OVER-OPTIMISTIC?

I was reading this article in the Independent today. (Skip down to The seven ages of debt if you are in a rush). I am sure it is meant to shock you into thinking how awful John's future is, but to be honest I think it is over-optimistic.
For starters let's look at points one and two. I have a better degree than John and went straight into Publishing after university. Let me tell you now - no one starts in a publishing house on £30K outside London, and if John's rented flat has two bedrooms and currently costs him £800 a month, he's living too far from London to be working there!
My next quibble with point two is John getting a £170K mortgage. Five years ago John may have got a six times salary mortgage but he wouldn't today, so I can only assume Chloe is earning about the same as John, no less the £25K anyway. If her starter salary is £25K, chances are she too went to uni, so why is her student debt not factored in?
Next, I have an issue with John getting £25K from his parents. Given his parents are possibly around 60, they may indeed have £25K, maybe in equity, to lend him, but pensioners are having interest on savings issues these days, and if they are still working, chances are they will have been made redundant in their late 50s so be less than happy to dish out £25K after doubtlessly helping John through uni. Also, it mentions later in the article that John is one of four. Did Mr and Mrs Skint the elder really have a spare £100K to lend all four for housing? So in my model, John would have a lower salary, Chloe would have a debt and the Senior Skints would not be lending him as much as £25K.
Let's move on to point three... John is 37 and earning £45K. Again unless he's in London, he's got to be a director to earn £45K in a publishing house. He may very well be, but given only one or two in a department of forty or fifty are directors then using the one who made it, rather than Mr Average is misleading. I also believe from the tone of the article that we are meant to believe he is Mr Average. Assuming 37 year old John is Mr Average Middle-Management and has been employed by this publishing house for 16 years then the chances are he will be made redundant between 35 and 45 (and again his salary is too high). My experience says middle management are first to go round after round and rounds happen every two to three years. Also the longer you have been employed, the more likely you are to go so the company can change its pension policies. On average, people in most industries, but definitely this one, do not stay in the same job any more for 16 years without being made redundant. So their average guy isn't following an average pattern.
Also £20K for a wedding, honeymoon and redecoration of a house seems a little optimistic to me. Even your bargain basement wedding and honeymoon would be £10K, leaving £10K for wallpaper, a kitchen, a bathroom, flooring etcetc... unlikely.
Point four is amongst the most ridiculous. He still hasn't been made redundant after 28 years and he is now on £55K in publishing! So if he still isn't in London, he is the MD of the company on that salary. This is highly unlikely in that industry. But better still, after 12 years at home baking cakes and wiping bums Chloe lands a 3 day a week job earning £27K with no current experience. That's a pro rata salary of £45K. Give me strength - cloud cuckoo land, I'm afraid. If you take 12 years out, you go back three days a week as a school secretary or you work in a supermarket or whatever on minimum wage not on £45K, sorry, this is totally unrealistic! And given what I believe John and Chloe would actually be earning, there's no way he'd have paid off his debt in his forties.
Another thing I find hard to believe in this article, call me a cynic, is that if John and Chloe have been together twenty years under quite a financial strain then the chances are John and Chloe would end up divorcing like Mr and Mrs Average in the UK. The divorce rate is over 50% now so to factor a divorce in would make the figures very interesting. Add in the £10K the divorce would cost to fight through the courts, add in buying each other out of the house, add in paying each other their pension entitlements upfront, add in child maintenance, add in perhaps a second family for John when he remarries in his forties, add in starting a new 25 year mortgage at that point and you get something closer to Mr Skint's future.
By point five I am still worried about John representing an average graduate. Aren't two kids more normal than four? And if so John should be paying double for his mother's care home because he should be splitting the costs with just one, not three siblings, more than likely.
Point six - finally he's made redundant after only changing job once in 56 years - sorry this is true of today's over 70s but even my father's generation had stopped getting jobs for life, so I don't buy this.
And finally does Mr Average's mother really not die till he is 75? Wow, interesting. I guess it may be possible by then but we'll have to wait and see.
All in all, if I set out John's life, I have to conclude it looks far, far bleaker than this rose-tinted version from the Independent, I'm afraid!

WHITELEE WIND FARM

Marcel goes to Mearns Castle High school. As you come out the front door you see windmills everywhere on the horizon. Every time I visit his school and see them I make a mental note to go and visit the windfarm, but I always forget.

As we left a meeting there this week, I decided to google the farm when I got home and yesterday the weather was passable enough for a visit. I had deliberately not visited the farm in winter because it claimed to be closed. Now I've been, I realize it is the visitor centre and not the farm that is closed in winter so I am already lining up next winter's snowy pictures of these majestic beasts!

Anyway, our visit was a great hit. Léon was in heaven, zooming about hyper with his imagination in overdrive, Anna was a little concerned by the vaguely scary big windmills, but felt ever so brave for walking amongst them. Amaia liked the walk but had no obvious opinion. Even Marcel and Charlotte didn't ooze teenage indifference as usual but asked about the technology behind them and didn't beg to go home. And it was a free, fresh-air experience! Result!

Thomas and I even discussed going power-walking there with Amaia in her buggy on nice afternoons when the other four are off at school and nursery... camera in hand of course!

How have I managed to live here on and off for the last ten years without ever going there?

LIFE IN A FAMILY OF SEVEN

I was discussing family life with my sister-in-law last week and she mentioned being overwhelmed by washing sometimes (she has a five year old and a baby). Instantly on saying this she stopped and laughed and commented that she was probably saying this to the wrong person, given I was likely to know all about being overwhelmed by washing! So I wondered how many people do washing like us? Let's take my haul for today - we had eight blue IKEA bags (ie eight washing machine loads) today. Of course, as soon as all this was done and put away numbers one through five took baths and refilled the laundry basket in the bathroom bouncing us back to square one! I reckon we average about ten to twelve washes a week.

ANNA'S GRANDPA

Here is a photo of Anna with her two grandfathers. She calls my dad Pumpa, a family word invented by Marcel about 12 years ago, and Peter Großvater because he's German. Up till about three weeks ago, that was that. Then suddenly for some reason, perhaps because she has no one she officially calls Grandpa, she decided to invent one. I was driving home from nursery when she first mentioned Grandpa: My Grandpa likes to play tennis, she announced. I asked if she meant dad or Peter but she said she was talking about her Grandpa. After that we have had a piece of random information divulged daily about this grandpa. He has green hair, he likes beans, he has a bum at the front and a tail, he likes to go to the park, he bakes cakes, he sometimes wears skirts, he can hide in her sock drawer, his car is pink, he likes to ballet-dance with Anna and so on. And when I ask who she means by grandpa, she sometimes looks at me as if I'm the one who's daft and says You know, my pretend one!

I wonder if it is normal for your three year old daughter's imaginary friend to be a rather eccentric elderly gentleman!

MULTICULTURALISM

One of the great things about living in a multicultural family is learning about all the other country's little festivals and fun days... of course when you mix Scotland, France, Denmark and Germany into the one family then you get more than your fair share of fun. Last weekend Thomas introduced the kids to his barrel-less version of 'fastelavn' complete with iced buns, while we introduced his mother to pancake day on Tuesday. Just as at Christmas, we have to celebrate Christmas both on the 24th for all our European members, and again on the 25th for the Scots - double meals, double presents and such idiosyncrasies and one set of presents lying under the tree on the 24th (which of course must be in the middle of the room, not the corner or window, because you need to be able to dance round it) and another that appear the next morning... though the first batch does tend to nuke the Santa-myth by about talking age! I don't know about my kids, but I like being this kind of multicultural freak!

THE SWEETEST BOY

I sometimes wonder if it is possible for someone to be as sweet as Léon. Today, as I drove him home from school in a violent hail storm, he innocently asked me 'If you were out in the garden with a coffee when the storm came on, would your coffee end up too sweet?' - 'Sorry, what?' I asked puzzled. 'Aren't these lumps that are falling made of cold sugar?' Awwh - I want to live on planet Pudge!

WHO TEACHES THE TEACHERS THESE DAYS?

Here we are (all six of them, plus Amaia and I) out for a walk in the park this very early-spring day. Why, you may ask? Well poor Pudgeman's homework for next Friday, given he's currently studying 'parks', is to collect 14 different types of leaf in a basket for his teacher. She's been very specific - she wants a Hazel, a Rowan, a Birch, a Chestnut, a Maple etcetc but unfortunately she seems to have forgotten to include the tickets for the return flight to Melbourne in his homework folder because I'm blowed if I can work out how you are meant to leaf-collect when it is neither summer, nor autumn...

NEPHEW MNEMONICS

Derek and Amanda discussed countless names for little Alasdair when he was just a little boy-bump but I don't think Alasdair was ever mentioned to us until he was actually born. All the Als I knew were either Alistairs or Alastairs so when Derek spelled out A-L-A-S-D-A-I-R to me as I sat in the car park of South Devon Chilli farm last August, I felt daunted! I would never remember that! But the kids instantly came up with a solution. The first time I complained, Charlotte told me quite matter-of-fact that they'd chosen the ASDA spelling! Al-ASDA-ir - and it works! I now never forget... I wonder if they have another kid one day if they'll name him/her Al-TESCO-ir, just so stupid auntie can cope?!

CENSUS 2011

We were discussing the census with my in-laws over dinner the other night. Given they are both foreign and both qualified ministers of religion, they looked quite horrified when we explained the great British Jedi faith joke of the last census. Marcel and Lots, of course were little more than babies at the last one so asked with great interest about it. We explained about people with no religion, or maybe a lapsed one giving Jedi. Marcel chuckled and asked to be filled in as that, given he is unchristened, despite not being overly interested in Star Wars now he's 13. Charlotte looked more serious. She often finds others' humour more difficult to fathom, in a vaguely autisitc manner. I asked if she wanted to be a Jedi too. She thought about it for a moment then replied even more seriously - No put me down as 'Sith'. Should I be worried?

95 TODAY

Here's a photo of me (looking not-un-Amaia-like) taken in spring 1968 with my Granny Jean. She would have been 95 today... had she not died 27 years ago. When I was born my parents lived with her and Gramps, so theirs was my first home. After we left when I was six months old, I visited her almost every weekend, staying overnight, until her death when I was 16. I remember her scabby, old pull-down bed in the living room. We used to lie in it on a Saturday morning watching Laurel and Hardy, Champion the Wonder Horse or Cowboy movies... all in black and white of course. She used to tell me stories about being a tomboy at school - in complete contrast to me, but ironically just like my daughter, whom she never met. She used to knit herself what seemed like the same cardie over and over in different colours and would take us shopping for buttons on Saturdays. She ate special k with raisins every night at bed time and washed them down with a cup of hot water in a clear cup! And she spent endless hours doing crosswords, always asking for a new little dictionary for Xmas or her birthday. One of my biggest regrets is that my Granny didn't live long enough to see me work for a dictionary company. I imagine sometimes how her face would have lit up in some parallel universe if I'd brought her home a copy of Collins Large English dictionary instead of the Gems I bought her as a teenager. I like to think she'd have been proud to see her granddaughter's name on the imprint page of so many dictionaries as the lexicographer. I guess people never really leave, they live on in your head forever.

WORKING FROM HOME

Thomas and I have both worked from home now since Léon was three. In the lifetime of a five year old, that's probably quite long. The other day one of his new classmates asked him home to play. His mother invited me along just to get to know another mum from the class. As we went to leave Léon said he wasn't ready to leave and wanted to play another little while. I explained we had to go because Fraser's mummy had to pick up his daddy from the station. Fraser doesn't have a daddy, mum. Léon replied. When I asked what made him think that, he replied that he'd been upstairs to play and there were no men working on computers in any of the upstairs bedrooms! He obviously has no notion of a parent going out to work and being missing for many hours a day. I guess he lives in a happy, safe world where the people you love are always on hand when you need them. I'm so glad the commuting days are over, for now at least.

VULCAN TENDENCIES?

Charlotte is a wee bit of a logic-only vulcan at times, seemingly not seeing what everyone else would do in a given situation but only what makes sense. Yesterday when I picked her up from school it was a beautiful, warm spring afternoon. She remarked as she got into Thomas's car that it was filthy. Given the weather conditions she offered to start up her car-washing business that she had been running all last summer. I agreed. Given her wee pal Demi, who she ran it with, has moved away she asked firstly if she could be paid double this year as she'd have to do the jobs herself. I saw no issue with that. She popped outside and spent a good half hour washing Thomas's car, hosing and drying it. I went out and it looked great, gleaming in the sunlight. She started to pack the stuff away. I walked round it. The passenger side was completely untouched! When I asked why, she told me she needed to do some important homework that would take her till sunset and would wash the other half of the car today, or Monday! Given her availability, she thought that was a completely logical thing to do. She, of course, isn't the one driving around in a half-black, half-red car looking like a complete weirdo. Is it just me?

DESTROYER TROLL

I never understood playpens before. Why would you want to put your child in a small cage while you do the housework or cook? Surely that is just laziness? After all, how much harm can one small, angelic troll cause?
Then I had Amaia...
Amaia has developed her own special method of crawling. It means she can lose things all round the house for you. She particularly likes moving one of each of her siblings' shoes to another room so they run about in a panic before school in the morning. After she discovered shoe moving, she progressed to book-shredding. Despite having all these kids and all these books, Amaia is actually the first of my children to realize you can take the books down from the shelves and rip off their front covers just to confuse the adults. She seemingly has a stash of (fortunately washable) felt tips somewhere that she uses to colour in the wooden floor boards whenever we turn our backs too. If one of the little ones drops a knife on the floor at dinner, Amaia instantly finds it and creeps about brandishing it menacingly. She does a mean impersonation of the Andrex puppy too these days. In the bathroom she alternates between puppy antics and loo-brush sucking. She has a great fondness for bin-emptying and of course eating the no-longer edible contents of bins wherever possible. But I think the thing I am finding most tedious at the present time is the fact that not only has she worked out how to take the lock off the Welsh dresser door where we keep the plates, but she takes them out quietly one by one, puts them all over the dining room floor and today has moved on to colouring in the insides of the bowls once again using her well-hidden felt-tips. The most astounding thing I find is that almost every time we find her in a compromising position, both Léon and Anna are in the room with her and it never occurs to them to tell her off. What's your sister doing guys? Ohhh, emmm colouring in the floor I think!
Maybe a playpen wouldn't be such a bad idea...

CONFUSION

I haven't played at cloning since Léon was a baby. Last night while sitting with the kids editing some photos I noticed I had taken three photos in the bath which lent themselves to a quick cloning job. Once I was done I showed the photo to Léon and Anna. Who's that? I asked. Léon looked along the line Anna, Gordy?, me and Amaia? He asked, dubious. No, look, that's not Amaia! I pointed out. He looked even more puzzled and ventured Charlotte? When I asked him which of the Léons was Léon he was dumbstruck. Eventually I explained it was Anna, Léon, Léon and Anna. I asked if he remembered me taking it. He was utterly speechless. Eventually after a few hours he asked if the whole thing might have something to do with scissors and glue! Finally his brain was starting to comprehend it was a trick photo, but it took a while.

BABAR'S GALLERY

We came across the book Babar's Gallery in the play area of Glasgow's Museum of Modern Art the other weekend. It is very obviously based on the Musée d'Orsay in Paris. Many of the paintings redrawn inside are from the Orsay from what I remember, others are simply extremely famous paintings we all know. The kids were drawn to it in the gallery, so we bought it on Amazon used for next to nothing. Léon and Anna can't get enough of it, constantly asking us to show them the real work of art on google and comparing both. Anna is particularly taken with Babar as Munch's Scream, even going as far as asking what is making him scream and wondering what the elephant might fear. At this rate they'll be able to pass a university exam in History of Art by the time they reach primary 2! I'd definitely recommend it highly to anyone who'd like to get their kids interested in art.

LÉON AND ANNA AND CHILDCARE COSTS

Today when I dropped Anna off for her 2 hours and 45 minutes of free state nursery care, I was handed a letter from the council. The director of education was offering me a holiday cover place for the ten days the nursery is closed at the beginning of April for 'just £32 a day'. It got me to thinking about childcare costs again. Calculating what it would cost me to have all my kids looked after for say the seven weeks of summer holiday alone is of course laughable (£4385.20 if we used the local private nursery for Amaia and the council summer clubs for the other four) but imagine I only had Léon and Anna which is a fairly normal family, right? They still expect me to pay £32 a day for Anna and £29.80 a day for Léon to use the council summer scheme, in other words £2348.40 for the seven weeks and three days they are off in summer.) How is this supposed to work in a city where the average salary is in the low £20k bracket?

BORDER CHUCKLES

If you should ever happen to bump into me in an airport here or abroad with my kids and you wonder why I am having a fit of the giggles at passport control, just remember this scene. In order to get the required 'cream background with no shadows' on his passport photo, my poor adolescent son was forced to lie between my legs looking where he probably would rather not, while his younger brother distracted him with a giant happy sunflower. And to think most people simply pay a few quid to sit in a boring booth - how conventional!

ANNA

There are certain levels of cuteness that are hard to achieve after the age of about three. Take this situation, for example... not many people over the age of three manage to fall asleep onto a cushion while standing beside a couch and land so comfortably that they actually remain standing for the entire duration of their sleep! Anna spent a full ten minutes asleep standing up in our TV room before Thomas carried her off to bed. I missed it, being in the bath, but fortunately Charlotte had the presence of mind to take the photographic evidence I needed! Awwwh, bless her cotton socks!

ISLAND BAKERY LEMON MELTS

I got a box of these biscuits for my birthday last week and they were so good I thought I would recommend them to everyone out there! Creamy, lemony, melt-in-the mouth - delish!

THE BEST £1.50 I EVER SPENT

I was in town on Saturday and Léon was moaning that he didn't have slipper socks like those I'd bought his sisters last week. Given they are only £1.50, I promised him a pair. He is given to imagination and lives in his own fantasy world at times but there was one side effect I simply could not have foreseen. As soon as he put them on, he informed me that the monsters on the front of the socks were tidy monsters and were appalled at the mess in the house. He told me they wanted to tidy up the toys that were lying around. He picked up all the toys in the dining room. I figured he'd run out of steam soon enough but half an hour later I heard him telling Marcel to lift his feet in the TV room, next the kitchen, living room and hall were blitzed. At lunch time I thought he'd gone missing till he was seen backing out of my bedroom with a broom in his hand!! It was too good to be true. His own room was next, then I heard him shouting at both Marcel and Lots to let him in to their bedrooms! I was speechless by the time he forced Thomas upstairs into his office and kept him there for half an hour! After that the monsters were satisfied, so it looks like I've been left with two halls and all the bathrooms to do myself but on the balance I am defintely liking his £1-50 socks quite a lot!!!!

LAUGHING BABIES

Isn't this just a priceless photo? Wee babies really love their grandparents, don't they?

FOOD LOVER

I don't think I've ever had a child who takes so much pleasure out of feeding herself her own dinner. The highchair did need to be dismantled and bleached afterwards but she just loved the independence of feeding herself three whole bowls of spaghetti with tomato sauce! Mum took one look at the series of photos on flickr and remarked she'd out-messied even my messiest child! What a good new word!

THE IMPORTANCE OF LITERACY

I was in town last Saturday in Primark with Karen buying slipper socks for Amaia and some tights for Anna. I returned home and Anna looked more pleased than I expected when I entered with my large, brown, paper Primark bag. She skipped towards me expectantly and said, almost singing 'I know what's for dinner!' Odd, I hadn't been to ASDA yet. 'Fish and chips!' she explained... I forgot that to a child who can't read, a Primark bag looks exactly the same as the brown, paper bag Granny and Pumpa had bought her fish and chips from the local chip shop in last week! Her tights turned out to be a bit of an anti-climax after that.

FIRST GOOD NEWS IN SIX MONTHS

Dad's back from seeing his oncologist with the first good news he has received since this nightmare began back in August. The CAT scan after his third dose of chemo is showing the cancer that was on the lymph nodes in his chest cavity has shrunk, some of the diseased areas have even disappeared. We can start to hope and dream that some quality time is finally being bought :-) A big thanks to all our dear friends who've been supporting us through this so far, you know who you are. xxx

FLOUR FOR 7

Thomas has been buying some speciality flours for the family on a new website he's found. Buying flour in 25kg loads is cheaper than buying bread in the supermarket and much more exotic. I'm looking forward to tasting some fancy homemade French, Iranian and Swiss breads in the near future. (Any recipes Sabine? ;-) )

LIFE THROUGH THE EYES OF A 5 YEAR OLD

Life can be somewhat easier if you view it through the eyes of a five year old. Today Léon bounced up to me and asked if we could go to see Brita and Peter in Italy in the summer. I explained that I had been checking flight prices over the last few days and found out that seven seats on Ryanair's Glasgow Pisa flight would cost £1200 and that's before we get to car hire and spending money so told him I was doubtful that it would be possible. He looked puzzled and said Well, if we can't afford the plane tickets, can't we just use our passports as tickets instead? Now, I'm liking that idea. I can just see it now at Ryanair check-in. No sir, we don't actually have reservations, but we've brought our passports! Recently at Tesco garage, he came out with another gem. I filled my car with over £100 (waaaah) of diesel and went into the shop to pay for it. When I came out Léon looked expectantly at me and asked if I'd bought sweets or crisps. I replied no and he muttered - You must have bought something, you went into the shop! I told him I'd paid for the petrol, to which he replied Do you have to pay for petrol? My conclusion - I want our next prime minister to be a five year old boy!

POOR SICK ANNA

I had forgotten that the first few weeks and months of nursery can turn into a bit of a nightmare as your child is exposed to new germs. Thirteen days in and Anna has caught her first nursery cold. Hopefully given the number of kids here at home and her many trips to pick siblings up in such establishments over the past three years, Anna won't be too badly affected over the next wee while. The one thing I am dreading more than anything of course is chicken pox, given neither Anna nor Amaia has had it. Before Léon's dose at 20 months chicken pox didn't scare me, but once you've had a child end up in Yorkhill Hospital after a bad dose of the pox, you never feel quite the same about it... I just wish the UK would vaccinate against it.

BRACES ANYONE?

Something I hadn't foreseen when Marcel had his braces fitted back in November was that effect they would have on his nails! As you can see from this photo, Marcel has never had particularly nice nails. As his mum, I proudly think of him as quite a handsome young man, so having his nails spoil the overall appearance has always irked me! I have been nagging him unsuccessfully to stop chewing them since he was about four. I have tried bribes, moaning and acrid potions to no avail. On his first day home in braces, he announced that he couldn't bite on them properly. I was delighted but figured he'd find a way around it soon enough, but he hasn't! Given he's meant to be in these braces for about three years I think the problem will be well-solved by then! Just look at them after just two months!

(And yes he does always have a phone in his hand! He's 13 after all!)

SIMPLICITY

I blogged back at the end of last year about the positives of this recession. (Can it still be called a mere recession - maybe financial meltdown would be closer to the mark?) I may have mentioned that in place of hundreds spent on the kids of previous Xmases, I managed about that much on them all together. By buying used jigsaws and the likes on ebay I still managed to give them all a decent number of gifts and they were all thrilled, as young kids always are, but I was reminded this week of something even more precious. Even with no money, all kids need to be happy is love and imagination. Anna and Léon have spent the best part of the last week sitting in this boat/submarine/bed/aeroplane and are as happy as Larry, so come their birthdays, if the economy still hasn't picked up, I know they're going to be just fine!

食事

It isn't every day you find out your son is being used to illustrate encyclopaedic articles in Japan, is it?
And further investigation turns up my baby medical star on the same site.
I should be charging royalties.

ALL THE PEOPLE THEY CREATED

I guess if mum and dad had never got together, none of the other seven people in this picture would ever have been created!

A BIG DAY FOR ANNA

At last the big day is here. Anna has asked us every day since Léon left Hazeldene last June when she was going to be allowed to start there herself. She has been more than ready despite not being old enough to qualify for her state place. When the letter came in telling us she was to start on Amaia's first birthday, it was easy for her to pinpoint the day. She got on great, though was a little upset to have to leave after just an hour (she's not in full-session until Thursday) and was a little concerned about leaving her gym shoes there overnight in case they went missing!

BANKERS' BONUSES - A DIFFERENT ANGLE

Every time I turn on the TV or radio I hear people arguing about whether the government should or shouldn't ban or tax bankers' bonuses. The same arguments go round and round: we own the banks, let us vote on it, they work hard and deserve the bonuses, they caused the recession, let them burn in hell and so on. One argument I have never heard but which interests me as the custodial parent after a divorce is why these people are allowed by law to receive half their salary every year as a bonus? The reason this interests me greatly is because my ex-husband, who is not a banker but who works for an IT company who give large half-yearly bonuses instead of salary, manages completely legally to pay me around 8% of his salary in maintenance towards the upkeep of our kids instead of the 18% recommended on the CSA website, that I presume he would be forced to pay if his salary was paid as salary instead of in bonuses and perks. So I guess the bankers aren't just doing all of us but any divorced ones are legally doing their kids too.

HOW TO BEAT A MEDICINE TERRORIST

You'd think that by number five, they wouldn't be able to outsmart you but when it comes to medicine Amaia has us well and truly beaten. Fortunately she is seldom ill because getting medicine into her is impossible. We've tried the usual methods of coaxing, coercing, pinning down, mixing with food, drink, wrapping her in a towel and tickling her - but all to no avail. Last time she got a chest infection it took Thomas, Marcel and I a whole hour to administer each of the three daily doses of 5ml of amoxicillin. First she'd clamp her jaws, then she'd try flailing arms, if we did manage to approach her mouth she stuck her tongue fully out and finally if all else failed she'd accept it all into her mouth then spray spit it all over the room staining all three of us and the walls in the process, screaming her outrage. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a taste issue, merely a control one. If I leave a spoon on her high chair with a drip on it, she will happily pick it up and lick it, but not if she doesn't want to, so getting 15ml into her a day takes all day. Also given your are meant to finish a whole course of antibiotics to make sure it works, having 75% of each dose land on your head and drip from your fringe doesn't exactly inspire confidence. When she has a temperature, no matter how high, we go through the same thing with both calpol and nurofen. She drives me to distraction. I can't wait till she is old enough to be bribed! Anyway last week she needed some oral medicine again for an ear infection. I felt like crying when I heard because of the emotional strain trying to medicate her puts on me! Fortunately when I mentioned our problems to my friendly doc, he came up with a stronger version of amoxicillin which meant she only needed to be given three 1ml doses a day. What a relief! 1ml is a manageable amount and very little has hit my ceiling this time. So if you too have a medicine terrorist at home, do bear this solution in mind.

MYSTERY SOLVED

I know you probably haven't been able to sleep wondering about my old Italian address! ;-) Well the mystery has finally been solved! I did go into the loft as I had suggested to look through old letters but everything I found was for my second Italian address. Needless to say that provoked even more ribbing and Thomas and Marcel took great delight over the last eighteen months telling me I had only ever imagined living in Perugia.
So there I was tidying up around the house on Saturday when I noticed the big red tube that contains my Glasgow University degree sitting on a shelf. It has been there all the time but I don't tend to look at it - I know what degree I have, so I don't need to. Anyway I took it down and thought I'd have a wee nostalgic peek. I pulled out the rolled-up parchment and found not only my UK degree certificate but also my certificate from the Università per Stranieri di Perugia and inside that, rolled up and somewhat faded, my Italian residence permit (yes you needed a residence permit inside Europe back in the distant 80s!) stating my place of residence as Via della Viola 41!!!
I am one happy bunny :-) Marcel and Thomas are somewhat deflated however!

A RUBBISH IDEA

East Renfrewshire council has changed all its refuse policies recently to save money on landfill bills. Their new idea of collecting rubbish fortnightly instead of weekly of course means those who didn't recycle before are now forced to. Given there are seven of us, our refuse has never fitted in the bin without recycling absolutely everything down to the smallest yogurt pot and we've needed to use a garden composter for years so it isn't really affecting us very much. The problem we are having is their new food waste policy. We've always put the vegetable waste in the garden dalek so the brown bin has only ever been used for weeds. The council has decided to incinerate all food waste now - chicken carcasses, spaghetti, beans and the likes. We're meant to put it in the brown bin so that's what we've been doing. The weather of course has been sub-zero since the end of November. So every day we chuck out food waste and it freezes solid to the bottom of our brown bin. Every Friday the bin lorry turns up, two men jump out and hook on our brown bin, turn it upside down, the frozen food stays firmly stuck to the inside of the bin, they return our bin and drive off. Isn't that an impressive use of council funds? A troop of men driving round all day tipping up brown bins completely aimlessly. I wonder why no one at the end depot is asking why the truck is returning empty after every seven hour shift? It'll be interesting as the season goes on. I reckon our brown bin waste will reach the brim round about spring by which time the rotting food will really start to stink as it thaws! I can hardly wait :-/

RECESSION POSITIVES

I've done my fair share of moaning about redundancies and dropping house prices and struggles since the recession first interfered with my own life back in August 2007 (when we tried to sell our Garnethill flat). But maybe the start of a new year is a time to look at a couple of positives it has brought.
I feel that for the first ten years of my motherhood I was on a fast track, running from work to school, commuting, endlessly commuting. I needed to make enough money for the house, the car, the after-school care, the clubs, the birthday parties for the whole class, the hundreds spent on Xmas. Twelve years on paying for a divorce and to restart my life had almost bankrupted me, I started to slow down and realize what was important in life. I resigned, not to be a stay home mum - but to work in a less stressful manner. Now I work the hours my kids sleep, or when they are away at school. Working ten hours less a week, and commuting another ten less left me with twenty more hours with my loved-ones but no money less because I didn't need to pay the crazy nursery costs. It meant I didn't need to lie awake worrying where to put my kids on days they woke up sick or during the long summer holidays when the holiday club wanted £25 a day to look after each of them. I know I moan on nights I start work at 9pm and am still at the laptop at 2am because of a publishing deadline but that let's me bring up my family instead of leaving that to someone else so I also secretly celebrate it. I worry on weeks when I don't get any work, I worry on weeks I get too much but all in all life is better.
When Thomas was told his level of management was being made redundant (when I was four weeks pregnant with Amaia) I probably stayed awake and cried in a panic for about a month. And when he decided to start a company from home at the worst point of the recession, I thought he was brave (but insane). But he did it and he now works from home. We can spend all day every day together sometimes just with the babies, usually with all the kids, taking part in everything we missed out on during the commuting years. Now my dad is ill, I don't need to beg a boss for time off to be with him, I am that boss and I can prioritize what is truly important. I love my life.
We make less money but we've also realized what really matters. On the kids' birthdays the day starts with a nice breakfast with siblings and candles. Our five year old is actually happy with a birthday cake and three friends home after school to share it, happier even than being overwhelmed by 50 acquaintances in the town hall, with Coco the clown, jugglers and a face painter. Kids' birthdays don't need to cost £300 to make the kid happy. Xmas is the same. I look back at old videos and see my kids opening gifts for 30 minutes straight piling them up and then collapsing from exhaustion. Now they open three or four, get a cuddle and a kiss and look just as happy.
If the business takes off and we go back to the earnings of five years ago or more, I will be thrilled to go back to long foreign holidays and a bigger house, but I won't be going back to the crazy parties or Xmases of the past, especially not if I have to sacrifice family time for it.
I may not be able to afford a matching couch and armchairs the way I once could but I get to be with the ones I love. What could be more precious?

2011

As the year changes and everyone is thinking of resolutions and wishes for 2011, I have only one simple wish for 2011. I hope to finish it the same way as I am going to start it in 5 hours time... with a wonderful dad. Keep fighting dad, we all love you!

NEW HAT, OLD PHOTO

I got Thomas a hat for Xmas - the weather has been so cold recently. Amaia had a wee go of it today and I instantly remembered a very old photo of me taken back in 1968!

IT'S OK TO CRASH ON XMAS DAY

When we set out for my brother and sister-in-law's on Xmas day at lunch time it was pouring with rain. The temperature must have dropped though because on arrival at Park Circus cars were actually spinning on the ice completely out of control. On the flat of Park Circus that looked vaguely comical and I managed to avoid all pirouetting vehicles with my big people carrier but by Park Quadrant which is on a bend and a hill, things were less fun. I managed to edge mine into a space at the very bottom. It had been clear from the top that I would need at least three spaces to brake to a halt safely and getting the kids, presents and camera back up to the top was no mean feat as I was passed by pensioners trying to walk a poodle who was doing the best impression I've seen of bambi in years. In 25 years of driving these are the worst conditions I have ever encountered (including mountain passes all over Europe!) Upstairs, we took turns to watch out as cars came round the bend and glided past the window at 30mph without their wheels turning. They'd hit the brakes and carry on all the way to the bottom. Various pedestrians shot past on their bums too - we even witnessed a four-man pile-up on the pavement! I am utterly amazed not one of our four cars was hit while parked there. Obviously Glasgow City Council doesn't grit for anyone on Xmas day, whatever the conditions!

XMAS KUGELHOPF

I have been ribbing Thomas for weeks about his choice of shape for our traditional British Xmas cake... you don't get more German/Alsatian than a Kugelhopf. But I have to say it is the best Xmas cake I have ever tasted! It is so moist, full of good quality fruit and smoothly but lethally alcoholic. I have to congratulate him on his first attempt at a British Xmas cake (with a Germanic twist).

UNFAZED

 

Little children can be so unfazed by the strange goings-on in the world sometimes. I went to pick up Léon and Lots from school yesterday. Léon gets out five minutes before Charlotte. How was your day? I asked casually as we walked along to the other door to wait. I had a great day he said and carried on to explain they'd had a Christmas party with drinks and crisps and a visit from Santa including a gift of a lego car. Fair enough. Then, as an aside he added I don't think everyone had such a good day though. I think some people must have been stabbed to death in the playground. The snow was covered in red blood! He seemed completely unconcerned at having been left by his parent in a school where children are stabbed to death during break! At that moment Charlotte bounded out. How was your day? I asked again (hoping for a less distressing reply!) It was the best, she replied. We spent our day working on our volcano topic and in the afternoon we got to take out the volcanoes we'd made, fill them with vinegar, bicarbonate of soda and red paint and watch them erupt and spew the red paint out all over the snow! Awesome! Aha! I am so happy to have a p6 as well as a p1. I imagine 20 other kids went home last night wondering about a massacre without an explanation whereas, by chance, I just happened to have a kid in the class responsible for the massacre!

INTERESTING

I try to listen to the news in French every other night because our press is so insular - tonight's is particularly interesting. Even if you don't speak French compare the images journalists are being allowed to film (accompanied) inside Heathrow to those taken surreptitiously! Apparently tourists are being made to delete snapshots taken during their four day stay from their own cameras - that'll be bloody right! It seems to me that our priority here is how Heathrow looks to the outside world rather than making it actually work for the passengers. Typical of modern Britain.

BREAD AND BUTTER PUDDING

A good number of years ago an English friend of mine asked me casually if I liked bread and butter pudding. Bread and butter pudding is something a bit like toad-in-the-hole to me - it was something I had heard of on our anglo-centric TV but never actually come across in the 'flesh'. Given I was about 27 at the time, I felt a tad embarrassed to admit I had never even seen it let alone tasted it so I nonchalantly said yes. She delved into her hand bag and took out a Tupperware box, extracted two pieces of one she'd prepared earlier, looking rather pleased with herself. The first thing I noticed was a somewhat fusty smell and a vaguely turquoise colour. It wasn't appealing but I bit in thinking - how bad can it be? It was vile. It was like licking on a damp patch on the wall of a derelict Victorian house. I cannot evoke the taste of mould strongly enough. I instantly noted to myself that if that was bread and butter pudding, I would run a hundred miles the next time anyone asked that fateful question about my likes and dislikes.
So time passed and for fifteen years I managed to avoid the stuff until one day I came in to the TV room to find Thomas watching a cookery programme. He turned to me and said the fateful words: Do you like bread and butter pudding? I described my feelings on the topic to the nth degree much to his surprise. He seemed disappointed and said it had actually looked appealing. He rewound the programme and showed me. I had to admit it did look appealing and it wasn't turquoise. He googled the actual recipe the programme used and made it. I tentatively approached my nose - no damp, no mould, no fust... It looked delicious. It tasted wonderful. I had two portions! I can only assume bread and butter pudding falls into two schools of thought. The first take mouldy bread and instead of handing it out to the local ducks, they throw on three old raisins, a teaspoonful of egg, a dash of (off?) milk and quickly chuck it in the oven. The second take the freshest bread, the extra special spices and raisins, double cream custard and soak it all day before baking it till golden and succulent.
I am definitely a camp two b and b girl.

LOSING VALUES

I see my other half has been blogging this! Funny, when I saw it the other night independently from him I had exactly the same reaction - that is to say I felt I ought to rush to blog how appalling it was. It is so typical of the new UK I hear about through my kids - eating microwave meals in front of the TV in several rooms and no longer sharing family times together. I guess this is a great idea for this modern age - why not take it a step further and have microwavable single-portion Xmas dinners you can all eat in separate rooms so you don't need to stop and chat even on Xmas day? Whatever happened to sociability and compromise? It is ok to eat something that isn't your favourite occasionally, it won't kill you. I down the odd burger while dreaming of a nice mushroom risotto because Marcel or Charlotte has been on cooking duty. I survive!
Whether my kids love or hate it, my family has rules. Meals are all eaten together (at a table no less!) - unless someone is actually out at a friend's for dinner. We all eat the same - the only concession to this is that I take a ladle of curry out of the big pot for three, four and five before adding the scotch bonnet chilis. I wonder how the families that don't do this actually ever touch base with busy teenagers and find out what is happening in their lives when they aren't behind a laptop or phone in hand? Why do we rush around ignoring everyone else all the time? Our kids' childhoods are over in a flash. Why miss out on that? Life's too short.

MULTICULTURAL XMAS

I don't suppose too many Glasgow Xmas trees have giant Lebkuchen hanging on them!?

TEENAGERS

I wonder if I could get funding to give up the day job to do a PhD in teenage behaviour? They are truly fascinating creatures. Take yesterday: I tell Marcel (whose school is closed so he's out playing in the snow with two friends) to come home at 4-15 latest because the temperature was to fall drastically just after sunset. I couldn't go for him given my car is snowed in and he couldn't come by bus because the buses are also off in the snow. At 4-15 on the nose he rings and tells me he's warm inside Zack's house and I'm not to worry - he's accepted a lift coming back to our house but it isn't leaving till 7, but that's warmer and safer than walking. Ok - obviously I was speaking Chinese. Be home by 4-15 means take the decision to come home at 7pm and let me know at 4-15. What about dinner? I ask. Please just leave me something in the microwave - it is still more sensible to come home in my friend's 4x4 than walk an hour. Ok. Two minutes later the phone goes again - sorry the text goes 'Phone me mummy I only have texts left, no credit!' Oh oh, I know if he's using 'mummy' he's trying to schmooze me. So I ring and am informed not one but three of them are arriving at 7pm: Am I meant to leave three dinners in the microwave (that'll be bloody likely!) - we're running out of food Marcel, we're snowed in!? Oh no mum it's ok - my friends only eat kosher, I'll eat here then come. Good - that's one more meal for us till the snow goes! A reasonable exchange against two bowls of cereal this morning! Fine! Three kids turn up. Mine is at least in thermals. The other two (I kid you not) are in shorts(!!!!) and jackets. It is -14 degrees and they are in shorts! I am gobsmacked they are still alive. They all disappear 'to bed' at 11 and things are seemingly calm till rustling is heard outside my bedroom at 12-20am. I peek out in time to see Marcel and Leor passing with crisps and a tray of mugs. What's in the mugs? I ask - Coffee - how else are we going to stay awake? Why would they want to???? Teenagers - they look like adults but they really behave quite oddly.

COFFEE IN THE GARDEN

I associate my garden bench more with iced coffees in the summer months. I can't remember ever seeing it looking like this before! It's quite impressive, no?

DOUGHNUT ICICLE

I don't know much about icicle formation (until 12 months ago I didn't live in a cold country!) but I am more than impressed by the icicle that has formed just outside Charlotte's bedroom window. It looks like it has formed as a stack of narrow ice doughnuts - strange!

OUT AND ABOUT

Today the only way to get anywhere was by sledge. I dragged Léon and Amaia, while Lots dragged Anna. Léon did better than expected, only dropping her face-first in the snow once! It is amazing quite how light they are on a sledge when the ground is this icy! I definitely found it less tiring walking up to mum and dad's today than I usually do when wearing Amaia in a rucksack and holding Léon and Anna by the hand.

ROSES IN THE SNOW

About a year ago Jessops were selling beautiful polarizer filters at about £45. I was lusting after one but it was so overpriced I just couldn't justify it to myself. About three weeks ago I noticed they had them on ebay at just £6. I ordered one, figuring I'd probably be done... but hey look at that blue sky! I am one happy snowbunny.

AN ODD SORT OF DAY

André had promised to take the two oldest kids to school this morning as he hadn't seen them all last week because of the weather and his (extremely unreliable VW). He was picking them up at 7-40 for breakfast. At 7-45 Charlotte walked into our bedroom... not a good sign. Papa can't take us because of the weather, she announced. I looked out. It was pouring with rain and the roads were completely clear. I harrumphed and got dressed, muttering under my breath that I hadn't been shopping so didn't know what they could have for breakfast or lunch. Poor Léon then needed to be dragged out of bed twenty minutes early because high school starts before primary. Out we went at 8-25 and we had a clear run up Crookfur road, Ayr road and Mearns road. Even Waterfoot road - on the summit of a hill in notorious cross winds was completely fine, just pouring with rain. Everyone was chucked out early and I cursed as I drove home via the post office to pick up a parcel. As I got out the rain turned to a flurry of snow with the largest snowflakes I have ever seen in my life - the size of oranges. Still I got home and had breakfast. An hour later I had lost sight of Thomas's car. By lunchtime I had ruled out picking up the shopping I had reserved at East Kilbride Argos! EK is a no-go area when Newton Mearns gets snowed in. I started to notice an eerie silence. The usual quarter hourly Harvie avenue bus service had ceased. Thomas and I were having a business meeting at 1pm when I started to hear a lot of voices. Kids in Eastwood and St Cadocs uniforms were walking up the middle of the road. Was the council evacuating the schools for the first time in my nine years as the parent of a school-aged child? I checked the school webpages. Both said School is open but please pick up your child as soon as possible. I dug out the car and tried to drive. Crookfur road was closed, or rather open but strewn with cars and buses. I tried Capelrig and got as far as the Ayr road. Within sight of the Broom shops I realized Mearns road had two buses blocking one side and two lorries blocking the other, I did a three point turn and abandoned ship. I walked up the middle of Mearns road between the abandoned buses. The silence was odd. There were no vehicle sounds, just the marching of many parents in wellies quietly trudging up the hill, interspersed with mixed ring tones and voice messages being played loudly. No one spoke as they went up. Everyone was trying over and over to contact someone on their phone. With Léon and Lots released, and Thomas manning the phone at home begging the high school to release Marcel with instructions on where to meet me and the wee ones (after 30 attempts at getting through on the high school switchboard), I made it back to the car. We watched a bizarre serious of cars each awaiting their turn to go onto the Ayr road, each being pushed up the last few metres by the occupants of the next car in line. I managed up without a push so felt quite smug. I got home two hours after leaving to pick them up, safe and sound. I see on the council web page they intend to reopen both schools tomorrow despite freezing fog. I will only be venturing out on those roads if they are safe. To get my kids I was prepared to drive, to send them out, no, sorry! In my 23 years of driving, I have never encountered such bad driving conditions (in this country) and most of the people out there haven't the slightest idea how to drive in snow!

KIDS' DRAWINGS

I've always loved the drawings my children do. I find around five the best age by far on the cute scale. Take this one Léon did today of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. The hairdo is his idea of antlers, the red nose is carefully hidden in the brown and the half drunk-looking smile is just priceless. The body-shape is funny given it is meant to be front-on. He asked me halfway through if reindeer had tails before carefully adding the fluffy appendage to the right. But my favourite part has to be the legs. I pointed out when he showed me it that reindeer had four legs. He looked at me as if I was daft and said 'I know, that's his front two, you can't see the back ones because they are behind the front two'.

PHOTOSHOOT IN THE SNOW

Since the snow began to fall last Saturday, one thing had been tinging the prettiness of it all with sadness for me. The knowledge that unlike every year for the last 25 years or so since Dad followed me down the path of amateur photography, we would not react to the first day of snow by ringing each other and saying 'Let's get out there with our lenses'. Since he started chemo a month ago, he's been out of the house maybe twice and given he had his big infusion appointment on Monday, I knew he would be asleep on his chair for the rest of the week. I would have to do my snowshoot alone, but somehow that didn't feel right. I didn't dare hope he'd manage out, the side effects of both his illness and treatment too terrible and numerous. On Wednesday morning the sky was perfect, so I decided I'd go out after lunch. Thomas was serving up lunch when I noticed I had forgotten something in the kitchen. I walked through and couldn't believe my eyes when I came face to face with Dad in my garden crouching in front of my igloo, camera in hand! After warming him up with a coffee we managed a ten minute walk in the snow with our cameras. Previous years' shoots lasted many hours but those ten minutes on Wednesday were far more precious to me than the old ones where time was taken for granted. To quote Paolo, nowadays it's the simple things that mean the most to me. And like the father in his song, mine too has a family filled with generations of loving fans.

SOPORIFIC SNOW

Poor Amaia - every time I have taken her out in the snow this week she has fallen instantly asleep. It is all too much for her. So I walk about constantly listening to someone snoring in my ear because the buggy doesn't work in the snow.

SNOW

It's been a hard week with schoolruns (usually a 14 minute roundtrip) taking up to one hour in blizzard conditions. The school playground is now so deep that Léon is up to just above his knees in the snow - he is standing on the school path in this photo, snapped hurriedly on my mobile phone today. But everything is still running well. Hats off to East Ren council - they seem to be one of the few in Scotland who haven't chickened out and closed the schools - let's face it - this weather could stay till March and we wouldn't want the wee ones missing out on that many days of learning, even if they might rather be home building a snowman!

BRRRR!

Still November and life out here in Glasgow's 'burbs is getting colder and colder. Fortunately we now have this super deluxe igloo in our garden should any guests drop by and require a room for the night! Derek? Shall I kit it out for you, Amanda and the boys? ;-) I also learned today that by -6 degrees wellies are too cold even with socks and tights, and snow boots that have started to leak leave your feet cold. But with a little ingenuity - things can turn out ok... yes I did go to ASDA with a pair of tights, a pair of socks and a plastic freezer bag tied round each of my feet inside my snow boots - that way I looked quite presentable as well as feeling borderline cosy :-) Though I have to say lying in bed now in a fleece nightie, drinking Glühwein (purely medicinal, of course) with the heating on full beats the lot. Now I just need my man (who's busy in the dining room wrapping home-made advent calendars for the kids) to join me for a cosy hug.