Man cave gets makeover

Farewell man cave, the good husband's love affair with you was brief. As with everything, so it too has come to pass that you shall be turned over to Mim...

In preparation of its transformation from dark and dusty man cave to play room - not the Fifty Shades kind I hasten to add - we have become very well acquainted with Gumtree, Urmston's finest charity shops, the local tip and memories we'd long forgotten.

Boxes unopened for several years contained odds and bobs from lives gone by. Why on earth had we hung on to some of this stuff? My home and my heart feel so much lighter for finding a new home for the happy things and unceremoniously disposing of the rest. For his part, the good husband actually consigned his Kurt Cobain pictures to the bin, but with a wry smile I note that 'Festival Hat' was retained. His beloved amp was sold, courtesy of gumtree, to two kids with stardom in their eyes and their parents hard-earned money burning a hole in their pockets. They knocked on to collect it and I lost Mik for an hour as he went on a nostalgia bender with the young pups. Emerging later he announced that they reminded him of his younger self and that he was driving them to the pub so they could have a celebratory pint with their new amp. Only the Good Husband...

The unexpected bonus from all this sorting, selling, lugging and trashing has been the discovery of Millie's favourite new pastime - a trip to the local tip to 'feed the junk monster'. After seeing a big yellow digger crush some of our meagre offerings she laughed like a hyena possessed and cried as we left, wailing -'junk monsteerrrr', 'I NEEEEED to see him' through gasping sobs. Oh the melodrama! We have now added junk monster visits to our list of favourite freebie outings.

So, the cellar is finally empty and work has started. Hooray! In five more weeks we'll have some new rooms to fill with Millie's paraphernalia, somewhere to hide all the mounds of washing and ironing, and I get three more rooms to clean... Hmmmm, didn't think this one through...



Where did the stairs go?



The grapes of wrath...

I like grapes. I like them squished and fermented into wine. White, red or rose, I'm not fussed. I like to scoff them when they're plump and juicy. I even like them in raisin form when they are happily contained within a mince pie or an artery busting eccles cake. However, what I do not like are raisins that are free range. The reason that I do not like them in this state is because they get everywhere. And I mean everywhere.

These are the places and spaces that I have found the little interlopers in recent weeks:

1. Squashed to the bottom of my foot
2. Millie's nappy
3. My handbag
4. Pooled in the bottom of Millie's car seat
5. In fact, pooled in every possible bit of floor space in my car
6. The couch. Behind the couch and under the couch
7. Squished into the rug
8. My bed
9. Millie's bed
10. Crammed into baby doll's mouth
11. Jammed in the cracks of the floorboards
12. In my bra

Anywhere, it would seem, but in their little boxes or in Millie's chops.

If I see one on the floor I suddenly panic that we have an infestation of mice, until closer inspection reveals that it is, in fact, a wizened old raisin. You'd be forgiven for thinking that I never clean my house, my child or myself. You would be wrong. I clean like a demon but much as I try I cannot seem to get away from the wrinkly little feckers. I even treated myself to a mini handheld vaccuum to aid matters. It did not. I'm still finding them. I despair!

Someone must know the answer. Anyone?

NB. I don't think not buying them would solve the matter.

It takes two...

As I cried into my not-so-Cheerios at the prospect of turning 36 and lamented the fact that birthdays used to be something to look forward to, I consoled myself with the prospect of Millie's second birthday just five days hence. Yes! All that pent up energy and excitement could now be directed into fashioning Peppa Pig out of royal icing and wrapping treasure hunt prizes. It's not everyone's cup of tea I'm sure, but I live for this sort of mumsy stuff. Cue preparation for a camping trip with family and friends.



It was a great Lakes weekend, as they always are. But this was made even better by having a troop of little-uns chasing rabbits, creeping over bridges guarded by trolls, running about fields playing chase and eating copious amounts of jelly. I'd quite forgotten how much pleasure could be had from eating jelly. You can view the highlights here.

I still can't believe I'm the mother of a two year old, but then I still haven't come to terms with the fact that I carried on getting older after 27, which is when I would have liked to pause the ageing process. Oh well.

While you hear a great deal about the terrible twos, and believe me, my girl can scream for England when required to do something she doesn't want to; what they don't tell you is that it is also a time when they are displaying their most loving, affectionate and funny behaviour.

Life becomes a delicate balance on the pleasure/ pain scale. I hold my breath and count to ten during the 'episodes' and focus instead on all the lovely stuff. A typical morning can be characterised thus:

* I am greeted by a bright-eyed Millie and a squeeze of a hug (pleasure)
* This is rapidly followed by a stand-off as to why she can't watch yet another episode of Peppa Pig, cue thrashing and wailing (pain)
* Pause for breakfast (breathe)
* Battle ensues over nappy change (pain)
* Getting dressed is conducted at a glacial pace as she likes to 'do it myself, Mummy' (entente cordiale)
* This is rapidly followed by repeated cries to take baby for a walk, which increase steadily in pitch and volume until I have hastily put some clothes on the right way around and we're ready to go (pain)
* Then take buggy, baby, monkey, pet haggis (don't ask) and other assorted paraphernalia for a jaunt around the block and have fun chatting to passersby and looking at interesting things like sticks (?!) (pleasure)
* About half way round she inevitably gets bored/ tired. I then carry buggy, passengers and Millie all the way back home (pain, and yet another reminder as to why I must renew my gym membership)

This could all explain why I'm looking and feeling so much older than my rapidly advancing years these days. God help me in another 12 months...

The Mothers...

A few weeks back I was delighted to welcome the lovely Rebecca Lupton, photographer and creator of inspired blog The Mothers, into my home. I'd agreed to take part in her photography project and share my own stories and experiences of motherhood.

Naturally Millie chose that day to be a bit of a grump but Bec still managed to get some great pics which have now gone up on the site. I have taken comfort and inspiration from lots of the great stories posted on there over the last few months, so I'm really proud to be able to add mine and Millie's story to the rich mix of experiences on there.

Get on and have a look. Oh, and there's one for dad's too!

The Lonely Bouquet

So there I was this, out and about for a little stroll in Chorlton Water Park with Millie this morning, when I spotted a lovely bouquet of flowers perched on a bench. I assumed they'd been left in memorial for someone and was walking on by when I noticed an interesting looking tag. I stopped to take a closer look and found this...

What a lovely idea! Once I got back home, I checked out the link and discovered it was part of International Lonely Bouquet Day - a movement dedicated to spreading happiness and smiles, one flower at a time. I feel very lucky that for once my nosiness has rewarded me with something so nice. I've been smiling all afternoon especially because Millie was with me to enjoy such a lovely surprise.

The flowers were left there by Blossom Flowers in Chorlton. They are absolutely beautiful and smell amazing. I think it's fair to say I'll be stopping by soon to say thank you and buy some more!!

A Day in the life

Wake up. Do a bit of light hoovering



Fatigues on. Ready to maraud. Stop to admire giant rabbits first



Drive by and a flirt with my friend Charlie. I love Charlie



Paused to scoff my dinner. Saw off some of Daddy's aswell



Bit bushed. Had a power nap with my babies



Quick costume change. Kept on my welly boots. Naturally



Had a bit of dialogue with Mummy. She seemed to think I was ready for bed. Fool!

Something has got to give...

...and that's my excuse for not writing this blog for a good three months.

Between full-time work, being a full-time Mum, the W.I., various community-related endeavours and my entirely unnecessary penchant for things being spick and span and ironed to boot (and yes this does include everything from baby vests to bed sheets - I blame my parents), I find that I'm a little short on time these days. However, I had to find the time to share the latest Mim'isms.

She loves everybody, it's her favourite phrase. Always delivered with a very coy look. I am usually bottom of the list and certainly well after she's pronounced her love of sausages. It's galling to be quite frank but I accept this is how it is these days. Mummy is reliable, dependable and always there. Mummy is like white noise, dull every day white noise compared to the cacophony of new, varied and exciting sounds to be heard elsewhere.

Singing. The first line into our customary bedtime song (Crazy by Patsy Cline) she joined in, crooning along with me like a teeny, tiny pub singer. I laughed out loud in suprise and joy. Quite why this should be so joyous to me I can't explain but there you go, that's motherhood I suppose.




I've been singing Patsy Cline to her every night in lullaby since she was born, so it would seem that repetition, repetition, repetition really is the key. Not that this bodes well for the time its going to take for repetition to work on the discipline front. And we'll need it!

My Dad amused himself greatly the other day by telling me: "She's wilful that one, she's going to be trouble'
Me: 'Worse than me Dad?'
Dad:'Oh much, much worse!' (cue smug chuckling to himself)

Crap.