Tuesday, 28 December 2010

Toilet talk, potty patter, loo lingo.

Whatever you want to call it, it’s the best kind of humour in our household.  I can’t even lie and pretend we’re not ‘that’ kind of family, cos we are.  If you’re looking for someone to blame or judge, then judge Robbie.  He’s the patriarch, after all…
So, in light of the Campbell love for potty humour, Santa was right on the money with his gift to Eilidh.
You will notice, beneath the Whoopee Cushion (a timeless classic in all toilet humour based jokes), is a fake… number 2.  It has been the hit of Christmas of 2010.  It has already been used extensively and has had extended family suitably grossed out (either by the stool itself, or by our (lack of ) parenting).
OK.  So I’ll redeem myself slightly.  The tolie has been a great teaching tool for Esther and her potty training.  Seeing that in the bottom of the potty has helped her understand that  that’s where ‘those’ go…
So, if you’re looking for faecal fun, you know where to come.. Smile

Friday, 17 December 2010

Well, that's a huge noggin. That's a virtual planetoid


A post, to keep everyone updated with the sheer width, height and circumference of Esther’s expanding ‘do’.



Compare and contrast, in the beginning, with a wee while ago, with the above, most recent shot.


Wowsers.  Dianna Ross – watch out.  She’s coming to take your foozy, giant hairdo crown (that’s probably expandable like the ones you used to get in Burger King, so that it’ll fit her “orange on a toothpick”.)

Remind me to tell you about the time that we lost a clasp in there.  For three days.

Friday, 3 December 2010

Sure, I'll sign yer copy.

I'm famous.

I won't even tell you what page I'm featured on, cos you'll need to have a look through  this fabulous blog/magazine. 

Sure I'll you remember you all... the little people. ;)

Thanks, Melissa, for inflating my already huge ego. ;)

Tuesday, 16 November 2010


What?  It’s ok for your kids to do impersonations of the gay pigs from Shrek, right?


Saturday, 6 November 2010

'There were three of us in this marriage, it was a bit crowded'


..said Princess Dianna, referring to herself, Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles (now, strangely enough, the wife of Prince Charles.)

Now – I’m only using her statement to illustrate a point.  Don’t go taking it literally, or in the way she had intended. 

I don’t have a Camilla Parker Bowles.  I have something else.  Something I can’t compete with.  Something more confusing than a woman’s mind.  Something that can be called beautiful but is also ugly.  Something that leaves me wondering what all the fuss is about.


Glasgow Rangers.

I once (foolishly) asked Robbie if he loved me more than the Gers.  Even though I knew the answer.  But how can you make a man choose between you and his lifelong obsession, his family instilled love for his team and the game, passed down from generation to generation of Campbell men?  His very raison d’etre?

You can’t.

Though one day, he did tell me that he loved me AS much as the Gers.  That, in my book, was the same as telling me that he loved me to the moon and back.  And that will do. Smile

Tuesday, 19 October 2010

Go Campbell, go Campbell...

"Hey!  Whatcha doin' today?"

"Hey, big sister!  We're going out!"

"Hey - where's Ly-eesha?"

"She not going anywhere cos she's got no clothes."

"But she's only a baby."

"Yeah, girl!  She can wear high heels!

My girls are aged 7 and under. They are Scottish. Yet, them playing a game of Bratz, leaves me confused and slightly disturbed.

  • Calling each other by their family relation.
  • Having people called Ly-eesha.
  • Going around with hardly any clothes, if at all.
  • Calling each other 'girl'.
  • Allowing infants to wear high heels.

Where have they learned these things?!  It sound like they've secretly been watching Rikki Lake, or Jerry Springer.  I'm now waiting for the paternity tests to be announced.  Ly-eesha should be quaking in her high heels.

Friday, 15 October 2010

No more pulses and cabbage for this family.

Robbie demonstrated the 'pull my finger' gag, to the girls today.  It went down a storm - they think it's hysterical.

Of course, for the record - I thoroughly disapprove.

Wednesday, 6 October 2010

Rob 1, Girls, 0

In the car, listening to Rob's recent cd purchase - American Anthems.  Again.  Even though there's three cd's, the songs have grown OLD.  Especially Michael Sembello's Maniac.

Hannah (4 years old):  I don't like this song.

Robbie (33 years old):  It doesn't like you.


Saturday, 2 October 2010


The girls were watching Snow White  this morning.  When she started singing down the wishing well, I got emotional and started crying.  Pfft.  Clearly the monthlies are on their way.  Cos I’m not usually this soft and sentimental.

Anyway.  Just as Snow White is warbling in the well, the handsome prince hears her and starts joining in the singing.  She runs off, pretending to be coy. And the prince continues to serenade her by singing the rest of the lyrics of her song.

I told the girls that their Daddy sings to their Mummy like that, cos he’s my Prince Charming.  They ALL laughed.  Reasons they didn’t think I had a convincing argument?

1. Daddy doesn’t have a cape like the Prince.

2. Daddy can’t sing.

3. I don’t have a well.


Don’t worry, Rob.  If you’re reading this, you are my Prince Charming.  I can tell from the way you ‘sing’  The Smiths/Morrissey songs to me.  Nothing says ‘love’, like Girlfriend in a Coma and You’re the One for me, Fatty.

Saturday, 25 September 2010


Wow.  I just read this online.  It’s sadly all true.

“Facebook can also be a mecca for passive-aggressive behavior. "Suddenly, things you wouldn't say out loud in conversation are OK to say because you're sitting behind a computer screen," says Kimberly Kaye, 26, an arts writer in New York. She was surprised when friends who had politely discussed health-care reform over dinner later grew much more antagonistic when they continued the argument online.

Just ask Heather White. She says her college roommate at the University of Georgia started an argument over text about who should clean their apartment. Ms. White, 22, who was home visiting her parents at the time, asked her friend to call her so they could discuss the issue. Her friend never did.

A few days later, Ms. White, who graduated in May, updated her Facebook status, commenting that her favorite country duo, Brooks & Dunn, just broke up. Almost immediately, her roommate responded, writing publicly on her wall: "Just like us." The two women have barely spoken since then.

Band-Aid Tactics

So what's the solution, short of "unfriending" or "unfollowing" everyone who annoys you? You can use the "hide" button on Facebook to stop getting your friends' status updates—they'll never know—or use TwitterSnooze, a Web site that allows you to temporarily suspend tweets from someone you follow. (Warning: They'll get a notice from Twitter when you begin reading their tweets again.)

But these are really just Band-Aid tactics. To improve our interactions, we need to change our conduct, not just cover it up. First, watch your own behavior, asking yourself before you post anything: "Is this something I'd want someone to tell me?" "Run it by that focus group of one," says Johns Hopkins's Dr. Wallace.

And positively reward others, responding only when they write something interesting, ignoring them when they are boring or obnoxious. (Commenting negatively will only start a very public war.)

If all that fails, you can always start a new group: "Get Facebook to Create an Eye-Roll Button Now!" “

Full article -


So, to  “improve my interactions” I shall try to “change my conduct” by sadly staying away from Facebook a lot more. 

I am a sociable person -I love the interaction that Facebook offers.  I’ve made some really good, good friends that mean a lot to me through this medium.  But, the moment I start subscribing to something that causes me anxiety and distress is surely a bad thing.  I’m 34 years old.  Not 14.  I don’t buy in to petty squabbles and narcissist rants.  And unfortunately, Facebook also offers a soapbox for people that require attention and a medium for them to say whatever they like, with no thought to anybody else’s feelings but their own.

Now.  What to do with all this time I’ve spared myself?  Maybe clean my kitchen floor?

Meh.  Why break the habit of a lifetime? 

So – tell me.  Have you got any stories to tell that will make me feel better about staying away from my favourite past-time? :)

Monday, 30 August 2010


I've always been intrigued/fascinated/utterly bemused by the warbling antics of Mariah Carey and the likes.  The hand action.  The facial contortions.  The crazy pointing.  The jaw spasms.  The inability to choose a note and stick with it.

Not being a singer myself, I've often wondered if these are an integral part of sounding good.  Mariah's a great singer - she does the aforementioned 'tricks'.  Christina Aguilera is a great singer.  She's also known to have these flourishes.  (She could do with a good bath.  Dirrrrty, as in, pass the soap.  Eeeuuww..)

So, to kind of illustrate my point, here's a great song for you all to listen to.  And for those au fait with the most recent Body Pump tracks, this is used for the cool down.  I really do love this song, even though I didn't know who these people were, til I googled them.  Now, all I know is their names :)

Now.  If you were a young couple that were so desperately in love, that you had to take time out of your recording studio and photo shoot to meet up in a forest, (that I think looks like where MJ and his beau were walking through.  But the again, I suppose all forests look the same, right?) to sing to each other... WHY would you implement the flourishes at that point?  Look at the video, around about 2.52.

The guy, Guy (... hehe) looks like the wicked witch of the west, just after she's had the bucket of water thrown over her.  A total contortion.  In fact, if he were my boyfriend, singing to me like that, I'd have to resist the urge of putting him in the recovery position.  Having said that, the broad - Jordin ain't that much better.

Meh.  Who am I to comment?  I like Michael Bolton.  And Chicago.  And anyone else of that ilk.

MMmmmmm  Peter Cetera in a forest.....

Tuesday, 17 August 2010

You know it's a bad day when..

...you've lost the lids for your contact lens case and have to use Connect 4 counters instead.  (And when I say Connect 4, I mean ASDA's own version of it.)

Sunday, 1 August 2010

It'll fall on deaf ears.

So, if you were thinking about calling Social Services on my ass cos of this morning's breakfast shenanigans, then think again.

The kids WANTED to eat dry Weetabix (not even the chocolate chip ones).

They call it Wickerbix out of their own choice (no, I've not made them watch the Wicker Man.   I'm distressed enough remembering sitting on a wicker chair when I was younger and getting all scratched from it.)

They asked for water.  It's not that I didn't offer them diluting juice, cos I did.  Honest.  They just chose water.

They started coughing and spluttering from trying to chow down on the dry Weetabix and decided they didn't like water after all, so didn't have a drink to wash it all down with.  There were tears and shouts of "I told you so's".

But, if after hearing all of the evidence, you still want to call Social Services cos I don't offer my kids a decent, healthy, moist breakfast, then call them.  My case number is 24601.  In fact, if I get a 5 more calls, I'll get a free t-shirt.

Friday, 16 July 2010


Why do shopping centres insist on playing their own cover versions of current songs?

Why when I go for a lip and chin wax, do I have to trade a moustache of hair, for a moustache of pimples?

Why do I love bacon flavoured Frazzles so much?

Why can't I give up Diet Pepsi? 

Why don't I really want to give up Diet Pepsi?

Why does Diet Pepsi taste so good?

Why does Pepsi Max taste so rank?

Why am I craving a Diet Pepsi right now?

Why have I run out of Diet Pepsi?

Why can't I convince my husband to go get me some Diet Pepsi from the shop?

Why do I need to wear two bras to control The Ladies?

Why do I always look forward to the weekend?

Why do the weekends never live up to the hype?

Why do I fear for the future of Miley Cyrus?

Why do I care about Miley Cyrus?

Why do I stay up late at night when I've been dying to get to my bed all day long?

Why were Kermit and Miss Piggy together?  She was horrible.

Why do I worry that I am Miss Piggy?

Why do I have so many questions?

Sunday, 13 June 2010

Conversations I’m not prepared for.


I just went to turn off the girls' light. Eilidh looked at my nightie (yes - it's 7.45pm and I'm in my nightwear... what!?) and said,

"I like your nightie"


"Do you wear it in bed?"

"Yes, to keep me cosy"

"Well, what does Daddy wear?"

"Dunno - a pair of pyjamas"

"Well, I hope he's not naked, cos you wouldn't want to touch his penis"

"Er... no - I wouldn't want to do that".


Seriously - what the…?

Friday, 4 June 2010

Things that make me cry.


I have been rather emotional of late.  For no reason, other than I’m a girl.  Yes, that’s a valid excuse. 

  • Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.  Really – does this need any explanation?  Though Ty’s little beard thing makes me cry.  Cry for him. It’s bad.
  • Pictures of my friend’s newborn little girl.  I know how long she’s waited for her.  And she’s beautiful.
  • Early mornings. 
  • Body Attack class.  I really don’t know what that one’s about.  Probably just tiredness from the aforementioned early mornings…  Or crying cos I realise my body is going to have to be attacked with a scalpel to make any real difference.
  • Odd socks.  Unless there are people in this house wearing three socks at a time, I just don’t know what’s going on there.  I really hope Robbie’s not wearing three socks.  The Red Hot Chilli Peppers are the only people that could get away with it.  And even then…
  • No more baby gate.  Really – I was sobbing when I took that away from the top of the stairs.  We just didn’t need it.  Cos my babies are big.  And there’s no more babies.  And so there were tears.. :(
  • Lazytown’s ‘Teamwork’ song.  Really!! 
  • Turning 34.  I was 34 last week.  Wow.  Old.  Ever since I turned 30, I’ve had a couple of tears on my birthday. I don’t want to be old! :(

Well.  I think I’ve listed most things.  But, there are things that make me happy.

  • Chocolate and sweets.

Do you need my address to send me some? 

dianna's toes

Wednesday, 12 May 2010

General musings in my scatter brain

  • If I had three boys instead of three girls, I could shave off at least 15 minutes from my morning routine.  Or maybe just shave off their hair.
  • I have sore ankles and am wearing ankle supports.  (Running with a big booty takes it’s toll.)  I’m now wondering if I were to strap them round my feet, if I could make them a smaller size.  Like chinese foot binding.  I could get in to so many cute styles if I had smaller feet.  I’m a size 8 (uk).  Have you seen what’s on offer for size 8’s?  Aside from the ones with the built up soles?  Nasty.
  • People add me to their facebook pages, even though they don’t know who I am, nor me, them.  Strange.  I’m a rubbish friend to the people I DO know.  So don’t make me try and be friends with someone that I have a tenuous link with.  My lousiness can only be stretched so far.
  • I have too many appliances in my house that have broken within the last couple of weeks.  These include, but not limited to (knowing my luck) , my oven, tumble dryer, shower screen and now my washing machine.  I think this is where the term ‘The Total Shaft’, comes in.  I’d like to find the person that made up the saying about things happening in threes, and slap them.  Cos that’s at least 4.  I won’t bore you with all the other little things that are wrong. 
  • Am also now considering becoming really friendly with someone that plays the lottery, so that when they win the Euro Millions, they’ll feel inclined to give me a substantial share in their winnings.  Let me know if you’d like to be this special friend.  I’ll even add you on facebook.
  • I can’t find my eyebrow tweezers.  This means trouble.  Cos I’m spiky.
  • I do LOVE diet Pepsi.  I drink it like you see men drink whiskey in films.  You know, they take a swig and then curl their top lip above their top teeth and take a sharp intake of breath.  This move is also used when trying to tough out pain.  Like when I fell in the bath the other day and fell on a Peppa Pig figurine and smashed it in to my knee. 
  • I’m secretly laughing at everyone that has had their travel plans upset because of the volcano in Iceland.  (Who knew that Iceland had more to offer than just Lazytown?)  I’m only laughing, cos I’m jealous that they had at least the hope of going on holiday.


Umm… yeah.  Think that’s it.  I won’t bore you with anything else rattling around in there.  Just now…

Thursday, 6 May 2010

Buns of steel..underneaththejelly.


Yeah, so I’ve been gymming.  And why is my spell check underlining this word?  It’s a real word.

My sister had encouraged me to go to a weight resistance class called Body Pump.  And in my desire to look like Jillian Michaels (pfft – yeah, right.  The impossible dream.  She’s got nice hair though too.  Meh – i can’t achieve that either..) I decided to go.

Yeah, that’s me.

Actually imagine a few lbs (it’s my blog, I can lie if I want to)  bigger.  Also, wearing one of Robbie’s old T-shirts, that he got given at work and are emblazoned with DELL and Symantec logos. Also imagine my hair scraped back in one of my daughter’s hairbands and a purple hair elastic.  No cute side sweep fringe like the girl in the pic.  And my men’s trainers, cos all the cute girl trainers are too narrow for my big old flipper feet.  

Well, at least I was there, right?  And I did the class.  And I was  pretty good at it. 

And then, the next day came.

And I was dying a death.  I seriously couldn’t move.  I couldn’t get up and down the stairs.  I had to crawl downstairs.  Backwards.  I couldn’t lift my arms to feed my beach ball face.  (Interesting new diet idea..)  I couldn’t sit down and get up from the loo without rapid breathing and straining, like I was in the latter stages in labour.

And this lasted for about 3 days. 

I’m actually typing this with a special head tapper that I’ve fashioned out of a wire coat hanger, wrapped around my head, with a cotton bud at the end, to press the keys.

Ok, that last statement was a lie.  But everything else is correct.  And I want to know how all the folk on The Biggest Loser manage to be shouted in the face by Jillian Michaels, pushed to the limit, day after day and are still able to get up and down stairs properly…

Until that time, I’m thinking about having this installed…  Sure my muscles are fine now, but stairs are just too taxing anyway..


Thursday, 29 April 2010

Yeah – so I’ve been AWOL. Again.


But I reserve the right to do so.  I’ll be honest. 

Sometimes I just can’t be bothered. 

Sometimes I like to play with my friends on Facebook.  There’s a group of us that email back and forth and sometimes, they are just too funny, endearing, entertaining, loving and rude to ignore. 

Sometimes I don’t post cos I feel like I’m being rebellious.  (Don’t try and get inside my head… I can’t figure me out..)

But this time, I was busy!  I’d been looking at Sarah’s blog and LOVING all her cute ideas and crafty (actual crafty, not sneaky) ways.  She inspired me to get pictures on walls, look at things in second hand stores, and generally just to make things prettier.

*Disclaimer*  I am in NO way suggesting that my stuff’s as good as Sarah’s…  Cos really, it ain’t.  I’m not even going to be posting pics..  I just don’t want you all to come to visit, expecting a home full of beautiful crafty things, with beautiful details and then being disappointed when you find… nuffin’.  Look – I’ve at least got a picture on my wee family on the wall.  What more do you want?


Anyway.  Other than painting light shades, drilling holes for display shelves, hammering nails for pictures, my life’s been pretty uneventful.  Nothing blog worthy at all.  I’ll bullet point a couple of things that I reckon are at least worth a sort of mention..

*My two younger girls are both in nursery in the afternoon now.  One day, I had a tummy bug (see?  You really don’t want a blog post on me camping out on the loo) and all I needed was my bed.  i got to go for a half hour nap.  In my bed.  During the day. It was magic.  Truly.  I’d take another week of the trots to make me feel validated in taking another midday nap..

*I’m still going to the gym.  But what really startles me, is how many women get dressed wearing NO PANTS (underwear pants..).  Am I the only one?!  Isn’t that uncomfortable!?  I asked Robbie about this one night, after coming home from the Changing Room that Underwear Forgot.  He told me that he never used to wear underwear when he was younger.  He’d just sling on his jeans and go.  My overactive imagination left me thinking about the pencil case I had in primary4.  It was a furry one, and the zip kept getting stuck in all the fur….

*I’m going for a lip and chin wax on Saturday morning.  (See the train of thought there?  And the very real lack of exciting things to tell you about?)

*I want to start running again.  I was running around 10 miles this time last year.  Unfortunately, cakes found me.  It’s the most evil pursuit ever.  But I feel the need to be able to conquer it.  Meh… cakes are so good though…

*I turn 34 at the end of May.  I feel quite, quite sick.  Turning 30 was hellish.  Now, I’m slapping on the anti-aging creams and lotions, trying to reverse the signs of aging, but disappointed that they can’t actually stop the clock on my age.  34.  Sick and wrong.  Maybe I’ll wear a black armband that day, as a sign of my mourning for youth gone and beauty going…

So, there.  That’s it.  Now, I must see to the crying baby (she’s 2,  But as the youngest, she will always be the baby.)

And how are all of you?

Wednesday, 31 March 2010

Good and bad Karma.

So now that I have a couple of hours ‘to myself’ each afternoon (which actually only an hour and a half, after you count travel time to and from school) I thought I’d do all the cleaning things that you can’t really do with the kids about. 

So I cleaned out my oven.  Who knows that last time that baby got a good cleaning.  Probably the last time my MIL was up.  She seems to be able to find stuff to clean that I have overlooked..  I think it’s a talent.  Or maybe before that.  Cos I found a couple of charred crinkle cut chips in the back.  And I honestly can’t remember the last time I bought those.

Just as I was getting in to it, scrubbing away all the residue built up from so many weeks/months/years, I broke the glass panel on the inside of the oven door.

Which leads me to another point.  I read somewhere that when something bad happens, it’s a good stress reliever to swear.  Don’t go asking me to support that theory with references.  I can’t remember.  All I know is that it was tried and tested.  And while I’m not sure if I was feeling less stress after my tirade of potty mouthed words, the words used certainly captured the feelings and sentiments of the moment.

Lesson learned?  That oven could’ve gone a few more weeks/months/years without a good clean.  Cleaning can be destructive.  Therefore, evil.


On another note, it was the eldest’s Easter service at school today. 

I didn’t go.

Don’t start judging.  At least til I give reasons that you may judge more harshly.

I didn’t want to go.  Plain and simple.  It was in the afternoon.  I’d just got the younger two off to nursery.  The minister bloke that goes to the service is boring.  And he dyes his hair black.  Which disturbs me.  Cos maybe he’s an Elvis impersonator in his spare time.  And it’s always really busy.  And hot.  And the parents are noisy.  Seriously.

But – I did use my time wisely.  I tried fixing our car’s windscreen wipers.  And I bought bread.  Umm….. and I cleaned out the washing machine….  And I phoned a garage.

And am I glad that I didn’t go.  Karma was good to me.  As pay back from the oven incident, I managed to avoid the STENCH of bums and pits at the Easter Service.  I kid you not.  When I went to the school to collect Eilidh, I passed through the hall where the service had been held.  And it was REEKING.  I couldn’t have imagined having to sit through that for an hour while having to inhale the bodily odours from a couple of manky, smelly parents. 

And also, cos the oven’s not working I got to give the kids a McDonalds meal without feeling too guilty about contributing to their childhood obesity.


Thursday, 25 March 2010


The Egg is now at nursery.  I now have 2 hours every afternoon to myself.

Though, in my first half hour of freedom, I have found myself ‘celebrating’ by watching an episode of Dynasty.  Just cos it’s not Waybuloo or In the Night Garden.  But then I got sidetracked playing on Facebook and when I looked up at the tv again, there was some shot with an old guy, with what seemed like a really bad hair piece, kissing this haggard looking woman.  Open mouthed, dirty kiss.  I thought he had lock jaw.  I actually felt sick.  Turned out it wasn’t Dynasty anymore, but some show called Roses are for the Rich.

Maybe I’m not so good on my own.

Meh…. who am I kidding!??!?!  Yeehhaaaa, baby!  All the things I can do!!

Well – right now I’ll put away laundry and I may even put my ipod on. 

Yeah.  I know how to live.

Monday, 15 March 2010

Hello, Windows Live Writer.

You appeal to my lazy side. 

Ok, to suggest I have more than one side to me is silly.  I’m lazy.  From all sides..

I’m so lazy that when I was at the gym the other night, I’d convinced myself that 15 mins on the cross trainer, then a 5 minute run would more than suffice.  After all, I had to hurry home.  We were phoning in chinese food.

When I got on the treadmill, and roughly 2 minutes in (the time where I think I’m going to cough up my right lung) i was about to slow it down to an easy amble, when my trainer walked by. 

And this weird need to please rose within me.  It’s a weird thing I have, this need to please.  Anyhoo – it took hold and made me run a little longer.  Just until she was finished talking to the person next to my treadmill.

Ok – so she talked for 20 minutes.   And I was dying a death.  But did I show her.  I showed her that I was sticking to my programme.  She’ll be so pleased with me when it’s time to go back for my ‘check –in’.

So I thought I’d go for a wee swim after.  A couple of lengths and I was ready for a warm up in the jacuzzi.  Of course, you know she came to check the pool and got talking to someone in there too.

Yes – I had to keep swimming til she was finished.  Yes, I was cursing my irrational behaviour.  And after 45 minutes, I was beginning to judge her for talking too much.

Those prawn crackers tasted so good by the time I got home…

Tuesday, 9 March 2010

I know I'm lucky/fortunate..selfish?

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but my beautiful girl, (the first born in the wilderness) has Asperger's.  Her assessment came just before she started school, but since then she has learned ways of dealing with her 'issues'.  To today, where you would be hard pushed to associate the label of Asperger's with Eildh.

She is a beautiful, talented, sensitive and loving child.  I know that we're lucky that she's part of our family.

When I was dropping Hannah off at nursery today, which is next to Eilidh school, there was a boy, about 10 years old, being held by the head teacher, as he was sobbing and shouting.  I think he was trying to run away.  The head teacher (who obviously knows Eilidh and has had meetings with me about her and her 'condition') looked at me and said

"You could have it a lot worse."

And that upset me.  Because, she's right.  Eilidh could be a lot less functioning.  She could have extreme signs of this condition.  She could struggle at school, and I think I would struggle to help her. 

And then I felt guilty.  Guilty that I felt relieved, that I wasn't the mother having to come to the school to help my crying child. 

And then I feel guilty at feeling grateful for my beautiful girls.  The girls that I know I moan about, who are naughty and headstrong, but at the same time, loving and kind and healthy.  I continually forget about perspective.  And how lucky I am.

Tuesday, 2 March 2010

I'm famous.

Really - I am!

Check here!! Thank you Tina!!!

Also in today's news. I'm thinking of buying myself a defibrillator. Cos at this rate, these kids are going to give me a heart attack, and it's better to be proactive, than reactive, right?

And I'm not talking about the time I took Eggy to ASDA to get some shopping, and she was screaming the place down, to the point were folk were offering sweets to her, and giving me pitiful looks.

Nor am I talking about the time that the kids were on a go slow. They couldn't be bothered walking the length of themselves. In the snow. Just after a murder had taken place at the aforementioned ASDA, and there was a news team trying to interview me to find out what I thought of the mindless shooting in the car park.. When, rather selfishly, all I could think about, was hijacking their news van and driving myself home.

Nor am I referring to the time we went to Pizza Hut for lunch, and instead of getting the Caesar Salad, I ended up with a near stomach ulcer and the longing for the ability to be invisible. (Actually, if I was wishing for things, that would probably end up on the bottom of the list, after perfectly behaved kids and the ability to embarrass Jillian Michaels with my super strength and svelteness.) All because of one screaming child in a high chair, and another customer tutting and saying "for goodness sake", at my apparent lack of parenting skills and inability to calm the untamable Esther.

Yeah - today I'm referring to my two youngest 'darlings' who, while we were in a sports shop, decided to wait til my back was turned, and both ran away. Out of the shop. Down the road.

Cut to me running after them (i need to wear a sports bra all the time, if I'm going to be really proactive....) and shrieking like a mad woman. I could hear myself and the piercing noise I was making. But I'd had that 5 seconds of fear, not knowing where they were , then finding them, ( albeit running away) and feeling relieved, but unbelievably mad that they put me through that most awful 5 seconds of fear. And then, me grabbing them both by their collars, and chastising and cancelling trips to the pet shop and withdrawing offers of buying sweets, in that low voice, as you're nose to nose. All the while, being annoyed that I'm nowhere near any kind of naughty step, where I can leave them to think about their actions.

Pfft. Until they're all in their 20's, and causing me different kinds of problems, I'm off to see if I can buy a defibrillator on Amazon.  I'll charge it up, using the static created by Esther's hair.

Tuesday, 9 February 2010

Unlike a good wine, THIS doesn't age well.

I've been having one of my 'panic-attacks-over-my-age' moments. And know that when I say I'm having a panic attack, I'm not really. I like to over dramatise. But also, know this – that it is a real concern for me. Mostly the times when I look in the mirror, and catch a sight of laughter lines round my eyes that won't disappear, when I'm no longer laughing. And then new lines appear when I'm crying, after looking at the ever present laughter lines. See? I'm over dramatising again. But, believe you me, I was crying on the inside. These wrinkles (there – I said it) are here to stay. And no amount of beauty product is going to get rid of them. And yes, I've tried. Believe me. I've tried.

So, this panic attack moment has been with me since the start of the week. This time, it was spurred on by my grey hairs making themselves known. I need to get my hair dyed again. Sheesh. I need a lot of upkeep in my advancing years.

But it certainly wasn't helped when Eilidh came home from school and was asking me questions for her school project – When Mum and Dad were Young. Well. The title itself is a real kick in the shins. But her line of questioning was a real stab to the heart.

“Did you have electricity when you were a girl?”

“Did you have a television when you were young?”

“Did you go to school when you were my age?”

Well. Ain't that just dandy. I tried not to take out my sheer disbelief and indignation on her. And I tried to calmly give my answers to her questions. And no, I didn't use any swear words. Not out loud, anyway. But, inside my wrinkled head, they were swirling about.

One thing they didn't have when I was young, was a 24 hour supermarket. Cos that night, a hair dye was bought. Along with a new facial wash promising me youth untold, and a chocolate bar. No – chocolate isn't an age-reversing product. It just makes the journey in to old age that much more bearable.

Yeah.  You look at those wrinkles.

Tuesday, 2 February 2010

A heid like a burst couch.

Yes - this is what one woman said about my daughter's hair.  And you know what?  I can't even deny it. 

I posted a pic of Esther's huge hair a wee while ago, here.  Since then, her hair has gathered more power, grown bigger, and looks set on world domination. In my mind, it's kinda like the computer thing from Superman III, that feeds off of electricity, and becomes stronger and stronger, and a force unto itself.

Here it is, as of this morning. 

And before you start calling Social Services, don't worry.  I do make an attempt to stick a clasp in it.  But to be honest, that's an animal that is born to be wild, and will never be tamed...

Sunday, 24 January 2010

Ah, the mighty Weight Watchers leader.

So - it's been a while since I was at Fat Class.  Enough time for most of my weight to go back on.  Dammit.  Oh well, at least I can be big enough (hello - the problem here, I think?!) to stand up and admit I need to go back to Fat Class and get back on the straight and narrow.  I also swallowed my pride and joined a gym again.  Yes, with emphasis on the again.  I don't think there'll ever be a time when I'll look like Heidi Klum, and not like Roseanne Barr.  Anyhoo.

So, after being weighed and finding that I'd only lost 2.5 lbs ( I fully expect to lose 14 lbs every week...at least, I always hope), I took a seat, and waited to be inspired by our leader in all things non-cake.  Ready to listen to her pearls of wisdom, recipe ideas and tips on how to perform a home jaw wiring procedure.

She started talking about exercise.  I was feeling quietly smug with msyelf.  I'd been to the gym 5 times that week.  Nearly killing myself every time. (Damn that treadmill.  It's the work of the devil.)  I waited to hear how she told everyone how important it is to exercise, and how they should look to me as their shining example, and that they should come to me for tips and hints.

Ok - maybe too far with that, but suffice to say, I was feeling ready to hear things I already knew.

So, I was wrong.

According to the mighty Weight Watchers leader, I shouldn't be going to the gym.  As a "heavy" person, I "don't want to go to the gym and kill yourself in the classes".  As a "fat" person, I "don't want to be on the treadmill, working up a sweat".  And swimming?  You don't want to "grease yourself in to a swimsuit and go swimming.  You'd create a tsunami!"

(And to reiterate.  The use of " " IS correct.  She DID say these things.  No paraphrasing.)


Here's her good ideas on exercise. 

Sitting on your sofa, pedalling one of those pedal things, for no more than 10 minutes at a time.  My gran's got one.  She's 86.

Go up the stairs instead of the escalator.  I've only got stairs in my house. ;)

Carry your shopping to the car, instead of taking the trolley to the car.

Put the radio on, and dance to some music.

And there you have it.  I've clearly got it wrong.  Obviously, I'm never going to lose the 14 lbs a week if I keep going to the gym.  I need to abandon that silly notion, and mug my gran for her pedal machine.  (What ARE those things called?!)

By the way - you all owe me £4.95.  Cos I've basically just given you a free Weight Watchers class.

Cash only.

Friday, 8 January 2010

Get outta my dreams...

So, Billy Ocean may have had pleasant dreams about hot looking chicas, and getting them in to his car.  On a side note, if Billy were to pick me up in his car, all I'd want, is to be taken to a McDonald's drive-thru.  I think, medically, physiologically, my body NEEDS Big Macs and chocolate milkshakes.  It's science.  I can't argue with fact.  And on another side note, who else feels like a complete TOOL, asking for their products, and having to prefix everything with Mc.  I once asked for a kids meal with chicken pieces.  The girl (with 5 stars on her badge -  she must have been the supervisor, or summit..) stared at me blankly, just wondering what the hell I was talking about.  Maybe she thought I was a spy from Burger King.  Maybe she was just so pro-the-use-of-Mc, that she refused to take any order unless i used the 'correct' terminology for it.  Pfft. 

Anyway.  back to dreams, Billy Ocean etc.  Today, it was like someone looked in to my brain, saw my worst nightmare, and let me live it out in real life.  Where there's no respite.  Where there's no hope of waking up, and feeling the sweet sense of relief pouring over me.

Today, we had to take Eggy and Hannah to the doctor's to get their swine flu jabs.  No big deal.  I can get my head round that.  But to take them to the surgery and find it FULL of other kids... some crying, some shouting, some pulling hair, some just sitting, staring in to space, clearly as horrified as I was.

I'm not a fan of kids.

What!?  Don't lie.  Neither are you.. really.  I mean - other people's kids.  Come on - admit it.  See?  Told you.  I'm just honest about it.. ;)

There is my nightmare.  A room full of kids.  And their parents.  And the unsaid parenting contest that goes on.  There's the mother who INSISTS on reading to her child, and saying in a too loud voice "come on darling, i know you love the story of Macbeth, remember you read it to me that time we were at home eating crudities and hummus, just before the spanish teacher arrived to teach you your spanish verbs?"

The kid is 5.

Or, the speaking in the third person.  "Darling, you're hurting mummy's arm leaning on it like that.  How would you like it if mummy were to lean on your arm?  Yes, that's what mummy was saying.. don't do it, darling."

The kid is 15.

And then just all the kids.  So many kids.  TOO many kids.

I seem to be the Pied Piper of kids.  They seem to flock to me.  Even doing the school run, all of Eilidh's school mates seem to come to me to say hello, and to tell me their tales of Golden Time, and their projects, and who was naughty in class.  I must just have a face on me, that encourages childlike banter.  In my mind, i'm like Rocky, where he's running, and all the kids are running alongside him.  He seems not to mind.  But I would have stopped running, turned around, and told them to beat it.  And probably not be able to get started running again, thus then fuelling my disdain for the pesky kids.

In fact, any place where there are kids, seems to grind my gears. When I see adverts on the telly, i think - great- some chillaxing beside the pool.  And then they advertise activities for the kids.  Then the red flag in my brain goes up and yells ALERT, ALERT!  Children + holiday =  NO HOLIDAY!

I don't think I'll ever get over my grouchiness towards large gatherings of kids.  I wonder if there's a name for it.  A technical term.  Then at least, i could be excused for feeling this way..

"Claire?  No - she won't want to come to the kids' party.  She's got Childrephobia."

"Oh, really?  Such a shame.  She seems fabulous"

"Yes - she really is fantastic.  It's amazing she does so much, despite this chronic condition"

I'm going to CREATE this condition.  Maybe I'll even insert an entry to Wikipedia, cos you know, once it's in there, it's true.