mother's pride

Good Shepherd Sunday

2010-04-25T22:49:00.003+01:00

I know it looks like this is swiftly turning into a 'religious' blog....but it's not really. It's just been another one of those weeks which has run away with me. You know the sort.

Anyway, as it is Good Shepherd Sunday, I wanted to share my absolute favourite devotional from my 'downstairs Bible'. (Don't ask).

Some years ago I spent several weeks in England. One afternoon we took a drive in the country. A sudden storm came up, so we pulled off the road to wait it out.

In the distance I saw a man standing by a huge rock. He had a large cloak on and a shepherd's crook in his hand.. He was calling his sheep. They came, bells tinkling, from different parts of the field. The shepherd never moved in all that rain and lightning, but stood steady for his flock to gather round him.

That scene has been forever engraved on my memory. The shepherd didn't leave his sheep. He didn't abandon them. He didn't let them find refuge of their own. But neither did he take them out of the storm. Instead, he bore the storm with them. He provided them with safety and security by his presence.

So God, our shepherd desires to do for us. In times of crisis, in the midst of a storm, let us not try to save ourselves. Let us run quickly to the shelter of His arms, where we will find refuge, and let us stay there until the storm passes by.

Ann Spangler

Cracked Pots

2010-04-18T10:30:00.000+01:00

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.

At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water.

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, but the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.”

The old woman smiled: “Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.”

Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it’s the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. You’ve just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.

So, to all of my cracked pot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers on your side of the path!

That Was The Week (and a half) That Was....

2010-04-12T19:50:00.004+01:00

3.45am, Wednesday 31st March

FF: Mum, I'm in a taxi on the way home. I think I've broke my arm

She has come out with numerous similar comments over the years.....

.....MUM!! I'M BLIND!!!....(shampoo in eyes)

....MUM!!! I'VE BROKE MY METATARSAL!!!.....(stubbed toe)

.....MUM!! I'VE GOT CRUCIATE LIGAMENT DAMAGE!!! (twisted knee)

.......and so on.....

......so I wasn't unduly worried......

.....until I saw it.

It swiftly became clear that, since her wrist was in one place and the rest of her arm was in another, my usual diagnosis/treatment of 'Run it under the cold tap and have two Panadols' was not going to be much help.

So, off to Casualty we went. Again. For the second time in two weeks.

It needed an operation to re-set it.

The Football Fanatic was not amused. There is only one thing on earth which strikes fear into her heart. General anesthetic.

So she did what any normal, sane person with a deformed arm would do in the circumstances.

She discharged herself.

Many, many hours of persuasion, a different hospital and a surgeon who had re-set Ryan Giggs' wrist later and she signed the consent form.

If only that were the end of the story.

The surgery was then cancelled FOUR TIMES during last week, which meant four days of starvation, four days of assuring her that yes, she really would wake up and four times of having to tell her that it wouldn't be tomorrow after all.

It was finally done on Sunday morning, by which time I felt like a bit of chewed string.

Anyway, it is done. Over. She woke up. Her arm is back in the right place, albeit held together with two wires and she is back home.

I plan to have an extremely boring week.

I deserve it.

And I have seen enough of these..........

......these........

.....and these.......

....to last me a lifetime.

Thank you to everybody who was praying for her.

I have had a Mass said for your intentions.

Easter Sunday

2010-04-04T14:29:00.002+01:00

We've got a lot going on here (for which your prayers would be gratefully received) so I've got no time to stop and chat.

Just wanted to wish everyone a happy and peaceful Easter..........

..........and of course to show you my new Easter bonnet!

Good Friday

2010-04-02T13:25:00.003+01:00

The other gods were strong, but Thou wast weak,

They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne.

But to our wounds, only God's wounds can speak,

And not a God has wounds, but Thou alone.

From 'Jesus of The Scars' by Edward Shillito

It's Been a Trying Week....

2010-03-28T20:30:00.003+01:00

....what with trying to stop The Noise from causing any more damage to her already broken wrist.....

......inordinate amounts of cleaning for Easter.......by the way, has anyone else had to carve dried- on ice cream out of the bathroom bin?.......

.......scouring brochures in an attempt to actually find a holiday which costs less than the National Debt.......

(As usual, this picture is wildly inaccurate. Real life has found the Father of This Lot spending every spare moment in the Mare and Foal, coming home and asking 'Have you STILL not sorted it out....?)

.......praying through most of Thursday, that the Football Fanatic, who had gone to Alton Towers, would not be tempted to go on the new ride, in case she died of heart failure..........

(It didn't work - she did go on it and pronounced it 'rubbish - not even scary')

Today is Palm Sunday, the start of Holy Week, which means that I may as well move my bed into church due to the amount of time I will be spending there.......

......and to top it all, the Father of This Lot has managed to get himself a bout of manflu.....

I hope nobody else wants me for anything, as there is not enough left of me to go round.

Lovely Bones?

2010-03-20T19:57:00.003Z

My Spring Cleaning week was hampered slightly by a phone call from The Noise's school to say she had 'had a bad fall and was a bit shaken up' and would I come and collect her please.

A rather suspicious looking lump on her wrist meant that a trip to Casualty ensued, and a mere four and a half hours later she emerged with a wrist brace and an appointment for the Fracture Clinic the following day.

It turned out to be a hairline crack which didn't need a cast - she's just got to keep the brace on for three weeks. And no more football. Told you they should have all been boys.

It hasn't stopped her racing around like something on speed. It is her birthday on Monday, so today I have taken her and four of her friends to see 'Alice in Wonderland'. Just short of fifty pounds to get in, a whopping £25 for drinks and popcorn and another £20 for the minibus home.

And....they are all staying the night, so I have fed, watered and entertained them and they are now playing an extremely noisy game downstairs.

I would probably get a headache....... if I didn't already have one from two hours of wearing 3D glasses.

Dear Dad.....

2010-03-17T00:01:00.002Z

......I'm dressed in green.

I'm wearing the same Celtic cross you used to pin on me when I was a little girl.

There's a shamrock on the windowsill, and I've been to Mass.

It's not the same on my own.

But I'm doing it anyway.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Mother's Day? You Can Keep It!

2010-03-14T22:37:00.001Z

Not for me the old breakfast in bed, lunch out at a posh restaurant routine. Oh no.

The Football Fanatic and The Fixer went to watch the match, The Singer and The Peacemaker went shopping, The Father of This Lot went to the Mare and Foal (no surprise there then) and me and The Noise ended up cleaning at my mother's!

All in all, it was NOT what I expected!

Still, since I seem to have taken on the look of a scheming Katharine Hepburn, I shall probably sit here and plot some deep, dark revenge!

There Are No Words.....

2010-03-11T18:49:00.002Z

I have been completely out of things to say all week (well, that and cleaning the house from top to bottom) but, true to form, the Football Fanatic has come to my aid with a comment worthy of a new post.

The Noise bounced into the living room and asked us:

Have you seen that new film 'Constipation'?

The Rest of Us: No.

The Noise: I'm not surprised. It's not come out yet!'

Sadly, even the sight of The Noise rolling around the floor hysterically aughing at her own joke did not stop the Football Fanatic from asking:

'Who's in it?'

Third Sunday of Lent

2010-03-07T23:03:00.005Z

I have decided to stick with Fr. Jack throughout Lent, if only for the fact that listening to him makes me rather uncomfortable, and I always feel that Lent is a rather uncomfortable time.

What I have gleaned from sharing my ironing time with Fr. Jack over the last couple of weeks, is that whilst I am fantastic at being a traditional Catholic, I am not that great at being a Christian. Sadly lacking, in fact. It needs work. Quite a lot of work, actually.

Anyway, here's what he says about the poor:

'In the Gospels Jesus gives us a very clear preview of the general judgement. The questions will be scandalously materialistic. I will not be asked about prayer, religious experiences or church observances. I will be asked about food, drink and clothes.

When I was hungry, thirsty, naked, a stranger or in prison, what did you do to help me? That is the acid test of my Christianity.

Using figures from a seminar on evangelisation some years ago, if there were 100 people on earth, all living in the same village, 67 of them would be poor while 33 of them would be at various levels of being well off.

93 would have to watch while the other 7 spent half the money, had half the bathtubs, ate one third of the food and had ten times as many doctors looking after them as the other 93 put together.

The real problem though, occurs when the 7 attempt to evangelise the 93, telling them what a wonderful Saviour they have, while throwing out more food than would feed the 93, and building bigger and better basilicas to this God of theirs, while the 93 find it more and more difficult to find a place to live'.

I told you it was uncomfortable.

Have you heard about the Robin Hood Tax?

Watch the video.

I can't see it happening, but I've signed the petition.

I live in hope.

Voice From the Gods

2010-03-05T20:51:00.002Z

Last weekend the Football Fanatic soared over and above the realms of stupidity that usually only she can reach.

What she did not only bordered on absolute lunacy, but was so incredibly dangerous that it has left both myself and the Father of This Lot shaking our heads in disbelief at what sort of offspring we (well, me, mainly) are bringing up.

I am hoping that time, the great healer, will erase from my mind the thoughts of 'what-could-have-happened-to-her' and for that reason, I have no wish to record the incident here for posterity.

However, this is Mother's Pride, and as usual, there is a lighthearted ending to the whole sorry tale.

The Football Fanatic was at University the following day, doing some kind of broadcasting assignment. They were in a studio, waiting for the lecturer, and the Football Fanatic had seated herself on what she thought was a table while they chatted about their various weekends.

When she told them what she had done over the weekend everyone sat there open-mouthed, obviously having the same reaction (WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD WERE YOU THINKING OF??) as I had done myself.

Then she turned around, and noticed the lecturer, on the other side of the glass screen, showing a group of prospective students around the campus.

Strangely, the whole group were also staring open-mouthed at the Football Fanatic.

She thought that this was rather odd, until she heard the lecturer's voice, clear as a bell, over the connecting speaker:

'And, that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you should never park your backside on a mixing desk'

Ceiling Whacks

2010-03-03T18:24:00.003Z

The Fixer was on the phone to the Father of This Lot when suddenly there was a loud crashing sound followed by some yelps of pain. Actually, scratch that. Whatever he may be, the Father of This Lot is not a yelper. Make that agonised shouts.

The Fixer: 'Mum! The ceiling's come down in the Mare and Foal! Right where Dad was standing........Mum.........Mum........you're not laughing up there are you?'

Me: No! Whatever made you think I was laughing?

I was actually in the bathroom stuffing a facecloth into my mouth to mask my squeals of hilarity.

Anyway, The Fixer ascertained that her father was unharmed and then came to find me.

Her (accusingly): You thought that was funny didn't you, Mum?

Me: Not at all. I didn't think it was remotely funny.

Divine justice is what I thought it was.

School Daze

2010-02-26T20:12:00.003Z

Some comments from The Fixer's Parents Evening:

'highly academic'

'practical and problem solving'

'no shortage of ideas'

'could charm the birds off the trees'

'talks too much'

Tell me something I didn't know.

That makes three Parents Evenings this month and two Options Evenings yet to go.

As one teacher remarked to me lastnight,

'Good God, are you here again?'

I'll be on the payroll next.

Carry On, Nurse

2010-02-24T22:18:00.003Z

Well, I bit the bullet and decided to 'do as I would be done by', and the result was that the Father of This Lot and I are, for the moment, back to this:

Don't get too excited. In my experience, this state of affairs never lasts very long.

In the meantime, I have spent the week up to now dealing with

2 ear infections

1 case of sinusitis

1 inflamed knee

several swollen glands

(and a partridge in a pear tree)

and now I feel that I may need some of these:

First Sunday of Lent

2010-02-21T00:36:00.004Z

So, there I was, trying to be all extra-holy during Lent.

Fasting? Check.

Almsgiving? Check.

Praying? Double check.

Quite pleased with myself you might say, even though we are only into the first week.

Anyway, I thought I had better tackle the ironing, which had once again assumed Biblical proportions, and while I was doing it, I put on a CD of a talk by a priest called Fr. Jack McArdle. (Told you I was being extra holy).

Well, I was enjoying myself, because he was quite comical, and I do like a comical priest, when all of a sudden, he started talking about....forgiveness.

Here's what he said:

Forgiveness is healing. No matter how hard it can be, to forgive someone releases you from the bondage that they have over you by the act they committed.

Forgive. Even if it takes time due to the severity of the act, forgive.

Remember the Lord's Prayer and its conditions for receiving God's mercy:

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

If we don't forgive others for the wrongs they have committed against us, we cannot expect God to forgive us for the wrongs we have committed.

You can start small by opening up to the person. A small act of kindness can smooth the way for forgiveness.

Well.

You may remember that the Father of This Lot and I are still 'daggers drawn' over his latest escapade.

To give him his due, he has made one feeble attempt to start talking, which I resisted.

A bit like this:

(Actually, this picture does look a bit like me. It looks nothing like the Father of This Lot, apart from that shifty, 'has-she-fallen-for-it' expression.....)

Sorry. It's tough being holy AND married to the FOTL.

Anyway, it dawned on me that now matter how extra-holy-during-Lent I'm trying to be doesn't matter a jot unless I start getting down to brass tacks. And I reckon nursing a two-week-old grudge qualifies as a brass tack.

So, as difficult as it might be, I suppose I'd better bite the bullet.

I'll be back when I've done it.

I may be gone some time........

Let's Give It Up For........Lent!

2010-02-16T21:31:00.003Z

One of my favourite journalists, or 'an old hack' as he describes himself, Stuart Reid, has this to say in the current issue of the Catholic Herald:

'Blimey. Can Lent really be upon us again? Yes, it can. How time flies when you are old and unemployable....'

The man obviously reads this blog.
Did I not say the very same thing last Pancake Tuesday? I knew there was a reason I liked him.

So, I have eaten the last of the chocolate, I have put all the ribbons in the right places in the breviary to pray the Divine Office each day and I have rooted out the Lenten reading plan entitled 'Forty Days with the Church Fathers'.

What fun.

(Although how you are supposed to get through the Church Fathers without a bit of chocolate remains to be seen).

And then I saw this at Crazyacres...........

..............a Lenten de-cluttering challenge!

What a marvellous idea. Getting rid of a bag of rubbish a day during Lent. And because it is Lent there is absolutely no excuse for getting fed up halfway through!

At Crazyacres, Mary Poppins (Not) is hoping for 'more detachment to stuff and that some personal growth will take place'.

My aim is slightly less spiritual. I'm just hoping to be able to walk into a bedroom without the threat of something crashing down from atop a wardrobe.....

Here's the link if you want the rules.

You Bring Out the Animal in Me

2010-02-15T19:40:00.004Z

It is not unknown for The Father of This Lot to enter a room, survey the systematic anihilation of it by his brood and declare:

'It's like living with animals'

He has several variations on this theme, including:

'If pigs lived here, they'd move out'

'If you had a dog living in these conditions, you'd have it put down'

and that old tea-time favourite:

'I'll bet the chimps at Chester Zoo don't make this much mess at feeding time'

So in his honour, and because it is Chinese New Year, I have researched what type of animal our birthdates relate to in the Chinese calendar.

We consist of a Ram, a Dragon, a Rabbit, a Rooster, a Boar and 2 Oxen. Not a pig, dog or chimp in sight.

Then, in for a penny, I thought I might as well see if our character traits matched up.

The Football Fanatic: Intelligent, enthusiastic, brave

The Singer: Bit of a loner, can be very outspoken

The Fixer: Tolerant and determined

The Peacemaker: Kind, gentle, even-tempered

The Noise: Friendly and sentimental

Me: Dependable, trustworthy and patient

And the Father of This Lot?

First to complain about something, pessimistic

How amazingly accurate.

Kung Hei Fat Choy!

Find out the animal in you here!

How Many Teenagers.........

2010-02-12T21:08:00.003Z

......can one person be expected to cope with?

Yes, we did it again.

Another birthday, another teenager.

They'll probably put up one of those blue plaques on the house:

'HOME OF THE MOTHER OF THIS LOT, A VERY HARRASSED WOMAN WHO BROUGHT UP INORDINATE AMOUNTS OF TEENAGE GIRLS WHILST THE FATHER OF THIS LOT FINANCED SEVERAL LUXURY CRUISES FOR THE OWNERS OF THE MARE AND FOAL'

.....or words to that effect.

Happy birthday to The Peacemaker.

May your teenage years be good ones.

And by the grace of God, may I survive them.

Parents Evening

2010-02-09T23:48:00.002Z

Lastnight was Parents Evening for The Peacemaker.

I was not particularly hopeful, mainly due to the iPod Touch which both she and The Fixer received at Christmas, and which have transformed them both into a type of mummified zombie, unable to hold a conversation, complete homework assignments or get to school on time.

However, I must admit to being pleasantly surprised by her teachers' reports.

Well, most of them.

There was a slightly embarrassing moment with the History teacher. Apparently, they have been learning about the Pilgrim Fathers. The teacher said that the journey on The Mayflower had been a long one, and wondered how they had kept themselves entertained during the voyage.

The Peacemaker put her hand up and asked:

'Didn't they have any alcohol, sir?'

Like father, like daughter, it would seem.

Passports to Paradise?

2010-02-08T20:22:00.001Z

The Father of This Lot arrived with a stack of passport forms and grunted that they needed to be filled in.

Obviously, he is considering arranging some sort of holiday.

However, since he is normally more likely to utter something along the lines of:

......I am, naturally, quite puzzled.

Unfortunately, I am not speaking to the Father of This Lot due to a particularly dastardly trick he pulled at the weekend, and pride therefore, stops me from asking about it.

YES, I KNOW pride is ANOTHER one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, I always say.

(L)Eek!

2010-02-06T20:19:00.000Z

Yesterday, I sent the Football Fanatic to Tesco for a celery.

She came home with this:

According to Wikipedia, 'despair' (to give up all hope or expectation) has somehow, over the centuries, been bundled in with 'sloth', one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

If you're listening, Lucifer, you might as well throw another log on the fire.

Don't Ask Me.........

2010-02-05T22:58:00.003Z

.......because I have no idea why today I took delivery of a catalogue from a company called Jack Wills bearing the legend:

'OUTFITTERS TO THE GENTRY'

and addressed to The Fixer.

Delusions of grandeur, that one.

Nice shop front, but at £24 for a pair of tights, I don't expect we'll be visiting it in the near future.

Key of the Door

2010-02-03T21:59:00.002Z

Well, it's finally happened.

My eldest child has reached her majority.

I feel quite old.

I was going to give her the wisdom of my experience, but as they say, advice, like youth, is wasted on the young.

So instead, I have waved her off at the door on her way out to her celebration.

Actually, I helped her down the snow-covered path into the taxi because it is quite difficult to walk in snow whilst wearing five-inch stillettoes.

I do, however, have a word of advice for anyone who happens to be out in Manchester tonight:

Happy Birthday, kiddo.

The Atmosphere Was Electric.....

2010-02-02T17:57:00.014Z

Here's a question for you.

If you saw an electrical appliance....let's say it was a hairdryer.......whose plug looked like this:

.....and you had just finished washing your hair, so it is not beyond the realms of possibility that your hands may be slightly wet.........would you blithely pick it up and plug it in?

a) Yes

b) No

You know what's coming don't you?

The Singer answered 'A'. Then there was a bit of a squeal.......

Anyway, amid shouts of 'Oh dear God' and 'Run it under the tap!' the Father of This Lot was summoned from the Mare and Foal to unplug the offending item. There followed the usual diatribe of '....don't know what sort of kids you're bringing up here....' and the various other pearls of wisdom in much the same vein which he airs on every conceivable occasion. The hairdryer was duly fixed and the Father of This Lot was waved off at the door before he could cause any further verbal damage.

Personally, I keep well away from hairdryers. I never got over that business with Valerie Barlow. It left a mark on my childhood psyche which remains to this day.

Anyway, thankfully, The Singer appears none the worse for her adventure apart from the tiniest little blister on her thumb.

Well I think it's tiny. She's carrying on as though it was a third degree burn.

Someone remarked to me this morning after Mass that she had been 'very lucky'.

Huh.

Luck doesn't come into it, mate.

With this lot, I find that being on your knees for upwards of sixteen hours a day invoking the protection of the Almighty is the key. And that's the method I intend to stick with.

And since she does seem to have escaped unharmed and is back to her usual hair-tossing self, I just couldn't resist this witty little graphic........

Humbled.......

2010-02-01T21:56:00.010Z

......that's what I am.

By your comments, I mean.

I didn't realise you had been worried about me.

Did you think the Father of This Lot had 'done me in'?

Were your minds racing along the lines of...............

or worse..........

Nah.

You know me better than that.

Wouldn't this have been nearer the mark.....................?

Actually, this is a very inaccurate picture.

For a start, that punch is way too girly and playful for my liking, and I think that rig-out gives the Father of This Lot a bit of a look of Jason King.

If you are old enough to remember Jason King you are most welcome to this blog.

If not, please leave now as you are depressing me.

Anyway, I'm back.

Without explanation or excuse, I might add.

Real life got in the way.

You know how it is.

And I shall be easing myself back into this blogging lark with very short posts.

I thought this best since it took me three hours lastnight to remember how to get on to the thing in the first place.

However, I shall leave you with this little text gem from the Football Fanatic on Saturday night:

FF: Have you ever met anyone from Sicily?

Me: No. Why, have you?

FF: Yeah. Two lads buying us drinks.

Me: Are they good looking snappy dressers who keep going on about how much they love their mother?

FF: God, Mum, how did you know that?

Me: Dunno, kiddo. Lucky guess?

I thought it prudent at this point to step up my prayers a notch until she arrived home.

Which she did.

Eventually.

Is There Anybody There?

2010-02-01T00:20:00.003Z

Will anyone remember me?

Will anyone still want to hear stories ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous?

Will anyone comment?

I wonder....

Domestic Blitz

2009-03-28T14:51:00.002Z

With Easter swiftly approaching, I felt again that primeval urge........

.......to spring-clean.

A quick trawl around the internet will find you numerous sites advertising 'spring-cleaning checklists'. You can, if you so desire, print them off and carry them round the house, presumably in your apron pocket, ticking off items as you go.

Sadly, they're not much use to me, being full of instructions such as:

Dust coils at back of refrigerator

and

Clean filters above cooker hood

Anybody carrying out a quick casing of the joint here would realise I need a more basic list, such as:

Scrape baked-on yoghurt from plasma screen TV using a flat-bladed knife....

Discard and replace all rabbit-chewed items, including bedding, shoes and various soft toys....

or even

Actually ENTER teenage bedrooms with a view to cleaning, rather than standing at the door thinking 'Dear God, whatever did I do to deserve this.......'

Anyway, I've made a start. And as I sat surveying what I had accomplished lastnight, I had to admit, it didn't look half bad.

Now, I just need to find a way of keeping this lot locked out till Easter Sunday............

My legs look pretty good on this one, don't you think?

It Didn't Look That Big in the Shop....

2009-03-22T10:13:00.003Z

After a ridiculously busy two weeks I felt in need of a little cheering up.

I had been eyeing a large mirror in the window of the charity shop, which, I decided, would look perfect in the loft, and, undeterred by the chest of drawers fiasco, I went in and bought it.

It took two assistants to get the mirror out of the window, and it quickly became clear that I wouldn't be able to carry it on my own.

I nipped back to get The Fixer, and we set off. The fact that we had to be rescued by Jim next-door-but-one will give you some idea of the size of the mirror.

We hauled it up to the loft between us, propped it up and took a step back.

The Fixer: God, Mum, it's MASSIVE! Why do you always have to buy the biggest thing in the shop?

Me: Do you think your father will notice it?

The Fixer: Maybe not, if he comes home REALLY REALLY drunk............and if he's been struck partially blind in the Mare and Foal this afternoon..........

In other news, we are now officially a house made up entirely of double figures.

The Noise is ten today.

Happy Birthday, Little One.

Second Sunday of Lent

2009-03-08T23:35:00.001Z

Whoops! Should have posted this yesterday!

Today's first reading was the story of Abraham and Isaac.

A couple of years ago I bought The Noise 'The Jesus Storybook Bible', which, if I had my way, every single child in the world would own.

When I read her today's story from this Bible, I cried buckets. Every time I have read it since, I have cried buckets.

Why?

It's a story I've heard a thousand times. It's never made me cry before. Am I going soft in my old age?

No.

I cried because The Jesus Storybook Bible makes a connection that had never occurred to me.

It explains how Abraham and Isaac walked up the hill to the place where the sacrifice was to be made, Isaac carrying the wood for the fire on his back. It explains how Isaac did exactly as his father told him to do, without asking any questions,and without complaint.

And then, at the end of the story, it says this:

Many years later, another Son would climb another hill, carrying wood on His back.

Like Isaac, He would trust His Father, and do what His Father asked.

He wouldn't struggle or run away.

Who was He?

God's Son - His only Son.

The Son He loved.

The Lamb of God.

That's why I cried.

It's What Saturdays Were Made For

2009-03-07T22:57:00.003Z

In an attempt to keep the Sundays of Lent slightly more holy than other Sundays in this house, I decided to see how much housework I could get done today, rather than spread it over the whole weekend.

I was slightly hampered by the fact that United were playing in a FA Cup quarter final, and as you know, on match days, I am not allowed to wash, dry, iron, bake cakes or go to Tesco. And if you don't know, don't ask. It's not worth it, and it will lower your assessment of my sanity considerably.

Anyway, aided and abetted by The Fixer (everybody else having suddenly remembered previous appointments, homework and promises to go and see Nana) we did manage to get through copious amounts of cleaning - including the Manchester Centre for Bacterial Excellence, otherwise known as the kitchen floor.

And since on match days I am allowed to clean the stove, everything is now sparkling clean for Sunday.

Oh, and United won 4-0 and got through to the semi-final.

Who am I to mess about with the laws of the universe?

Did anyone spot the deliberate mistake in the picture? Go on, have a closer look.

Yes, you guessed it. This picture gives the impression that the Father of This Lot helped out.

Fortunately, I managed to find one of how he really spent his afternoon.........

Roll on Sunday!

You're In The Army Now!

2009-03-04T22:04:00.003Z

I got this in an e-mail and thought you'd like it:

Life in the Australian Army.....

A letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad.

(Eromanga is a small town west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland)

Dear Mum and Dad,

I am well. I hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the army is better than workin' on the farm - tell 'em to get in bloody quick smart before all the good jobs are gone!

I was a bit slow at settlin' in at first, cos you don't have to get up till 6am, but I am enjoying the lie-ins now. All you have to do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots. No bloody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no hay to stack - nothin'!! You have got to shower though - but it's not so bad, 'cos they've got hot water and even a light to see what you're doin'!!

At brekky, you get cereal, fruit and eggs, but there's no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like Mum makes.. You don't get fed again till noon, and by that time all the city boys are buggered 'cos we've been on a route march - geez, it's just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!

This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil - I keep gettin' medals for shootin' !! I dunno why, cos the bullseye's as big as a bloody possum's bum, and it don't move around and it don't fire back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows last year. All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target - you don't even load your own cartridges 'cos they come in little boxes, and you don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shootin' truck when you reload!

Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys, and I have to be real careful 'cos they break easy. Only one at a time as well - not like wrestling with Doug and Phil and Jack and Steve all at once like we do at home. Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either - it looks like I'm the best the platoon's got. I've only been beat by this one bloke from the Engineers - and he's 6 foot five and 18 stone - and as ya know, I'm only 5 foot seven and eight stone wringing wet - but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.

I can't complain about the army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets round about how bloody good it is............

Your loving daughter,

Sheila

First Sunday of Lent

2009-03-01T13:08:00.001Z

Prayer of 'Letting Go'

That I may let go of grudges in order to forgive

That I may let go of past hurts so that I can be healed

That I may let go of judgments in order to accept

That I may let go of self-pity in order to be compassionate

That I may let go of greed in order to give to those in need

That I may let go of negativity in order to be positive

That I may let go of blame so that I can affirm

That I may let go of hate in order to love

That I may let go of control in order to serve

Pancake Tuesday? Surely Not....

2009-02-24T18:59:00.003Z

I cannot believe the speed with which Lent has approached this year.

I've still got Christmas decorations waiting to go up in the loft.

It used to be months from Christmas to Lent - not days like it is now.

Perhaps my advancing years have something to do with it.

Anyway, having prepared a very nice tea, followed by a pudding with custard, my kitchen has now turned into this:

...and looks like remaining so until the batter runs out.

And anyone who has got the time to do this:

........should come and spend a week in this house.

That would sort their prioroities out.

Please don't try to contact me. I shall be on a mission wandering round the house looking for any spare chocolate to eat before midnight.

Exasperatedly Yours, Manchester

2009-02-21T21:41:00.003Z

If I could have got near this computer yesterday I may well have written a post entitled
'Thank God it's Friday'
which would have summed up my half term holiday week - kids, extra kids, rabbits, my mother.....the list goes on.

If I had more than two minutes to spend here now, I might write a post called
'Run, Rabbit, Run',
in which you would realise, if you are familiar with the wartime song, why my sympathies lie firmly with the farmer and his gun, gun, gun.

Instead, and since I only have two minutes, I shall relate a small, but exasperating vignette of my day.

Naturally, it involves the Father of This Lot.

Him: Right - I'm watching the football later. If you want to go shopping, you'll have to go early. That's if you want to go.......

Me: Let's see. There have been upwards of seven kids here all week. They have eaten us out of house and home. If we were Jewish we wouldn't have to search out crumbs, because there aren't any.

OF COURSE I WANT TO GO SHOPPING!

Him: I'll have to pick the car up from the garage. Back in a bit.

An hour passed. And another.

I rang him.

Me: Where are you? When you said 'back in a bit' I assumed you meant the five minutes it takes to drive home from the garage....

Him: I'm just helping out...I'm taking signwriting off a van.....it's quite good actually - there's a machine a bit like a paint stripper.....

Me: Spare me the details. Hurry up - I've got to get something for tea......

Him: Right. I'll be about an hour.

That was at half past one.

At twenty five to four I rang again.

Me: Let me guess......the Mare and Foal?

Him: No, actually......The Cotton Tree......

And to think I was wondering only yesterday what to give up for Lent........

Now Where Was I.........?

2009-02-15T19:32:00.005Z

Oh yes......trying to ascertain what on earth the Football Fanatic had been doing all morning.

FF: Mum, what's the panic? I've got twelve missed phone calls and three texts from Ryan.

Enter Ryan, stage left.

Ryan is a good friend of the Football Fanatic.

Ryan lives with Jack. Remember Jack?

Well, not 'lives with' obviously. Shares a flat with.

Actually, at the moment shares a villa in Spain with, because that's where they've both gone to open a new nightclub, but I digress....

(Yes, Jack's still around. And don't be fooled by the fact that he's living in Spain. He nips back to watch home matches and take the Football Fanatic out with alarming regularity).

Back to Ryan. Ryan knows a lot about police procedure. He's been in a lot of police stations.

Put bluntly, Ryan likes a good fight. Not a dirty fight, you understand, just the lager-and-testosterone-fuelled Saturday night sort of fighting that young men have indulged in for generations.

Ryan uses a police van on a Saturday night like other people use a taxi home. In fact Jack was once heard to say that if Ryan sees a Tactical Aid Unit in the city and he's not in it, he feels like he's missed out.

In short, Ryan knows how long it takes to give a witness statement.

Text 1 (11.30): Are you out yet? How did it go? Ryan

Text 2 (12.00) What's going on? Are you still in there? Ryan

Text 3 (12.30) WHERE ARE YOU? I've been arrested, questioned, charged and out on bail in less time than this....

The Football Fanatic maintained that she had just been talking to the policeman.

Talking him to death more like. For an incident which took approximately two minutes, the poor policeman was required to write EIGHT A4 SHEETS of paper, which was her account of what had happened.

At one point, she drew him a floor plan. Not a floor plan of the hotel where the incident took place, but a floor plan of the department store, outlining where everybody works, how everybody is inter-related and probably who fancies who.

About an hour into the interview, another police officer actually came into the room to check whether everything was okay. The poor officer taking the statement was probably so dazed at this point that he wanted to shout 'HELP ME' but couldn't actually form the words.

Obviously, I cannot write the entire transcript of the interview, but here are a few little gems:

PC: Had everybody had a lot to drink?

FF: Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I hadn't. Not at £8 for a vodka and coke, anyway. I'd had two drinks. I think I've still got the bill somewhere.....it actually says a single and a double, but everybody tasted it and we all agreed there's no way that was a double.....

PC: So what happened then?

FF: Well, I went in to get Karen and Sheila.......Sheila from Shoes, that is, not Sheila from Menswear......and I told them what had happened but no-one believed me, so I explained the whole thing again and then Sheila said 'Come on, our Emma, get your coat'.....because Sheila's Emma's mother.....did I already tell you that?

PC: It takes quite a lot of force, you know, to push someone down a flight of stairs.......

FF: Oh no. Not those two. They're only about seven stone each.....which by the way, is my target weight.......

PC: And then?

FF: Well, I knew it was bad because she was lying there at the bottom of the stairs and her leg was at a funny angle, and so was her arm. But I'll tell you how I really knew it was bad......when she fell, her dress flew up and she had black knickers on....and there's no way she would have carried on lying there with her knickers showing if she hadn't been really hurt........

Shall I carry on?

I thought not.

But you get the picture, don't you?

I can honestly say that Bootle Street nick have never been more glad to get rid of anyone in their entire history.

Jack came home from Spain for her birthday and spent the next two days shaking his head in disbelief at the amount of drivel she had actually come out with.

In the end though, we did come up with a positive slant on the situation.

In the event that the Football Fanatic ever does get in trouble with the police on a Saturday night, they will radio her name through to the desk, and a sergeant with a modicum of common sense may well radio back:

For God's sake, don't bring her in.

We'll be here three weeks.

'Ello, 'Ello, 'Ello. What's All This Then?

2009-02-13T22:13:00.004Z

Well the winner by a country mile was A, or

'Why The Football Fanatic Spent Her Birthday At The Police Station'

so here it is.

I've noticed we've got a few new readers, so for their benefit I feel I must point out again that the Football Fanatic, whilst highly intelligent, is alarmingly lacking in common sense.

(If you stick with this blog, this will probably become more and more apparent, as age does not appear to be wearying this trait).

Oh yes. She eats a lot. And talks a lot. Please keep this in mind, as it is rather pertinent to the story.

A few weeks ago, the Football Fanatic attended a staff 'do'. Dinner Dance, actually, at a rather posh hotel in town. During the course of the evening, a fight broke out. I say fight - it was more of an all-out brawl, fists flying, furniture flying, the works, which culminated in two sisters being pushed down a flight of stairs by a person who shall remain nameless, as this whole post is probably 'sub judice' and I am more than likely in imminent danger of being had up for contempt of court or similar in the very near future.

Anyway, the only witness to this sordid event (because she happened to be coming out of the Ladies Room which was near the staircase) was the Football Fanatic, who was subsequently called into the police station to give a statement.

Police Officer: Hello, I wondered if you could come in and give a witness statement this morning?

Football Fanatic: This morning? Well....I suppose I could.....but can you tell me how long it will take? It's my birthday, you see, and I've got to meet someone at dinnertime and after that I've got a surprise party arranged that I'm not supposed to know about, obviously.....

Police Officer: It won't take long. Half an hour at the most. Is eleven o'clock ok?

So, off she went. I did offer to go with her, but she was adamant that she'd be alright on her own. I told her to ring me as soon as she'd finished, which by my reckoning would be about half past eleven.

As you have probably guessed, half past eleven came and went. So did quarter to twelve........and twelve o'clock.

Where on earth could she be?

Ten past twelve....quarter past twelve......

By this time I thought she was in a cell somewhere and that I would be getting a call soon asking me to come and pick her up.

Finally, at half past twelve, the phone rang.

'Hello? Mum? It's me'

'What in God's name have you been doing all this time?'

Part Two tomorrow.......sorry, but there's a houseful of kids, plus two extra, plus rabbits, plus the Father of This Lot.......and I genuinely haven't got another minute to spend at this computer. At the moment, my cup not only runneth over, but is in danger of becoming a flash flood.

Cast Your Votes!

2009-02-13T08:32:00.002Z

Here's the thing.

I have several things to tell you, but a very busy day ahead. (See C, below).

So, I thought you could vote for which story you wanted to hear first. (Though why you would want to hear any of them remains somewhat of a mystery).

Here's the choices.

Would you like to know:

A) Why the Football Fanatic spent most of the morning of her birthday at a police station......

B) Why there are a family of rabbits living in the front bedroom, causing The Fixer and The Peacemaker to sleep downstairs for the last two weeks so as not to disturb them.........or.........

C) In the light of B above, what on earth I am going to do with the two friends The Peacemaker has invited for a birthday sleepover TOMORROW.............

It's up to you.

Vote A, B or C.

Calls will cost 50p from a BT landline. Charges from mobile networks may vary.

Lines will close at midnight.

If you want me, I'll be cleaning.

Again.

The Number Twelve

2009-02-12T08:50:00.004Z

I think twelve must be a very important number.

There were, after all twelve tribes of Israel, and twelve apostles - whom, we are told, will eventually sit on twelve thrones judging said tribes.

Twelve months of the year, twelve signs of the zodiac, twelve labours of Hercules.....the list is endless.

Today, twelve is important in this house because it is the number of years The Peacemaker has notched up.

Twelve on the twelfth - which does after all, only happen once in a lifetime.

Twelve is also important because it is the age at which you are allowed hair straighteners of your own, and no longer have to sneak about using other peoples hoping that your mother won't notice.

(Hair straighteners are the things which mothers buy in desperation after a particularly fraught week when they have completely forgotten the importance of the number twelve until the day before and cannot think of anything else to get).

Happy Birthday to The Peacemaker.

May you have a lovely, peaceful day!

(Unlike your particularly fraught mother who is now off to buy ingredients for a cake and a box of revolting, not-a-trace-of-nutrition chicken dippers which you have specially requested for your birthday tea).

Rest in Peace, Mrs. Fox

2009-02-11T07:11:00.003Z

'Mrs. Fox', (Angie) was a regular commenter on here until last year. Then she got cancer, which she called 'an elephant in my living room' and which she wrote about here.

I just found out from her friend Liz's blog that Angie died just before Christmas.

Mrs. Fox (left) and her friend Liz from Mabel's House

In her own words:

'I won’t pretend that there aren’t moments when I feel angry, but I try very hard not to give into them because there are people in the world who have much harder lives than mine.
There are people in pain, without homes, without food, without family or friends. I have a beautiful life, surrounded by warm, loving family and friends. I have a husband without equal who fills my life with laughter and unconditional love.
My life is good and I thank God for every second'.

Eternal rest grant unto her O Lord,

and let perpetual light shine upon her,

and may she rest in peace.

How Do You Measure Up?

2009-02-08T22:28:00.002Z

Now, bearing in mind that I'm talking about furniture here, if a man says to you:

'Have you measured it? Will it fit?'

Do you assume he means:

a) have you gone and stood in the place where the piece of furniture is to go, got a tape measure out and measured the space

b) have you worked out some form of simultaneous or quadratic equation involving length, breadth and height, applied Pythagorus' theorem, thrown in a few logarithms, multiplied the whole lot by 3.142 and taken away the number you first thought of?

I thought so.

Let me explain.

A week ago, I was strolling through the antique market when I spied the perfect chest of drawers for my bedroom. I should point out here that my bedroom is in the loft, reached by the continuation of the main staircase onto the top floor. Admittedly, there is a slight turn in the staircase, but as I don't buy bedroom furniture very often, I don't usually think about it.

Anyway, my beautiful chest of drawers was duly delivered and was left in the hall, where it stood waiting patiently for the Father of This Lot to arrive, take one look at it and announce:

'That won't fit in the loft'

I ignored his comment, mainly due to the fact that I had measured said chest of drawers, stood in the loft and measured the space. There was acres of room.

Anyway, yesterday, The Fixer and I found ourselves at a loose end and decided that we would 'do it ourselves'. We took all the drawers out, lifted the frame onto the loft stairs....and got stuck.

There were various shouts of

'Back a bit'

and

'To me, to me'

and more than once

'Ow, mum, geddit off me foot'

before we finally admitted defeat.

Unfazed by this, I said:

'Never mind kiddo. Your father will do it tomorrow. He is fantastic at getting things round corners'.

Because he is.

Usually.

So when he arrived today, he was despatched to the landing to move the drawers. He said:

'I knew when I first saw that thing that it wouldn't go in the loft. But...just to keep you happy....'

It wouldn't go in the loft. He started going on about angles and other boring stuff, and I may have been heard to mutter something along the lines of:

'If the landlady at the Mare and Foal asked you I bet you'd get it in the loft'

To which he replied:

'If the Angel Gabriel came down and asked me, I couldn't get that thing in the loft. The only way that will go up there is if you cut it in half'.

The Fixer and I looked at each other. Without a word, she knew I was giving her the nod to go and get her father's chainsaw from the garage. Sadly the Father of This Lot knows us only too well and said:

'Don't even think about it. And don't ask me if I know anyone who can take the bannister out either, 'cos it'll cost about three hundred quid to put back'.

Damn. That was going to be my next question.

So, I had to admit defeat. Can you imagine my distress?

Obviously, it couldn't stay on the landing, so I had to put my beautiful chest of drawers in.....The Singer's bedroom, a nightmare of a place if ever you saw one, where it now rests, surrounded by David Tennant posters and housing a purple portable television on its beautifully polished top.

I could spit.

If I weren't a finds-joy-in-all-circumstances, unselfish, generous-to-a-fault-with-my-furniture Catholic mother, that is.

By Way of Explanation....

2009-02-03T18:08:00.003Z

....and in response to all your very kind comments and e-mails wondering whether I have actually shuffled off this mortal coil, I've not. (Obviously).

But I thought you might like to know what happened, so I'll be as quick as I can:

1. Watch in disbelief, in the middle of December, as all the words and icons on your computer screen sort of slide off into the corner...

2. Ring a friend of a friend, who diagnoses the problem as a 'bloodhound virus', which after much technical terminology appears to mean that the computer is as dead as a dodo.

3. Frantically attempt to justify splashing out on a new computer two weeks before Christmas.....

4. Fail miserably.

5. Try not to think about the fact that none of the Football Fanatic's university work, the Singer'sGCSE coursework or the thousands of retro pictures that you have spent years collecting are backed up.......

6. Suddenly remember that somewhere, towards the back of the hall cupboard, is a dusty laptop...

7. Search the house from top to bottom for the CD which will connect the dusty laptop to the internet.

8. Fail miserably.

9. Wait TWENTY THREE days for a replacement CD from the internet service provider.

10. Finally receive CD, insert into CD drive and wait...

11. Realise that said CD is never going to connect you to the internet if you sit here messing with it for the next hundred years.

12. Do ten rounds with TalkTalk engineer in Bombay......and.........at last.........re-connect to the outside world........

I feel I should point out here that our connection is not as good as it used to be (I know how it feels) and is prone to going off without so much as a by your leave. So, if I go AWOL again in the near future, you'll know where I am.

I absolutely had to post today, because we have a birthday in the house.

The Football Fanatic is twenty today.

Well, chronologically she is twenty. In reality, she informs me, she is 'twenteen', a word which the Urban Dictionary defines as:

1. the new age for a person who doesn't want to lose being a teenager once they hit the age of twenty!

2. The age between nineteen and twenty-one. Twenteen is used when the birthday boy/ birthday girl is not excited about no longer being a teenager and feel like if they mask the age behind a false definition, the pain of getting old will lessen.

And on that basis, I reckon I'm about for-teen and three quarters.

Give or take a few weeks.

2008-12-07T21:25:00.002Z

Here's a nice idea that I found on the front of the church bulletin today:

'One Advent tradition is known as the 'Good Deeds Manger'. This is an ideal way for families to prepare together. Instead of putting your crib up with all the figures, long before Christmas arrives, put an empty manger in a prominent part of the house. By the side of the manger place some hay or something similar. Each evening try to come together as a family and talk about the good things that each one has done for others during the day - it may simply be sharing of sweets, or helping Mum in the kitchen without being asked. For each good deed that it done, the person who has done the good deed places one piece of hay into the manger. On Christmas Eve, the Baby Jesus is placed in the manger on the soft bed that has been made with the family's good deeds.'

It's a nice idea, but I envisage a few problems in this house........

1. '...come together as a family and talk about the good things each one has done for others during the day....'

Yes, well, I can't see that being much of a conversation.

2. '.....helping Mum in the kitchen without being asked......'

Enough said.

3. '......the Baby Jesus is placed in the manger on the soft bed that has been made with the family's good deeds.....'

I can't see the bed being that soft, somehow.

Look, we'll give it a go.

I may be proved completely wrong.

It is nearly Christmas after all.

No Kit Kats Allowed

2008-12-03T22:08:00.002Z

The Peacemaker: Mum, we got the names for Secret Santa in our class today. You have to get chocolate or toffees beginning with the person's initial.

Me: Who did you get?

The Peacemaker: Kieran.

Me: Well, that's easy! I can think of one straightaway!

The Peacemaker: He doesn't like Kit Kats.

Me: Oh. Plan B, then.

Any ideas from any klever kommenters out there?

Let It Snow!

2008-12-02T18:21:00.004Z

We woke up this morning to find a blanket of white stuff covering the entire area.

I love snow.

In fact there are few things I like better in the world than snow.

It is so useful.

I mean, what other substance can take a garden full of old bikes, dolls prams, an abandoned lawnmower and various bits of toy kitchen which normally has a general air of Steptoe's yard, and turn it into a winter wonderland overnight, with absolutely no effort required from me?

Let it snow, I say.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas......and January........and possibly even February........

Before:

After:

Stir-Up Sunday

2008-11-30T20:11:00.002Z

So, it's here at last, the First Sunday of Advent, or Stir-Up Sunday, as it's sometimes known, so called because the traditional opening prayer of the Mass was:

'Stir up Thy might, we beg Thee, O Lord, and come'

It is also the day on which, each year I am helped (I use the term loosely) by this lot to make the Christmas cake.

Sadly, I seem to have lost the recipe I have used for the last twenty-odd years, so this year we have tried a new one from here and apart from a slight mishap with the ground almonds, everything seems to be okay. This recipe uses sherry. I can't abide sherry, so I have replaced it with a good dollop of Cointreau. I'd like to say I had it in, but we tend not to keep alcohol of any description in the house, for obvious reasons. Whilst Stella may remain his favourite tipple, the Father of This Lot is not particularly fussy, and regardless of what it is, if it has fermented, he'll drink it!

I'd like to tell you that all the uniforms are washed, dried and ironed, but I'm not a liar. You may have been vaguely aware that the Manchester Derby took place today, so obviously, my laundry session had to wait until it was over.

Instead, I thought I might go to Tesco to pick up the remaining ingredients for the cake which I also wasn't allowed to bake till the full time whistle had gone.

Football Fanatic: NOOOOOO!!!! Not Tesco!

Me: Why not?

Football Fanatic: You went to Tesco the other week before an early kick-off and they got beat by Arsenal.

Plan C, then. I was, much to my delight, allowed to clean the kitchen, since apparently during a match at Everton two seasons ago, in which United were 2-0 down, I cleaned the kitchen and they came back to win 4-2. It worked anyway. United have got another three points and I've got a sparkling cooker and fridge.

So that was Stir-Up Sunday. The cake's in the oven, the candles are in the Advent wreath and the Father of This Lot's in the Mare and Foal.

Just like any other day really!

Options Evening

2008-11-27T21:29:00.004Z

Here's the thing.

Given the strange Christmas present circumstances I find myself in, I reckon I have two options:

1. Rant, rave and bang about a bit. Get a taxi to town (she was right - it wouldn't fit on the bus) and stand in a very long refund queue. On return of cash, spend the best part of a day getting all the right presents, queue up to pay and get a taxi home because by then I will have lost the will to live and will be unable to face getting a bus.

2. Make myself a nice cup of tea. Sit down, and ponder on the fact fact that I have five healthy kids, all of whom will find Christmas Day far more exciting than if we had stuck to the original plan. Wait until my preferred shopping period of well into Advent, and finish the present buying myself.

I choose Option 2.

Again.

I find myself choosing Option 2 (well, the thankful-for-five-healthy-kids-so-does-it-really-matter bit) quite often these days.

Quite fitting, really, for Thanksgiving.

And anyway, if, on Christmas Day you fancy a game of darts (that's a few arrers to you, Ttony):

....or a spot of baseball practice:

......then you'll know where to come, won't you?

(Only do try and dodge the clay pigeon rifle as you're coming up the path. I don't know whether the house insurance will cover it).

Now, Where Was I............?

2008-11-25T19:02:00.001Z

......oh, yes - I was pond-dipping in almost frozen water when my phone rang.

Me: Hello?

FF: It's me. I can't find the coat, and they haven't got any of the stuff on the list.

Me: What do you mean they haven't got any of the stuff on the list? I checked it all on the internet lastnight.....

FF: But they've got MUCH better stuff than what's on your list. I'll just get what I think shall I?

Ciao for now!

Me: NO! You will NOT get what you think.....Hello?......Hello?

I hadn't gone much further when she rang again.

Me: Hello?

FF: It's me.......if you buy 'Bullseye' and the pasta and pizza utensil set you can get 'On the Ball' free! Don't you think that's mint?

Me: Do you mean 'Bullseye' the television programme?

FF: Yes!! You could be Jim Bowen!!!

Me: No. DO NOT BUY 'Bullseye'!!

FF: WHY NOT?

Me: Because it involves darts. I draw the line at darts. Just get the stuff on the list.

FF: MUM! You're so boring!

Me: That's as maybe, but I have no intention of spending Christmas Day in Casualty, thanks.

Twenty minutes later:

Me: Hello?

FF: MUM! Wait till I tell you what they've got........you won't believe it!!

Me: I don't want to know what they've got. JUST GET THE STUFF ON THE LIST!!

FF: But Mum, they've got remote control fighter aircraft!! Can you imagine the hours of fun........?

Me: This is the last time I'm going to say this. I do not want you to buy anything that is not on the list AND I ESPECIALLY DO NOT WANT YOU TO BUY ANYTHING THAT FLIES!!!

FF: What about the darts?

Me: No darts.

FF: But Mum, I've bought them now........

At this point I heard some background conversation, obviously directed at the Football Fanatic:

'I'd better go and get you a trolley for all this lot, or would you prefer the 'Collect by Car' service?

FF: Mum?

Me: Yes?

FF: If I get a taxi home, will you pay?

Me: Why can't you get the bus?

FF: I don't think I'll be able to get these massive boxes on the bus......

Me: WHAT MASSIVE BOXES?

FF: The Clay Pigeon Shooting set, the Baseball Launcher and the dartboard with cabinet........

I really will not blame you if you don't believe a word of it.

I wouldn't believe it either. If I didn't live here.

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time.........

2008-11-24T22:12:00.005Z

I don't do Christmas.

That is a complete and utter lie.

Obviously, in a Catholic household that is stacked to the rafters with kids, someone has to. And we all know where relying on the Father of This Lot would get us, don't we?

What I meant to say was I don't do Christmas in September, October or November. In fact I don't usually even mention it until we get into Advent. (WELL into it, if I've got anything to do with it, but I digress).

The department store which (foolishly) employs the Football Fanatic was having a one-day 20% off sale last week. Add to that her 20% staff discount and the 3 for 2 offer on all Christmas gifts, toys and games, it was, quite frankly, an offer I couldn't refuse.

Unfortunately, the one-day-sale clashed with my school trip day, so I couldn't go.

It was decision time.

Should I miss out on the opportunity of getting most of the Christmas presents at almost half price, or should I......horror of horrors........trust the Football Fanatic to get the presents for everybody ON HER OWN WITH NO ASSISTANCE??

It was a tough one.

I thought long and hard.

And finally.....I succumbed. ('Mum, how hard can it be? What could possibly go wrong?')

And so, on the morning in question, we set off in different directions.

Me, to the Arctic wastelands, and she to town..........with a list.

Re-living the events which led to this post has quite frankly worn me out, so you'll have to wait till tomorrow for Part Two.

But before I go, I must admit to being quite dismayed at some of the comments I got on yesterday's post. Some of you seemed to think that I had MADE UP the biretta/beretta comment by the Football Fanatic.

Would I lie to you?

Ask yourselves, in all honesty, living with this lot, do I need to?

I PROMISE YOU, she really did say that!

And for anyone who didn't get it, this is a biretta:

....a cap worn by the Roman Catholic clergy, mainly abandoned sometime around 1970, when we went over to the new style Mass......

.....and THIS is a beretta:

......a handgun usually featured in gangster films.

Actually, Fr. J thought it was quite funny.

But then, he adores the Football Fanatic. Has done since she was a little girl.

It comes of never actually having to live with her, I expect.

A Very Catholic Post

2008-11-23T18:07:00.003Z

If you are not one of my handful of Catholic readers, I suggest you look away now.

As you know, I do my best to be as ecumenical as I can. I'm all for this one flock and one shepherd business - just ask the Monday morning Methodist Bible study group.

But when Fr. J, (a post Vatican 2 priest if ever you met one) sings the Kyrie, Sanctus and Agnus Dei from the Missa de Angelis, preaches from the pulpit and rounds off the Mass with 'Faith of Our Fathers', well, you just can't beat it, in my opinion.

I sang all the way home. When I got there, I said to the Football Fanatic:

'I'm telling you, if he carries on like this, he be rooting in the back of that wardrobe and dusting that biretta off before Advent Sunday'.

To which the Football Fanatic replied:

'FATHER J's GOT A GUN????'

Too much Al Pacino and not enough Bing Crosby, if you ask me.

For nostalgic Catholics:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oR-jhw5qQE

and for Working Mum:

http://www.gregorian-chant.info/ordinaria/missa_viii_de_angelis/viii_kyrie.png

Up On T'Moors

2008-11-20T19:04:00.001Z

Today I have accompanied Year 5B on a school trip to Castleshaw, a picturesque little valley nestling within the Saddleworth Moors.

I think I can say without fear of contradiction that you have only experienced a similar feeling of cold to that found on the Saddleworth Moors in winter if you have previously holidayed in Anchorage, Alaska. Or possibly Lapland. You get the picture?

And quite whose bright idea it was to take a party of 26 nine-year-olds pond dipping and fell-walking in November, I have yet to establish.

But I will!

From My Inbox

2008-11-16T20:10:00.000Z

Call me a bad housekeeper, but I never remember to delete the texts on my phone until it bleeps at me and flashes 'Memory Full'.

Well today, I have done it without being bleeped at. And now I wish I hadn't, because on reading them, the full knowledge of the sad life I lead has engulfed me.

Let me explain.

Whereas the Football Fanatic receives texts which say:

'Hi beautiful. Fancy going out tonight?'

'Was that you on the telly on MUTV?'

or even

'D'ya wanna swap your 2 Celtic tickets for 2 right behind the bench?'

mine are more likely to say:

'What's 4 tea?'

'I'm in the taxi now. Will you stand at the door with the money?'

And it doesn't end there.

The Fixer and The Peacemaker get texts saying:

'Going ice skating on Sat. Wanna come?'

'R U playing out afta?'

The Singer gets:

'Meet me on MSN in 10. Something really good to tell you'.

Even The Noise had one saying:

'Do you want to come and play with my new puppy?'

So purely for your entertainment, I will record here for posterity some of my text conversations with my nearest and dearest:

Fixer: Wats 4 tea?

Me: Shepherd's Pie.

Fixer: Yuk!

Me: Would you rather have a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings?

Fixer: Yes please!

Me: So would I. But tonight it's Shepherd's Pie.

Most of the Football Fanatic's texts are to do with.....football. Often she texts from the match. Such as:

'There's been a goal at Old Trafford. You'l have to wait till the next commercial break to find out which way it's gone.....'

If it's an evening match she shows no regard for the fact that I might be otherwise engaged:

'Do u want me to ring when it's over?'

Me: No thanks. Two phone calls and six texts during the New Catholics meeting was quite enough thanks'.

And then there's the ones from the Father of This Lot. Quite often I text him at night while he's at work to see how he is. His replies often feature his colleague Carlos, a Spanish vet, otherwise known as 'that stupid Spanish b*****d'. For example:

Me: Are you ok?

Him: I will be when I get out of here. That stupid Spanish b*****d's slowing the line down again'

or:

'That stupid Spanish b******d doesn't know his a**e from his elbow'

And they say romance is dead.

Actually, there is one that I have saved which says:

'Jackie, you know I love you. It's not my fault you don't believe me'.

Yes, well, the jury's still out on that one mate. In my opinion, actions speak louder than text messages.

But the prize for the top text has to go to the one I got the other afternoon from the Football Fanatic. In response to one of my numerous 'Where are you?' messages, she replied:

'I'm locked in a Range Rover outside a crack house in Cheetham Hill...'

I THINK she was joking.......

Just Sitting Here.......

2008-11-10T20:58:00.001Z

...wondering......

.....why there is a pair of pink spotty knickers hanging from one of the hall lights....

....why every single one of the fourteen kitchen cupboard doors is open....

....why nobody in this house bothers with me unless I am on the phone or in the bath, when I suddenly become the most exciting person on earth.......

....why, despite the fact that I seem to do obscene amounts of washing and ironing, nobody ever has anything to wear......

....why, when I discovered the Football Fanatic scrabbling under her bed in the dark and asked what she was doing, she replied, 'I'm looking for the tomato sauce'....

AND WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT'S HOLY IS THERE A STRAY KITTEN IN A BASKET IN THE PORCH???????

Saturday Is (No Longer) Baking Day

2008-11-08T22:58:00.004Z

This morning I got up very early and baked a cake.

This afternoon United lost 2-1 to Arsenal.

Guess what I won't be getting up early and doing on Saturday mornings in future?

I think the Football Fanatic has calmed down now.

Well, the banging's stopped...........

Guest Post

2008-11-06T19:00:00.000Z

Happy Birthday Mum!

Do you think we'll beat Arsenal on Saturday?

Love from

The Football Fanatic

x x x

Happy Birthday Mum

Shall I start the singing off?

Lots of Love

The Singer

x x x

Yo Mum!

Have a great birthday

I'll fix it for you!

Love from

The Fixer

x x x

To the best Mum in the world!

Have a fantastic birthday!

Lots of Love and kisses from

The Peacemaker

x x x x x

To My Mummy

Have the best day in the world ever!

Lots of hugs and kisses from

The Noise

x x x x x x x x

Half Term, Take Two.....

2008-11-04T12:21:00.001Z

.....proved surprisingly quiet, given that The Noise was involved.

I have to say that, despite all my misgivings, we had a lovely week together.

The Noise proved to be exceptionally helpful around the house:

Didn't seem to mind doing the boring stuff:

Made all the cakes for the Trick or Treaters herself, icing them in colours which, even if I described, you would have trouble believing:

Went on a few of these:

...to travel around various parts of the region so that I could spend inordinate amounts of money on what can only be described as useless junk.

And now she is back doing this:

And I am missing her dreadfully!

Half Term, Take One.....

2008-10-25T01:49:00.000+01:00

....so called because some of this lot have been off school this week...and next week I get The Noise. For a week. To myself. What joy.

Still, Half Term Take One seems to have passed without many hitches.

The Singer and I spent a pleasant day in town doing a bit of this:

and even some of this:

I use the term 'pleasant' loosely. It was bucketing down with rain. We went to see the Football Fanatic at work and had to ask in five separate departments before we found her. When we did find her, she only had four minutes till her lunch break, so she kindly agreed to dine with us, which meant it cost me more than three times what it would have done normally and..... the winter coat that I especially went for was not in stock.

In addition, The Singer, towards the end of the afternoon turned a peculiar shade of green and looked like she was about to pass out, so I hailed a taxi and headed for home at extortionate cost, glibly ignoring the return bus ticket which I had purchased earlier.

The Fixer and The Peacemaker must be up for an Esther Williams role, as they have spent every day doing this:

and today, The Fixer had her very first go at this:

(One lump, several bruises and a few cuts).

The Football Fanatic has asked me to point out that she has not had the luxury of a half term break. She has either been at lectures or at work.

I wish I could say that her week has passed without incident. I shall gloss over the injury to the Trainee Menswear Manager and the man she had to interview as part of her Journalism studies, who apparently was shaking with fear and described her as 'a right little Jeremy Paxman'. I have not read the feedback from the lecturer who sat in on the interview, but I am reliably informed that she was 'terrier-like in her pursuit of answers'.

So I will leave you with this little gem.

At some point during her working week, the Football Fanatic was asked to move a box in the stockroom marked 'LINEN'.

Assuming it contained sheets, pillowcases and the like, she hoisted it effortlessly into the air........

Unfortunately, 'LINEN' was the name of this:

...'a 42 piece dinner service which would make a beautiful and stylish addition to any home'.

By all accounts the noise was unlike anything you've ever heard and she is now banned from Homeware.

You have no idea how eagerly I am waiting for next week.

Thank Heaven For Little Girls (and Clubcard Points)

2008-10-19T21:23:00.004+01:00

So there I was, in Tesco, eyeing up the 'Buy One Get One Free' shower gel. I only ever buy 'BOGOF' shower gel, for reasons which will become apparent.

Anyway, this week it was Nivea Vitality. I put four bottles in the trolley, which instigated this conversation between myself and the Father of This Lot:

Him: What are you doing?

Me: I'm buying shower gel.

Him: You bought shower gel last week.

Me: I know I did. Four bottles.

Him: Well, where is it?

Me: Where's what?

Him: The four bottles of shower gel you bought last week?

Me: It's gone.

Him: Whaddya mean, gone?

Me: Gone. Used. Four empty plastic bottles in the brown recycling bin.

Him: They've used FOUR bottles of shower gel in a week? FOUR BOTTLES........?????

...and he proceeded to march off down the main aisle, muttering something like.....'ruined, that's what they are, ruined....'

Wisely, in my opinion, I thought this was not perhaps the best time to mention the three bottles of shampoo, two bottles of conditioner, two tubes of toothpaste and the entire twelve pack of toilet roll that they'd also got through.

And that's just in the bathroom.........

Obviously, this is nor the Father of This Lot in the picture.

You can tell that because the man is smiling after bringing the shopping in.

The Father of This Lot is more likely to say something along the lines of.....

'You never see sign nor light of them while you're unloading the car. Then when all the stuff's in, they descend on it like locusts......'

or even:

'Can someone come and help with the shopping please?

NO!! EATING IT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT!!!'

or on a particularly bad day:

'Look at that - that bag didn't even make it down the hall........'

And whilst I have to agree that our grocery shopping bill probably encompasses in a month the debt of a small African nation, just think of the Clubcard points we'll get at Christmas.

You Said What?

2008-10-18T18:41:00.005+01:00

If I was a regular reader of this blog, I am certain that there would be times when I would read a particular post and think 'She's making it up'.

And if I was that reader, this would be one of those times.

At the end of September the Football Fanatic attended The Freshers Fair at the University. Technically, she shouldn't have been there, since she is now a second year student, but was attracted by the promise of free giveaways...and possibly food.

Anyway, after she had joined the Cheerleading Team ('I just wanted the uniform') and the male football team ('Don't panic Mum, I'm not going to PLAY....I've just joined for the nights out...')

she related a conversation she'd had, which, once again, left me with my head in my hands wondering what sort of children I'm bringing up:

Boy behind desk: Excuse me, I wonder if you'd like to join the Christian society?

FF: No thanks, I'm Catholic.

Oh, if only that were the most embarrassing part of the conversation.

Boy behind desk: We're giving out free hot dogs....

FF: Where do I sign?

Boy behind desk: If I could just ask you a few questions first...

FF: I've got an 'A' Level in Theology - ask me what you like. Now, where's that hot dog...?

The Football Fanatic has expressed a sense of dismay at the way she is portrayed on this blog, and has asked if someone else's idiotic comments might be preserved for posterity once in a while.

I'll try kiddo, but it won't be easy.

The Role of Women in The Church

2008-10-16T22:54:00.002+01:00

This week I have:

read at morning Mass three times

led the Rosary after Mass twice

helped out at and cleared up after the Coffee Morning

helped out at and cleared up after Fr. J's 'New Catholics' meeting

attended a Bible study with the Methodists up the road

attended the parish Prayer Group

and swept, mopped and polished the main church, two side chapels, one vestry and one sacristy.

At this rate I'll be hearing confessions on Saturday and saying the 10 o'clock Mass on Sunday.

Oh, and since it seems to have been quite a religious week, Renae thinks I should tell you about my guest post on her blog....

Grease Is The Word

2008-10-12T17:50:00.000+01:00

Lastnight the Football Fanatic had a night out.

On a party bus.

I once saw a television programme about a party bus, and given that her usual idea of a good night out is the high stakes table at the most upmarket casino in town, I didn't think she'd like it.

But what do I know?

At some point during the evening we had a text conversation:

FF: It's full of really old people and they're playing the Grease Megamix.

Kill me now x x

Me: You're the one that I want, you are the one I want, ooh ooh ooh honey...

FF: Leave me alone x x

Me: Go Greased Lightning you're burning up the quarter mile....

FF: When we pass the canal I may jump in x x

Me: Oh, come on, you know you want to play

FF: There are worse things I could do than go with a boy or two...x x

Me: NOT IN MY BOOK LADY!

FF: Ha! Thought that would shut you up! x x

Yet even though the evening was considered a total loss, I was quite pleased to note that she appears to have mastered the art of the put-down.

After politely discouraging the advances of a REALLY REALLY old man (about 45) who asked:

'So I haven't got a chance then?'

The Football Fanatic replied;

'Mate, you've got more chance of City winning the Champions League'.

I swear I have no idea where she learns it.

Saturday Night's Alright...

2008-10-11T20:07:00.001+01:00

I know you thought I'd gone AWOL again, but the truth is The Peacemaker and I have spent a good part of this week like this:

with an ear infection and an eye infection between us.

And contrary to popular belief, I did not get mine from peeping through keyholes.

Anyway, I rallied round yesterday and the place looks slightly more habitable, unlike most of last week when you could be forgiven for thinking we were trying out as contestants for 'How Clean Is Your House?'

In other news, whilst I often sit here thinking what on earth it was that attracted me to the Father of This Lot in the first place (apart from the fact that he could make me laugh, was an ex-head altar boy-still devout Catholic boy, loved children, would travel ninety miles from work to take me out, had more available cash than anybody I had ever met and was extremely good at....various things...) I feel the need to point out that today, he has dealt with a situation which made me remember.

I've just re-read the list. I have spent (and some would say continue to spend) all his available cash. Five children of his own have somewhat tarnished the rose-tinted view of family life he once had. On the very odd occasions he takes me out now he is more likely to travel ninety yards than ninety miles, and with the best will in the world, I could no longer call him a devout Catholic.

But he still makes me laugh.

And there's still things he's very good at.

(Oh, wouldn't you like to know)!

And finally, The Fixer has been to town today and has returned home with something from Hawkins Bazaar called a Drinking Helmet.

At first glance I thought it might be an early Christmas present for her father, but apparantly not.

She has loaded it with two cans of fizzy Vimto and is now sitting watching 'The X Factor', looking for all the world like an Australian construction worker.

Cards On The Table....Again

2008-10-06T21:53:00.001+01:00

What do you think of when you hear the word 'relationship'?

This, possibly?

Maybe a little of this?

And if you're very lucky, perhaps a hint of this......

I thought so.

That's what I've always believed it meant as well.

I've checked every dictionary, online and otherwise, and nowhere was it defined as involving one party who, having previously escaped the confines of the marital home, now turns up sporadically and avoids anything that smacks remotely of responsibility. (Oh, alright...he pays all the bills and buys all the food. Sue me.)

And nowhere in the etymology of 'relationship' does it mention one party announcing at one o'clock on Saturday afternoon 'I'm going to the pub to watch the football' (which, I might add, kicked off at half past five)........

...AND ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE did it give even a vague description of the aforementioned party ringing up ten hours later and saying:

'I'm outside the door. It's p*****g down. I'm soaked...and I wanna come 'ome.'

(No, of course I didn't open the door. What do you think I am? A Desparate Housewife?)

In his defence, he was rather sheepish when he arrived on Sunday.

Did that make me think twice about laying my cards on the table?

No.

'Buck your ideas up, mate, or it'll be ME in the Mare and Foal on Friday night.......

........INTERVIEWING FOR YOUR REPLACEMENT!'

Well, obviously, I'm not going to. Not when every moral and religious fibre of my being screams otherwise.

But.....we don't need to tell him that, do we?

And, judging by the change in his behaviour today......I think I may have been just convincing enough.

Oh....one more thing. If I ever do decide to ignore every moral and religious fibre screaming at me, the Mare and Foal is the last place I'd look for a replacement.

Believe me, compared to most of its regulars, the Father of This Lot emerges as a cross between Saint Anthony and George Clooney.

And that's another sentence I thought I'd never type.

Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (and all points before or since)

2008-10-05T18:19:00.002+01:00

Two days.

Solid.

Every item of clothing in the house. Even those which have languished in remote corners for months on end.

Times the iron was refilled with water: 41

Unwanted items sent to charity: 2 bin bags......of course I ironed them first....what sort of housewife do you think I am?

Space made in various rooms: Acres

Remaining wardrobe space: Nil

'Lost' PE kits found: 4

Help offered by the Father of This Lot: 'Oh, are you ironing? I may as well go and see if there's anyone in the Mare and Foal then......'

Amount of backbreaking pain: Off the scale

Level of personal satisfaction: Priceless

Bin It!

2008-09-30T21:23:00.005+01:00

Last month, our local council, in its wisdom, decided it would go in for recycling.

In a big way.

So now, in addition to our black wheelie bin:

(except we have two black wheelie bins because of the amount of rubbish we generate).......we now have...the kerbside caddy, for food waste:

This is not the Father of This Lot, by the way. This is a man from a council website. Not ours. Do you see the small green caddy with which he's transferring the aforementioned food waste? That's the one you now have to keep in the kitchen to hold all your peelings, leftovers, eggshells, tea bags and bones.

I can fill one of these per day, so the kerbside caddy is of little use to me. I have had to commandeer my mothers, who flatly refuses to recycle, so in addition to our two black wheelie bins we now have two kerbside caddies.

Moving on, allow me to show you the green bin for garden waste:

I have to say we don't use this much, as there is little time for gardening. This mainly contains dead bunches of flowers which the Father of This Lot buys each time he finds himself in the doghouse. (So, at least one bunch per week, then).

Next up comes the brown bin, which is for plastics and aluminium. Due to the amount of canned drinks consumed around here, I actually have to sit on the lid of this one on Wednesday nights for collection on Thursday mornings.

Oh....I almost forgot.....the paper and card bin.

Are you still with me? Good.

This would all be really easy if every bin was collected every week.

No such luck.

The food bin is collected every week. The others are collected in some complicated rota which the council, very kindly, spent hundreds of thousands of pounds on printing, so that everyone would know which day was for which bin.

Par for the course, we have lost ours. So, at seven thirty on a Thursday morning, I can be found outside looking up and down the road to see what colour bin everyone else has put out. It would appear that I am not the only one who has lost their colour co-ordinated rota because I seem to put out at least one wrong bin per week.

As you can imagine, bins are the talk of the town.

Everyone I meet has a bin story.

Personally, I can't see it lasting. It's far too complicated.

In the words of one old lady at the church coffee morning:

'It's worse than bloody Sudoku!'

Prayer Request

2008-09-26T20:18:00.003+01:00

This is a very short post as the keyboard has packed up (one of this lot has spilt something on it again), so I am using the on-screen one which is gradually sending me blind.

Will you please pray for my friend Renae's dad, and her family.

I know how good at praying you are!

Back tomorrow with (yet another) new keyboard.

Lost For Words

2008-09-25T20:14:00.001+01:00

Football Fanatic (shouting through to the kitchen): MUM!

Me: Yes?

FF: You know that red stuff on the outside of a Babybel.....are you meant to eat it?

Me: No, it's wax.

FF: Oh.......

Pause

FF: Mum......

Me: Yes?

FF: You know if you accidentally eat wax......does it make you ill?

My Hero

2008-09-23T18:30:00.002+01:00

God took the strength of a mountain

The majesty of a tree,

The warmth of an Irish summer sun,

The calm of a quiet sea.

The generous soul of nature,

The comforting arm of night,

The wisdom of the ages,

The power of eagles' flight.

He took the joy of a morning in Spring,

The faith of a mustard seed,

The patience of eternity,

The depth of a family's need.

When God combined these qualities,

There was nothing else to add.

He knew his masterpiece was complete,

And so...he called it....

Dad.

6th June 1924 - 23rd September 2003

I miss you, Dad.

Unlucky For Some

2008-09-21T17:34:00.006+01:00

Oh Yippee!

Joy of joys!

Just what we needed - another teenager in the house!

I couldn't get on to Blogger yesterday to post this for The Fixer's real birthday, but it didn't matter, because I was so busy getting the house ready for the arrival of her friends for a sleepover that I wouldn't have had time anyway.

At one point I thought of putting up a large sign bearing the legend:

THIS IS WHAT A HOUSE LOOKS LIKE

AFTER FIVE KIDS HAVE SYSTEMATICALLY WRECKED IT

...but I resisted the temptation.

And it looked okay in the end, actually.

The Father of This Lot was not best pleased at having to put up a new curtain rail in the bedroom at the exact time that he had arranged to meet some of his posse in a pub, but......who cares?

I have to admit the bowling session and food for a gang of girls today came to slightly more than I was expecting....but the FOTL's bank card came in handy for that, especially as I had relieved him of it before he went to watch the football at the Mare and Foal.

And so a good time was had by all - even me (who was up till five in the morning for two days running).

Happy Birthday for yesterday to our newest teenager, The Fixer.

I only hope that your father feels it was worth all the trouble.

Especially when he gets the bill.

Painting The Town (Well, the Kitchen, Actually)

2008-09-17T23:47:00.004+01:00

There I was, earlier this evening, rolling out pastry for a Chicken and Leek pie, when I decided to paint the kitchen.

(Please don't think that this has anything to do with the fact that it's The Fixer's birthday at the weekend and she's invited three friends for a sleepover, because it hasn't. Much).

Anyway, I sidelined the pie and went to look in the garage where (rather fortuitously, I thought) I found a load of Steve the Decorator's abandoned gear.

(Friend of the Father of This Lot. Last here the day before Christmas Eve. The decorator, that is, not the Father of This Lot. Sadly).

Back to the story......

Among the stash was some Vinyl Silk Emulsion. Now I may not be the best painter in the world, but I know that emulsion goes on walls and gloss goes on woodwork.

So I painted three walls....(Didn't do the ceiling. Don't like ceilings. I'll worry about that tomorrow)....and went back to the pie.

Anyway, I became aware of this....odour. I know paint smells, but quite honestly, you've never smelled paint like this. You know when you've had perfume for years and you open it and it smells sort of....off? Well, that was the smell. Off.

Various murmurs of 'Blimey, what's that smell?' and similar quips ensued (but not enough to put anyone off the Chicken and Leek pie, I noticed).

But it was getting to me. It just didn't smell....right.

I texted the Father of This Lot, who, I assumed, was in a pub somewhere.

And guess what? I was right!

Me: Are you with the decorator?

Him: No, why?

Me: Does emulsion paint go off?

Him: No.

Me: Well I've just painted the kitchen and it smells awful.

Him: It's probably your cooking.

I left it for what I considered to be a reasonable amount of time (about the same time as an icy stare would take had he been in the room) and texted again:

Me: Do you want to paint the ceiling tomorrow?

Him: I can't hear you. You're breaking up.

Me: IT'S A TEXT. HOW CAN I BE BREAKING UP?

Him: Why are you painting the kitchen anyway? Don't you think finishing the landing would be a better idea? x x

I gave up.

Now, I'm not psychic, but I can let you know what tomorrow's conversation will be.

He will come in, survey the damage (otherwise known as my attempts at painting) and he will say:

'God, that looks shocking'

and I will say:

'Well, you should have done it yourself then'

and he will say:

'I'd have got a proper man in'

and I will say:

'WELL, IF I KNEW A PROPER MAN I WOULD HAVE'

and he will sigh, take his coat off and say, in a despondent tone:

'Where's the roller?'

Ain't love grand?

And I know I haven't mentioned my mum, but she is getting there, and I'll tell you all about it soon.

So.....

2008-09-16T23:48:00.003+01:00

......what do you want me to tell you about first?

Would you like to hear some tales of my heroic nursing deeds?

Perhaps you'd like details of my domestic efficiency.......

Maybe the lowdown on this lot's latest escapades.......

Or perhaps you'd like to know the state of play with me and the Father of This Lot...

Is it like this.....

or it is back to this........?

Answers on a post card please......

(Oh, come on, give me a break. I said it would only be gentle blogging)!

Hello......Is there anybody out there?

2008-09-15T21:51:00.001+01:00

Just in case you were wondering.......It has felt like I've been doing this for the past few weeks:

Thank you, everybody, for all your lovely comments.

I'm not quite back to my fighting weight yet, but I hope to commence some

gentle blogging training tomorrow!

So, as Roy Keane once said to Patrick Vieira....

'I'll see you out there.....'

Warning: Sporadic Blogging Ahead!

2008-08-08T12:55:00.003+01:00

My mother was rushed into hospital last weekend, so I haven't had time to sit down all week, let alone write any blog posts!

She is home now and seems to be doing quite well, but I am still spending a lot of time at her house, so I won't be around much for the next few days.

Hopefully, I'll be able to get back to normal soon!

Sing....It's Your Birthday!

2008-08-01T11:15:00.003+01:00

Happy Fifteenth Birthday to The Singer!

Unfortunately, she won't be getting a cake like the one in the picture.

I'm good, but I'm not that good!

She will however, get to play out her chocaholic fantasies with a large slice of this one by James Martin - often described by my mother as the son she never had.

I have never tried the accompanying Passionfruit Mousse but I can confirm that it does go down VERY well with a large dollop of Jersey cream.

We are now off to town to check out the latest in mobile phones.

If we put all the mobile phones in this house end to end they would probably reach a little outpost somewhere south of Ayres Rock.

But we REALLY need another one.

Hijacked

2008-07-30T22:48:00.003+01:00

The Football Fanatic has threatened to leave home if I write one more blog post about Jack.

Believe me, I considered it. No more clothes and shoes strewn about the place, television programmes other than Match of The Day and Sky Sports News, not to mention the fact that the food bill would reduce by half.....but....since she is quoting privacy laws at me, I suppose that for the moment at least, tales of Jack have been...well...hijacked.

Shame really, because I thought you would love to know the nature of the verbal abuse sustained by Jack's friend who had the misfortune to pick up one extremely angry mother at the airport. Or what she said on arrival at the apartment, when she found that although the place was stacked to the rafters with cans of lager and bottles of Jack Daniels, there wasn't actually any food. Or the texts between Jack and the Football Fanatic the night before he went into hospital......

Oh well.

On the bright side, I gave up all notions of privacy about five children ago.

So it looks like it's down to me and the Father of This Lot to keep you entertained for the forseeable future.

God help us all.

Got My Wires Crossed

2008-07-28T18:32:00.003+01:00

Contrary to popular belief, I have NOT been in Monte Carlo with the Football Fanatic, Jack, any combination of the two, nor anyone else.

I did however, spend a week awaiting delivery of a connecting wire necessary to get back online after our internet connection took a decidedly deadly turn.

When it arrived, I followed all the instructions, plugged everything in and....nothing. Unfortunately, my technical assistant, The Fixer, was spending two days at her friend's house, and so was unavailable for comment, assistance, or anything else of any use whatsoever.

On her arrival home, she checked what I had done, gave me a withering look, undid all the connections I had made in an attempt to get the thing to work two floors up from the main plug, re-plugged everything back in to different connections and...voila (as they say in Monte Carlo).

Please don't think I have been bored whilst I have been away. Let's see what's been happening:

1. The Father of This Lot invited me out for the evening and proceeded to ply me with copious amounts of alcohol. This led to some rather interesting developments:

a) I will never touch another drop of the stuff as long as I live. In fact, if I could find somewhere I could take the Temperance pledge, I would do so immediately

b) The Father of This Lot had a fight with the taxi driver who brought us home (Nothing new there, then)

and c) He has been here night and day ever since.

Please don't ask, as I am sure you do not want me to re-live the embarrassment of recalling my public renditions of Connie Francis' "Who's Sorry Now?" or Dean Martin's "My Rifle, My Pony and Me".

2. Jack has had an operation to remove a piece of shrapnel from his knee sustained in a bomb blast whilst he was serving with the Marines in Afghanistan.

If anyone feels that they are falling a little bit in love with Jack at this point, please form an orderly queue.

Behind me.

Jack's parents live abroad. In order not to worry her, he did not tell his mother about the operation. I made it known that I did not think this was a very good idea.

Today, Jack's mother found out about the operation and is currently on a plane on her way to Britain. Although Jack has been in extreme pain for the last week, he feels that it is probably nothing compared to what he's going to feel when his mother lands on his doorstep.

3. My own mother went for an eye test and was referred immediately to an emergency eye clinic, where she was given an appointment to see a retinal specialist tomorrow. As I type, my mother has torn the appointment card into shreds and is adamant that she will not attend.....

Bored?

Me?

Never.

Monte Carlo or Bust!

2008-07-15T00:24:00.004+01:00

At the end of August, Manchester United are due to play Zenit St. Petersburg in the UEFA Super Cup at the Stade Louis II in Monaco.

The Football Fanatic has been invited to the match and a tour of the principality.

By Jack.

I just looked on Google Earth.

The Stade Louis II is approximately 2.3 miles from Monte Carlo - a distance of about six minutes.

Six minutes on foot? Six minutes by car?

Which?

WHO CARES???

Six minutes from Monte Carlo?

I swear to God, if she doesn't go.............I WILL!!

A Learning Curve

2008-07-14T19:55:00.004+01:00

The Father of This Lot has finally decided that he does not want this relationship to go completely down the tube.

Don't worry - I won't do anything rash.

I did hear him muttering something about there being 'a great long list of stuff he'll have to do' in order for him to regain his somewhat tarnished reputation in the household.

Not really. Just start behaving like a husband and father of five children rather than an eighteen year old single male with absolutely no responsibilities.

Now I think of it, that will actually constitute a major life overhaul.

Oh well.

Hopefully, the transition from this:

to this:

...won't be too painful for him.

If You Can't Fight.....

2008-07-13T19:20:00.004+01:00

....wear a big hat.

(An old Mancunian saying I believe).

Well, my mother used to say it a lot, and she's an old Mancunian.

Anyway, I have had an extremely trying week with the Father of This Lot.

A LOT of this has been going on:

Perhaps it's my big hat he objects to.

(Sorry I've not been commenting on other blogs much. I'll get back to you all sooner or later).

The Fixer Fixes It For Me

2008-07-09T23:08:00.003+01:00

The first day of The Fixer's summer holiday passed in such a whirl of activity that I have been too shattered until now to write a post.

She appears to have taken on the mantle of housekeeper for the duration, and believe me, she could give that woman in 'Rebecca' a run for her money.

Boy, is that child organised. She has made us a spreadsheet, outlining various cleaning tasks, and we have to tick little boxes which say things like 'sweep floors', 'clean kitchen tops and table' and 'dust and polish living room'.

I was slightly concerned at one point that I appeared to be doing all the work while she ticked the boxes, but I suppose that's what makes a good manager. Anyway, over here, she tells a rather different story.

To nobody's surprise, The Singer hot-footed it round to Nana's as soon as she got a whiff of Windowlene and once The Football Fanatic had done her stint at work she retired to her room. (These two don't generally sully their hands with anything domestic. In fact, it's about the only thing they agree on).

So with The Peacemaker and The Noise still at school till next week, it was just a mother-and-one-daughter bonding session.

I quite enjoyed it. And we've got a clean kitchen. And a very tidy living room. And the hall doesn't look too bad either.

I just don't know if I can keep up the pace.

More Awards

2008-07-08T21:34:00.003+01:00

I just wanted to say thank you for these awards, but I am rather frazzled having just returned from collecting The Singer from her friend's house where she went after school today.

Thanks to a 'sat nav' borrowed from a friend of The Father of This Lot, the twenty minute journey took two hours.

So, I will be passing them on another day, but in the meantime, thank you Cath......

and Daryl.......

Whilst I'm here, I would like to thank those people who made sensible comments about some rather old-fashioned cleaning products yesterday.

Unfortunately, there were two people sitting at the back being very silly. If this behaviour continues, they will find themselves STANDING OUTSIDE IN THE CORRIDOR.

So, just for you, Mac and Renae....this is Handy Andy.........

...this is Andy Pandy......

....and THIS is Andy Hardy.

Teachers, both of them.. They should know better than to cause this type of disturbance.

Good job the end of year reports have already gone out.

Or does anyone think they should be sent to the Head?

Streets of London

2008-07-07T18:14:00.002+01:00

Last week The Singer went on a day trip to London. (In that week I paid out £119 for school day trips....yes, you read it correctly....£119, but there you go. It is one of the downsides of having a large family. If anyone can let me know the upside......)

Anyway, it looked like it was going to be a good day - lunch in Covent Garden, Big Ben, Houses of Parliament, boat trip on the Thames and a ride on the London Eye.

I bought her two disposable cameras and told her to take lots of photos. Remembering that we have had photographs from school trips developed before which are mainly head and shoulders shots of this lot and various friends and could have been taken in the back garden, I reminded her to get some scenery in the shots - you know, so that in twenty years we'd know where the photos were taken.

And that was where I made my mistake. The Singer did take lots of photos - 48 of them in fact - of scenery. She wasn't actually in any of them. I expressed my disbelief.

The Singer: You said to make sure I got some scenery.

Me: I meant scenery with you in it. You know, you with Big Ben in the background, you next to the sign that says Covent Garden.....

The Singer: Well, you didn't say that did you?

Fortnuately this conversation took place BEFORE I had the misfortune to spend upwards of £15 developing 48 photographs that we could have got free from Google Images.

Maybe I'll just get some from Google Images anyway and get The Fixer to Photoshop her in.

I used this picture because when I was a little girl my mother had placemats like this which I'm pretty sure came free with Daz. Or possibly Omo. And if you remember Omo, you are much older than you are letting on. Obviously, I have an extremely good memory which actually stretches back to before I was born.

You'll be telling me you remember Handy Andy next.

How Big Is Your Problem?

2008-07-06T09:44:00.003+01:00

The artist, Graham Braddock, tells this story:

Suddenly he was looking down on his studio. He could see his own body lying on the floor. Then he was further up, looking down on his suburb. He continued to mount higher, he could see the whole city, the whole country, the whole Earth. As he watched, Earth shrank to a tiny dot in the velvet vastness of the Universe. Then a voice spoke... “How big is your problem?”

With that he was back in his own body; the same man, but with a new frame of reference.

The overwhelming problems that had driven him to fast and pray and seek after God, didn’t look the same any more. Not long after, the artist friend who told me this story became a Christian. The story stuck in my mind. Years later, I came up with this painting.

You see, you shouldn't be telling God how big the problem is.

You should be telling the problem how big God is.

And I should know!

You Don't Know Jack

2008-07-04T20:26:00.002+01:00

Did I mention that the Football Fanatic doesn't actually 'do' dates?

If you are a boy with an interest in the Football Fanatic, let me give you a word of advice.

Don't hold your breath.

(Unless of course, you're pulling up to United's training ground in a flashy car with your first team kit under you arm, but that's another story....)

Back to reality.

If you are the said boy trying to get a date, and you're really lucky, she might say something like:

'I'll give you my number'

(Don't bother ringing it - it won't be the right one)

If you're really, really lucky she might say:

'I may be here next week'

and if you're really, really, REALLY lucky, she might turn up.

But actually make a date to meet you at a particular time and place? Forget it, kiddo. Don't waste your time. (And I'm her mother, so I know what I'm talking about).

So, given the background, you can see why I get quite excitable when she goes out with Jack.

We have had various Jack-related conversations.

Her: Chillax, Mum. We're just friends.

Me: (accompanied by knowing smile) Fair enough.

Her: MUM! I don't like Jack and Jack doesn't like me. Okay??

Me: What makes you think he doesn't like you?

Her: He's got girls texting him all the time.

Me: Does he text them back?

Her: No....but when we're out there's girls throwing themselves at him all night.

Me: Does he throw himself back?

Her: No....but...

Me: But what? You're the one he's texting and you're the one he's taking out.

Her: MUM!!!

Fast forward to today. The Football Fanatic was at work in the Menswear Department. By use of code, ('Please can you get me a pair of black Fresh Feet socks') her colleague let her know that there was an extremely good-looking person in the changing rooms.

It was Jack.

FF: What are you doing here?

Jack: Looking for you. I've been ringing you all day. You didn't answer. I thought something had happened to you.

FF: I've left my phone at home. Why have you got a bag of food?

Jack: Because you're usually in the Food Department. I went there first.

FF: Why are you trying on suits? Do you need a suit?

Jack: Not really. I'll have this one though.

FF: It's a hundred and fifty quid.

Jack: Wrap it up. D'you fancy going out tomorrow?

FF: I'll let you know......

So, is it just me?

Or should I be saying to the Football Fanatic:

'You don't know Jack'

Green Fingers (Take Two)

2008-07-03T18:39:00.003+01:00

FOUND THE CAMERA LEAD!

(Actually, I found it about half an hour after I purchased a card reader....but that's par for the course in here.....So, on with the story......)

Once upon a time (actually, it was the last school holiday) a little girl called The Noise planted some seeds.

She waited, and watered them, and when the sun came out she made sure they were in it, and then she waited a bit longer.

And just when she was getting a bit tired of waiting, she went outside one day and found that the seeds had become.......

....this!

And that the tomato plant that her Mum had planted (to try and cut down on the cost of financing Matthew the greengrocer's holidays) had turned into this.......

She still can't quite figure out how those little yellow flowers are going to become tomatoes, but her Mum has assured her that they will. Hopefully.

And while we were in the garden, we took a photo of this, which is by our back door.

Who says shamrock only grows in Ireland?

Maybe you just need good Irish connections.

The story editor has been asked to point out that during the making of this post, The Noise was more than a little aggrieved that her new French manicure didn't show up very well. (The one that she got at her friend's party at a beauty parlour last weekend, along with a pedicure and pink hair extensions).

In my day, a nine-year-old's party consisted of a bowl of jelly and a game of Musical Chairs.

So, what do you think?

Will The Noise one day present 'Gardener's World' or is Alan Titchmarsh's job quite safe?

Chloe update here.

Chloe

2008-07-01T22:14:00.002+01:00

I just had an e-mail from Renae saying that little Chloe, who has been doing so well, is showing signs that she's rejecting the new liver.

Will you please pray for her.

Green Fingers

2008-06-30T20:41:00.002+01:00

I am trying to write a post about a small gardening success.

This afternoon, I have taken photographs of it.

I am now looking for the lead to the digital camera so that I can show them to you.

Does anyone know where it is?

Of course, I know where I left it.....but in this house, that means absolutely nothing.

If I find it, I'll be back.

The Feast of Ss. Peter and Paul

2008-06-29T11:47:00.005+01:00

Listen, if these two can hit the big time, there's hope for us all.

Peter was quick-tempered, hot-headed and often got things wrong. He went back on his word in the worst possible way, telling Jesus he would always stand by him, and yet at the first sign of trouble, he ran, terrified, and denied all knowledge of him.

And Paul, or Saul, as he was in the beginning, well, he was the Godfather of the persecutors of Christians. His name struck terror in Christian hearts. He was present at the stoning of Stephen, the first martyr, 'and Saul approved of their killing him'.
Acts 8:1

And yet God, who doesn't judge by human standards, saw something in both of them that we certainly wouldn't have seen. He said:

'You are Peter (which means rock) and on this rock I will build my church. And the gates of the Underworld will never hold out against it'
Mt. 16:18

And after he'd sorted Saul out by throwing him off his horse and blinding him for a few days, God chose him to take the Gospel beyond the Jews - 'he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles'.
Acts 9:15

And pretty good at it he turned out to be as well.

So, if you're like me, and think that most of the time you're getting it wrong, look at Peter and Paul. I suppose Paul sums it up here:

'For all of you are the children of God through faith, in Christ Jesus, since every one of you that has been baptised has been clothed in Christ....And simply by being Christ's, you are the progeny of Abraham, the heirs named in the promise'
Gal. 3:26-29

I think I could get used to this preaching business!

A Mother's Pride

2008-06-28T19:57:00.004+01:00

Now you know I'm not the type of person given to pride.

Pride is a sin, and normally I would flee in the opposite direction.

But I just had to tell someone this.

I have worked out that I am the cleverest person in the house.

There. I've said it.

I expect you're wondering how I came by this knowledge aren't you?

Is it because I can quote Shakespeare, or tell you the formula for a quadratic equation?

Oh, no. This has nothing to do with a convent education, nor a first class honours degree (neither of which equip you with any real skills, by the way)

The reason I am the cleverest one in the house is obviously because.............

I'M THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAN PUT A NEW TOILET ROLL IN THE HOLDER!!!

Any more exceptionally clever people out there?

Facebook Faceoff

2008-06-27T16:18:00.002+01:00

Thought I'd better explain what the 'something nasty' was since you've all left such caring and encouraging comments.

My beautiful, clever, kind and basically good-all-round Football Fanatic has been accused, by what amounts to be a gang of jealous girls, of some of the most vile things that you can possibly imagine on Facebook, the internet social networking site.

I am only writing this post in case any of you have teenagers with a Facebook account. Whilst it can be a lot of fun if used properly, please make sure that nothing hurtful or damaging is being said about them on it.

Believe me, it can cause a lot of heartache.

Anyway, we're getting to grips with it and moving on.

As you can see from the picture, I have aged twenty years in the last week, but I hope to be back playing the glamourous housewife role tomorrow.

Out of My Depth?

2008-06-24T22:22:00.003+01:00

Just trying to deal with some pretty nasty stuff that's going on around here.

And amazingly it has nothing to do with the Father of This Lot.

Back soon.

Meanwhile, for some lovely news about Chloe, go here.

It's The Thought That Counts....

2008-06-20T17:43:00.004+01:00

Today The Fixer has been on a Geography field trip to Castleton in the Peak District.

She phoned at about three o'clock to let me know she was on the coach on her way home.

Her: Hi Mum! I've bought loads of stuff! What would you like for a present?

Me: What's the choices?

Her: Do you like Kendal Mint Cake?

Me: Not really. What's the other choices?

Her: Well, there was a Bakewell Flapjack, but I'm halfway through it.

Me: I'll have the Kendal Mint Cake.

For Sale: One bar of tooth-rottingly sweet Kendal Mint Cake. Hardly Used.

Any offers?

UPDATED: Can you imagine taking a pound of sugar and dampening it just enough to be able to mould it into an oblong bar?

You can?

That's Kendal Mint Cake.

The Power of Prayer

2008-06-17T23:00:00.003+01:00

Lastnight Renae left a comment saying she had tried to post an update on Chloe's progress, but she couldn't get it to work.

Poor girl. She tries - she's just not technically minded!!

Fortunately for Renae, she's so good at such a host of other things that it doesn't really matter!

Anyway this is what Renae wanted everyone to know:

I just spoke with Jennifer (Chloe's mum), and you will not believe this! They have already taken many of Chloe’s tubes out. She simply doesn’t need them. And they decided to move her out of ICU already! Except, there was no bed available, so she will stay in ICU one more night, and move to a regular room tomorrow. They expected her to be in Intensive Care for a long, long time, but we are seeing the power of prayer in her life!

Chloe has always had a bit of an olive complexion. Lovely, lovely girl. But now, her mother says she is as pink as a rose! Her counts (don’t ask me what counts) are dropping, which is proof that her new liver is already doing its job!

Today, Chloe has been awake, and has said, “Mama,” “eye,” “meow,” and countless, “What’s that?” “What’s that?” “What’s that?”, while pointing at various things.

She has not smiled yet. But under the circumstances, I don’t blame her.

We need to continue to pray that she does not get any infections or illnesses; it is crucial that she stay very healthy in the coming weeks.

Also pray for sleep for Jennifer and Mike.

Thank you all so much for your continued prayers! God is answering them, big time! Love you all.

–Renae

Now, isn't that just the best news you've heard all day?

Pasta Like Mamma Used To Make

2008-06-17T17:44:00.003+01:00

When this lot arrive home from wherever they've been, their greeting to me tends to be less along the lines of:

'Hello Mum! Have you had a good day?'

and more likely to be something like:

'Is there anything to eat?'

'I'm starving!'

'What's for tea?'

In answer to this last question last night I said:

'Ravioli'.

It wasn't well received.

'RAVIOLI?? No-one likes ravioli. Why did you get ravioli?'

'It was on offer at Tescos. Two packets for £3' (Actually, I had to get four packets for £6, because two packets of anything is never enough to feed this lot). I continued:

'It's not any old ravioli. It's Tesco Finest Minced Beef and Red Wine Ravioli. And I shall make you tomato sauce to go with it. You'll like it. And if you don't like it, tough. There's nothing else'.

And, decked out in my 'Yummy Mummy' apron, I proceeded to fashion out of thin air a tomato sauce the like of which (not wishing to blow my own trumpet here) has probably never been tasted outside of Naples. It was exquisite. Everybody ate it in silence. Even I ate it.....and you know I have absolutely no interest in food whatsoever, so it must have been good.

There is nothing I would like to do more than share my recipe with you.

But I can't.

Unfortunately, during the concoction of this ambrosia-like substance (I mean the food of the gods, not the rice pudding), I was engaged in a somewhat heated discussion with the Father of This Lot regarding the raising of children. And whilst I remember a bit of chopping and slicing, I have absolutely no idea what went into it. I think there might have been some celery, and I have vague memories of a couple of carrots and the basil plant on the kitchen window-sill, but other than that, I can tell you nothing.

You'll just have to take my word for it.

It's roast chicken tonight.

You know where you are with a roast chicken, in my opinion.

Black Jack

2008-06-16T01:46:00.004+01:00

CHLOE UPDATE here. Thanks be to God (that's the Irish in me) everything seems to be going well up to now.

Lastnight the Football Fanatic went out with Jack.
(You remember Jack - face like a Greek god, posh apartment, posh car, season ticket......)

They're still just good friends.

Apparently.

Anyway, I got a text:

At the casino. J's just paid £23 for 2 drinks.

Given that £23 would keep this entire family in drinks for a week, and certain therefore that they must be laced with heroin or some other expensive substance I texted back:

What sort of drinks?

Answer:

Vodka and coke and a Jack Daniels

Somewhat relieved, I replied:

For 23 quid, I'd want a bloke called Jack Daniels thrown in.

I was relating this tale at the coffee morning after Mass today.
Amid various nods of agreement, an old lady at the back piped up:

'For twenty three quid I'd want him to stay the night and cook the breakfast next morning'.

Tsk. Tsk.

Straight out of Mass as well.

Who'd have thought it?

Reality Check

2008-06-15T23:55:00.004+01:00

Please go and look at this picture of Chloe.

Isn't she beautiful?

I read about her at my friend Renae's blog.

In about three hours, she's undergoing a 6 to 8 hour operation for a liver transplant.

Will you pray for her and her family, and will you remember the family who have donated the liver, who must also be going through a terrible time.

One last thing. Promise you'll remind me of this post if you ever hear me moaning again about the not-too-bad things that go on around here.

Because right now, I'm feeling pretty ashamed of myself.

That Was A Week??

2008-06-13T18:55:00.005+01:00

I don't quite know where this week went, to be honest. I remember it involved a little shopping, a little cleaning and a lot of cooking, but I don't seem to have much to show for it.

I do know one thing though. On the very few occasions that I haven't written something good about the Father of This Lot, the whole situation has seemed to take a dramatic shift in a downhill direction. (I wonder if there's a lesson there)?

If he gets it right with me, it all goes wrong with the kids.

If he gets it right with the kids, it all goes wrong with me.

At the moment, he's getting it right with the kids.

However, I remain unperturbed. Today is St. Anthony's feastday. We're very big on St. Anthony in this house - the Football Fanatic being the greatest devotee. I have called him on myself on too many occasions to count, and even the Father of This Lot turns to him when things get a bit rough.

He is particularly invoked by most people when things go missing.

I'm getting on to him right now.

Perhaps he'll be able to point me in the right direction to find my sense of humour, peace, hope and possibly my will to live.

On Yer Bike!

2008-06-09T19:26:00.001+01:00

It's been a strange week, Father of This Lot wise.

For a start, he has engaged in some practical parenting on several occasions, by taking the younger end of this lot out bike riding.

Three times.

This is not a natural state of affairs for any of us, but apparently, a good time was had by all, and it is to become a regular event.

On a Saturday afternoon.

When the pubs are open.

I know.

Worrying, isn't it?

Well, maybe that's a little unfair. Not worrying exactly. More of...well, like I said....strange.

Of course, I wasn't involved in any of these outings.

Oh, no.

There wasn't any of this to be seen around various parks:

And before you all start having a go at me and telling me I'm letting the side down, I had my reasons.

Two reasons actually.

If I'd gone, who would have stayed at home and kept four tribes of Virtual Villagers alive, bearing in mind that this lot are more concerned with solving puzzles and collecting awards than they are with providing food for the poor little cartoon people. Being an expert in providing food, I was the obvious choice.
You know how they always say that you never forget how to ride a bike?

It's not true.

Anyway, the Father of This Lot seems to be making a real effort at cementing the cracks in his relationship with his children.

So much so, that one night while he was at work, I felt obliged to send him a text saying:

You've been a really good dad today.

And believe me, in the list of sentences I thought I'd never type, that one ranks right up there with 'I hope Liverpool win on Saturday'.

A Word of Warning

2008-06-04T21:11:00.003+01:00

Never, ever download a game from the internet to keep the kids amused during their school holidays.

Especially not this game:

...which you have to keep on for twenty four hours a day to make sure all the pesky little villagers have got food and shelter and are not dying of some tropical disease.

Oh, sure, it will keep the kids quiet. It will keep them out of your hair. In fact you won't see them for hours on end.

BUT - it will tie your computer up for days at a time, meaning you can't write any blog posts, read any blog posts or comment on any blog posts until at least one o'clock in the morning.

By which time, quite frankly, you're too tired to care.

Roll on Monday.

The Finger of Suspicion?

2008-05-31T15:07:00.003+01:00

First it was these:

Next it was 'Let's take the kids out for the day'

Then it was an invitation for a night out:

Now, if I were a more suspicious type of person, I might be wondering what on earth the Father of This Lot's up to now.