Thursday, 8 May 2014

Growing Old Disgracefully

This weekend we will be going to a 60th birthday party.  This is the first of two or three that we will be attending in 2014.  The weird thing is that it is not for a member of our extensive family (on G’s side alone both his  parents are one of 6 kids).  No, this party is for a friend.  And 50ths have become commonplace, as have 40ths.

When did this happen? Our getting older?  At 45 I’ve got fewer wrinkles round my eyes now than I had after Little Man’s birth.  (This is probably due to more sleep and the fact that I have put on more weight.)  But the evidence of age is there…

·         I feel young at heart, but I can’t stop sighing as I sink into the sofa of an evening.
·         In a restaurant my friends and I all hold the menu at arms length in an attempt to read it. 
·         I find the occasional white (not even grey) White!!! hair in my eyebrows and black hair on my chin (And I’m not ever looking down below again…)
·         I have started listening to Radio 2, and enjoy it.
·         I go to bed to sleep. 
·         I look at teenagers walking around in crop tops in the watery sunlight and wonder that they don’t feel the cold as I do. 
·         The topics of conversation among my friends range from the aches and pains that we all seem to have, to the best way to clean wine stains off a cream carpet, to the impact the new impending changes in A levels will have on our kids.
 
Suddenly I seem to have become an adult…  And I didn’t see it coming…

I’m wondering when I will wake up and all my wardrobe is beige.  I look in the mirror and wonder what my skin will look like with the cracks and crags of age.  When should I let my hair go au naturel and grey?  Will I be cantankerous?  Will I shout at those teenagers in crop tops as I wait at the bus stop? 

All of the 60ths we are going to this year feature very Young at Heart people.  This one at the weekend is a Glamour Evening.  I am assuming we are not talking Katie Price style glamour, and simply a long dress kind of glamour – although I wouldn’t put either past the birthday girl.  In the day time she is one of the gutsiest and most knowledgeable accountants that I have ever met.  But when she goes out she likes to party.

And this is my point – growing older is not all serious business.

I hope that when I have a craggy cracky face, my lines will be laughter lines.  I will have aching joints because I ‘Mummy’ or ‘Auntie’ danced for that extra hour at the next generations' weddings.  I will still be dying my hair, but possibly a little more discreetly. And i hope that if I’m fat, there will simply be more of me to cuddle.

And as for beige…well, it will set off the leopard print scarf and red kitten heels perfectly….   


 

Wednesday, 7 May 2014

Blogging Circles

This morning I woke up at some ungodly hour to the sound of scampering in the corridors.  We have recently changed all the floors to wood – with the only carpet being on the stairs (the budget didn’t stretch to a new staircase) and although it has helped brilliantly with cat and dog hair maintenance, it is noisy.  So it wasn’t the scampering scuttling noises that bothered me so much, more why it was happening at 4.30 am?

Leaving G happily snoring in bed, I donned my dressing gown and headed downstairs.  The dog was sitting at the foot of the stairs looking sheepish (in a Collie type of way) and very much awake.  Top Cat was sitting in the doorway of the kitchen, and Lap Cat was busy trying to post a live squeaking mouse into one of G’s work shoes. (I don’t blame the mouse for squeaking – there’s no way I would go near one of G’s work shoes either).

I’ve had a lot of practice at this mousing thing.  And I’ve learned that if you can grab the mouse by the tail and hold it upside down, it goes into a state of semi paralysis, which gives you just enough time to unlock the back door and deposit it safely into a flower bed for more adventures.  This mouse was no different, and Lap Cat charged after me, bellowing in frustration as the dog ran into the garden barking joyously.  It was 4.35 am.  I was awake, the pets were awake, and meanwhile everyone else slumbered peacefully. 



So what did I do?  Well, I watched a documentary on the shootings in the high school in Columbine on Channel 5+1 – I had had no idea there was a Channel 5+1 – and then the channel closed for the morning.  I flicked idly through the stations, wondering if I had time to crack into my Breaking Bad dvds, but knowing that I would get too caught up in them and still be sitting there when Little Man’s bedhead eventually appeared for breakfast.

So I decided to read some blogs.  And then I decided to comment on the ones that got my attention.  Let me get this right out there – I blog because I like to write, I am essentially a story teller, and if there are readers out there that want to read my stuff, then I will carry on telling my stories.  I cut my teeth on a little fun blog An Irish Dog when we got a puppy (and it still gets views today even though I haven’t written a post for a year), and branched into PantoMum when Little Man auditioned for a pantomime. I’m not really interested in accolades, awards or millions of accolytes hanging on my every word.  I’ve nothing against that, and if it comes with the advanced ages of blogging, or if I and my audience don’t get bored, then bring it on.  But I’m not really actively courting it all.  Really.

There are a number of blogging collectives out there – my favourite at the moment happens to be BritMums.  It is a friendly group who encourage new bloggers to join in with their activities.  I’ve always hated Jolly Joining In things, but even I have been seduced from time to time by their ‘linkys’ and competitions. And if you follow the founders on Twitter, they follow you back.  I like that personal touch, it costs them nothing, but makes a newbie happy.  And of course you can see how the old hands blog.
 
A while ago I wrote a tongue in cheek post about the Ma-fia, you know, those groups of women that form inner circles with ‘a common purpose’ – it may be football mums, aerobic mums, school car park mums.  You get that in blogging too.  This inner circle have won countless awards, they work hard and play hard.  They live and breathe the world of blogging, and reap the rewards.  Other bloggers circle around them, occasionally allowed to play or join in.  Others like me just watch and learn.  

Most of the inner circle, when approached directly through comments or contact on social media, are lovely and supportive.  One such lady is Alice Elliott.  Known through her multi award winning blog as The Fairy Blogmother, she writes and delivers helpful hints on how to write and promote your blog.  She recently published a post telling us why interaction on blogs was essential and urged us all to leave comments on other blogs, and more importantly to respond to those on ours.
 
Over the past two weeks I have left a few selective comments on other blogs.  I think carefully about what I say, as not only do you expose your views to the author, but to the worldwide web.  And in most cases it takes a bit of effort to comment – you have to leave your name, your email address and prove you are not a robot (I’m not joking). And so most of my readers comment on social media (I have a closed Facebook group for my blog, and have recently become a Twitter user), or if they are friends they simply tell me what they think.  I was at a dinner party once, and a lady came up to me and said, ‘I read your blog last night’, ‘Oooh’, I said, ‘Which post?’  She went a bit red, ‘All of them’, she said. ‘And the dog blog – I’ve subscribed by email to them both.’ It took her three hours. That’s dedication for you.

But back to the comments.  Following Alice’s advice I commented on some of the established bloggers' posts and those of new bloggers, or indeed, any blogger that took my fancy.  Alice, you may be surprised to hear that 3 out of 4 of the old hands didn’t acknowledge or respond to my comments.  Not even a smiley face.  Nada.  They responded to the more established bloggers' comments. That’s the sisterhood for you.

And the newer bloggers responded with joy via social media, on the blogs, Google Plus (still don’t get that) and anywhere they could get hold of me.  It was good to talk. A big shout out to Becky Wilkinson, Donna Wishart, and muslimmummies to name a few.

Of course, I welcome any comments on my blog – whether they are scribbled below, on social media or via carrier pigeon.  I will respond as soon as I can – but I warn you that I am strictly a Blog and Go chick. I have a life.  And I will probably be asleep by midday. But I will get back to you.  I promise.


Tuesday, 6 May 2014

Review: The Morrison's Mum becomes a #Morrisonsmum

I come from a family of big eaters.  I have a family of big eaters. With three active growing boys I am constantly feeding them.  Like chicks that don’t stay in the nest, their natural inclination is to scavenge and forage in the cupboards and the fridge as soon as they get home from school.  Unless that is, by some miracle I have got myself organized (usually involving a timer oven or a slow cooker) and then, with sighs of satisfaction they fall on their food and eat until they are sated (for the next few hours).  

And it gets worse throughout the holiday period – not only are they constantly on the hunt for fruit or snacks, but so are the myriad of friends that tag along on a daily basis, and at one point during last summer, my weekly shopping bill topped £250!  And that’s without the additional loaves of bread from Tesco Express, or the odd pint of milk.  It’s an expensive business, raising boys.  I once heard of a woman who cooked a whole roast chicken every day and left it in the fridge for her boys to pull apart.  At the time I had toddlers and a strict no fridge opening policy, and I laughed at the idea.  Now it’s not looking quite so mad – if only I had the time…

And that, frankly, is what my cooking is all about.  I love to cook, but during the week, and with the long nature of boys summer sports, my food has to be quick and easy to prepare from scratch.  I very rarely buy ready prepared meals –the discrepancy between the shop’s ideas of portions, and those of my kids, would simply escalate my food bill even further.
 
In fact, I will fully admit that I am a bit of a supermarket tart.  If there’s a BOGOF at one, that’s where I will go.  If it offers a reward card, I will take them up on it.  I’ve been to all of them.  I like Lidl for the drinks and the wurst.  I like Tescos and Sainsburys for their own brands.  I like Morrisons for the veg, and when I am running late from work Asda does some mean pizzas (Friday night compromise).  I buy cheap cuts of meat from the butcher and make curries and stews. And a stock up at Costco is great once in a while for the staples such as bread, canned goods and pet food.  For some peculiar reason I like free range eggs, and a particular brand of baked beans – and on that I do not compromise. I also know that my shopping bill, for the five of us, plus pets, generally comes to between £170-£180 for 7-10 days, unless we have guests big or small.  Which we do.  A lot.

So when I was asked to be a #MorrisonsMum, in which Morrisons invited me to go and take advantage of their newly launched price cuts, I jumped at the chance.  Even though the stipulation was that I had to shop over the Bank Holiday weekend.  I detest food shopping at the weekend, let alone a Bank Holiday, but with good grace I decided to pop along to a Morrisons local to me at Southwood, Farnborough.  I used to be a regular there when it was a Safeway, as it was next to the very posh gym at which I was a member.  Needless to say, once the reality of kids hit home, costs were cut, and so the gym and I parted (no tears shed) and consequently there was no need for me to go to that part of town. 

What a difference!  Fantastic selection of veg – all on ice, a great meat section, where I indulged in some rib eye steak (5 adult portions at an eye watering price of £32) and fish (I was a little selective, as two out of my three boys are a bit funny about bones), plus the normal weekly shop.  I was checked out by a nice chatty lady called Sharon, who packed my bags for me as I fumbled to load my full trolley’s worth on to the conveyor belt.  Looking at the steak, she chortled good naturedly, ‘Taken a small mortgage out for those have you?’ pondered over the samphire that I had bought as a whim and genuinely showed an interest in me as a shopper.


Eldest and Middle Sons both have important exams this week, and normally we would have a meal out, where G would give them the benefit of his exam advice which they can then ignore as we order adult portions of steak and chips at roughly between £10- £17 depending on what restaurant we are sitting in.  Little Man can never finish his, but between the three remaining males there is never anything left on his plate.  But this time G was participating in that activity unique to 90% of the British male population during a bank holiday, that of decorating, and so we didn’t have the time to eat out – hence the bought in steak.

I have always been a fan of BBQs, and was devastated to find 16 years ago that this was not a skill that G possessed.  Not that he realised it, as he set fire to carefully marinated lamb kebabs, ensured the sausages looked like bits of charcoal, and we all chipped our teeth on the chicken breasts.  No, it’s taken a long time to dissuade him from the manly job of BBQing, and so as soon as I could, I trained the boys up in BBQ technique – which causes one less family argument!  


Two tomato salad with red onion, basil and balsamic dressing


And what a successful meal this was – the steaks were as big as the plate they are on, I made a gorgeous tomato salad out of the selection available at the veg counter, and individual meringue islands for dessert. For the two course 'special' meal plus a lovely homemade lemonade, it came to £10.50 a head.


Morrisons mini mozzarella balls, Morrisons sundried tomatoes, fresh wild rocket and iceburg lettuce

The boys just about to tuck in! 
Sparkling strawberry lemonade, recipe courtesy of <alittlebiteoflife> (The kids loved it, and G and I spiked our glasses with a drop of gin -bliss)
Homemade meringue islands -sauce with Morrisons own brand milk chocolate and double cream


Morrisons Signature Chilli and Morrisons Signature Pork sausages with black pudding. All from quick sale area at @ £1.75 a head
Trying out Morrisons version of Crunchy Nuts


Jerk Haddock with couscous, samphire and wilted iceburg

For the meal above I used Morrisons frozen haddock fillets.  They were a decent size, and can cook in the oven from frozen.  However there was one drawback - there were quite a few bones, but overall very tasty. Cost £2.75 per portion.


Mummy's Spanish Fish Stew

This simple dinner can cost as much or as little a head as you like. For a dinner party I add shell on tiger prawns, clams, razor clams, even crab claws. In this instance for a cost of around £4.50 a head, I used fresh mussels from the fish counter. I have taught the boys how to clean the seaweed 'beards' from them, and most importantly how to check that they haven't died.  I also used two packs of fish pie mix from the fresh prewrapped fish and some prawns that I had knocking around in the freezer. Watch out for bones... 






I am not a chef, just a mummy who cooks, and I find it particularly hard to follow recipes without fiddling – hence I rarely bake.  But hopefully I have given you some of the ideas that I had for our meals and how much I actually managed to buy in my shop at Morrisons. Many of the base ingredients bought feature time and again in further meals. And if you wish to know how I created the dishes featured – please comment below.

Even the dog got a fresh beef bone (3 for £2)
And did the overall cost live up to the Morrisons price cuts promise?  All I can say is that my weekly shop – including that splurge on the best quality steak – came to £162.17.

Perhaps that gym membership could be on again…



I was compensated for this review by Morrisons, but please note that all views, and opinions are my own and have not been biased in any way by any third party.



Monday, 5 May 2014

Bookworm

You may recall that a couple of weeks ago I set up what I hope will be a fairly regular post which explores a couple (or three) books that I have read on my Kindle, and what I thought of them.  These are my ‘Reviewlets’ – entirely my opinion and not biased in any way, a bit of fun, and hopefully a bit of direction to those who are hopelessly scavenging about in the millions of written words out there.  

I am focusing my reviewlets on Kindle books, but not exclusively to the detriment of others, because I find it the easiest thing to shove in my handbag whilst waiting for my boys at endless sporting activities.  Admittedly I have an older generation Kindle, which is black and white, and this has made me a little less superficial in choosing books.  Whereas before the cover was a great attraction, now I literally cannot judge a book by its cover.  I am also relying on recommendations, and trying to vary my reading so that I can give you, the blog reader, something in your favoured genre.

The Expats by Chris Pavone  


This was an actual book, handed to me by a friend, but available on kindle. It’s been a while since I have read a spy book, and this one did not disappoint.  Written from the point of view of a stay at home mum, who had given up her job to accompany her husband to his lucrative posting in Luxembourg, the story quickly escalates, jumping from the present to the past in which we learn that all of the main protagonists have secrets.  Hence the mummies that lunch, coffee mums, and school mums are not who they seem.  Neither are their husbands.  Kate is an intelligent heroine who is constantly bamboozled.  We quickly get into her way of thinking and her confusion becomes ours.  You begin to think like a spy too – trying to predict where the story line will take you. There are quite a few Americanisms, but the overall story keeps you on side.

This book not only has a cracking spy story, but it explores the relationship between a married couple who have kept major parts of their lives secret from one another  - kind of like Mr and Mrs Smith (2005, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie).  I for one couldn’t see how it was going to end, and it was a goodie.  I would highly recommend it as a great romp of a read.

Wrong Place Wrong Time by David P Perlmutter, Elaine Denning

From the very outset this was a painful read for me, and I am not talking in a good way.  Based on true experiences, and written by the main protagonist, with I assume, a writer, this was an awkward and frustrating book.  What I mean is that the story itself is worthy of so much more than this book gave.  It jumped around all over the place, it was too concise – if the reader was piqued and curious there were no answers given.  To be honest, I ended up feeling sorry for the main character, but frustrated at the end.   Pretty Dismal Read.


There are ways of writing a stunning set of events which answers the reader’s questions and also provides a challenging read.

For example,

Slave Girl by SarahForsyth 

about an ordinary British girl who answered an advert for a nannying job in Europe and found herself sold into prostitution in Amsterdam is a no holds barred grittily realistic and uncomfortable journey into a sordid underworld.  It shows how she coped, how she did what she had to do, how she escaped.  It gives the reader a shocking insight to what can really happen behind those red light windows that all stag and hen parties leer at on their weekends away.  If I was a mother of a teenage girl it would probably make me a little overprotective, and it is definitely a shocking story - not a lying by the pool, light holiday book, but a great and worthwhile read nevertheless.  Recommended read.



All of these books have been either recommended or hand picked for review by me. They are my honest opinion, and I would welcome comments or further recommendations. 


Sunday, 4 May 2014

Community Spirit

Remember Evie? 


 A little girl who began to show signs of illness earlier this year, a substantial weight loss, severe anaemia, and then the lumps started to appear.  Her mother told me that she knew then that something was majorly wrong.  She was right, within two weeks, a diagnosis of Hodgkins Lymphoma was made, and Evie went straight into chemotherapy.

She is eight years old.

One of the reasons why I wrote the A Story for Evie was because of a natural human urge to want to help those friends who are suffering.  Evie was in unfamiliar surroundings, but her family were in unfamiliar territory and in total shock.  At first they didn’t even understand the vast amounts of information that was flung at them, and from that faltering position they had to make decisions about treatments and locations and all the while coping with the hidden terror that comes with cancer.

One of the things that they were told was to be totally honest up front with Evie and her siblings.  Her older sister at 12, was savvy enough to realise how serious it was, and her younger brother at 4 was too little to understand the implications of the disease, but was devastated that she would lose her hair like all the other children on the ward where he visited her.  As outsiders, one can only imagine how the parents coped.  As outsiders, we all felt helpless, wanting to do something, wanting to say ‘It will be all right’ and smoothing away all the fear, the pain and the sleepless nights.

In my last post Memory Lane I wrote about how valuable old friendships are, and how we should treasure them.  But I also acknowledged that new and recent acquaintances can be just as immeasurable in the love and friendship that they offer.  Hence when I wrote the Story for Evie, which urged people to give to the Little Princess Trust, a charity who made wigs out of real hair for sick children, and Evie’s mother shaved her hair off in support, there was an outpouring of donations.  People, new friends, old friends and family just wanted to help.

And there were a number of other things that people did for charity in the name of Evie.  This little 8 year old inspired people to run, to shave their heads, to hold bake sales.  She came runner up in the Pride of Bracknell Awards, and the mummies at school decided to organise a fundraiser fun day in order to raise money for Evie herself.  This was billed as Evie’s Wardrobe of Multicoloured Wigs – and as friends we were all invited to donate any toys, unwanted gifts, our time, or just to come along and show our support.

Held at the Pines School Professional Centre in Bracknell on Saturday, I took Little Man along.  We didn’t really know what to expect.  The first thing we saw when we walked in was Minnie and Mickey Mouse walking around and greeting everyone.  And then I was enveloped in a massive bear hug.  It was Evie’s dad with a big beam on his face.  Evie’s Aunties greeted me from the stalls that they were manning – chocolate drop, bits and bobs stall, and treasure hunt.  There was a stunning cake stand that seemed to stretch for miles, and face painting, nail painting, biscuit decorating, crafting, name a bear, several sweetie stands, clothes stands and the ever popular tombola.

Picture courtesy of  Jasmine El- Mekki

And above all there was the aromatic scent of curry simmering in the kitchen cooked by Evie’s grandfather.  You could have lamb, chicken, and chickpea curry, with 2 rices, a naan, an onion bhaji and a tomato and onion salad for £3.00.  Little Man perked up.  He loves curry.  He also loved a big cuddly bear (that I was sure that we had donated in the first place), his two tombola prizes and the two cakes that he bought.  He bought raffle tickets, won some chocolate on the chocolate game and tried to guess the correct square on the find the treasure game.

I spotted Evie and her mum, both of whom gave me a hug.  Evie was serene, seemingly unfazed by being the centre of attention and being smothered in the outpouring of love that came her way whenever someone new walked in.  She asked me if I liked the bracelets that she had made, and were up for sale.  Little Man and I watched as she showed us how to weave the little elastic bands into these colourful rubber bracelets.  She had made them all whilst undergoing her treatment in hospital.  I asked her to choose me two, and I put the money in an already over flowing pot.

 
I will treasure those bracelets.

We left as Evie and her family posed for the local newspaper.  All around them was the protective sea of pink T shirts of all of the volunteers.  The love and support emanating from them was palpable.
 
And as we got into the car, Little Man turned to me and said
 ‘That Evie, she must be really famous, to have all of those people raising money for her.’

  ‘No darling’, I said, ‘She’s just a normal little girl, but she and her family are very, very loved’.



Evie's fundraising day raised a large amount of money for her and her family, and so they have asked that any readers who are touched by her story and wish to donate, please give to The Little Princess Trust, a charity who provides wigs free of charge to sick children undergoing treatment.






Tuesday, 29 April 2014

Memory Lane

There’s something about old friends.  This is not to detract from the very real and genuine friendship offered to you by people along the way, and some of my good friends are relatively recent, but what I’m talking about are people who had a profound influence on your background and in shaping your life as it is today.

I am very lucky to count three of my best friends as my three oldest friends.  I have known them since I was 10 years old and we met in the institution known as boarding school and have become firm friends ever since.  This is a unique and special relationship that in some ways transcends that of family past and present – you would never tell your mum about your wildest fantasies, but believe you me, they could spill the beans!  And we keep in touch – I’m not talking Facebook or social media (although one lives abroad so it does help) – I’m talking really in touch, phone calls, texts and emails – and we have met up just by ourselves with no husbands or kids altogether at least once a year, for a long weekend for more years than I can remember.  And we take up where we left off the year before, and for the three days that we are together we talk and talk and talk, with a little sleep and a lot of eating and drinking.  And it is fun going back to being just Me – not someone’s Mum, or Wife, or Job Title. 

And like any relationship it’s not without its ups and downs.  We’ve fought, sided with one or two others, we’ve told each other when we don’t like their boyfriends, or choices or situations.  On the other hand, we would drop anything if one was in trouble, or needed something.  We are there for all of the important things – weddings, funerals, christenings, big birthdays and so on.  My kids know my friends as ‘Aunties’ and I am the same to theirs.  They are real, human, non- virtual friends and as I said, we are very lucky, and we cherish this.

But I’m not dissing Facebook – in fact, I have made some very good friends who started off as acquaintances that I added in the spirit of bonhomie, but who have turned out to be really genuine people.  And by the same token it is always good to see status updates of good friends who I see regularly.  But the real reason why I’m not dissing Facebook is that yesterday it actually helped me get in contact with my very oldest friend, whom I have known since I was 8 years old when I lived in Kenya, and lost touch with nearly 30 years ago. In that time she had moved to New Zealand, got married, lost both parents and had two kids.
8 years old in Kenya (with Maasai warrior)

When moments like this happen, memories come flooding back.  There are flashes of memories so deeply ingrained that you can simply reach and pluck them out of the air.  The smell of the washing powder her mum used, the layout of her bedroom at home, the bikes we used to ride, flashbacks of the painful stages from childhood to teenage hood.  And then the odd letter, the promise to keep in touch.  Then nothing.
 
And life goes on, and you forget.  Until one day you remember and wonder.  

And one day you do something about it.


I would love to hear your stories of old friendships, and your comments below!



Friday, 25 April 2014

Alternative Nursery Rhyme (From the pov of a P*** Off Mum)


Rain rain, Go away,
Go find someplace else to play
The air is damp, my hair’s gone lank
I’ve had enough of showers today.

Off out with doggie,
In holes wet and boggy
Tried not to drown, you chucking down
I’ve had enough of being soggy.

Running fast every place
Makeup streaking down my face
It’s utterly grim, when cold sets in
I’ve had enough, give us some space.

I’ve no idea if I’m here or there
Crickets on or off, too much to bear
Summer's here, so disappear
I’ve had enough, it isn’t fair.

Kids games down, with flooded grounds
Emails cancelling, doing the rounds
Grumpy mums, kids twiddle thumbs
I’ve had enough disappointed sounds.

And while I’m at it, tell the snow
It’s not welcome either, go, go, go!
It’s unfunny, when it’s not sunny
I’ve had enough, so just F* O*!