Sheina

In 1985 I started uni. I made many new friends - some I knew for the five years I was there, some who stayed in my life ever since. A group of us became known as the purple people.

It was partly related to Glasgow uni's choice of purple as the colour for their Arts graduates, and partly because the purple people became my bridesmaids, in purple, at my first wedding. There was Sheina, Shona, Linda, Jillian, Gillian and me.

We went all round Europe together. Here we are in Germany in 1989. We also did France the previous year and a number of trips thereafter. 

Over the years we attended each others' weddings, further graduations, met the various babies and men who came and went in the group and continued to meet for meals and chats once or twice a year for twenty seven years, despite some of us having moved to Germany, Austria and England.

Just three weeks ago we managed to get almost all of us together and we had a lovely night here. It was the first time in a few years most of us had been in the same country at the same time. That night though, we didn't know it would be the last time we would ever have a get together. We didn't know how special that night would be. Two weeks later Sheina died in her sleep as a result of hypertension and a heart problem. She was 45 years old. In complete shock and disbelief, we are all now trying to arrange our second get together in less than a month for her funeral. It doesn't seem real. Linda summed it up talking to me on Sunday 'We're too young, Phyl, to be burying our friends'.

I've just spent five months thinking (correctly) my dad was too young to die, so this is just mind-blowing.

So what can I say? She was a beautiful person, a caring person, she accepted you for who you were. You could confide in her. She was someone who underestimated her own worth. She was loved more than she ever understood. After a wine or two she had a great sense of humour! I will fondly think of her dancing the Timewarp and singing along to Grease at 3am in my parents' house throughout the 80s and my own house in the 90s! I can't believe we'll not be spending another twenty seven years meeting and eating once or twice a year, although of course when the rest of us meet in the future, I imagine a great number of hours will be spent reminiscing about Sheina.

                                                Sheina Harrison 1967-2012 a life too short...

B&Q plant sale

Is B&Q generally frequented by thick people? We were in yesterday and they had reduced a lot of their plants from about £15 to between 50p and £2. Ninety per cent of the customers were giving these rather scabby offerings a very wide berth. Thomas and I did notice immediately that if we just checked the label on each, it stated quite clearly which plants were hardy and therefore a great bargain as they'd be back next spring or summer looking as good as new.

I had been wanting a blue hydrangea all summer but at £20 I couldn't bring myself to buy one. Once the remaining pink one they had in stock had been reduced to £1.50 simply because its flowers were starting to look a bit faded, I suddenly found pink much more appealing than blue! Four and five will like pink best anyway. Even if only one in three of the plants we bought survives, and there's no reason to think they shouldn't all survive, we managed to spend £18 yesterday on over £250 of plants.

Result!

I sense a saga is beginning...

It started at the end of August. Our beloved family Xmas present all the way from Italy suddenly stopped heating water half way through making a cappuccino. No hot water meant no steam and you can't froth milk without steam...

Given it had been bought in Italy I first went down the line of trying to find someone to repair it - it wasn't like I could send it back to Italy all that cheap even if it was still under warranty. I found a wee place in Fife that could fix it if I drove it there and back and their minimum charge was £50. Then I found a place in Nottingham that would courier it for £23 and also had a minimum charge to open it up of £40. I then found a coffee repair shop in Govan - bingo! I emailed them and they told me that could fixed any type of cappuccino machine as long as it didn't grind beans... It grinds beans - bugger - back to square one. As I was sitting trying to work out what plan D was I suddenly got another email from the owner of the Govan repair shop. It simply asked if I was aware that Gaggia was a subsidiary of Philips in the UK. An hour later I had spoken to Philips Gaggia coffee repair shop and they'd offered to send a courier free of charge and repair it under warranty! Thank you so much Govan guy!

The machine was picked up and packaged by the courier and a week later it came back with a new thermostat and its innards descaled, all free of charge. We settled down to normality and everything was great for three weeks. Then one day I decided to grab a wee sneaky espresso. That is as basic as things come - one single espresso - not quite as challenging as Sunday morning's seven cappuccinos. I turned it on, hit the button, all the lights flashed, it banged and it died. I didn't even get my espresso.

I sent it back again. This time it took them two weeks to 'fix'. It came back today and we invited mum down to christen it. Marcel, its biggest fan, pulled it out of all the packaging. Not wanting to tax it too much before it was back into the swing of family life, I ordered a simple espresso. He put the cup under the nozzle, and having filled the water and beans compartments, pressed the espresso button. The beans moved, the grinder ground the beans, the water heated, I reached out in anticipation and the water suddenly spat out from the milk steamer as the dry, unused ground coffee powder was discarded into the bean collection tray. Sorry? This had to be a joke. We tried again. Same happened - three times! Some idiot had obviously connected the water pipe to the wrong outlet. I then had a cunning idea. What if I tried using the steamer, would that make a coffee? I heated the steamer and turned it on. It steamed too. So are all water tubes now connected to the steamer? I tried to turn the steamer off. It continued to steam. Eventually I found the only way to stop it steaming was to pull the plug out of the socket! Two new faults! I checked the repair sheet to see what they had claimed to have done to fix the original problem. It said 'Machine has been descaled'! 

So a machine that blows up and dies simply needs descaling (four weeks after they last descaled it) and  descaling it causes the internal pipework to jump around and become rewired? I have a feeling someone is bullshitting me somewhere because they can't work out how to fix it. I may have found someone who couriers and repairs for free but I unfortunately have not yet found someone capable of repairing it!

Emmanuel at Philips Gaggia will be hearing from me Monday...

tbc

Charlotte's school tie

I'm not 100% sure what size of child they are expecting in S1-3 in the kids' high school. This tie is the standard issue aimed at fitting 11-14 year olds! After a term Lots has finally found a complicated tie-tying method that results in a tie that doesn't protrude from beneath her skirt! But, really, what are they thinking?

Brita, Peter and the little ones

It was nice to see my in-laws last week.

I guess I've never known any different but it is odd having your in-laws live abroad. Unlike the way many families function, mine don't drop in for the occasional coffee, (or to babysit in an emergency!), instead they drop by for a week every six to nine months. Given both my husbands have been foreign, I've never know what it is like to simply have my mother-in-law drop by unannounced. Some women might think that's a bonus, but I actually miss having them around! It's nice to talk to them. Two or three weeks a year isn't really enough. It is also hard on the little ones who must feel it is an eternity between visits given how much slower time passes at two or four.

Of course it is lovely to have the option of going abroad to visit them - whether they are in their Italian or Danish home but it does make for a vaguely odd way of life.

Watermelon salad

It isn't quite the weather for it at the moment (given I've had to start scraping my car this week :-( ) but Lots has been going on about watermelons today so it reminded me... 

So this is just a note to myself, should I be lucky enough to escape this dismal climate at any point in the not too distant future. Watermelon, mint and feta salad, one of my father-in-law's specialties, is one of the nicest things you can eat once the temperature goes above about 28°C.

A seemingly underwhelming knowledge of Danish

Both Anna and Léon have independently been exploring what makes them different from their classmates in the last week or two. 

Anna came home after a few weeks at school and told me she'd had a talk with her teacher about her other language:
                    I told my teacher I speak Danish too, she announced
                    Did you speak to her in Danish? I asked
                    Not whole sentences, I just taught her a few words.
                    Which words?
                    I told her Danish for Hi is Hej (pronounced more or less the same) I told her trampoline                      
                    is trampolin and I told her panda is panda! 

As someone who didn't grow up bilingually but was always fascinated by language, I found it mind-blowing that my child would choose such underwhelming words to 'impress' her teacher. I would have thought coming up with words that sound really different like pølse, haven, kanin (sausage, garden, rabbit) might have impressed more? Maybe I am just more of a show-off at heart, and Anna is more nurturing, trying not to scare her 'pupil' at first? I don't know.

Anyway, amusingly I let it lie and a few days later Léon came in and announced:
                      I've decided to teach my friend Fraser Danish! 
                      (Léon hadn't been present at my previous chat with Anna). 
                      That's nice, I replied, what have you taught him? 
                      I told him Danish for hi is hej! I told him Danish for September is september...

What is it with you two? You speak the bloody language! Can't you even tell them how to count to ten or something before they all think you're daft when you say you're bilingual?!

Put me on the 'naughty' car!

I love it when kids misunderstand language.

Today we were up at ASDA and in a hurry as I had to buy the stuff for Léon's birthday party before picking Léon and some kids up at school. I was running late and had Amaia along with me. As we passed Costa she started shouting excitedly 'Put me on the naughty car!' over and over. I know some people use 'the naughty step' as their method of discipline, but I can't remember using that term in front of my kids ever. If I want them in some sort of timeout, I tend to ask them to go and stand in the porch, but the word 'naughty' has never come into it. If it had been one of my other kids, I'd have assumed they heard it at someone else's house, but Amaia is two and has never been away from me, so I was baffled. And what on earth is a naughty car? I really didn't have time to find out if I was going to make school, so I scooped her into a trolley and legged it. She wasn't pleased.

After shopping, as I ran out, she scooted off round the corner till we got to the Noddy car and relieved, she announced - 'Ahh, the naughty car!' Sweet!

Genetic testing?

Today we had a box of chocolate and orange bite-size cup cakes lying about in the kitchen. Thomas made coffee and took us one each just as Anna walked in. I heard him asking Anna in Danish if she'd like a cup cake. Of course, she replied and followed him back into the kitchen but upon spying the gherkins that were still out from lunch, she immediately said she'd much rather have two gherkins instead, if that was ok?!

I guess you don't always need genetic testing to ascertain which members of the family are part German! ;-)

How to cope with death

I overheard this conversation between Anna (4) and Amaia (2) yesterday. Amaia was playing with an old mobile phone:
'Hello, Pumpa? It's Amaia'
'You can't phone Pumpa any more Amaia, he died'
'I can can talk to Pumpa if I like, he's still my best friend'
Sometimes I think the smallest children come out with the most profound words.

New uniforms... again!

Since the kids went back in August, the school has been very enthusiastic about their new (old-fashioned) uniform. I moaned about it before it was forced upon us and a term in my opinion has not changed.

From Léon (p3)'s perspective: The little buttons on the shirts have added at least five minutes onto his dressing time, and getting both sides of his shirt aligned is a bit hit and miss - I'd say he gets it one button out 30% of the time. He can now tie a tie but it is often too long, too short, over one side of his collar etc. True enough, if I dress him, he can look neat and tidy but he turned seven at the weekend and has been dressing himself for years so why should I go back to dressing him? Of course, after six hours in school, he always comes out with his shirt hanging out and sticking out below his jumper, looking vaguely like he's been dragged through a hedge. He wears his rain jacket every day but on the days that it is too cold for that and I zip his fleece inside he gets annoyed at the inner sleeves popping out of the outer ones. Come winter, he will not be wearing the prescribed school jacket. Forcing us to buy three new jackets was a step too far so I have bought him a Tesco one instead. It cost half the price of the prescribed one, is just as warm and can be worn on weekends.

From Anna (p1)'s perspective. She is unable at four to button the stiff little shirt buttons. She could easily have coped with the old polo shirts but the shirts are too hard. With difficulty she can unbutton the ones she's worn often enough to loosen but straight from the wrapping, she can't unbutton them either. She still can't tie her tie, so I have to do that in the mornings. Like Léon, everything hangs out after six hours unless she wears a pinafore, which she does half the time. She openly admits her teacher is forced to do her buttons after gym - a great use of her teaching time. Of course, we have been told p1s are allowed to buy extra polo shirts for gym days over and above the normal uniform but quite frankly I have bought enough and if they are stupid enough to bring in this uniform for four year olds, they can deal with the consequences. Anna, too has the same issue with the rain jacket. And like Léon she will not be wearing the school winter jacket once it gets colder. I found a much superior coat on ebay for half the price.

From my perspective. I am utterly sick of ironing shirts when I used to simply put them straight in the polos from the tumble drier. I am fed up doing tiny buttons half-awake before I have tracked down my reading glasses in the morning. I don't think they look smart, they look rigid and uncomfortable. If they wanted them in a shirt and tie for the school photo, I wouldn't have objected but daily, I think it is a major leap backwards from the comfortable and functional uniform Marcel and Lots got to wear.

Little kids should look like little kids!

From a foreign perspective. My mother-in-law turned up last week from Denmark for the first time since the kids started back. What happened to the nice comfortable uniforms they used to wear? she asked. This is just over the top, are they trying to make them look like they go to Eton, or what? I guess that's a thumbs-down from her too.

Flying on his Nimbus 2000

Léon was very pleased to get a real Harry Potter broom stick for his birthday from our neighbour Emma!

Golf

I'm not a golf fan. I don't know what you use irons or woods for. I've just about sussed a putter! I used to nod when dad told me he'd beaten his friend four and five (or was it five and four?) - I could tell it was good, but didn't know what it meant!

I can't help but feel Europe's amazing comeback tonight feels bittersweet though. He's not here to see it and he'd have enjoyed it a whole lot better than I did. I think Steve and dad would have had a great night/weekend.

The Falls of the Clyde

If you live in Glasgow and have never been to the falls of the Clyde, I have to recommend it. I try to go once a decade but in fact it is worth going more often than that. In the next few weeks the autumnal colours will show it at its best. And given the recent rainfall, it is spectacularly fierce at the moment.

Youthful palates...

Marcel is usually a great cook. He can easily rustle up a Jamie Oliver-type meal for eight people.

Today he invited his friend Deen for lunch and to study history together (so he claims anyway!) I asked what he was making for lunch for the two of them but I wasn't quite ready for the reply. Rolls in Scotch pie! In true McEnroe style I had to reply: You cannot be serious! But he was! I hope he doesn't try that on one of his female friends - I'm not sure how it will be received!

They grow quickly at that age

I came across this photo of Marcel and mum taken two years and nine months ago. He thought he was very tall then... little did he imagine how the next couple of years would pan out!

You don't need to be rich

One of the things this recession has taught me is that you don't need to spend any money at all to have a really happy child, you just need to let them be children. Would she really have been happier than this wrapped in cotton wool in her nice warm house with a £30 PS3 game or DVD? I doubt it. A pair of wellies and a few puddles suffice!

Happy birthday Léon

And so my youngest son has turned seven. How can he be seven already? - he's still my baby (ok I know I had two other babies but Léon is still my wee man!)

He had a lovely time. His Danish granny had flown over especially for the day and my mum and his Scottish auntie and uncle dropped by too with his cousins. Thomas baked a blue cake and made him his favourite dinner. He seemed to enjoy all the attention involved in being the special one for the day.

Amaia particularly enjoyed giving us her version of 'happy birthday' too. Although she did take a few seconds to get over the shock that it was only Léon's birthday and not everyone's! I guess it has been a while since the last kiddie birthday in this house. (Her own on 11-1).

Squash

I've always loved the look of squashes. I find it hard not to buy them and photograph them. I miss my days in the south of France when I used to go in search of whole stalls to photograph! (I wish I had a good squash recipe though, because I never really know what to do with them once I've finished my photoshoot!)

Time for change

Six years ago today I decided after a hideous year of screaming and fighting with my husband (and after many years of indifference), to walk out and change my three kids' lives forever.

I have never looked back. I have never missed him for a single moment. I re-found the person I had lost in my marriage. And I have now married someone who makes me calm and happy.

As we've grown, each of my kids has come to me at different times and told me individually that leaving him was the best thing I ever did for me and for them. Even Léon, who was less than a year old pointed out profoundly last week that if I had not done that he would not only not have his little sisters but he would not be himself and that he couldn't imagine having grown up unable to speak Danish... a bit deep for a six year old!

It is definitely a date worth celebrating as a family.

Money-spinning schemes to torture the bereaved

Dad had shares - not many, but a few and in his will he explicitly left them to mum, funnily enough. I rang his investment company to close his account and transfer his shares to mum. They asked for a copy of his death certificate. I thought, naively, it'd be that easy. They then sent a letter saying they could not legally proceed without a letter of probate. I checked with a lawyer who said this would cost £200. I rang the investment company again to say I had his will which stated mum was to get his shares. Apparently his will, in all its explicitness is not a legal enough document! They want to force her to have to make appointments with lawyers and pay upfront for a letter to get what is already legally hers. When they are thinking up these money-spinning schemes, do they never stop to consider the vulnerable people left behind? They should team up with Sheila! I have submitted a formal complaint, for all the good it will do me.

Alan Bissett's 'Vote Britain'

I blogged this a few months ago when Alan first put it on Youtube but his rendition on Saturday was much clearer without the background wind of the original so I am putting it back on again. It was a definite highlight in an already great day.

Paying attention to politics... almost

We were at the Scottish Independence rally in Edinburgh on Saturday with the three wee ones (the biggies having already booked sleepovers with friends weeks earlier).

The weather was superb and the atmosphere great fun and full of family entertainment. Léon and Anna loved all the flags and having their faces painted and the march from the meadows to Princes street went down well too.

I had thought the kids would zone out once we got to the political speeches but surprisingly Léon sat down happily to listen. First up was Alex of course followed quickly by Margo MacDonald. Margo pointed out part way through her speech that with support for independence already in the mid 30% bracket, each person who'd already decided to vote yes only needed to convince a single other voter for us to be home and dry.

 Léon looked quite excited throughout her speech and I wondered what had caught his interest. When she left the stage and the applause died down, Léon turned happily to Thomas, who he knows has been campaigning for an autonomous Scotland just like his home country of Denmark for over a year and announced:

I can't believe it, we've won! 

How so? I enquired! 

Well that lady just said that we only need to convince one more person to win and since we've left Marcel and Charlotte both at home, we can just go home and tell them and that's two! We've won by a landslide! he said, almost dancing with excitement! 

Hmmm - I guess he missed the little word 'each' in Margo's speech but still, it wasn't bad concentration on the rather complex political content for a six year old!

Smiles

I love this photo because you can see Amaia is smiling really contentedly despite her mouth being completely hidden by her arm. That is true happiness.

Talking of eyes

Léon's another one with stunning eyes. They make me think of Caribbean waters, deep and clear enough to see down into the depths of his soul. Never in my wildest dreams, with my own dark eyes, did I imagine for one minute that I'd have a child with eyes so pale they are almost colourless.

Anna's eyes

While waiting for Anna's face paint to dry yesterday I left her glasses off and took a few photos. I hadn't really noticed her eyes for a while because of the specs. Much as I think she's sweet-looking in them, they do take away from her deep, dark hazel eyes. It'd be nice if she could grow out of them one day. The optician did say she might only need them for driving when she's an adult. Fingers crossed.

Baby photos

I'm 44 and I still don't really know what I want to be when I grow up!

The day-job is still interesting, though a little erratic at times during this recession but if I could find a way to make money from it, I'd love to do a wee sideline in baby photography. With my own, I love taking them through the years but when it comes to others' babies I particularly enjoy photographing them at the 'squidgy troll stage', because you don't yet get that look of worry, fear, or shyness they can't hide when they are unfamiliar with you.

Maybe one day...

Jalapeño invasion

I seem to have acquired 3kg of pickled jalapeño chilis... (don't ask!) The problem is that other than stick them in my fajita, on my nachos or similar, I am not sure what to use pickled ones for and quite frankly, 3kg might last me several years. I tried googling 'pickled jalapeño recipes' which of course gave me loads of recipes telling me how to pickle jalapeños, so unless I need even more than 3kg, I'm a bit stuck!

Any tips gratefully received!

Why mum won't be renewing with Sheilas' Wheels

Mum's car is currently insured with the company Sheilas' Wheels. They sent her through a renewal last week telling her to check the details were ok before she signed up to renew her policy. She noticed dad was a named driver on her insurance. Figuring it was a bit silly to pay extra for that, she rang and told them the policy needed updating since his death a few months ago. They said they'd send her out an amended policy. It arrived a few days later and they'd added £25 (to a policy that only cost £140 in the first place). She rang up to query it. She got 'Calvin', a young and enthusiastic call centre worker who has been taught exactly how they want their customers treated.

'Good afternoon madam, can I help you?'
'Yes, you seem to have added £25 to my policy and all I have done since your quote is remove my husband from the policy'
'Yes that's right, you get a discount for adding a named driver, by taking him off you don't qualify any more. Are you sure you want him removed?'
'He just died'
'Oh, I see, and will you be replacing him?'
'Sorry?'
'Will you be replacing your husband?'
'I said he died. You are the company that claims 'Insurance designed with women in mind' and you slap a penalty on a woman's policy for her husband dying? and then you ask if I'm going to replace him?'
'Sorry there's nothing I can do about that'
'So you are going to lose my custom for the sake of £25?'
'I guess so. Is there anything else I can do for you today Mrs Buchanan?'
'Apparently not'
'Ok, have a nice day!'
'Sorry? HAVE A NICE DAY???? I have just told you my husband of fifty years has just died and you slap a penalty on my policy and tell me to have a nice day?!?!?'

End of conversation. 

In retrospect, I guess mum could just have left him on - it's not like he was ever going to have an accident anyway. But isn't that an incredible conversation? I certainly won't be asking them for a quote if they think that's acceptable, I don't know about you?

Health and safety in public swimming pools

Health and Safety rules for public swimming pools seem to have changed in the last few years and the new rules (or at least those they are enforcing in this council area) are a bit OTT if you ask me.

Thomas and I were down at Eastwood leisure centre this morning with four of my five kids. Apparently they have adult to kid ratios and I noticed while I was in the pool that they are strictly enforced. In the big pool every under-8 needs an over-16 in charge of them and in the baby pool the ratio is one over-16 to 2 under-8s. The fact that they choose 'under-8' as the benchmark rather than 'non-swimmer' strikes me as mad. When my older two were under-8 the rule was no non-swimmers out of their depth. This seems infinitely safer and less constrictive to me. My oldest two learnt to swim at four and Marcel could definitely easily have out-swum say my mother at 6 but under the new rules my mum would have been forced to be in charge of him even though he could dive at the deep end and mum wouldn't go out of her depth. He'd not have been allowed to swim without an adult at his side for four whole years, despite being happy to do many lengths of the pool safely. Charlotte too (seen above in a two metre pool at four) would have had the same annoying constraints put on her.

Worse still pools without baby pools have a strict one to one ratio in ER - eg East High School public pool or Neilston would actually not let Thomas and I go swimming at all for pleasure with our three youngest kids as they are all under eight - despite the fact that Léon can swim unaided. Where's the sense in banning kids from learning to swim or practising because they have siblings? Swimming should be a fun pastime for families, not something you need to delegate to a paid teacher simply because you have three kids. And it's like driving - you start to learn once you can do it, and these rules ban you from practising in the safe environment of your family until you are eight!

Today Léon wanted to be swimming lengths of the big pool, which was more or less empty - (with three guards up on ladders watching) but I was forced to swim up and down at his side. This meant Thomas could not leave the baby pool to teach Anna to swim because that would have meant - shock horror leaving Lots - a child just short of 13 with 9 years swimming experience in charge of sitting beside Amaia in a pool that was less the 50cm deep! (Also with two guys supervising up ladders).

Life guards used to be employed to watch if people got into difficulty and save them. Now they seem to be there to run up and down their ladder every five minutes to tell some poor parent that they have dared to allow their child to walk poolside without holding on to them and threaten them that they are breaking the 'legal requirements'. Give me strength!

The ironic thing is that Léon is not allowed to even walk unsupervised between the two baby pools though he is already capable of jumping in at the deep end of the adult pool and swimming safely to the shallow end but Anna who we can't teach to swim at the moment because of their one to one rule will be allowed in four years time in the big pool alone even if she still can't swim - where's the logic in that?

Oh I see where the logic is - the logic is that the council run overpriced, fairly ineffective swimming lessons that aim to teach your kid to swim just about competently just before they turn eight. You can sign them up for weekly lessons costing about £4 per half hour eleven months of the year from three but given the local pool rules won't let them in alone till eight, there is no major incentive to have them swimming competently for the first few years - quite a money-spinner.

But even if I have to take them all down on separate days I refuse to work at their pace.

And finally - does this look like a guy who needs an adult holding his hand every inch of the way to you? He's jumping into a two metre deep chunk of the Arno, with only a fourteen year old looking on!

I found a butter knife under the table mum!

I happened upon this old photo of Amaia today when I was looking for something else. I just thought it was awfully cute. I had almost forgotten about her crazy bum-shuffling till I saw the way her legs were placed in this photo. And she looks like she's trying to audition for a horror movie the way she's dragging herself along the floor menacingly with that butter knife!

In fact it also reminds me of a photo of Léon taken about the same age... I wonder if all my kids have a deep desire to star in horror movies?

Caught in the act!

Charlotte went upstairs to tidy her bedroom this afternoon and found Amaia had taken through her toys, put them on Lots' bed and fallen asleep. How sweet, she thought, until she looked closer... in Amaia's mouth to be precise! The wee besom had raided Lots' drawer, where she'd hidden a few sweetie necklaces she'd bought in Makro last month, taken one, and by the looks of things, had been half way through eating it when she fell asleep on Lots' bed with the evidence still hanging out her mouth! She'll be getting a talking-to when she wakens up! (And Charlotte will no doubt be moving her sweetie stash to a higher location!)

Parenting... it's never dull!

I'm just thinking back on the last twenty-four hours and imagining how dull my existence would be without all these hangers-on!

My day started at 4am with the arrival Amaia, Upsy Daisy and an elephant in a dress at our bedroom door. Something had upset her and I was too tired to fight her. Whatever it was, was quickly forgotten, of course, once she, and her menagerie took over our bed.

Marcel had been off training for his Duke of Edinburgh award since Friday morning. It involved a 30 mile hike with and overnight stay in a tent in New Lanark. Although well-travelled on Ryanair, Marcel has never had on walking boots before and thought till Friday that the tent was a three-room thing you found in the boot of the car after a long drive down south, as opposed to something you were meant to carry on your back. Anyway, he asked me for a sleeping bag and I clearly remember saying - Take the red one in the the yellow drawstring bag - it's just opposite the hatch when you go up to the loft. It's a mountain bag that Thomas bought for his year in Tbilisi. I don't consider that instruction overly hard but apparently he thought I said - Go up in the loft and grab the first bag you see, yes of course the pale blue one is just fine! So Marcel, all 1m75 of him, walked five hours then opened his blue bag to find not only that it was a summer tog one, but it was Léon's 1m10 long junior sleeping bag! Silly bugger had to sleep in all his clothes! I think he might listen more carefully to mummy next week when he goes on the real walk!

Of course after his long walk the wee soul was tired. He was under instruction this week to teach his wee sister how to go to school by bus. He was to take her to the bus stop at 7-55am. So having my bedroom door knocked at 7.55am was ominous in itself. Emmm - he's slept in mum so I've missed the bus, oh and he's slept through his paper round too! Give me strength! I get to pay for him to go hiking all weekend so he sleeps in and Lots and I get to do his paper round while he has his shower and gets ready. A great start to the week. So I drive them to school. This in itself is stressful as I notice my ex-husband is directly behind me on the trip. He doesn't know my current car so isn't aware it is me but I can't miss his lime green Fiat in my rear view mirror and given I'm in the middle of an acrimonious custody battle with him I slip lower in my seat in the hope he won't notice us! Nevertheless, we arrive at school unscathed and the last thing I say to them is - Well at least you can show her which bus to come home on... At 4.30pm Marcel walks in alone! I told her to meet me on the 4pm 44, he says and as it pulled away I saw her slowly walking past the shops so I texted her to take the next bus along, so don't worry, she's fine! How can it be that complicated, just to manage one of my requests for the day?! 

In the meantime I have picked up Léon and Anna. Anna has come out of school wearing an orange shirt and tie. (This photo does not do it justice!)

Despite having full plastic body-armour for painting lessons, Anna is completely covered in paint. The pattern shows me she has put the apron on backwards and the (no doubt) overworked teacher has not pointed it out to her! I suspect her three-week old shirt is ruined and her tie is borderline. I pull the clothes off immediately and run around the house trying to find something to wash it with (because I have already done three loads today - serves me right for being organised!) I stick it on at 3-30pm.

When Lots finally wanders in twenty minutes after Marcel her first comment is - We started rugby today mum, my PE kit is soaking and covered in mud and I need it again tomorrow! How many times can one person say - Give me strength! in the space of twelve hours?! So I wait till Anna's clothes come out - tie salvaged, shirt still orange and now soaking in bleach, and put in Charlotte's with some bath mats that probably don't need washing but still... I estimate they should be dry by 11pm. Skin of the teeth!

Léon's been no trouble today, if that is of any consolation! 

I think I'll go to bed now and prepare myself  for tomorrow... the day when both the high school and the primary are having simultaneous open evenings (now that's sensible!) and one has requested 'no kids, please' - that'll be easy with my five and no babysitters!

Amaia

I can't help but worry that Amaia reminds me ever so slightly of Margaret Thatcher since she's taken to carrying around my toilet bag everywhere as a handbag! We'll need to knock that out of her! ;-)

Cute... but problematic

My mum bought this for Anna's Xmas last year. It is adorably soft, smells lovely and is exactly what you want to be hugging in bed at night if you are four. It has however, just today, prompted me to write my first ever Amazon product review! The issue is that it is filled with edible grains - wheat kernels as far as I can see. With five kids, and ten friends running in and out my door daily, someone occasionally leaves it open - in autumn that means the odd mouse manages to get in. On average we have maybe two mice every autumn. This year we've already found five - I was puzzled. The kids have been threatened with death if they leave a door open, so where were they all coming from? It turns out one had gnawed into this and was feasting itself and its whole family on the contents. The bedroom is filthy and now being steam-cleaned and the dinosaur is in bits in the outside bin. On telling Lots who has the polar bear version - I saw her quickly shoot out to the outside bin holding hers at arm's length as if it was a bomb that was about to go off! It looks like I'm going to be replacing all our microwave heaters with old-fashioned hot water ones. They may be cute but they are definitely not worth the hassle.

Amaia loves the tiger who came to tea

Sometimes I ask myself how rich I'd be if I had a pound for every time I've read the Tiger who came to tea over the last fifteen years!

Gran and Gramps' Wedding

If my old gran was still alive she'd be 96 by now. And today she would have been throwing a party to celebrate her 70th wedding anniversary. Awwwh, I hear you say... but of course today isn't her 70th wedding anniversary! It is her 69th! I vaguely remember hearing a story about how gran fell out with my mun on her real 25th wedding anniversary when she didn't buy her a special card, despite my gran having thrown the party the previous year! And worse still the crazy bat refused to allow my mum to have her birth certificate when she left home as it stated her parents' wedding date as being (shock, horror) six months before her birth! The problem of course was that mum needed her birth certificate to post her wedding banns but gran was worried about her dignity!

Funny how things have changed in a couple of generations. I wonder how she'd feel about my own daughter being the flower girl at my wedding when she was 14 months old! (Or should I start organizing fake wedding anniversary parties too?)

(And looking at the photo - as a child I often wondered if my gran (and her sister-in-law Catherine) worked part time as chimney sweeps in the 40s?!)

Kindles and why they annoy me...

Marcel needs some French novels to read - of course I have loads of classics but I wanted to give him something lighter and easy to start with so I tried thinking contemporary, mass-market - Marc Lévy sprung to mind immediately. Something like 'Et si c'était vrai' would be easy enough to build his confidence. I go on Amazon and I am offered the paperback at £3-89 (+£2-80) postage or the Kindle edition for £8-99 - that's a third dearer. Obviously I would prefer the Kindle edition. The last thing I need cluttering up my house is more books but the Kindle version is dearer, it won't necessarily be lying on my shelf in two or three years when Lots wants to read it, or ten when Amaia does, so I refuse to pay more money for something that has a shorter shelf life and is non-transferable. I have my dad's Kindle sitting here, and for me it is limited to a means of reading books that are out of copyright. I want Kindle book prices to reflect the fact that they can't be shared amongst family and friends. I want, like with CDs, to scan say the bar codes on my current four rooms of books so I can store then on that and not on bookshelves and I want what I buy to be future-proof. It just doesn't work for me as a format, yet.

Bic for her

I usually consider my husband fairly on the ball with regard to current affairs. But somehow the whole bic-for-her scandal seems to have passed him by. He looked completely blank today when I mentioned it in passing. So for anyone else unfortunate enough to have missed it, I thoroughly recommend you read the product reviews on Amazon for these items!

Rhubarb and ginger jam

I remember the first time I met my first mother-in-law-to-be (at the age of 18), she asked what jam I was best at making. When I replied that I'd never made jam, I thought she was going to faint. She couldn't believe anyone could reach the ripe old age of 18 without ever having made jam. So now at 44,  I decided I could put it off no longer! We had four large rhubarb plants taking over the garden so I chopped up 1.5kg and followed this recipe. It didn't turn out too badly - the taste is good. It's a bit too set for my liking - I prefer the runny jam they eat in France and Denmark to the solid stuff we eat in the UK. A better plan is probably to google a recipe in French instead next time. I am more likely to appreciate the consistency of something written by a French author.

I may be a late starter, but I might actually take up jam making properly given how many fruit bushes Thomas has planted in our garden.

Sharp knives

I was cutting cabbage tonight to make chicken fried rice, Anna was standing on a stool watching me. I was using Thomas's beautiful global knives. (Even if I hadn't fancied him, his global knives might have been enough to make me marry him! ;-) ) Anyway, Anna picked up the large chopping knife. I told her to be careful and put it down. She started to question me:

Is it sharp enough to cut off my pinkie? she asked
Yes, I replied
What about my thumb? she continued
Yes, they are sharp enough to cut off your arm, I said pointing at her wrist
She then pointed at her throat - If I sawed hard enough, would it be able to chop my head off?
Yes, of course, I told her, trying to sound very serious, so she would never play with my knives.
But her reply broke my seriousness in one fell swoop: That would be a pain! With my head off, I wouldn't be able to see where I was going!

Has my brother been indoctrinating my daughter?

Amaia is very into nail varnish at the moment, but having all nails the same is way too boring. Generally she goes for pink and red nails alternating or blue and purple but today she marched over to the nail varnish box, took out red, yellow and black and asked for those three colours and only those. Derek?! Have you been talking to my daughter by any chance? This is a bit too Partick Thistle for my liking!