In response to Josie’s latest Writing Workshop at Sleep is for the Weak, ‘write an honest description of what you look like right now’.  I’ll warn you, it ain’t pretty:

(I’ve underlined where the emphasis is as I’m quite bad at poetry and tend to produce pieces only I can get a rhythm out of..!)


Delicacy, poise and grace are traits I tend to lack,
And my brown and straw-like barnet hangs dishevelled down my back.
I haven’t washed since Friday’s bath and though I claim to wear them well
My jogging bottoms have developed quite a musty ‘worn thrice’ smell.

The baggy ‘bedtime’ jumper, on for far too many days,
Is peppered liberally with my darling daughter’s mealtime strays.
Upon my feet my once-cool trainers are now shoddy, scruffy wrecks,
All caked in mud from playing football with my son, the budding Becks.

I’ll never be a Posh, I’ll never clip on shining heels.
My waist won’t fit in clothes like those; I rather like my meals.
But all the skinny jeans in TK Max won’t bring me any joy,
This beaming smile beneath my eyes is for my girl and for my boy.


Creationism a la four-year-old

Yawn.  Girl is not sleeping again. She did two nights on the trot on Sunday and Monday (following B’s first skiing trip with me up North, so good timing toots), but last night and today is back to her old tricks.  She goes into her cot as I gently soothe her, lies prone and apparently sunk into oblivion – even mustering up the odd snore – until I raise my hand, whereupon she flings her arm back to grasp my finger, twists her head round, eyes flying open, and starts to cry till soothing recommences.  This is often repeated slyly as late as the ‘stepping-away-from-the-cot’ point, which is most frustrating. Controlled crying would fix this but they’re sharing a room. Nnngh.
On the plus side, now that I’ve replaced her first pair of shoes (H lost one during his babysitting weekend; he thinks he left it on the roof of the car) she’s cruising nicely and had her first few stands on her own recently. Lovely.  And, if we lose another left shoe, we’ve a handy spare. Yay!

Boy and I were discussing the origin of man earlier today as we watched a Nat Geo program on how life began; he’s very advanced, you know, though his poor mother was ill-equipped to answer questions on DNA. As we watched, B expounded his theory that the first man was made by a bunch of other men by cutting shapes out of a skin suit; such as a mouth, eyes, eyebrows and a scalp (out of which hair then sprouted).  All in all, quite a gruesome image and one with an obvious flaw:
“Who made the men who did all this cutting?”, said I.
There was a slight pause, then he raised his eyebrows into an optimistic position, smiled hopefully and suggested, “Nice ghosties?”.
As a theory some may claim it beats your standard creationism…

Jab Day

So yesterday was Swine Flu Jab Day in the local neighbourhood.  Taking the advice of my mum (“who’s a nurse”, to quote that girl off Johnny Briggs) I always tell B the details well in advance and reveal that yes, it will hurt but only for a second or two. This tends to do the trick (in tandem with post-innoculation sweeties).  On this occasion it was the nurse rather than the doctor, and was therefore an even smoother experience.  Last jab, the doctor – skeptical about the wisdom of B’s decision to watch the needle enter his arm – frantically tried to get B to look out of the window at an imaginary bin-man whilst attempting a stealth spearing. This flapping served only to make the situation more fraught than entirely necessary, although B handled the doctor magnificently and pretended to be duped by the fictional refuse-collector while sneaking a peek.

This time, in contrast, the nurse was happy to let Ru to watch in gruesome fascination as she plunged the needle in. Not everyone’s cup of tea but as it illicited from him only a surprised “Ooooooh”, it certainly seemed to be his Lady Grey.

G was more vocal, albeit briefly.  Taking the lead from her brother, perhaps, although one might prefer that doesn’t happen on every occasion.

B’s little pal, his mum informed me, had to be held down by three people. So thanks, mum, for your common sense advice. And big up the nurses.