Isabelle

Over the nearly seven years since my first marriage fell apart (officially), I have occasionally blogged the loss of my French family. It's too private a grief generally for me to mention publicly, but sometimes I allow myself to go there...

As I have said often, it sometimes felt, when we split, as if my huge French family had been put in bus which had run off a cliff. I come from a tiny family (though it is growing now with my kids and my brother's). I grew up with no aunts, uncles, cousins - just a brother and two parents. In France I had a mother-in-law, three sisters-in-law, three brothers-in-law, three nieces (and their partners), two nephews, and one of my nieces had a baby. Over night, they all disappeared from my life and it tore me apart. I had been an auntie to my three nieces, in particular, since they were two, six and eight and suddenly after twenty years, I lost them. But slightly worse, I thought, than the bus crash scenario, was the fact that my children were still seeing them. My family was continuing and I was excluded. I ached to hear how they were doing, how their lives were progressing but the divorce was hellishly acrimonious and he was there giving them all the only version they would ever hear of the events.

The years passed and I managed to go on but part of me was always missing...

And then, this morning the unexpected happened. I was working so on my computer. Facebook was on in the background as usual. Completely out of the blue the facebook chat light lit up and there was my niece, after nearly seven years asking me if it was ok for her to still be my niece?! What a question! I wished I could sweep her up in my arms as I used to when she was a child, but she's a fully-grown woman - a mother herself now. After talking to her all morning and seeing photos of her daughter I'm completely emotionally drained - what with dad's collapse and hospitalization this week and now this - but what a wonderful day it has been. I feel so lucky to have her back.

Mum and Anna

Since dad was taken into hospital on Wednesday, Mum has been eating with us every night before going up for visiting.

Today I heard Anna ask Thomas - Why is Granny eating at our house all the time?
Thomas explained that with Pumpa away at the moment because he's sick, it makes sense for Granny to eat with us so she has someone to talk to and doesn't get lonely.
Anna looked more than surprised and asked -Why doesn't Granny talk to her imaginary friends when she's home alone? Then absolutely dumbfounded she enquired - Doesn't Granny have any imaginary friends????

Ryanair

Flying Ryanair is just getting to be a joke. I've ranted about them till I'm sick ranting about them - about their fees x 7 for using credit/debit cards, the fact fact they abandoned their old policy of letting babies and disabled people pre-board, their nonsense about checking in on-line or fining people £60 each - I don't tend to lug a printer about in my rucksack when I am camping, personally - give me the choice guys! Anyway today's rant is about luggage.


Last summer was bad enough - Thomas's hand luggage going out to Pisa weighed 10.2kg, Anna's weighed 6kg - they held up a queue of 100 people while they moved two newspapers from Thomas's case to Anna's. I can fully understand them chucking out his newspapers if he had been alone - they are petty like that, but when he was carrying both cases - that is just jobsworthing to the nth degree.


So last week we flew to Paris. Unwilling to pay the 120-odd quid surcharge to take a couple of hold cases, we went for the crazy option seven small suitcases as you are allowed to carry them on board yourself free of charge. Funnily enough, the other 182 passengers on board had had the same idea - ho hum. So we all struggled up the stairs with our 189 small cases and fought for locker space to store them (having all had them size and weight-checked at the departure gate.) On arrival at Beauvais, only three cases came off on the carousel for that full flight, so they literally flew with a full plane and an empty hold. We then struggled across Paris  on Sunday - a toddler, two small kids, two big ones, two adults, seven cases, a buggy and a rucksack - on foot for the first half mile, then bus, regional train (RER), metro (up and down stairs, stairs and more stairs and it was during the Paris Marathon so we were knee-deep in runners who'd just completed the course), bus and then foot to the Ryanair plane at Beauvais - paying in total something like 150 Euros to get out into the middle of nowhere to their stupid airport. Next time, it'll be a sensible airline into CDG - Ryanair - you've pissed me off one last time - whenever there is an alternative in the future, Ryanair will be ruled out.


(Oh and my prediction for Ryanair in the future - given the 737-800 has a capacity of 189 passengers and on other airlines they can each take 20kg of hold luggage - I reckon by next summer Ryanair will have bumped hold luggage up to £100 each to put people off taking cases completely and will have installed around 48 seats in the hold itself for passengers willing to travel without windows!) ;-)

Granny?!

I took the kids up to Montmartre the other day to see the artists sitting drawing in Place du Tertre. Obviously with so many children, I had to run the gauntlet of artists all saying they could sketch them for some astronomical fee if I had a spare couple of hours. But the most shocking for me was just as I was taking this photo. A woman of about 50, sketch pad under her arm, asked Marcel who was standing less than a metre from me if she could draw his cute, little daughter for him! Arg!

Passport issues

Léon needed a new passport last year. We called up the UK passport photo guidelines which stated that although glasses were borderline acceptable, they much preferred glasses to be removed on your passport photo. This seems ludicrous to me given the great detail they go to about not opening your mouth or smiling as your features will be so distorted as to render you unrecognizable. Why on earth do they want your glasses off? I barely recognize Léon without his glasses as he's worn them all the time since he was four! 

Anyway, we followed the rules and he got a passport containing the above (left) photo.

Then Anna's Danish passport needed replacing. We called up Danish passport photo guidelines and they stipulate that if you wear glasses, they must be present on your passport photo. So Anna got a passport with this photo on it. 

When Léon found out this anomaly at the weekend he stated categorically that he wanted a Danish passport now, and would be refusing to travel on his UK passport henceforth! Emmm - could be difficult. He hasn't had his French passport renewed since he got his first glasses, so I don't know whether French passports prefer glasses on or off, but given a certain person's reluctance to pay for anything I can pay for instead, he's probably going to have to wait till he's an adult before that's renewed!


Life's a bit complicated when you have five dual-nationality kids!

The Eiffel Tower

I don't think I have ever seen anyone look as proud and happy as Léon when he reached the top of the Eiffel Tower. I didn't have the heart to tell him he'd been before - but I guess he doesn't remember!

An enigmatic child

I don't always get Charlotte.


Charlotte has a sweet tooth. She would live on chocolate, sweets, candy floss, nutella, and all sorts of rubbish - preferably washed down with lashings of double-cream - if I didn't ration her. She'd even manage to work her way through a box of sugar lumps if she thought she could get away with it. 


From she first started talking, however, Lots has claimed to hate jam - in all its flavours - with a passion. She'd rather have no breakfast than let a jam sandwich pass her lips. Given the make-up of her character and tastes, she should love jam, but she refuses stubbornly to taste anything remotely jam-like.


I don't get it at all.

Sulley?

Here's Amaia dressed up to look like Sulley out of Monsters inc... And that's as close as any of us managed to get to any Disney characters despite being a couple of stops away from Disneyland Paris all week! Personally, I'm not a fan of all that US, barf-worthy waving and shaking hands with Mickey but I'm not heartless... I am a mother and I know at least three of my babies would have been absolutely bowled over by a day in Eurodisney. However, I fail to see, five years into a financial crash, how the place is still open at all. I did enquire how much it would be for me to take the kids in for one day. Note the number there - it says one day, not one week! £294 for a one-day pass for my family - this does not include food, overnight accommodation or anything like that - this is just entrance to the park! (And worse still Amaia doesn't even pay yet, so this is just mum, dad and four kids inc a 4 and a 6 year old! For some reason both Marcel (14) and Charlotte (12) are both classed as adults already - that's a wee bit cheeky in my book - they must know if you are taking in your teenager and pre-schooler, it is your pre-schooler who really wants to be there and your teenager is already not overly impressed at getting dragged along, so making you pay full adult price is a bit steep!) Given it only cost £430 for a seven bed villa in Paris for seven nights, I fail to see how a day pass for the same family at Disneyland can cost just £100 less. So that's a big thumbs down, Disneyland, from the Buchanan-Widmann-Gautier family!

Mrs Who?

It's never dull being married to a foreigner... I should know, after all I've had my fair share of foreign husbands!

First time round I changed my name - It was more the done thing back in '91 than these days. I wasn't so much asked by the registrar if I wanted to change it, as told when I signed the marriage certificate 'This is the last time you will sign Buchanan'! That seems strangely out of date now - though I have to say I am still more often than not called either Mrs Gautier - when one of the schools phone me, Mrs Widmann, when someone rings my doorbell (marked Thomas Widmann and Phyllis Buchanan) or Mrs Buchanan-Widmann. I even get Mrs Buchanan by people who have sussed that a) I am married, b) I call myself Buchanan. Ho hum! One day someone will address me as Ms Buchanan as it says on my personal documents!

Anyway that wasn't the topic - just one of my bugbears. I keep hoping I'll still be around when society catches up with the reality that Miss Gautier's mother is no longer necessarily Mrs Gautier, and that if Master Gautier joins Beavers, sending a large Beavers welcomes the Gautier family card, though it may be a nice gesture, isn't always appropriate!

So - back to foreignness. First time, as I said, I became Gautier. So I too had all the fun. People, of course, have heard of Gautier because of Jean-Paul Gaultier. Gautier actually has three different spellings is France each with a different frequency. Firstly, and by far the most common is Gauthier, second and not nearly as common is Gautier, third and almost unheard-of is Gaultier. But of course we Brits only know one Gaultier - so I spent half my marriage correcting the spelling of my name from Gaultier to Gautier (and still have to on everything my kids ever sign up for). And that's just the clever ones who actually sussed my name at all. I got various fun ones over the years: Phyllis Gucci (I wish!), Phyllis Gottier, Phyllis Got-here, Phyllis Goatie, Phyllis Goatbeard... Snailmail caused daily bouts of hilarity. 


Then of course I got divorced, but none of the fun was lost, given I still have three house members with that surname. I moved in with a Widmann. That's not too hard, surely? Oh you'd be surprised! Often he simply loses an 'n' and becomes Widman, but we've had Whitman, Woodman, Whiteman(!), Wadman (is that someone with lots of money?), Windman (I won't suggest what that might be!) and finally last, but definitely not least my personal favourite Thomas Wild-man! I have actually had the postman come out with the words 'Do you have a Wild man here?' (None of your business, postie ;-) ) I know I stayed Buchanan this time round but if he gets Wild-man often enough, I might just consider a name change. Life would never be boring being Mrs Wild-man, surely!? It's very Tarzan and Jane ;-)

Film pods

Is it just me or does any one else miss film pods? They were such handy wee things. As a camper and a photographer, I remember their many uses...

I used to take two - one with salt, one with pepper on holiday. They were just the right size. I'd have two or three filled with washing powder, one with a sewing kit, mixed herbs etc. On a picnic, if you'd taken enough photos, you and a partner could use one each for drinking wine slightly more delicately than swigging it from the bottle.

Packing for a trip recently, I did wish I'd kept just a few from the old days! It's funny... I bet if I showed my kids this photo, they wouldn't even know what it is!

Photographic blackmail!

This is one of my all-time masterpieces - even if I say so myself. Given Marcel is the kind of kid who is really quite image-conscious these days, never daring to go to school with a hair out of place, lest one of his many female fans should see him. What better ammo can a mother have to drop on her son's facebook page, randomly, after he's gone to bed at night than a cutesy baby photo, complete with smug blueberry face and jam sandwich stuck to his head! It is just asking to be done, isn't it?! ;-) (He loves me - really he does!)

Personalized number plates

I've never been a fan of personalized number plates. I've always liked to think that if I got to the stage of having that amount of money to waste, I'd rather give it to cancer research, or sponsor an orphan in the 3rd world or whatever - but that's another rant... I'm sure many of my close friends have them, and I can't fall out with the whole world!

Anyway, what I was going to say about personalized number plates was - given they were brought in, presumably to be used as status symbols, are we now reaching a point four years into the recession where not having one is actually a bigger status symbol? I've noticed cars I expect to have personalized numbers - big BMWs, Mercs and even the jeep-shaped Porsches whizzing past me when I am in Thomas's old Micra in the M77 sporting brand new 62 plates instead of ZZ 3 and the likes. Now we can't afford to change our cars every three years in this new economic wilderness, is having a current number plate the new way to show off your wealth?!

Curry torture

With the sudden and unexpected good weather the last few days of March came the reminder of the curry torture we suffer all summer - well on the sunny days anyway! 

The problem is the Indian restaurant across the road from our house. Despite being in business since the Harvie Avenue shops were built, possibly as far back as my high school days, it isn't wonderful. Their curries are watery and insipid and I doubt they have ever used a fresh herb or spice in their kitchen. I think they are more a 'two heaped tea spoonfuls of smart-price curry powder' type of place to be honest. You couldn't pay me enough to eat there... There are so many better Indian restaurants in Glasgow and Thomas is an expert Indian chef. The problem is that somehow despite the mediocrity of their actual food, they somehow manage to emit an absolutely mouth-watering smell, particularly early evening when I am sitting down to consider what we can have for dinner. I have no idea how they do it - maybe they put all their fresh herbs and spices into their extractor fan to tempt people in while simply wafting the odd dried chili at the actual meals! Anyway the result is that if I happen to be sitting in the garden, the smell means I can't think beyond curry, and that's not exactly going to be great for my figure, is it? The only solution therefore is to wish for a summer with temperatures as mediocre as their culinary ability so I don't make it out to my garden bench too often!  But that would be a bit depressing too!

Food colouring

I wonder if food colouring is one of those markers of the thresh hold between childhood and adulthood? Charlotte made these cup cakes on Thursday and iced them herself. Charlotte and her younger siblings thought they looked so appetizing they wanted one of each colour, each. Marcel, Thomas and I couldn't really get past the colour. They were sitting there on the table looking like a culinary ad for Ikea!

Will I finally realized Lots has crossed the line, the first time she ices a cake in a pastel shade... or worse still - dollops on mascarpone instead? ;-)

Oh, and one last bugbear... when did they become cup cakes anyway? They were fairy cakes when my granny taught me to make them in my spotty pinny at the age of five, and to me they'll always be fairy cakes!

Anyway - look how happy they made my Bopster!

American Pie

I don't usually have time for cover versions of American Pie - but Weird Al's just leaves me speechless with admiration! Mind you, both my sons, my nephew and brother are all Star Wars daft, so just put up with me.

Simpler is sometimes easier

Am I getting old, or are kids making the world more complicated than it needs to be?

The other night Marcel, Charlotte and I were watching Groundhog Day for probably the twentieth time! We don't usually watched movies more than once or twice but this is in everyone's top ten so is a good one to unite us round the TV. We got to the snow scene and Phil and Rita started dancing to Ray Charles' old classic 'You don't know me'.

Because we've all seen it so often none of us was giving it our full attention. I was working on my laptop, Marcel was on facebook on his laptop and Charlotte was also playing a game on hers.

Marcel commented how he'd always loved that song, but didn't know what it was. He whipped out his phone

and started fiddling with it and holding it up. I asked what he was doing and he looked at me like I came out the ark and told me he was 'shazaming' it. His phone app would listen to the tune and tell him what it was. He had joined the song too late so it failed to detect it. He skipped back and put the scene and the phone on again. Frustrated when it failed a second time, Lots grabbed her phone too and the two of them started 'shazaming' it! I asked why, given they were both on laptops, they didn't just google it (or better still ask me - the old fogey in the room - as I could actually tell them what it was!) But both were determined to show off how no mortal being could live without Shazam. I turned my laptop round, typed 'groundhog day you don't know me', clicked on the first link and was soon playing them the whole tune on Youtube while they both cursed and spat at 'Shazam', still determined to show me I had simply been lucky to find it before them!

I did feel quite smug though!

Cake-tastrophe

We volunteered to make a cake for Pumpa's birthday... to be more precise, I volunteered Thomas to make a cake for Pumpa's birthday! Thomas and I have a lot of work on this week, and added to that the kids are off school - so without childcare we've both been working past midnight every night. He'd also brewed some beer that needed to be bottled today so things were quite hectic. Running late, around 9-30, I was getting the girls ready for bed when Thomas ran through in a panic - he'd run out of eggs! I ran out to the supermarket, while he kept stirring and by 10 things were back on course but the girls, Amaia in particular, were way beyond shattered. As Thomas finally stuck on the layers and candles, Amaia trudged through to the dining room and used all her remaining energy to pull herself up into her chair where she sat, plate in hand saying 'Granny and Pumpa' over and over. Thomas didn't realize immediately she had it in her head they were about to turn up for cake, so lifted her, resulting in complete meltdown, accompanied by intermittent shrieks and sobs. It was only when I finally convinced her Granny and Pumpa were in bed asleep, that she agreed to be carried to bed, all the while sobbing in Danish 'Granny sover, Pumpa sover, Granny sover, Pumpa sover!'

Marcel, a future economist?

Thomas and I watched Inside Job the other night. Despite both being fairly into economics, following stock markets and the likes it was still absolutely astounding to be reminded of the magnitude of what has been going on for the last decade or more in the US economy. To see all the same culprits pop up in Obama's government and realize they haven't the slightest intention of regulating the banks any more in the future than they did in the past was more than soul-destroying, especially given that any future Republican president would be even less likely to look in that direction than Obama if he scrapes back in... It was thoroughly depressing. 

Marcel was hanging about with nothing to do today - or rather it was too snowy to venture out so I asked if he'd like to see it. I explained it was more or less a documentary and that it might be hard to follow but he should stick with it if possible because it would be very significant, at least historically for his life and understanding thereof...

He disappeared into the TV room. I expected him to last 20 minutes before putting on a different movie - something with Will Smith or Meryl Streep or the likes, but no he remained glued for the entire two hours then came bouncing out completely invigorated, talking ten to the dozen analysing the whole sub-prime market, the insurance, CDO and derivatives issues etc. He was absolutely enthralled and said it was the most outrageous but also most fascinating financial plan he'd ever seen. Unlike us, who found it depressing, his young brain was thrilled at the state-master-minded bank robbery and he couldn't stop analysing all day, how it could have been done better so as either not to have collapsed, or to have collapsed slower so only a future generation would have found out what had happened. He cynically concluded that with a little tweaking, something should be able to be done to make the plan work better next time round. He sat analysing how the CEOs taking smaller bonuses might have made it drag on longer and wandered off to check out entrance requirements for economics degrees here and in the States, muttering under his breath 'There's a shitload of money to be made out of this mum!'
I don't know whether to be proud or scared witless!

Happy Anniversary!

Congratulations to mum and dad - married 47 years ago today. (Looks like it was a snow-free day back then!) I'm not sure many of my generation will make this incredible milestone.

I guess my one regret is that when you don't marry Mr Right until you are 41, the chances of celebrating your 47th wedding anniversary (and still knowing who you are(!) is fairly slim). I don't think anyone in my family has ever lived to 88 :-( Well, it gives me something to aim for...

Face paint

I had forgotten how much more face paint we go through when the biggies are away on one of their three compulsory annual holidays with my ex. Anna just doesn't know what to do without them and constantly mopes around until I cheer her up with a bit of face paint. I should charge it to my ex!

The other issue, as time goes on, is her incessant chatter. I think she feels she has to compensate for all three missing children single-handedly talking, talking and talking without ever stopping for a breath - my nerves are frayed!

When she finally runs out of things to talk about, she either makes something up about Silly Mad John and his family, or counts to one hundred over and over!

I guess unless you've been in the situation, it is hard to understand my kids' world. They are together 80% of the time and then suddenly they are wrenched apart through no fault of their own. Anna and Amaia don't really understand where their family goes to or why. Léon's not overly sure either. When you are little, time passes much more slowly so it is hard for the little ones to remember after their July separation, that another week like this will come again at Xmas and in April. They feel like lost souls at times.

Paddling pool in March... snow in April!

Well it looks like Scottish weather has nose-dived off a cliff this morning. I'm sitting here in jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a cardie, with the central heating on. No one (funnily enough) is outside in the paddling pool today because it is currently snowing... Yes it is bloody snowing! There's exactly one week (not to mention 19°C) between these two photos.

Expanding on the Batman theme

Ever since we had the front of the house repaired, Léon has been inventing wilder and wilder fantasies about Marcel being batman. It seems a shame to spoil his fun by painting over the bat in white, so I decided a more appropriate course of action was to extend the theme onto the cladding on the front of the house. It is looking good, don't you think?

Dandelions for mummy

It's the thought that counts, I guess!

I spend every spring, summer and autumn on my knees pulling dandelions out of my lawn. I hate them with a passion. Turn your back for ten seconds and they multiply like rabbits. And they always come in twos. This year we have more dandelions than lawn.
Given the beautiful weather this week, I have spent more time on my knees than usual! I am totally scunnered with dandelions.
Today I had to work so Thomas took the kids out for a walk. Amaia came bouncing in afterwards with a bouquet for me! Dandelions - thanks Bops, that's lovely. Followed closely by Anna who had not only picked me twice as many and even stuck them in a vase!

My kitchen is now overflowing with dandelions! Thanks kids!

Beaver boy

I happened upon this today and given my recent rant on such matters, it interested me a great deal.

My favourite quotes from the article are:

• "Scouting has something to offer everyone, no matter your religion, ethnicity or belief"
• "It's essential to continue to make scouting accessible to all."
• "We welcome all communities and this initiative helps to ensure that no one misses out on the numerous benefits and adventure of scouting, because they feel it is 'not for them'."
• "It doesn't matter who you are, what you are or what colour your skin is or what faith you are."

As usual I find it interesting that religious faiths fall into two categories. More and more is being done to be inclusive of all religions in our diverse multi-cultural society, but as usual not having a faith is somehow seen as a second-class option that does not need to be catered for or included. Who decided that atheists and their children are a 'faith-group' that need not be included? Two months on, and I am still asked on an almost weekly basis by my son why he had to pledge his love to a God he does not believe in in order to be allowed to take part in archery, baking and ball games with his friends. Why are children of atheists forced to hide their beliefs in order not to 'miss out on the numerous benefits' on offer, while all other faith-groups are catered for?

I often find it interesting to observe how religious believers treat those who believe in atheism. I don't think for one moment, if I was to tell people I was bringing my children up as strict Muslims, Jews or Catholics, that people would preach their religion openly to them with complete disregard for the upbringing they are receiving, but because I believe in nothing, and I believe it as whole-heartedly as my religious friends believe what they do, they feel it wholly acceptable to try to educate my children in a manner I disagree with. 

It is not that I am angry. I have faith enough in my parenting ability and the open-mindedness I am instilling in my children, but I wonder why we have been elected to be lesser beings than those with completely unsubstantiated faith?

Brilliant photos

One of my flickr friends decided to do a photoshoot of his parents. His mum got a fit of the giggles in the middle of the shoot. I think the results are just adorable. I particularly like the second one as you scroll down. These really made me smile - I feel I can almost hear her laugh all the way over here even though she lives on the other side of the Atlantic! Enjoy!

Ready for summer (in Scotland)

She may only just have turned two, but Amaia already has the measure of the Scottish climate, I think. Despite basking around 20°C since Saturday, she has been sitting at the garden table for lunch in her t-shirt and summer dress, even venturing at times into the unheated paddling pool, but she is still insisting on wearing her woolly winter hat and snow boots just in case the weather turns on us, as it has a want to in Scotland!

Top-heavy

Is it just me or are hyacinths a bit of a stupid design? Half of those in my garden have hit the deck under the weight of their heads! Are you meant to stake them or something?!

Skye - well Skyeish...

Léon's homework for tonight was geography. He was meant to fill things in on a blank map of Skye. (The school is divided into a house system and Léon's house is named after Skye). He was to mark up towns, seas, castles, rivers, hills, mountains, harbours and other places of interest. He was to use the internet or an atlas. It didn't seem in any way beyond him so we were surprised when he started rolling about the floor whining and complaining. We came over for a look. The teacher had provided him with a blank map to fill in... Unfortunately the teacher seems to be somewhat geographically-impaired to say the least! She'd accidentally given him a blank map of Mull! He's done his best to fill things but it's been quite a challenge!



View Larger Map

Sorry, when did I move to America?

I have been quietly fuming now for nine days. I feel I have started avoiding media stories about the Bolton footballer, Muamba, whose fate was in everyone's heart from the minute he went down. Who wouldn't wish a young, fit father all the best in the circumstances? What I was beginning to find stomach-churning, however, were the screeds of newspaper articles dedicated to telling everyone to pray for him, thanking those who were praying for the obvious good they were doing and constant reiteration that everything was in God's hands. I couldn't believe how little was being written about the amazing work done by the paramedics and cardiologists - the real heroes of the day. I tend to try to live and let live - if people want to believe there's some superhuman being sitting up there capriciously deciding who should live and who should die depending on how many fans he happens to have of the correct religious persuasion mentioning him at bedtime - so be it. If they think this God is so absent-minded that he hasn't noticed someone is needing to be saved - they have my blessing to spend all night pointing it out to him, should they so desire but when is someone actually going to give credit to those who actually reanimated the man!?

Anyway, I had decided to let sleeping dogs lie until Tim Farron and co broke the camel's back! What planet is that man on? A sick man gets better therefore prayer works from a scientific perspective? Deep breaths, count to ten... I'm sorry, but this is the sort of nonsense I expect from the other side of the pond. If UK politics has started down the God path, it's time Scotland gained independence, or I moved somewhere more secular... or both!

Bread

I was reading an article about bread the other day. Apparently bread is the most-thrown-away product in UK bins. Ever since we started making our own bread (this is the royal 'we' of course - ie Thomas!) I have always left any leftover chunks to dry out on the work surface for a couple of days and them put the pieces in the blender to make my own bread crumbs, which I store for months. Throwing out dried bread when ASDA charges a quid for a small jar of bread crumbs that doesn't even stretch to two chicken breasts is madness!

Marcel and Anna

Positively one of the best things about having such an age-spread across your kids is the reaction you get, say from a teenager, when a four-year-old comes out with what we parents know to be a completely normal, random four-year-old curiosity question just when your fourteen-year-old is least expecting something they consider to be so highly inappropriate!

Wednesday, high school gets out early so Mr Lazy texts me for a lift while I am out at primary and nursery anyway. I get him first. Outside nursery (the last pick-up), it is a sunny, pleasant day so a large crowd of parents is waiting at the foot of the hill while the kids run about having fun. I am standing with Marcel, Charlotte and Léon. Anna comes bouncing out wearing her favourite summer butterfly shorts. She takes Marcel's hand. She loves her big brother. She thinks he's knowledgeable. She says quite absent-mindedly, as if the thought has just flitted into her head as she looks down at her shorts, 'Marcel, I've been wondering...?' Marcel is nurturing towards the wee ones, he bends down lovingly and asks 'What?' Anna replies 'I've been wondering if butterflies have vaginas, and if they do, what they might look like!?' Marcel looks like he's going to pass out from embarrassment, quickly looking from side to side to see if anyone has heard. Of course, given he doesn't reply instantly, I can hear her repeating her question over and over at an increasing volume quite unawares as he drags her quickly to the car with a look that says almost pleadingly - Mum don't you have a large sack we can stick her in (preferably head-first) till we get to the car!?

100 year old colour photos

If you haven't seen this on today's BBC, I must recommend it. I was amazed by the vivid colours used in the clothing more than anything else. I think we all have a tendency to imagine life that far back to be quite a monochrome affair!

Ebay

Why do people pay more on ebay for used items than they would to buy something new? I understand if it is a collector's item but for something you can currently buy in a shop I just never cease to be amazed at how crazy people are.

Take today. I saw a pair of normal M&S leggings (Amaia-sized). They were 99p with P&P set at £1.50. I know I can buy a new pair in Asda at £3.50 so I added it to my watched-items out of curiosity. It finally went for £4 + the P&P.
I have noticed the same with electronics. People happily bid over the new price for a once-used electronic item. I think people get carried away with the low starting prices and they forget the P&P too. Madness!

Lent lilies?

When you speak various languages, you become aware of different cultures and climates. Take daffodils - they are called Easter lilies in Danish. That says a lot about climate. In Scotland in good year they pop out in February, March is a worst-case scenario so they'd have needed to be called Lent lilies or last-week-of February lilies in Scotland if we used similar terminology. I guess those are the kinds of names you can use in small languages, that don't work in world languages - when you speak English in places as different as New Zealand, California and Scotland, you aren't going to get names like 'Easter lilies'.

Too weird for the UK market?

Two things I used to buy in France a lot for my breakfast baguettes were Bonne Maman Confiture de lait, and Confiture de châtaignes (à la vanille). I know Tesco has been selling the basic Bonne Maman jams - blueberry, strawberry, apricot for years but these two never seem to have made it over here. Do the importers just think they are too weird to inflict on the UK market? It is a shame.

Given Thomas has a bit of work on in France at the moment, I'll definitely be requesting the odd jar of 'Vanilla chestnut jam' and 'Milk jam' every time he's over!

Micro-USBs

Micro-USBs are starting to annoy me. Both my camera (a Sony Alpha DSLR) and my phone (an HTC Smart phone) use micro-USBs for charging/data downloads. After a year the tiny end on the camera one became so loose in the camera, it no longer registered and I had to order a replacement. Imagine my annoyance yesterday when I woke up to a dead phone after putting it on to charge at bed time. You guessed it - nine months old and loose. I know the standard USBs are much chunkier but they seem to last for years without needing replacing.

What is it about pears?

I've lived with him nearly six years now but I don't get the pear fetish.

Thomas is obsessed with pears... It isn't that he eats pears. I'm not actually sure I have ever seen him eat a pear but he has planted two pear trees in the garden and he loves to buy pears. When they are on special, or there's a new variety in Waitrose, or when they have been reduced as they are nearing their sell-by date, he just can't help himself. Almost every time he goes to the supermarket alone, he sheepishly unpacks in front of me and I can tell the shifty look is working up to him admitting he's bought more pears. They then lie on the work surface or in the fruit bowl till they start to go off, sometimes until the grow their own fruit fly colony and then get binned because no one in the family is a real pear fan, but still I know it is only a matter of days till the next pear consignment turns up. I really don't get it. I guess on the scale of things, there are much more expensive follies that could tempt him (I remember my ex and his TV fetish!) but psychologically it is truly fascinating!

Ten years to change a life

Thomas has told me this is a very important anniversary. To be honest I couldn't have pinpointed it to the day, though I did know it was early March 2002. I had been with Collins exactly eleven years and a week, when someone brought round the new guy. I had been through the small talk with the new guy so often over eleven years, I probably didn't even look up. I ascertained he was a single, 30 year old Danish linguist who spoke twenty odd languages and who did computing too. I mentally categorized him as an Übernerd with whom I'd have little in common. I heard he'd be sitting at the opposite side of the office in a booth of his own, so figured I wouldn't see much of him. 


A few weeks later I came in to my office mate of two years, Sabine, packing up. She was being moved and I was being given a new office mate. Tentatively, I asked who... Sabine replied that she thought it was the big Danish bloke. My heart sank! How could I bore a single bloke with all my kiddie stories about Marcel (who was four and Lots who'd just turned two) and all my girlie stuff? I imagined years stretching ahead without so much as a coffee break. I distinctly remember turning to my computer and emailing my good friend and colleague Carol 'OMG they're making me share with the great Dane!'


The weeks passed and we started to talk and we haven't stopped since! I found out to my surprise that we had more in common than I had expected. By a year later I found my Übernerd had become my best friend! When it became clear my marriage was on the rocks, my best friend became my partner and I haven't looked back since. I wake up every morning thanking my lucky stars that my feelings towards him were reciprocated.


Occasionally, I try to imagine how my life would have turned out if Collins had left Thomas at the other side of the office. Obviously there would be no Anna or Amaia for starters. Given the strained relationship I had with my ex, which had worsened dramatically after Charlotte's birth and after he took on a high-powered job for a big US company just before the 911 stock crash, I know for sure I would be a single mum now, probably not very well off. I'd never have had the time or babysitters to chat up anyone new, so would have been leading a fairly lonely life with only my kids for company. 


Ten years ago, some unknown member of Collins management decided to stick us two in an office together. I'm not a believer in fate, but if I ever find out who made that decision, I owe them my life, my love, my happiness and my kids! It's incredible how something seemingly insignificant can change your life forever!

Newborns

One thing I love about newborn babies is the way they sleep with their arms in the air when they are at their most relaxed. You see it most over the first few days of life, then slowly the pattern fades. When the arms go under the duvet for the first time, you suddenly realize they've left the womb behind and joined this world.

Last week Léon was quite under the weather but there was no convincing him to miss Beavers. He got dressed for his session and then I left him alone while I got my shoes on. When I returned, he'd fallen asleep on the couch like a baby. It must have been the first time in six years I've seen him in that position. Suddenly he looked so sweet, vulnerable and tiny to me.

Thomas's car

Thomas's little Nissan has been annoying me today. I'd forgotten but it did the same last winter too.

At least once every winter we have a day that is so cold that the back windscreen wiper freezes onto the window. Of course, you aren't aware it is frozen on when you reverse out to do the school run and turning it on to move the dusting of snow blows the fuse.

This is particularly annoying because when you open the fuse compartment, you are confronted by approximately 12-15 fuses. They are in an incredibly awkward and tight space under the steering wheel. So I wedge myself in and read the function of each fuse with the help of a torch and my glasses. We have light, radio, washers, electrics - you name it but the fuse box claims none of the fuses relates to the wipers... grrr. So I pull each one out and look at it to see which one is burnt out. They all look intact. I then sit scratching my head as to what to do next when I notice the back wiper has miraculously started working again after three months of acting dead as a dodo. It is as if pulling out all the fuses resets something. So once again, I am none the wiser as to which of the annoying fuses I need to pull every year.

If it does it again next year I'm trading it in!

Dutch or Kashmiri crispbreads?

I often stayed at my granny's house on a Friday night as a child. She used to give us Dutch crispbread as a suppertime snack. We ate them with butter. I really loved them. In Sainsburys last week we saw this Kasmiri version and assumed they'd be the same. We bought them for breakfast. Imagine our surprise when it turned out they tasted even better... like the ones from my childhood only sweeter. Yum!

How mature is a 12 year old?

We were given a form (presumably by the council) to allow Anna to attend a concert in town with her nursery last week. I find it quite interesting that they have decided that twelve year olds are mature enough to decide whether or not they can accept medical treatment and allow anaesthetics to be performed on them. I was vaguely aware of it already as Marcel (14) had recently been sent home from high school with a consent form for some booster vaccinations that it turned out he, not I had to sign.

What I find interesting about it is not the empowerment per se of the child, but the contradiction in other parts of their system. For instance, last week Charlotte went to Castle Toward residential school for a week's stay with the rest of the p7s at her school. She is 12. But as they gathered to leave the teachers in charge asked every child in the room (approx 100 kids) to hand in all medication they might want to take with them (down to and including paracetamol for a headache or sudocrem for a rash!) complete with a consent form from their guardian to say they could have it given to them. They would then look after all hundred bottles of the same medication (mad or what?!) And if your child happened to forget to hand one in and turned up in tears with a raging headache during the week, would not be given paracetamol as they hadn't been authorised by their parent to take it!

Why is it the council seems to be indicating on the one hand that kids are mature enough to take life or death decisions, while at the same time saying they are not old enough to have a tube of cream and two paracetamol in their backpack for emergencies? This is just nonsensical!

I want bobbles too

My poor baby is desperate for hair. Every day she brings me little bobbles and hairbands and begs me to put them in her hair. I am really struggling but when she looks at me with those big olive eyes and says 'me too bobbles', what am I supposed to do? The result this week was her wandering around all Wednesday looking like an insect with two very sweet antennae.

We love grammar

I'm sure this looks like a posed photo. Maybe I thought it was cute to give each pre-schooler a grammar book and make it look like they were revising on my bed, but the truth is I actually walked into my bedroom yesterday morning (having been working on the revision of these and the German and Spanish equivalents in bed the night before) to find that they had spontaneously picked one up each and were giggling away showing each other pages. I had to laugh given Thomas's and my linguistic and language backgrounds. I must remember to warn them that it isn't the highest paid profession out there, before they really get to love it!

The bat cave

We needed to get our outside wall fixed last week - there was a hole in the roughcast letting in water under Marcel's bedroom window. Given the shape of the repair, Léon is now convinced Marcel is actually batman and his bedroom is the bat cave!

National and International chain stores

I've long had an issue with UK-wide stores. I often look in despair through TESCO for a long-sleeved t-shirt for my child only to find they are already onto sleeveless summer dresses because somewhere very far away from Glasgow, it is already summer. I am also more than amused each World Cup when the local TESCO or ASDA is surprisingly left with an entire shelf of unsold Come on England mugs and t-shirts. Last year's Royal wedding memorabilia didn't seem to fly off the shelves in the expected quantities either for some reason. None of the bunting for street parties sold out! I came across another climate issue last weekend. The local B&Q was trying to flog rhubarb that had obviously been pre-grown further south. I'm not sure B&Q's happy rhubarb would have enjoyed being planted out in my garden where the rhubarb is only just 

beginning to bud at surface level. It'd probably have died of shock in our colder climate.


Things aren't always disadvantageous though as I found out in H&M ten days ago. As Europeans, my kids are crazy about Barbapapa. It was popular here when I was a kid in the 70s but didn't make a comeback this century as it has done everywhere else in Europe. H&M is a Europe-based store so didn't bother researching that and is currently trying to sell everything branded with Barbapapa, but because the kids don't know it, no one wants it! The result is that they are now having to discount it heavily. Imagine my girls' delight when we realized the Barbamama dresses had been reduced from £9 to £2.99! From an international selling perspective, it's crazy that market research is no longer done, but from a personal perspective, we were definitely winners this time round!

Contact

It's a bit odd in this day and age to have no idea what your twelve year old is up to. We're so used to either having them at home or being able to text them even if they are only at the local shop or their granny's house round the corner just to ask how how they are doing.

This week Charlotte is away on a residential course with her school where they have been instructed not to bring mobiles. The kids, who at 12 are already used to phones, were all in a grump and a panic at the thought of not being able to listen to their favourite music for a week or text their friends (this is amusing given they are all there with them anyway!) But I have to say I liked the idea of their being weaned off them for a bit. What I hadn't expected was the benefit to myself too. I am far from a helicopter parent but I am so used to being able to check she's ok and to ask what she's doing, I'm sure it is good for me to have no idea who she's sharing a dorm with, what she's eating, what activities she's participating in.

I guess it also gives me a minimal glimpse of how life was for my own parents. I travelled across Europe alone on a train at 18. I was away most of the summer. I moved to France for a year at 19. And both times I probably phoned home once a week for less than five minutes at most! I'm not sure many parents could imagine that these days.

Moulin Rouge

Moulin Rouge is definitely one of those movies people either love or hate. When it came out - given its name, and my love of France, I suggested to my ex-husband that we should go and see it. He read the synopsis and refused! If it didn't have Arnie or Bruce, it wasn't going to be one of his movies!

Finally, when it came out on DVD, I hired it and sat down one Saturday night to watch it. He looked ill at ease at first, shifting in his seat, arms folded, lips drawn. By the time the third or fourth song came on, he simply turned it off and told me to watch it next time he was out! He was such a give and take kind of guy! ;-)

I watched it alone and enjoyed it. I thought nothing more about it. Many years later I was divorced and living with my new man. One evening he remarked how surprised he was, given my constant playing of music, that I had never suggested watching Moulin Rouge as it was one of his favourite films! It was a seriously heart-warming revelation! We bought ourselves it on Blu Ray as a wedding anniversary present once we married!

Last weekend, Marcel had been to visit his father (the ex) for the first time in a couple of months. He has Sky and Moulin Rouge was playing! He told me he'd put it on to see what it was. It was the moment of truth. What type of man is my son? So I asked if he'd loved or hated it (without giving him the background to the question). He tentatively started by saying that it was a bit odd and eccentric... I smiled and he admitted he'd absolutely loved it and was upset I didn't have Sky too because he'd happily have watched it again! I revealed we had it on the shelf in the TV room... he went through to watch it, muttering that he could not understand why his father had seemed so hostile to it when he'd chosen to watch it up there! I had to smile again!

Amaia's banana

Amaia helped herself to a banana last night but she was too stubborn to ask for help opening it. I had to laugh when I saw her way of eating it! So cute, but it worked!

Palindrome fun

I have to share this - the man is a genius! An absolute classic from Weird Al.

How much did I miss you?

Imagine the scene... (I won't upload a photo for once - I don't have one, you'll be relieved to hear!)

Last Saturday, the three biggies had been away visiting my ex for two nights for the first time since Xmas. This meant enough time has passed that Amaia could no longer remember them ever being away from her. So she'd been moping all day.

At last, around dinner time Sunday the three burst in through the kitchen door. Amaia runs and hugs Léon, holding him tightly saying Putch, Putch, Putch. For some reason she calls him that. She then walks up to Lots who asks her for a hug. Amaia wants to show her she's angry at being abandoned so sticks her nose in the air but again after less than a minute is in her arms, hugging her and stroking her hair. Finally, Amaia looks for Marcel. But where has Marcel gone? She looks around and on passing the downstairs bathroom hears a noise. Silently she pushes the slightly open door and enters to find Marcel standing having a pee. He doesn't notice the intruder. She sneaks up behind him and throws her arms round his legs to hug him (while he's still peeing). She only comes up to his thighs. She exclaims ahhh, deeply happy to have her biggest brother back, but then instantly starts shaking her hands shouting yeuch as she's managed to soak them both in his stream of pee during her embrace! Poor Marcel has to stop peeing and deal with cleaning up his little sister before he's even got his jacket off!

Just to make my life a little harder!

As if there wasn't enough on my plate...

With seven people in the household including a two-year old who thinks she's too old for bibs and two little ones who like mud quite a lot, I have a fair amount of washing to do in a week. I reckon I probably do about eight washing machine loads a week. Things do seem to have been getting worse recently. Then I got to the bottom of it.

Yesterday morning I washed all Amaia's things, tumbled them and put them away. I then sat down in the dining room for a coffee instead of at the back of the house as usual. You need to go through the dining room if you are trying to come from the upstairs in the house to the downstairs bathroom, living room or TV room. Amaia came in carrying two t-shirts I knew I'd put away in her drawer ten minutes earlier. They were still warm from being folded away. I observed her silently to see what she was up to...

The wee besom only went straight into the downstairs bathroom and put them into her laundry basket along with all her dirty clothes from bath time. I wonder how often she's done that?!

Léon's spring flowers

Léon has been drawing spring flowers tonight for the local horticultural society. Aren't they sweet? The daffodils look like something out of a sci-fi movie in places! I'm imagining one threatening to exterminate me!

Stop press! Léon won 2nd prize in the horticultural society art competition with this entry. I'm a very proud mummy!