroke caused by a mix of high blood pressure, thyroid problems and an irregular heartbeat - all things that would have been detected at an MOT too. So dad is terminally ill at 68 and mum has suffered some brain damage unnecessarily at 67.

It makes you think through priorities, doesn't it?

MOBILE PHONES

2011-10-24T00:12:00.002+01:00

A phone shot of the girls' new pjs, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Much as I love having my mobile phone in my pocket for snapping the odd amusing sign I want to blog and the likes, I despair in the quality of these things. Indoors, they are close to hopeless, even the 5 Megapixel ones, usually because the flash is so dire and outside they are just about passable.

I find it interestingly ironic that my teenage years were documented by me with my heavy old cumbersome SLR Exakta and later SLR Ricoh so are quite clear but today's teenagers are relying exclusively on these poor quality but handy gadgets. Most kids no longer own cameras, opting for these instead. Marcel has even (very occasionally) had the audacity to claim they are no worse than my DSLR! (Rofl as they say in his speak) I am often shocked at the fuzzy, blurred rubbish he and his friends upload to facebook.

As Marcel's kids flick through old albums (online) they may find it odd that the pictures of their grandmother as a 15 year old are of much better quality than those of their father at the same age!

WHO'S THAT?

2011-10-23T23:54:00.002+01:00

Rouken Glen play park, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Amaia is a weird baby!
I have had five kids so I have watched language development over and over. There haven't been drastic variations between numbers one through four but five is a different kettle of fish.
When Marcel was between one and two he referred to himself either as Marcel or moi. Marcel wants sweeties, Moi veux des bonbons. Lots followed suit when she came along (though using Charlotte, not Marcel of course!) Léon said Nénaw - which was his pronunciation of Léon. Nénaw wants... etc Anna never once referred to herself as Anna, simply started by saying 'I want' and 'me want'.
All four when shown a photo of themselves would have pointed and said their first name.
Amaia refers to herself as 'Mine'! Mine want apoo (apple).
And if I show her this photo and ask who is in it 'Charlotte and Mine' she replies, quite clearly!
It is very cute :-)

EBAY

2011-10-23T18:50:00.001+01:00

I'm a big eBay fan and check it before buying almost everything but one thing puzzles me... Why do people get carried away to the point of overpaying? Take snow boots... I am currently hunting down snow boots for Léon, Anna and Amaia - the wee buggers have all grown out of last year's and call me cynical, I have a bad feeling about the chances of this winter being snowfree. First I checked for Anna's size (UK 8). I could get 'used once or twice' for £3-50 (plus £3 postage) or new 'buy it now' for £8.99 (plus £3 postage). I check Léon's and Amaia's sizes and find similar. So for a week I have put bids in on the used ones, stating my maximum at £3-50. In the last half hour bidding gets silly and as I watch, not moving my bid, four pairs have now gone for between £9 and £13. Why would anyone pay £13 (+£3) for used when new is £8.99 (+£3). Am I missing something obvious or are they all daft?

PUMPKIN SOUP

2011-10-22T21:44:00.004+01:00

Little Charlotte and the pumpkin, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I've gone and made pumpkin soup again - probably for about the 15th year in a row. It tastes rather bland... as it did last year and the one before and although it isn't offensive, it is simply a nothing soup... so I'm blogging it in the hope that next Halloween I stumble upon what I am writing tonight and don't, once again, rustle up four litres of pumpkin soup, and instead opt for one of my other, more exciting soup recipes!

SNAP, CRACKLE OR POP?

2011-10-20T22:23:00.000+01:00

Anna has been desperate for a Rice Krispies bowl ever since Léon got his Coco pops one last month so we've been saving token codes from the insides of the boxes. (Don't I live an exciting life?)

Today it finally arrived, literally five minutes before I was serving her breakfast. She was so excited. Looking round the bowl at the Snap, Crackle and Pop characters she suddenly asked: 'Which one do you like best mum? The one with the duck on his head, the one with the mashed potato or the one with the snail?' That's a novel way of looking at it I guess!