tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21413795987816288472024-03-20T11:39:20.863+00:00mother's pridethe daily delights of life with five daughtersthe mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.comBlogger222125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-83100529026850361032010-04-25T22:49:00.003+01:002010-04-25T23:17:57.095+01:00Good Shepherd Sunday<div align="center">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.<br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Anyway, as it is Good Shepherd Sunday, I wanted to share my absolute favourite devotional from my <a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/book/9780310900573/Catholic-Womens-Devotional-Bible">'downstairs Bible'.</a> (Don't ask).</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />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.</span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />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.</span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />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.</span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />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.</span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Ann Spangler</span></em></div><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 350px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464196351549898754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTqIZAv2QaENDxJF66cN-YgFaA7yFxtACAYqfukc3t97O7xTIfB1c0hHt6xOOodIY8Vz_QsyrIlXLP7KOYDHFLJLnS0tOT2FDefKbRDOkAa1APJCipaTMROqA_J5LZjcuHaynutabMK5vT/s400/shepherd%2520%2520losttop.jpg" />the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-67743912588720090702010-04-18T10:30:00.000+01:002010-04-18T10:32:32.134+01:00Cracked Pots<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQYbwul5Bs37JodJ70WRWvjcghz1wqhGgSZEbqdaDwJoLvrWdOsAZ-Oas7Mmx8VDzWD8I_Z_-3G-iGd1ZNSzOM7UPIre_31cBvDmfjwyh2RHHCHounw0fFSWchpu5mU9UxYhfWERmFKK6g/s1600/SBS%25204%2520color%2520logo%25202000.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 127px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461214660468881522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQYbwul5Bs37JodJ70WRWvjcghz1wqhGgSZEbqdaDwJoLvrWdOsAZ-Oas7Mmx8VDzWD8I_Z_-3G-iGd1ZNSzOM7UPIre_31cBvDmfjwyh2RHHCHounw0fFSWchpu5mU9UxYhfWERmFKK6g/s400/SBS%25204%2520color%2520logo%25202000.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">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. </div><div> </div><div><br /><br />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. </div><div> </div><div><br /><br />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.” </div><div> </div><div><br /><br />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.” </div><div> </div><div><br /><br />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. </div><div> </div><div><br /><br />So, to all of my cracked pot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers on your side of the path! <br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 196px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 225px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461211736284265986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg00BMHZOBU8gx6fjgSYSC1hOEgqauBDHq3psUk7ySnTrWyE2mCWPNQytWd32ZJzsmOfslCdGz2DojjtCR-YGYpOiv6KcZLzRr-hrC89E9xz5x5JVZt02wwDuWf5h7-0qL7yoMY4utwega4/s400/waterjug.jpg" />the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-10405498218119962882010-04-12T19:50:00.004+01:002010-04-12T21:29:48.181+01:00That Was The Week (and a half) That Was....<div align="center"> 3.45am, Wednesday 31st March<br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><em><br />FF: Mum, I'm in a taxi on the way home. I think I've broke my arm</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><br />She has come out with numerous similar comments over the years.....<br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">.....MUM!! I'M BLIND!!!....(shampoo in eyes)</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />....MUM!!! I'VE BROKE MY METATARSAL!!!.....(stubbed toe)</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />.....MUM!! I'VE GOT CRUCIATE LIGAMENT DAMAGE!!! (twisted knee)</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />.......and so on.....</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />......so I wasn't unduly worried......</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />.....until I saw it.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />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.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />So, off to Casualty we went. Again. For the second time in two weeks.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />It needed an operation to re-set it.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />The Football Fanatic was not amused. There is only one thing on earth which strikes fear into her heart. General anesthetic.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />So she did what any normal, sane person with a deformed arm would do in the circumstances. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />She discharged herself.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />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.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />If only that were the end of the story.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />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.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />It was finally done on Sunday morning, by which time I felt like a bit of chewed string.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />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.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />I plan to have an extremely boring week.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />I deserve it.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />And I have seen enough of these..........<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 225px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 356px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459326680411053362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMT4DaPBokDkyQg7mRff2bO2fOtC09uVgG6V6Xv3yr9IYmaYcMJ2_UU0q9WAVR4nmi0tibOwimuSu3mBYg8-Zab52sR6cwF0REvaPytkvLp_0EwrODrceUAzq6mFNF5gTNt-Upm0-0G0xE/s400/225px-Manchester_Royal_Infirmary,_1957.jpg" /><br /><br /><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />......these........<br /><br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /> </div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 311px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 303px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459325768460262242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyDEFs6xr6uWPkNcugS_3K8ebllxKjEhDKLPD9dp9s7y0vwPj8H7_0mEX1qUzpHYvOsGUgWomsnJhu9pE6bdWOGDNMWb6PV5lCVFQFPsOZxif01dU4yqlefsDTHUD1Uv0JP1dDVI9GYBz/s400/answer-nurse-2.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">.....and these.......</div><br /><br /> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 244px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 177px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459325764884493122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBr7Tyeb8phleCc5Q1zOyko6mDdxENH_rWbsA35IPeq9nYWWNNoUfgqYARsKDAzm_EUWhkyvH5l4KKjc9Ukk94D3q23q-IuAwtQzJLpz4OFAsyRTV0B8Fq8XelYCsJuxiQvNlrZB8WTwa/s400/50s+doctor_thumb.jpg" /><br /><p> </p><p> </p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br />....to last me a lifetime.</p><p align="center"><br />Thank you to everybody who was praying for her.</p><p align="center"><br />I have had a Mass said for your intentions.</p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center"> </p>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-74315686209885624412010-04-04T14:29:00.002+01:002010-04-04T14:33:58.688+01:00Easter Sunday<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">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.</div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">Just wanted to wish everyone a happy and peaceful Easter..........<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEF3lnEQGzf3WPlI29U4emFv4b5NKUXMNG9IVx5cdbIph51RSrpkkyPPR1mwDM69iagWMew0Wqlfv78wrWsrzX5mBCqlnWpKbIahMYS82VzkvvhWFgI9S0v_Mj7LE8sAJbjwgW2kGkRdl/s1600/B1TBF00Z.jpg"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEF3lnEQGzf3WPlI29U4emFv4b5NKUXMNG9IVx5cdbIph51RSrpkkyPPR1mwDM69iagWMew0Wqlfv78wrWsrzX5mBCqlnWpKbIahMYS82VzkvvhWFgI9S0v_Mj7LE8sAJbjwgW2kGkRdl/s400/B1TBF00Z.jpg" /></a></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"><br /><br /><br />..........and of course to show you my new Easter bonnet!</div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"> </div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-57642460708681805632010-04-02T13:25:00.003+01:002010-04-02T13:37:36.419+01:00Good Friday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9yxphrjC0Ls4Y1lrYkB8LcA4F5hVtAwJ5Ug5zcf9hMjbcDyVEVBlQ2ln8Y_jQY-aWzJqDV9H3DBje2XSbDNgwq0__PwUUOpCrfB6Js2bu-scLy2S6eMSUyyE5AvCNo8TUpFyE5VAkTXT/s1600/road_to_the_cross_jekel.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 350px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455516681047747906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9yxphrjC0Ls4Y1lrYkB8LcA4F5hVtAwJ5Ug5zcf9hMjbcDyVEVBlQ2ln8Y_jQY-aWzJqDV9H3DBje2XSbDNgwq0__PwUUOpCrfB6Js2bu-scLy2S6eMSUyyE5AvCNo8TUpFyE5VAkTXT/s400/road_to_the_cross_jekel.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>The other gods were strong, but Thou wast weak,</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne.</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>But to our wounds, only God's wounds can speak,</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>And not a God has wounds, but Thou alone.</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em></em></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><em><br /><br />From 'Jesus of The Scars' by Edward Shillito<br /></em></span></div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-52841997212990874572010-03-28T20:30:00.003+01:002010-03-28T21:00:39.126+01:00It's Been a Trying Week....<div align="center">....what with trying to stop The Noise from causing any more damage to her already broken wrist.....<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"></div><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 316px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453770331340573634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfM4PpN6BmP7i88j-dK1yaLD18bPd15HKqky2uGwgeJ-0ypqksdntIjqlansdxZwJonrX85oGnnub5IZsWmKMX-7ZnofS2rfUXtSnCRJlsOgC0AOWUn3lAIgrXqps8rCtHtpuV1ydJnOa/s400/wrist+x.jpg" /></p><p></p><p align="center">......inordinate amounts of cleaning for Easter.......by the way, has anyone else had to carve dried- on ice cream out of the bathroom bin?.......<br /><br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2h6qD6M1vuLabHobETV96eU2v-_L4tbIqD_0AWiZUo2NDpEhCDkxUAxbFJb7IVVlQwlm6vE1RaBXRKmtJ_BT1B76Ee9dciitt5zZSc-Yt1z2GkOY1V1xm9LKX83A7r4HJkJF-AUJ22rJ9/s1600/73TBF00Z.jpg"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2h6qD6M1vuLabHobETV96eU2v-_L4tbIqD_0AWiZUo2NDpEhCDkxUAxbFJb7IVVlQwlm6vE1RaBXRKmtJ_BT1B76Ee9dciitt5zZSc-Yt1z2GkOY1V1xm9LKX83A7r4HJkJF-AUJ22rJ9/s400/73TBF00Z.jpg" /></a> </div><p></p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br />.......scouring brochures in an attempt to actually find a holiday which costs less than the National Debt.......<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMXB31H6-8dYKBWdDBAHdhhccMyI5CTu2XyB9dtVYGA8iFU1pRx8_MfGzIDLxBR5lHsVc82w3zfnRYFE3hTApk_EQzN75do671WyGYhFNbNVF1MCJPcCMRoK7CrtczC3jNGV4B-f_SIFHU/s1600/B8TBF00Z.jpg"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMXB31H6-8dYKBWdDBAHdhhccMyI5CTu2XyB9dtVYGA8iFU1pRx8_MfGzIDLxBR5lHsVc82w3zfnRYFE3hTApk_EQzN75do671WyGYhFNbNVF1MCJPcCMRoK7CrtczC3jNGV4B-f_SIFHU/s400/B8TBF00Z.jpg" /></a></p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br />(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....?)</p><p align="center"></p><p><br /><br /><br />.......praying through most of Thursday, that the Football Fanatic, who had gone to Alton Towers, <a href="http://www.altontowers.com/thirteen/">would not be tempted to go on the new ride</a>, in case she died of heart failure..........<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_2H4-k3XcL3j2T_ajJl9SbP6jmjiRGM1EiArCLxfSakzZcsgjtQrx14Z6Mx86jc4mAY43Lgok-Sqt_q_owQY1x7r2Kr9om6JkJ6nTgY9ORFRsfy6WhlkVcPIDdAh2bc8mXUExfA4nzwR/s1600/scared-popart.jpg"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_2H4-k3XcL3j2T_ajJl9SbP6jmjiRGM1EiArCLxfSakzZcsgjtQrx14Z6Mx86jc4mAY43Lgok-Sqt_q_owQY1x7r2Kr9om6JkJ6nTgY9ORFRsfy6WhlkVcPIDdAh2bc8mXUExfA4nzwR/s400/scared-popart.jpg" /></a></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br />(It didn't work - she did go on it and pronounced it 'rubbish - not even scary')</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><br /><br />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.......</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><br /><br />......and to top it all, the Father of This Lot has managed to get himself a bout of manflu.....</p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURvl8sjhk80hhpNeX-SF90nRZa9bt0_K_dwXPFKqLyTeXxEq1RZ4Vx4yAY1bsauC2fmFCihgAsDemLpC9jCEOIG8TDocn9ly_p1APYS-wBWwmq6c2_pjPdjLat0v-sVlPTs55oRxjoEN0/s1600/VintageIllustration.jpg"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURvl8sjhk80hhpNeX-SF90nRZa9bt0_K_dwXPFKqLyTeXxEq1RZ4Vx4yAY1bsauC2fmFCihgAsDemLpC9jCEOIG8TDocn9ly_p1APYS-wBWwmq6c2_pjPdjLat0v-sVlPTs55oRxjoEN0/s400/VintageIllustration.jpg" /></a> </div><p></p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br />I hope nobody else wants me for anything, as there is not enough left of me to go round.<br /><br /><br /></p><p align="center"><br /></p><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial" border="0" alt="Posted by Picasa" align="middle" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" /></a></div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-46259348400634006182010-03-20T19:57:00.003+00:002010-03-20T20:17:02.183+00:00Lovely Bones?<div align="center">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.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">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.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">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.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">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.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">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.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I would probably get a headache....... if I didn't already have one from two hours of wearing 3D glasses.<br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 350px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450812185578138850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnhu1BR38QM37CeOYABRoV3vEl0O1nEYlJo7DTyIIhgwalLJoDnWKwtXlMrqhHZpzqFg0poZNdKz_amUaa6Xs1q23CtgO84ua8qOMuy3G1rLvbinf3Wlu7a1gELma0G-B4l6aWKprgEbw/s400/3d.jpg" /></div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-588778851326695672010-03-17T00:01:00.002+00:002010-03-17T10:44:49.584+00:00Dear Dad.....<div align="center">......I'm dressed in green. </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br />I'm wearing the same Celtic cross you used to pin on me when I was a little girl.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br />There's a shamrock on the windowsill, and I've been to Mass.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br />It's not the same on my own.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br />But I'm doing it anyway.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />Happy St. Patrick's Day.</div><p> </p><p> </p><p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzpuajH2NYFAUy_aYTPTdI2bSTi6kePzo5S8ws9ewoRijUlTg0kW3oGZpOwjGE0vKy8zMoD0NuOhyphenhyphen6oN7nKV3a2v6CVmObP22EkK42E8-x84JfhVbv5TGQSJ25kP_OJVkjh6mD_Qf9U-2E/s1600-h/47267.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 348px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449365303340241874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzpuajH2NYFAUy_aYTPTdI2bSTi6kePzo5S8ws9ewoRijUlTg0kW3oGZpOwjGE0vKy8zMoD0NuOhyphenhyphen6oN7nKV3a2v6CVmObP22EkK42E8-x84JfhVbv5TGQSJ25kP_OJVkjh6mD_Qf9U-2E/s400/47267.jpg" /></a><br /></p>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-81844839420094713122010-03-14T22:37:00.001+00:002010-03-14T22:53:03.382+00:00Mother's Day? You Can Keep It!<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">Not for me the old breakfast in bed, lunch out at a posh restaurant routine. Oh no.<br /><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px">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!<br /><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><br /><br />All in all, it was NOT what I expected!</div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><br /><br />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!<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyfHt1J9sbvG6znbn11SrtJnbkeUGoI6HY5UHd3ZU1NPKSmYKA3O_lv2cU_BZg0myN8aVSW0pKPO9GOrxXy4IZdcQEFpjaijdiBLAabzdmr-0l-kLm1LMM14-GjK6MgpydRiSJz5Tm908c/s1600-h/blog610.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyfHt1J9sbvG6znbn11SrtJnbkeUGoI6HY5UHd3ZU1NPKSmYKA3O_lv2cU_BZg0myN8aVSW0pKPO9GOrxXy4IZdcQEFpjaijdiBLAabzdmr-0l-kLm1LMM14-GjK6MgpydRiSJz5Tm908c/s400/blog610.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial" border="0" alt="Posted by Picasa" align="middle" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" /></a></div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-72481869385410423732010-03-11T18:49:00.002+00:002010-03-11T19:10:23.386+00:00There Are No Words.....<div align="center"> 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.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />The Noise bounced into the living room and asked us:</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><em><br /><br />Have you seen that new film 'Constipation'?</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em><br /><br />The Rest of Us: No.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em><br /><br />The Noise: I'm not surprised. It's not come out yet!'</em></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />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:</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><em><strong><br /><br />'Who's in it?'<br /><br /><br /><br /></strong></em></div><p><em><strong> </p><div align="center"><br /></div></strong></em><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447450919229258178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReA2FlnfzL1cUCJR71KiYVd_1xlX1J4clUqRSBZqnQJ40O3RDMrQF7TMe_l-py4ufaEJ7p7Blf9Muq_7bOxO9SZCUSmnjGzqgB2cVLq8E1L3f5FTLdFOxRTg5vAnh68tyFJp-vG6Z49MA/s400/blog+16.gif" />the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-29364341045307210732010-03-07T23:03:00.005+00:002010-03-08T00:37:07.017+00:00Third Sunday of Lent<div align="center"><br />I have decided to stick with <a href="http://www.holyspiritinteractive.net/columns/jackmcardle/itsmeagainlord/15_whispers.asp">Fr. Jack</a> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Anyway, here's what he says about the poor: </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><em><br /><br />'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.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em><br /><br />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.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em><br /><br />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.</em></div><div align="center"><em>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.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em><br /><br />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'.</em></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />I told you it was uncomfortable.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />Have you heard about the <a href="http://robinhoodtax.org.uk/">Robin Hood Tax</a>? </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Watch the video.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />I can't see it happening, but I've signed the petition.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />I live in hope.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJJHaojUErnHSSmgp7t1PX13tdTZDq70eY_inqyaeARMT590mB5i-zhWOBtCJqlvZdgdiacDfnjBZVHIXXrdFENfiri-gGt47s-SkshFZI-J4petaWb5uKY0HeN49t_g3ep0bdn7oHZcxq/s1600-h/lent.jpg"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJJHaojUErnHSSmgp7t1PX13tdTZDq70eY_inqyaeARMT590mB5i-zhWOBtCJqlvZdgdiacDfnjBZVHIXXrdFENfiri-gGt47s-SkshFZI-J4petaWb5uKY0HeN49t_g3ep0bdn7oHZcxq/s400/lent.jpg" /></a> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; CLEAR: both"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial" border="0" alt="Posted by Picasa" align="middle" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" /></a></div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-62099826216712860072010-03-05T20:51:00.002+00:002010-03-05T21:21:15.550+00:00Voice From the Gods<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Last weekend the Football Fanatic soared over and above the realms of stupidity that usually only she can reach.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">However, this is Mother's Pride, and as usual, there is a lighthearted ending to the whole sorry tale.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Strangely, the whole group were also staring open-mouthed at the Football Fanatic.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">She thought that this was rather odd, until she heard the lecturer's voice, clear as a bell, over the connecting speaker:</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">'And, that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you should never park your backside on a mixing desk'<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVRKXrlrFv-wWC2CDADLMzTcA0qub7ABB3sxvA0YljSdMO_4E50Kw8K3RJZgS2hy1D9qwCBJrOMaXXDD70HJ7yQkqePWAbnQx3kqzgDLauij97sG273L4tlsZzrEdYGtPm6fGDsPY0dh4p/s1600-h/2624926767_3a71ffc666.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVRKXrlrFv-wWC2CDADLMzTcA0qub7ABB3sxvA0YljSdMO_4E50Kw8K3RJZgS2hy1D9qwCBJrOMaXXDD70HJ7yQkqePWAbnQx3kqzgDLauij97sG273L4tlsZzrEdYGtPm6fGDsPY0dh4p/s400/2624926767_3a71ffc666.jpg" border="0" /></a></div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-63922851165027975752010-03-03T18:24:00.003+00:002010-03-03T22:01:50.918+00:00Ceiling Whacks<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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.</div><br /><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><br /><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />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?'</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />Me: No! Whatever made you think I was laughing?</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />I was actually in the bathroom stuffing a facecloth into my mouth to mask my squeals of hilarity.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />Anyway, The Fixer ascertained that her father was unharmed and then came to find me.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />Her (accusingly): You thought that was funny didn't you, Mum?</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />Me: Not at all. I didn't think it was remotely funny.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />Divine justice is what I thought it was.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><br /><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><br /><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><br /><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl3XsXBDe9231CNakuYaeEbqPsRE-t8M6u66jRAELoP6fOw5ZBbZHVQ8C7plQS9R2S6R-cIlEGMPkQqbduOLk4eXomhJ-MjW71vPk0tEMh7VWRZbAOdndKd8kPj5Ig0KlIVlqs5oRBXYlh/s1600-h/blog+133.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl3XsXBDe9231CNakuYaeEbqPsRE-t8M6u66jRAELoP6fOw5ZBbZHVQ8C7plQS9R2S6R-cIlEGMPkQqbduOLk4eXomhJ-MjW71vPk0tEMh7VWRZbAOdndKd8kPj5Ig0KlIVlqs5oRBXYlh/s400/blog+133.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-10990315244737600222010-02-26T20:12:00.003+00:002010-02-26T20:28:50.748+00:00School Daze<div align="center">Some comments from The Fixer's Parents Evening:<br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><em><br /><br />'highly academic'</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em><br />'practical and problem solving'</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em><br />'no shortage of ideas'</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em><br />'could charm the birds off the trees'</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em><br />'talks too much'</em></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br /> </div><div align="center">Tell me something I didn't know.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />That makes three Parents Evenings this month and two Options Evenings yet to go.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />As one teacher remarked to me lastnight,</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><em><br />'Good God, are you here again?'</em></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />I'll be on the payroll next.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442648596291477266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 305px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDRzvGI307yj528xY9oks2Ly9pEaii9gSFppKE4wsHzkICzJdcF-k3DNN2v2yUiY8HQXh4buyu8tEBbGP6jY68YtFTWdjxJhJyDPbKwMlBvI0fKP7YbFgc2MQX3Gjg4is2howxm2_Ey3b/s400/Report%2520Card.gif" border="0" />the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-60371721356311328372010-02-24T22:18:00.003+00:002010-02-24T22:39:27.399+00:00Carry On, Nurse<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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:<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lFk6rGp_RuO-R_KwtYnBBs9QrLCdknaOw2MbydimxfSj3ixwW4Yn3-6GRHTawr6vfmQByk1wzj0UQDVTioqX0QxBHAgPMj7C5uf9-gA1IBeNF0GtRz784C4e34zMaqzkPr7AWPGcrL2g/s1600-h/4361506128_6168d84f4a_o.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lFk6rGp_RuO-R_KwtYnBBs9QrLCdknaOw2MbydimxfSj3ixwW4Yn3-6GRHTawr6vfmQByk1wzj0UQDVTioqX0QxBHAgPMj7C5uf9-gA1IBeNF0GtRz784C4e34zMaqzkPr7AWPGcrL2g/s400/4361506128_6168d84f4a_o.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p></p><p></p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br />Don't get too excited. In my experience, this state of affairs never lasts very long.</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><br /><br />In the meantime, I have spent the week up to now dealing with</p><p align="center"><br />2 ear infections</p><p align="center">1 case of sinusitis</p><p align="center">1 inflamed knee</p><p align="center"><p align="center">several swollen glands</p><p align="center">(and a partridge in a pear tree)</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><br /><br />and now I feel that I may need some of these:<br /><br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><br /></p><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6Ex-IJf6hlHkAwaljl8TRT2MW4MfattMiI2QPxjbYTFTHSOnqvjeZsLLUGUH-NIrAjNDUiulsIsCWbWoE4AHQYwObwdm0x6b15Mj7s2OQJBQ9J6E2f6RI6lmFcYeREg4CxiQbeaNdGN_/s1600-h/untitled.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6Ex-IJf6hlHkAwaljl8TRT2MW4MfattMiI2QPxjbYTFTHSOnqvjeZsLLUGUH-NIrAjNDUiulsIsCWbWoE4AHQYwObwdm0x6b15Mj7s2OQJBQ9J6E2f6RI6lmFcYeREg4CxiQbeaNdGN_/s400/untitled.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"></a></div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-39274646834523966512010-02-21T00:36:00.004+00:002010-02-21T02:09:06.755+00:00First Sunday of Lent<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">So, there I was, trying to be all extra-holy during Lent.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Fasting? Check.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Almsgiving? Check.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Praying? Double check.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Quite pleased with myself you might say, even though we are only into the first week.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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 <a href="http://www.holyspiritinteractive.net/columns/jackmcardle/itsmeagainlord/15_whispers.asp">priest called Fr. Jack McArdle. </a>(Told you I was being extra holy).</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Here's what he said:</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">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.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Forgive. Even if it takes time due to the severity of the act, forgive. </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Remember the Lord's Prayer and its conditions for receiving God's mercy:</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><em>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.</em></div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">You can start small by opening up to the person. A small act of kindness can smooth the way for forgiveness.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Well.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">You may remember that the Father of This Lot and I are still 'daggers drawn' over his latest escapade.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">To give him his due, he has made one feeble attempt to start talking, which I resisted. </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">A bit like this:<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75BzbXj01iDhTLJBjRKXTGW_Z9O6EDLNkQtiga7qf5UbVWCL6rh2tfbFRFhj8sis2V3Z4DY4gmdO9meqDsT8Sgqou6PNAxcPatZ7irCuQy20GfBbKlZYAHkfPDIZV6mcvYxUFwfsw6GUF/s1600-h/blog+917.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75BzbXj01iDhTLJBjRKXTGW_Z9O6EDLNkQtiga7qf5UbVWCL6rh2tfbFRFhj8sis2V3Z4DY4gmdO9meqDsT8Sgqou6PNAxcPatZ7irCuQy20GfBbKlZYAHkfPDIZV6mcvYxUFwfsw6GUF/s400/blog+917.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><p align="center"><br /><br /><br />(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.....)</p><p align="center">Sorry. It's tough being holy AND married to the FOTL.</p><p align="center">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.</p><p align="center">So, as difficult as it might be, I suppose I'd better bite the bullet.</p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center">I'll be back when I've done it.</p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center">I may be gone some time........</p>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-70981385176555441192010-02-16T21:31:00.003+00:002010-02-16T22:29:18.266+00:00Let's Give It Up For........Lent!<div align="center">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:</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><em><br /><br />'Blimey. Can Lent really be upon us again? Yes, it can. How time flies when you are old and unemployable....'</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />The man obviously reads this blog. <br />Did I not say the <a href="http://motherspride-jackie.blogspot.com/2009/02/pancake-tuesday-surely-not.html">very same thing last Pancake Tuesday?</a> I knew there was a reason I liked him.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br />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'.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">What fun.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">(Although how you are supposed to get through the Church Fathers without a bit of chocolate remains to be seen).</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">And then I saw this at <a href="http://3acres.blogspot.com/2010/02/great-journey-begins.html">Crazyacres...........</a></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438957500961618098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 399px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 361px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wQgYuXxNEv3eZ7qsUD9hL2d1vAeZop5i8-wvAOqPXAORL-SXo7j8xdPRjjZQa4p7Wq-zeW7vlA468YZhs6TIc7VGndFlc7ViAMSjxlYdzgT2K1sA2HhGZ1cxfGX3bq6zLzBUi409tXuL/s400/40trashbags.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><p></p><br /><p align="center">..............a Lenten de-cluttering challenge!</p><br /><p align="center">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!</p><p align="center">At Crazyacres, Mary Poppins (Not) is hoping for 'more detachment to stuff and that some personal growth will take place'.</p><p align="center">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.....</p><p align="center"><a href="http://www.faithandfamilylive.com/blog/40_bags_in_40_days/">Here's the link </a>if you want the rules.</p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center"> </p>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-13312548287686121252010-02-15T19:40:00.004+00:002010-02-15T20:09:22.239+00:00You Bring Out the Animal in Me<div align="center">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:</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><em><br /><br />'It's like living with animals'</em></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />He has several variations on this theme, including:</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><em><br /><br />'If pigs lived here, they'd move out'</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em><br /><br />'If you had a dog living in these conditions, you'd have it put down'</em></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />and that old tea-time favourite:</div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em><br /><br />'I'll bet the chimps at Chester Zoo don't make this much mess at feeding time'</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />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.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />We consist of a Ram, a Dragon, a Rabbit, a Rooster, a Boar and 2 Oxen. Not a pig, dog or chimp in sight.</div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />Then, in for a penny, I thought I might as well see if our character traits matched up.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><br /><br />The Football Fanatic: <em>Intelligent, enthusiastic, brave</em></div><br /><div align="center">The Singer: <em>Bit of a loner, can be very outspoken</em></div><br /><div align="center">The Fixer: <em>Tolerant and determined</em></div><br /><div align="center">The Peacemaker: <em>Kind, gentle, even-tempered</em></div><br /><div align="center">The Noise: <em>Friendly and sentimental</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />Me: <em>Dependable, trustworthy and patient</em></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />And the Father of This Lot?</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><em><br /><br />First to complain about something, pessimistic</em></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />How amazingly accurate.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br />Kung Hei Fat Choy!</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438557579567991186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 290px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2DEYfWh7g7pYMvb84zSMW-mmysHFtOSVPTckMI2_0YSrUZi7WUViQGzgYrkoD7xxmSm6fb7-kkaAni9GlFMT1xLJhu2oOkAcLTwzsuD9HbtrCgUgTPVWBnVfJZ7c3yOfkvSKMiZYhWct6/s400/chinese_dragon.jpg" border="0" /> <br /><p align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br />Find out the animal in you <a href="http://www.topmarks.co.uk/chinesenewyear/Default.aspx">here!</a><br /></p>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-64705994746329732962010-02-12T21:08:00.003+00:002010-02-12T21:35:11.426+00:00How Many Teenagers.........<div align="center"> ......can one person be expected to cope with?</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />Yes, we did it again.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Another birthday, another teenager.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />They'll probably put up one of those blue plaques on the house:</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><strong><br /><br /><br />'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'</strong></div><div align="center"><strong></strong> </div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br />.....or words to that effect.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437471502864255842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 325px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 242px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHs1LWymaoQhByX3tGsiuvLMifFCN7XEG5-Xje_XAgsm5TWA1IlTnBQz_BTynB9Ij-8Rap0Y8Sl0AfjW-F_i4SOc4V7E_zdy-hmv9B9OJn3fvH58aEKY6M18yz8MtwiaLM5jkS58dfg3bs/s400/teen-player.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br />Happy birthday to The Peacemaker.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />May your teenage years be good ones.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />And by the grace of God, may I survive them.<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDSh3ujmPS2R6gOubgyd2H3rU8eDYdoAqf3C9nKHthS3PB10rp6I9T2FtjZ85EYe_lx7cEALNSEtX1o9Bi-q6nLReemFslilLgCVkWyIND3Pfrb9-zyiESZIBIlRDTjfVnzRId_2SDP0M/s1600-h/teen.jpg"></a>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-86317841357806950652010-02-09T23:48:00.002+00:002010-02-10T17:27:14.674+00:00Parents Evening<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Lastnight was Parents Evening for The Peacemaker.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />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.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />However, I must admit to being pleasantly surprised by her teachers' reports.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />Well, most of them.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />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.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />The Peacemaker put her hand up and asked:</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><em><br />'Didn't they have any alcohol, sir?'</em></div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />Like father, like daughter, it would seem.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcR69EntWfGNLj4kpwD7QjcJNberWNPDsKTB0lEWFhR9K6RSTeIgdnplh0ICzWjJSDS3Ee77q-abzU_xwHqmCiK0-5y6xxCA1tIsSNxWBA7xBHZ3sc0QPYyqj82XgTDCWMI0lDF2YBU2n7/s1600-h/blog+992.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcR69EntWfGNLj4kpwD7QjcJNberWNPDsKTB0lEWFhR9K6RSTeIgdnplh0ICzWjJSDS3Ee77q-abzU_xwHqmCiK0-5y6xxCA1tIsSNxWBA7xBHZ3sc0QPYyqj82XgTDCWMI0lDF2YBU2n7/s400/blog+992.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-33245416143837271242010-02-08T20:22:00.001+00:002010-02-08T20:31:09.339+00:00Passports to Paradise?<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center">The Father of This Lot arrived with a stack of passport forms and grunted that they needed to be filled in.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />Obviously, he is considering arranging some sort of holiday.</div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />However, since he is normally more likely to utter something along the lines of:<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFLAT1A1GU9esAfXzUO7_lvAAwkfhLP3p3z9ZdKTWb7dqrUIOVfwsJxV35FG4TK40vztNw77TjZ3vpN009jI-W_xUshW4_2XBBfk2h_9pvJ8owoRCcJF2w89i5-Ots5JBs39aXBnPZHAcs/s1600-h/blog+123.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFLAT1A1GU9esAfXzUO7_lvAAwkfhLP3p3z9ZdKTWb7dqrUIOVfwsJxV35FG4TK40vztNw77TjZ3vpN009jI-W_xUshW4_2XBBfk2h_9pvJ8owoRCcJF2w89i5-Ots5JBs39aXBnPZHAcs/s400/blog+123.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br /><br />......I am, naturally, quite puzzled.</div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />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.</div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />YES, I KNOW pride is ANOTHER one of the Seven Deadly Sins.</div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br />May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, I always say.</div></div><div style="CLEAR: both;<br /><br /><br /> TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFLAT1A1GU9esAfXzUO7_lvAAwkfhLP3p3z9ZdKTWb7dqrUIOVfwsJxV35FG4TK40vztNw77TjZ3vpN009jI-W_xUshW4_2XBBfk2h_9pvJ8owoRCcJF2w89i5-Ots5JBs39aXBnPZHAcs/s1600-h/blog+123.jpg"></a> </div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-2579396671981484282010-02-06T20:19:00.000+00:002010-02-06T20:20:00.443+00:00(L)Eek!<div align="center"> Yesterday, I sent the Football Fanatic to Tesco for a celery.</div><br /><div align="center"> </div><br /><div align="center">She came home with this:</div><br /><div align="center"> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434905202345464658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 278px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbd1RwsDRalV1kWBaWlHAeehzGuFefeNLxmpVnTrhH2wxzPnSbUYAdnimOmRGcJ2KCItGTDxn6LtWsKlDu4VZfGJoERhgFwUXYu2bkzM4eRGFGcOn_66_q-gInfrvkVa7Zjfnh7_CJbfU/s400/leek.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center"> </div><br /><div align="center"> </div><br /><div align="center"> </div><br /><div align="center">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.</div><br /><div align="center"> </div><br /><div align="center">If you're listening, Lucifer, you might as well throw another log on the fire.</div><br /><div align="center"> </div><br /><div align="center"> </div><br /><div align="center"> </div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-22634189245756254212010-02-05T22:58:00.003+00:002010-02-05T23:12:41.612+00:00Don't Ask Me.........<div align="center"> .......because I have no idea why today I took delivery of a catalogue from a company called Jack Wills bearing the legend:<br /><br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><br /><br />'OUTFITTERS TO THE GENTRY'</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />and addressed to The Fixer.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />Delusions of grandeur, that one.<br /><br /><br /> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434899510325013282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjFSyopgEqBEEXJBf_rxc1yoVHlf4McO9a7p2Hi3RY3NG_PI6ruDV7z3mY2FrG9qD2jcvhuBcqAJullHrvkDI-PZ5q00pXIN3C0I1wnCVYBGdQJLM7pwfCCDCthWOIpjm3lawtvcd2Obl/s400/jack.jpg" border="0" /></div> <br /><br /><br /><div align="center">Nice shop front, but at £24 for a pair of tights, I don't expect we'll be visiting it in the near future.</div>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-59825029060465897202010-02-03T21:59:00.002+00:002010-02-03T22:31:34.917+00:00Key of the Door<div align="center"> Well, it's finally happened.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />My eldest child has reached her majority.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />I feel quite old.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_AtLALv4FW5j8InuXeItTZ4WgxzZMN7kdnfz_EflsF78d1kYzApgN2QEEnIn8kr1v0m9YPnMF750y4rTxOShAKxsDNF1EUNFP2qpLrRosYFFx3UG_sU6Tg6KEXal1hyq7YL9wlk4WTnW/s1600-h/blog+feb+1.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434140830275945410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 365px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_AtLALv4FW5j8InuXeItTZ4WgxzZMN7kdnfz_EflsF78d1kYzApgN2QEEnIn8kr1v0m9YPnMF750y4rTxOShAKxsDNF1EUNFP2qpLrRosYFFx3UG_sU6Tg6KEXal1hyq7YL9wlk4WTnW/s400/blog+feb+1.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /> I was going to give her the wisdom of my experience, but as they say, advice, like youth, is wasted on the young.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />So instead, I have waved her off at the door on her way out to her celebration.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />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.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br />I do, however, have a word of advice for anyone who happens to be out in Manchester tonight:</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> </div><div align="center"> </div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434140837896690194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 284px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihxNLuEpQSr5qynlfLYFwyZVuRa8quyCOd4FVEV1m5gG3JDuGtS3mipsJxBQ_5ME0xr8BPI_2judMbxOmNEUdoXwFaF1P1vcfxqltmSKCyewbs7piD42jpultksJiyo2PiYU1k3THmDuOR/s400/blog+feb+20.jpg" border="0" /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br />Happy Birthday, kiddo.</p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center"> </p>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2141379598781628847.post-17369787729025928302010-02-02T17:57:00.014+00:002010-02-02T20:42:05.308+00:00The Atmosphere Was Electric.....<div align="center">Here's a question for you.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />If you saw an electrical appliance....let's say it was a hairdryer.......whose plug looked like this:<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433736991024169170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 186px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 201px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbkolwBPpS_SsRYLVKk3zqhaWQBHr4cVS3EWmvTotbPktvFZdSYV8eVNvcwGWdsoBsnssynPKSwvtEN3CiN3EExRy2AjCz94EMqcDmE7mE4Y8V6Oi0Enaxodt4hI9vo2L0Z-QDJ_FhyWY/s400/blog+feb+22.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br />.....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?</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br /><br />a) Yes</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />or </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />b) No</div><p align="center"><br /><br /><br />You know what's coming don't you? </p><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />The Singer answered 'A'. Then there was a bit of a squeal.......</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />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.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />Personally, I keep well away from hairdryers.<a href="http://www.corrieblog.tv/2007/11/"> I never got over that business with Valerie Barlow. </a>It left a mark on my childhood psyche which remains to this day.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />Anyway, thankfully, The Singer appears none the worse for her adventure apart from the tiniest little blister on her thumb.<br /><br />Well I think it's tiny. She's carrying on as though it was a third degree burn.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />Someone remarked to me this morning after Mass that she had been 'very lucky'.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />Huh. </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />Luck doesn't come into it, mate.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />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. </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />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........</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433736985248248098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 115px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhujuvVAW52RZTuh8uOI5zGhWqmvcgNUTxpx2mL32_-a4PuOVgfbAiTc9cViO_ooB8JfqZ9tcQ2SRZTRffKVbEjN_ShJcb96Un3ye0RIVXNGv2pOr3ZQ2Vjfy3h-PM8LKqFwFlZ59YzBFAx/s400/blog+feb+11.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p>the mother of this lothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04173598381711792094noreply@blogger.com7