Friday, 28 November 2008

A complaint.


As a consumer of many fine and expensive face creams, I have a complaint to make. They don't seem to be doing the job. I have used all those creams that promise to 'get rid of the fine lines' and 'reduce deep set wrinkles'. I have even used cheap face creams, and baby cream, and baby bottom cream. I've even gone as far as to use the special type of cream that is meant for bottys only....you know, the stuff that comes with an applicator.. ahem. Don't worry though - I used it when the tube was brand new and hadn't been used for any other 'area' - only to slap on my wizened old face. I said face.


So you would imagine I'd be a picture of youthful beauty. On a good day, I think I look not too bad, actually. Well, if you're standing at least 5 feet away from me, I look pretty good.


Tell me why then, my 2 year old daughter keeps asking about the "stripes" I have on my face.


Does anyone know the number of David Gest's plastic surgeon? I think it's the only way.

Wednesday, 26 November 2008

I found hidden treasure today.

...In the form of my original wedding ring. (Eh... one wedding, one man - but I have two rings..) I had 'misplaced' my wedding ring a couple of years ago.
And by misplaced, I mean stored away. And by stored away, I mean hidden from possible thieves. And by hidden away, I mean flung in to a cup at the back of the cups cupboard. Well - no thief worth his stripey top and black eye strip would ever look there, right!?


So, I had decided to clear out some cups from my cupboard. I ended up throwing out about 5 sippy cups with no lids, a couple a chipped glasses (that should you have drank from them, you would have ended up with a frayed face) and a few manky straws from McDonalds. I don't actually know why they were in there... Probably from one of those times where I thought they'd come in useful for something. Only come to realise that they were good for no other reason than to line my bin.


And there, at the back of the cupboard, in one of my mum's soup bowls (I can't even explain why that was in there... I'm pretty sure if I were to empty my cupboards of every dish belonging to my Mum, I would have nothing left.) was my wedding ring.


When Robbie and I got engaged, I didn't get an engagement ring. And Robbie, if you're reading this, I'm not complaining, I'm stating a fact. And you can't argue with that last statement, can you?

Anyway - I wasn't bothered about getting a dirty big 1 carat diamond, brilliant cut, raised by 4 prongs on a thin band of 18k gold, offset with a wedding band that would sport an inscription on the inside that would tell of our wedding date and bear our names. I hadn't even thought of the kind of ring I would like to have. ;) We were sensible and decided to use what money we (Robbie) had and put a deposit on our first home.


Though having said that, one time I thought Robbie had indeed gone and bought me a diamond. He had phoned me to tell me that he'd left a special gift for me on my bed. He was calling as he was going back to his flat in Edinburgh (I was living in Glasgow). He said that it was a special gift, that I had to go and see straight away. My mind was racing, thinking, surely if this is a ring, he should be there, and he should be on one knee, holding the ring aloft and watching my face light up as I took in the beauty of this one carat spectacle. I asked him to come back and give me the gift personally... I didn't want this moment not to be shared by both of us.


He came back. I had been waiting downstairs til he came back, so we could see the 'gift' (ring... right?) together. We went upstairs and there on my bed was a big box. Much too big to be a ring box. It was a VCR box. I thought it was a ploy - he's hidden the ring box in the big VCR box to stump me. He's such a kidder....


Well - he wasn't the kidder I had hoped. It was indeed a VCR. Robbie was really excited to tell me that he'd bought us an ex-rental VCR for our future home together. That's just what I'd wanted. There's nothing like a second hand piece of oversized out of date machinery that says "I love you".


In fact, there was another time when I thought he was going to give me a ring. (I don't know why I kept harbouring these notions - we had decided I wasn't going to get a sparkler, and I really was ok with that - I'm glad we used the money for our wee flat etc, but still... I'm girl after all!) Anyway... it was when I came back from the States where I was an EFY counsellor for the summer. We had talked to each other on the phone, and I kind of guessed that he was going to be there at the airport to greet me, and I reckoned that it would be there that he would kneel down in front of the whole airport and whip out a huge beast of a diamond and propose.


He did propose. He brought me a huge bouquet of flowers (that were slightly wilted cos he'd come to the airport a day early by mistake) and as we were crossing the car park of Glasgow Airport, he shouted (it was wet and windy) over to me


R:"did you read the card on your flowers?"


Me: "No... I think the wind blew it away"


R: "oh... em...."


Me:(thinking - there must be something important in that card...)" I'll go and find it! Hold on!"


R: "*muffle muffle*" (he was too far away now to hear him cos i was scurrying away looking for this blinkin' card.


I found the card. It was under the wheel of a car. I read it. It said "I love you with all of my heart. Will you marry me, please?"


Awww... I've got a wee tear in my eye just thinking about it.


Anyway... the point of the post. I found my wedding ring today. It matches Robbie's. We bought them together a few weeks before we got married. I'm glad I found it, cos I was starting to worry that I'd never see it again.


And FYI... I'm not bothered about not having a huge nugget of bling on my finger. I'm just thankful I had a VCR that allowed me to watch some good films...

Tuesday, 18 November 2008

I'm looking for the light...

...at the end of the tunnel. But I seem to be in one heck of a long tunnel!! I mean... seriously - who else wants to be sick in this house?! Don't my family know that I have NO patience, NO bedside manner, NO compassion!?!??!

If you've been wondering why my posts have been somewhat lacking recently (I know you've all been lying awake at night thinking about it. Wondering how you can go on without a regular instalment of my bleating and moaning about nothing in particular...) it's been because there's been too many people in my wee family being sick. I told you about Eilidh. And I thought I was out of the woods. Of course, it has to do the rounds. My washing machine has been on double time. My place is generating a mahoosive carbon footprint. Even though I'm washing everything on a 30 degree wash, like a good girl. OK - I lied - a 40 degree wash. 30 degrees just doesn't cut it. And yes, I'm still using double the amount of fabric softener, so my footprint's going way up on that front too. Whatever - my washing smells good.

Anyway. Long story short - lots of sickness, lots of washing, lots of needy people, not a lot of time to tell you all about it, not a lot of you would want to hear about it.

A couple of thoughts...

  • The gym (since I told you about it in my last post). I'm going... am enjoying making myself suffer. What's with that? Anyway.. I've realised that this haircut of mine does NOT look good when wringing with sweat. Well - whose hair does? But mine almost recoils as though repelled by my huge red sweaty face. Recoils in to some kind of Lego helmet hair piece. So, picture me with a face as big as a bin lid with a tiny but bulbous helmet do sat on top.... wringing in sweat. I really am a visual treat (and by the time I'm finished, I'm a treat for the nose too..;))

  • Why is it that right now, I'm TOTALLY in love with my bed. I mean, I love it at the best of times, but right now I daydream about it. I always convince myself that as soon as the kids are in their beds, I'll go to mine. But i never seem to do it. I mean, it's 23.12 right now, and I'm still tapping away on this....

  • You can totally tell that the Christmas season is just round the corner. You know how I know? Well... apart from all the decorations going up everywhere, and being reminded all the time... I know because people are starting to be horrible to one another. We were at a shopping centre on Saturday, and already, the car park is overcrowded and people shout and swear at one another and argue about who was waiting longest for a space and "do you think I'm sat here waiting for a space for the good of my health?" People are rude in shops and all manners seem to go out the window. Everybody just seems to be in a foul mood this time of year... when in actual fact, it's meant to be the opposite. Naturally, I go along with the crowd and am in a foul mood about the onset of Christmas. That's because I'm a Scrooge and can't be doing with it. I enjoy Christmas Day, because it means that the lead up to it is over. Hehehe... I'm such a miserable sod. Truly. I'm not ashamed.

  • I think I have an addiction to potatoes. I know it's a rubbish addiction to have, but it's still a real addiction. Every single day I have to have a dirty big portion of... just potatoes. I'm such a freak. I keep having to go up to Asda to feed my addiction... and my face. Though I console myself that they're low in points (little bit of the ol' Weight Watchers chat for you there...) and so graze on them some more...

Anyway.. Random post. Random thoughts. How are all of you?!

Thursday, 13 November 2008

Richard Simmons? My new guru.


Last week, I went against everything I believe in. I joined a gym. I was thinking about Richard Simmons and how much we look alike in our coiffed hairdos, so I figured the next logical step would be to try and get fit so that I can wear the shiny satine shorts and muscle back t-shirts that he sports so well. Oh... and the fact that Fat Fighters aka Weight Watchers alone just isn't cutting it anymore. Sure, the lard is coming off.... just not fast enough for my liking. So - the gym..


My induction was on Monday night. If I'm honest, I was really looking forward to it. I can't remember why...


Anyway. 10 minutes before I was meant to leave, I heaved my sorry patoot off the couch (my one true nemesis) and went to get changed in to the usual gym type garb. Only to find that I didn't actually have anything suitable. I don't know why, but I'd assumed I'd have stuff to wear. I found an old pair of jogging bottoms that I'd bought a few years ago (and quite a few stones ago) and they were far too big and far too short. I'm sure the proportions of these trousers would've been best suited to an extremely rotund oompa loompa. I figured they'd need to do, as the only other option was to wear shorts. And to be honest, the world will never be ready to see my legs. Especially cos I shaved them 2 days before, so they were dangerously stubbly, and the last time they saw sun was 1986.


So, I rocked up to the gym, white ankles showing, and bristles ... well, bristling. But nothing was going to stop me. This was a step that had to be made and no amount of embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions was going to stop me.
Of course, I had to have my induction at a peak time. Folk were everywhere, pumping iron, shedding pounds and there were no other dodgy jogging bottoms in sight.
The guy showed me round and gave me a plan of action. And action being the word! I think he's trying to kill me. But I was too proud to say it! So I gave it what for on that treadmill... And nearly died after 2 minutes.
So - I'm bearing all here. I'm sharing my gym secret, cos now it feels like cos I've told you all, I'll feel somewhat required to go, in case you check up on me. Not that I want you to check in on me. You probably won't get an answer anyway... I'll be lying unconscious somewhere at the side of a treadmill with my trousers up round my thighs... shouting on the revered name of Richard Simmons to help me in my hour of need.

Thursday, 6 November 2008

If you're gonna spew... spew in to this.


The other day, I had read a post on Jen's blog. In it, she made mention of how her son had been sick and was glad that he was old enough to be able to barf in the toilet, and that all she needed to do was flush. I thought to myself that it must be great to be able to do that.





Little did I know that I would be thinking REALLY. HOW GOOD WOULD IT BE?






Eilidh was complaining of having a sore tummy at bed time. But me not being a true Campbell (in that I was merely grafted in to the tree, and therefore not a hypochondriac like both the patriarch of our family and his little offspring) I thought I was being wise to her ploy of delaying getting in to bed. (She's wily that way.) I dismissed her moans and said that her tummy was sore cos she was tired.






I know that sounds like a crappy excuse, but you say it with enough authority, kids believe it and you sound like you know what you're talking about.






So I packed her off to bed and all was quiet until about 10.30... All I'm going to say was that she had erupted... all over her bedspread (that was quite frankly, too expensive to be barfed on. I don't even like the kids using them at night.... they're there purely for decoration, and I'm not a fan of having them used to keep their little bodies warm at night. If they're cold at night, they should have thought about taking a hot water bottle to bed.)






So, I pulled her out of bed and sat her in the bath. While I cleaned the bedspread. The rigmarole of cleaning, scrubbing, holding hair back, holding my breath, all took place a couple of times throughout the night.






I know that I'm a mother, and that these times are part of the deal. But I don't like it. I want to strike when moments like this occur. I love my babies. I feel bad for them when they're not well. But I'd prefer clean illnesses.






Anyway. I think It was just a 24 hour bug, cos by the morning, she seemed OK. I kept her off school, just in case she went in and started blowing chunks in the dinner hall.






She was lying on the couch most of the day with her cosy blanket (one that could be barfed on without me having a meltdown), bossing Hannah around, and reminding me of how she was sick the night before.






But my minuscule amount of sympathy and bedside manner (that really goes against the grain - I mean, when we were ill when I was young, you had to get on with it. And as soon as you hadn't barfed in like 2 hours, you were packed off to school again. There was no sympathy. And we all learned to just get on with it. And so it's my duty to carry on this family tradition..) was running on low by 2 o'clock. And it had certainly run out when, lying regally on the couch and lifting her hand and gesturing toward the patio door, she uttered this statement






"Mummy... I think I will feel better if you pick me some flowers from the garden"






If I were a cartoon character, this is where my face would morph in to a donkey and the word ASS would appear above my long ears.




Anyway. After that, the telly was turned off and the blanket put away. I'm no mug.





And if you're all thinking that I'm heartless, you're probably right. I feel no shame.

Tuesday, 4 November 2008

ASDA - Annoyance, Screaming kids, Desperate parenting, Aaaaggh

Remember the days when you could go to ASDA or any shop for that matter, and you were able to go in, peruse the goods on sale at leisure, and take time to compare prices, brands, and eye up the produce boy?

Yeah... well, I barely remember those days. For now I have 3 distractions that make the above impossible. Well, all apart from the produce boy bit... I am a girl, after all.

It all starts before we've even got in to the shop. This 'super'store is doing away with shopping trolleys that have two seats. Apparently most families now only require one seat. So already, I'm jipped cos I don't conform enough to have my babies taken care of. Though a trip round the shops makes me realise why most people only have one or two kids.

And then once we're inside, there seems to be some kind of message sent out to all children (kind of like a high pitched frequency that only children's ears can hear) that makes them act wild, need the loo every five minutes, be demanding of sweets, whine and moan incessantly and act like little houdini's.

And why above all this, is my absolute NEED to save face the most frustrating thing of all? Why do I feel like I have to show everybody that I can handle these three little monsters? Why do I feel like I have to paint a picture of me being the most fabulous parent in the world, who has three well trained chimps/kids who obey my every command and who do nothing but smile sweetly at passers by and who don't drool and snot over all the goods before they're scanned? In my psychotic head, everyone is judging me and the number of lollipops I carry in my Trolley Dolly and the whispered threats of smacked bots and the over use of the evil eye of judgement.

For example, as we were waiting in line at the checkout (we were waiting for the wee wummin to stop talking to her friend) Hannah and Eilidh had had enough. Both of them were crying. But, I chose to ignore them. Everything else had been tried. Lollies, promises of a nice dinner when we got home, threats of a horrible dinner when we got home (more likely) almost pleading with them to stop their nonsense.... And it's the woman behind me that ends up almost pushing me over the edge. She takes out her manky dirty keys and starts jangling them in front of Hannah's face. Of course, it incenses her and the crying gets louder... as do the bunch of keys. I appreciate that she was trying to help. But I was ready to take those manky dirty keys and lob them straight up the pet aisle (cos it stinks to high heaven of cheap dog food). Does she not think that I have tried everything to make these kids quiet? No - here she comes with her miracle keys. One jangle and calm is restored. And why would a 2 year old be interested in keys anyway!? No - she has judged me and thought to herself - "hold up, this bird can't look after her kids properly. Doesn't she know they need something to play with? Something fun like a set of manky dirty keys?" And it's these unspoken judgements that I can't bear.

Well. There is no point to this post. I'm not concluding with a brainwave of how better to deal with this situation in the future. Just do the shopping at night I suppose... when the produce boy finishes his shift ;)

Monday, 3 November 2008

A week of livin' la vida loca.

OK - so I'm not like the bird in Ricky Martin's video of the same name.. all shaking and groovin... But I have been livin' la vida loca over this last week. Or so it feels like. That's why the posts have been thin on the ground - OK... non-existent.


It's been non stop partying for me for the past couple of nights. So much so, that today I was feeling quite ill. I think it was just over tiredness. You can really overdo it when you're a party animal such as myself.


Pfffft. OK - so my idea of a party animal may not be the same as somebody else's. But to me, who is virtually housebound due to having 3 lovely kids, ANY night out feels like I'm on a week's bender.


My mum had phoned on Friday night and offered to come and babysit so that Rob and I could go out. What do you do when someone offers to come and watch the kids just out of the blue (apart from run naked round the street shouting hallelujah)? I was in a daze. What would we do - where would we go? It was like I was about to short circuit because there were all of a sudden so many possibilities. So many options, so many dreams to realise, so many things to be able to go and do without the kids dripping off you.. I don't know about you, but being able to go somewhere and just be able to get out of the car and walk away, without having to do the 10 minute rigmarole of getting little people in to buggies and away from cars etc, is somewhat of a luxury.


Anyway - the kids were in bed at 6.45pm. Which isn't too bad, cos usually they're in there at 7 anyway, so it wasn't like they were in there right after their dinner or anything.. And one day, I'll tell you all about my anal outlook on bedtimes, and how I go to pieces if the kids are in their beds a little bit later than they should be.

So -they were tucked up in bed. Night night. And both my parents came round to watch the little darlings. Rob and I didn't waste any time in getting the hell out. We didn't even get dollied up for a night out. We just slung on our coats and left. Which makes me wonder... what does it say about us that we couldn't even get dressed up to go out on a date? On reflection though, I think we just thought that we should make the most of this opportunity and not waste half the night getting the lipstick on and just enjoy being out.


We went out, with no plan of action. We just drove - and didn't know where we were going. Well, we ended up going in to Glasgow and just walking about the city centre. I LOVE Glasgow. If we were to ever live anywhere else, I'd be really upset about leaving it. In fact, if I'm ever driving in to the city from the south side, you come over the Kingston Bridge and you get a great view of the City. And I always fill with emotion. I know I'm an idiot... but I really do love it. And for living only 10 mins away from the centre of Glasgow, I never go. So, walking around the town on Friday night was great fun.


It was also Halloween last Friday, and the streets were filled with folk that had dressed up. My favourites included - two guys dressed as Care Bears, (Cheer Bear and Bedtime Bear. By the way.) a guy dressed as Amy Winehouse and a bloke dressed as Mr Tumnus. Complete with hooves. How the guy was able to walk, I don't know. And that was the beginning of the night. No doubt after a few jars, that half man half goat (or whatever he was) was probably trotterless.


Rob and I ended up going in to some Hotel..............................................



and had a drink and played pool!




Hahahahahaha.


Anyway. It was a posh hotel. And the reason I knew this? They served some tasty nuts with our cokes... and didn't charge us. Even the pool table was free. And when I say free, I think the cost of the drinks covered the cost of the use of the pool table and the nuts. Shows how much I get out, when I nearly died when the cost of two drinks comes just short of £5. In my head, I'm thinking - I could've gone up to Asda and bought four 2 litre bottles for that.


But it was great being out, just Rob and I. I loooooove my kids, but it was nice just being out on our own. Should I be self referring myself to the social services for saying that? But it was nice being out on a 'date'.


Though if he doesn't stop beating me at pool, I may have to encourage Mr Tumnus to do some high kicks in his general direction...