Thursday, April 28, 2005

I'm applying to go on Big Brother

Yup, that's it. I'm wanting to go on big Brother. I need a vacation. I need a break from the busy, busy monotony of my life. I need to be away from my family for a bit. Big Brother isn't long. Twelve weeks. Twelve weeks of lounging in the sun, hot-tubbing, camp-style games, sleeping-in, isolation from crap television and news, and meeting new people.

Sounds Great.
Sounds like Bliss.

Why do I want to be away from my family for twelve glorious weeks? Here's a breakdown of my day. The morning is spent chasing after my daughter to hurry up and eat your cereal, hurry up and brush your teeth, hurry up and get dressed, hurry up and stop fooling around, hurry up or you'll miss the bus. She eventually starts telling me to shut-up and leave her alone. I have to ground her and yell at her for being so rude, I feel like the worst parent in the world; how could I have raised such a sassy-faced witch. I end up wanting to throttle her, but send her off to school with a kiss instead.

The Baby is moaning. She's tired. She wants a bottle. She's tired. She wants a cuddle. She's tired, but God help me if I put her in her crib; then the screaming begins. I make her another bottle. She finally goes to sleep.'s up. She's asleep...she's awake. Finally. She's asleep. Is she? Yes. Are you sure? Yes...yes...I don't know. Yes. Better go check. She hears me on the squeaky landing and cries. *Sigh*. Finally she's asleep. For real this time. I need some breakfast. Coffee.

I get some blogging done, some laundry done, some dishes washed. Order groceries online. Book my driving test (£42, how outrageous! Lord help me if I fail!) and some research for my writing. I'll need to fold and put away some laundry.

The baby wakes up and wants her lunch. She spits out far more than she eats and we both end up frustrated and gritting our teeth. She's covered in turkey casserole, I'm covered in turkey casserole, and I have a mess to clean. I'll also need to change her clothes. Off goes my television shows and on goes Teletubbies, Fireman Sam, Tweenies and other brain oozing kiddies shows. I figure I'll get some paragraphs in, but every time I get near the computer, the baby toddles over and bawls in her fake manner, wipes snot on my thigh and bites at the seam in my jeans. I must sit on the carpet with her, and watch the Teletubbies. I'm longing to get my fingers on the keyboard...but I'm held hostage on the carpet. Two hours later we have played with all the toys, and I've watched about as much tots TV as I can cope with. She screeches at me as I walk away. I'm only going into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Screech. Screech. Screech. My ears are bleeding.

Afternoon and it's time to pick up Sassy-Face from the bus-stop. I wait, it's windy, a bit spitty rain, but we wait for her. When the bus finally arrives I can tell from the expression on her she's not had a good day. She gets home and complains about everything from having to change out of her muddy school uniform, to my suggestions for snacks which, to her, do not include candy or potato chips. How dare I suggest a banana or apple for a snack! I've decided to not talk to her, if she wants to talk she will and I'll not respond unless it's something nice. Two hours later...

Hubby comes home. He's had a hard day. He's not into chit-chat right now. He needs some quiet. He plays with the baby for a few minutes, has a quick hello with Sassy, sneaks some candy into his face and kisses me on the head. He goes upstairs for a lie down. I would kill for a lie down, but I go and rattle and bang every pot and pan I own in my attempt to cook dinner instead.

The baby and Sassy are playing "Catch-me" and running back and forth in and out of the kitchen. The baby decides she's now hungry and doesn't want to play anymore. She wants to hang on my trousers and scream at me to feed her. More biting on my jeans and then she resorts to eating onion skins she finds on the floor, pulling the clean laundry out of the basket and sucking on the labels, or pulling the assorted filth out of the trashbin. She also opens all the kitchen drawers and spills barley all over the floor that I have to stop and vacuum up. I'm shouting, ranting, saying "Naughty baby!". Hubby naps on.

Dinner is ready, The baby spits out more than she eats, Sassy picks at the various greenery and makes faces, trying to hid things under her napkin, or suddenly feigns illness. Hubby gulps his down and puts the TV on to watch his favorite shows. Baby moans, Sassy grumps and soon they're all falling into tears. Hubby complains that he only wants to watch these two shows. I sigh and take the grumpkins upstairs for a bath. Bathtime is usually painless, they both love it and don't mind sharing the tub (We've never had a "Floater" incident, not yet anyways). Baby is pajama-ed up, and given to Hubby to watch while I finish with Sassy-Face. Once she's all washed, she's left to get herself in P.J.'s while I get the Baby, now called "The Wriggler" from Hubby. She gets a bottle and is taken up to her room for the "Wind-down" I get her off to bed without a struggle *whew*. Sassy-Face is next, story-time, brush teeth, hugs and cuddles for me, hugs and cuddles for Daddy, more for me...she's not letting go...she's climbing into my bed...get out of my bed and go to your bed...stop whining...go now...I'll get Daddy to come up and put you in bed...she's finally in bed.


Yes. Twelve weeks of sun-bathing, lounging around, hot-tubbing will be worth having to eat the occasional raw fish frappe or walk through manure. I'll be tolerant of the more outrageous personalities in the house, I'll have a picture of my family with me to remind me of why I'm there.

Actually, that wouldn't be a good idea. A picture. I would start to miss them, after a week or so. Then, maybe all that Sun would be a bit boring. I'd probably start Mothering the other housemates, cooking and cleaning up after them. I'd miss that other body in my bed at night that steals the covers and snores. I'd miss the baby smell on the baby's head. I'd probably even miss Sassy-Face's pouty lip.

Crap. I guess the sun in the back garden and the Baby's paddling pool will have to suffice for now.

Prejudice starts at Home...

I'm in a mood now. The kids at the bus stop put me in a really snippy mood. Yes, this morning, at the school bus stop, I got into an argument with three English boys who go to my daughter's school.

These three boys were in school uniform, all with various shades of red hair ranging from neon orange to strawberry blond. Cute freckles across every nose, big happy smiles, rosy cheeks.It started very casually with one of the boys commenting on my accent (a frequent and now tolerated occurance). The oldest was 12, then 10, and the youngest was in my daughter's class, he's 6.

12yo: You're from a foreign country aren't you?

Me: Yes I am. I'm from America.

12yo: cool! That's where Orlando is!

Me: *laughing* Yes, but I'm not from Florida. I'm from Massachusetts.

10yo: I don't know that one.

Me: that's ok. You've probably not seen "Jaws" yet.

(Three confused faces that politely ignore that comment)

6yo: I'm from a foreign country too.

12yo: So am I

10yo: We all are.

Me: Really? Where from?

All: England!

Me: England isn't a foreign country.

10yo: Yes it is.

Me: Compared to what?

6yo: Scotland.

Me: England and Scotland are in the same country. They are the same country.

All Three: No it's not! (Hands on hips, the young one stomped his foot!)

Me: Yes it is. *nodding my head, bemused*

12yo: They are not the same country.

Me: Yes they are. Shall I list why?

10yo: Ireland isn't. It's a different country. So's Scotland! *hands on hips, pointing at me*

Me: Ireland is a different country. Scotland is the same as England. They have the same money, same laws, same taxes. We vote for the same Prime Minister, suffer the same Monarchy, and speak the same language. We read the same newspapers, watch the same television channels and eat the same foods. We are one country, with different customs and traits, but still one country. Just like in America, there's different sorts of people in all the different States, but someone from Hawaii would never say someone from Florida wasn't an American, they know they are both American. You can think of Scotland and England as States in the same country, but they are not separate countries. (The 12yo is shaking his head "NO")

10yo: My Dad says they are.

Me: (quietly)Your Dad is mistaken. You and my kids, are all British. All born in the same country. You are neither foreigners from each other.

The bus came then, but the silence hung in the air. Information, altered from the known, was being turned over in those little heads. Something different from the "Trusted Parents" version of history. Something, nicer? Less full of disdain? Less fearful? Truth.

I may have the doorbell ringing later with an angry English parent asking me to butt the hell out of their business, and they may be justified. I, however, do not ever want those boys to think less of my girls because they were born Scottish, and not the All-mighty English. The strength of their need to impress on me they were English, and in no way to be labeled as Scottish shows me the threads of racism are already being woven into their characters.
It shows me that racism is going to be integral into any society: There's always a need to feel superior over someone else. Yet, here, it's against their own kinsmen.

I grew up in North-East America; where we called the Southerners Renecks and Hillbillies, and they called us Yankees (Which I never really felt insulted by to be honest), Californians are Bleeding Heart Hippies and Sprout-Eaters..and well we could go on for everywhere, but no one would ever have said the other wasn't American. (Maybe the Texans, they did want to separate from the Union once upon a time. Lone Stars...)
I've been told due to the past wars, the scars run too deep to ever be forgiven. America had it's own civil war...we got over it. We even pretend and play-fight re-enactments of the old war, then drink and eat afterwards.

I don't know where to go with this. The school? Try and change the views of the parents? Get the teachers to speak of "One"? I will certainly tell my kids the truth. If they are going to come across racism against their Scottish heritage then I want them prepared.

I just despair at the stupidity of it all.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

I love the 80's!

I found this quiz on Louise's blog and just had to share. So very proud of myself for getting a "B" on the test.Try for yourself.

If you put my URL in the last question you'll get a bonus 5 points.

Got some time to kill??

This was the eldest's bedtime story. I am so lame.

Big Red Button

But she did like it...She said "Can we read it again?!"

I said "no."

Saturday, April 23, 2005

It wasn't like this in my day...

Actually, It still is my day. Prom night; a night of dreams! My prom was awesome, I went with my best friend as my date and it was the best thing I ever did. I did live in Hicksville MA so of course there were three pregnant bellies there, a snotty-assed bitch with a big Whitney Housten long curly wig on, and the head cheerleader was rumoured to have been given an eightball as a prom gift from her dealer uncle. What a laugh! Now that I think about it...all those big bellies will have 16 year olds right now. Fuck. I am old. Who told these kids it was okay to go running around like that? Oh! Sorry. Follow this for a clue... If I can get my prom picture scanned in, I'll post it. Don't laugh at my perm was 1989 after all. I chose this colour, because it's the same as my prom dress.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Sometimes, it's all too much...

I know I'm making a mountain out a molehill (ew, yuck; cheesy cliche) but I hate being the center of gossip when it's not even for anything interesting. I'm the overprotective Mom in the neighborhood.

My daughter has a curfew of 5pm on a school night. She is almost 6 years old, but not for 2 more months. The other kids in the neighborhood have a curfew of...whenever it gets dark.

yes. "Whenever it gets dark."

It gets dark at around 8:30pm here. There are a bunch of 5-10 year old kids running around the area from 3:30 until it gets dark. By June it will get dark at about 11:30pm. If any kid rings my doorbell asking if my daughter can come out to play after 7pm they're going to get hosed.

I'm also the mean Mommy. I don't let them come over to my house by the dozen to raid my fridge either. I have a two kid rule. Two friends over at any one time. Three children can trash a room efficiently enough, extra bodies are just unnecessary.

I've told my daughter that when she is 6, we'll move curfew to 6pm. Seems fair to me. My Husband has agreed. There it is.

"She's going to rebel against you really hard when she's a teenager if you don't give her some freedom..." I was told recently. uh-huh, but: SHE IS FIVE YEARS OLD!!! No five year old kid should be running around the town, unsupervised for five hours every night. It's not even like these kids play games or anything. They don't even play ball, I've never seen them kicking a ball around.

They have toy guns though. I Despise toy guns. One of the boys had his 6th birthday yesterday. I asked his Mom what he got for presents. He got a scooter, some action figures and "...about five toy guns." She didn't seem concerned by this.
He could start his own toy militia.
I decided my daughter would not be allowed to date this boy in future. He's headed for the clock tower for sure.

He's pecked, pigeon holed and pegged with my imaginary big red "X".

Access denied!

I am proud to be the overprotective Mom. I want to know where she is, whom she's with and when she'll be home. We recently bought her a wristwatch and taught her to tell time on it so there would be no excuse for coming home late. I'm teaching her responsibility. I'm showing her she's cared about and loved and that I want her around. I'm laying a strong foundation for the future.

I'll deal with her as teenager when the time comes.

Hooray for Paula Radcliffe!

I may have become used to seing men pull over to pee whenever the urge takes them, but it was nice to see a woman do it for good reason.

As a Mom, I'll have to say: "You should've gone before you left!"
As a Girl I'll have to say: "Gawd! Couldn't you find a Port-A-Loo"
As a Woman I'll have to say: "Absolutely fantastic! You did what you had to do, even though you were in the lead by over 5 minutes...christ, couldn't you find a Port-A-Loo? Nevermind..Hooray For You!"
As a Business-minded Freak I'll have to say: "You should sell those pee pants on eBay..."
As a Supportive Friend I'll have to say: "Paula. Depends. They'll never see you pee." or "At least it wasn't the runs..."
As someone who has been there I'll have to say: "You are Awesome."

No idea what I'm talking about? read this.

Paula Radcliffe has apologised for taking a toilet stop in the middle of her London Marathon win yesterday, saying it was an "embarrassing necessity".

But the very public pee by the side of the road did not stop the British athlete finishing more than five minutes ahead of second-placed Romanian Constantina Tomescu-Dita.

Radcliffe completed the 26-mile course in just two hours, 17 minutes and 42 seconds: the third-fastest ever and a new world record for a women's only race.

"When I'm racing I'm totally focused on winning the race and running as fast as possible," the British athlete told the BBC after what was her third London win and her fifth big city marathon victory.

"I was losing time because I was having stomach cramps and I thought 'I just need to go and I'll be fine'."

Although Radcliffe's brief stop at the 22-mile mark evoked memories of when she dropped out at the Athens Olympics last summer, the 30-year-old was not worried.

"This was just needing to go and once I had gone I was fine. I wasn't worried about it in terms of a repeat from Athens," she explained.

She added: "I want to apologise to the nation. I didn't really want to resort to that in front of hundreds of thousands of people.

"I started feeling it between 15 and 16 miles and probably carried on too long before stopping."

Radcliffe is now setting her sights on the World Athletics Championships in Helsinki in August, although she has yet to decide whether to focus on the marathon or the 10,000m.

"I would like to win both, so there is a difficult decision there," she added.

© 1998-2005 DeHavilland Information Services plc. All rights reserved.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Another Sleepless Night.

I have a problem. I'm not sure how to solve it. I'm not sure I can solve it. It's one of those bubbling up things. Percolated emotions. Old feelings that I buried away a very long time ago. For some reason they are begging for my attention again; and I really don't want to bother.

My eldest started school this year. I'm so proud of her. So proud of myself for getting this far with her. I love watching her go off into class, hugging her friends and laughing. She hugs her teacher too, she loves her teacher. I get to see her running around on the playground and just enjoying this time in her life. It makes me think about me when I first started school, and where I was and who I was when I was five.

That's where the problem lies.

I wasn't a very happy five year old. I wasn't a happy kid full stop. I'm having memories surface of things I hadn't thought about for...ever. I see my little girl and I think about myself as a little girl; it's compulsive. I think about my first day of school: The whistle blows and we're told to line up and be quiet. While walking into the building, I'm so excited, and then Joshua Tinkham turns to me and says "I hate you." for no reason. Little shit. Turns out he hates all girls, but still, as a little kid I obsessed over it. Why? What was wrong with me that at one look he knew he hated me. It was an experience that tainted any interaction I had with another kid for the rest of my days. I never trusted a kid again. So callous, unpredictable and able to spout hatred without a care for consequences.

I tended to play by myself. I would wait for the swings to be almost empty before I took a turn. I would skip rope, pick the putty out of the window seals or peer down the heating grates for lost quarters or other treasures. I would lay on the grass and watch the clouds drift past and think about just walking home and not bothering with school. I lived a few hundred yards away and could do it easily; but I knew I'd be in trouble if I did. No one was home anyways. I became an easy target for bullies. By the age of ten I contemplated suicide.

I'm now angry with my Mother. I lay there awake at night trying to remember times when she was fun or playful; there's not many. My Mom is not an involved Mom, she's one of those "Let them figure it out themselves" parents. I spent many years feeling stupid because I had no idea how to do homework, and she never offered to help. I remember desperately wanting to learn how to read and write, I would scribble something on a piece of paper and ask "Is this a letter?" and she would just say "No."; I wish she had shown me a few letters, or small words. I wish she had taken an interest. For some reason she couldn't.

I was born late in her life; an unexpected surprise. Mom was the breadwinner and worked full time. I remember her saying almost daily "I'm too tired." I don't think she was very happy. I think she was disappointed with her marriage, but devoted to her vows. I also think she was waiting for when she could have my Dad all to herself again; things would change when the kids were fledged. Maybe that was the answer?

There was always dissatisfaction in everything. My Dad never liked my Mothers cooking. Mom never liked the look of the house. Dad never liked how she kept house. The sofa had a butt dent from my Dad always laying down to watch television; so there was never an expensive sofa. My bedroom was a three season porch so either far too hot or too cold. There were smells in my brother's room. Someone was always fiddling with the thermostat and causing Dad to have a tantrum (I admit it was me...just to piss him off), My room was always a mess (I had no clue how to clean and organize a room). Mom always read a book and wouldn't talk to anyone; a very efficient armor. My Dad complained that Mom drank too much. My Mom did drink too much. My brother and I; as kids, hated each other and always fought. My parent's didn't intervene much...we would figure it out ourselves someday.

I try very hard to not let this happen to my family. My home is a house of rules. We laugh about the amount of rules, and yet they are respected; mostly. No one is allowed to read in the family room; It's for bedrooms and privacy. No one is allowed to lie down on the sofa and watch television, unless you are ill. We all take turns to watch shows; Grown-ups watch kids shows, kids watch our shows, and we all cuddle, share and chatter through. Chores are shared (somewhat. Laundry and tidy up mostly), and we all have a part to play. We always offer to help with homework. We play with our kids; indoors, outdoors, board games and stories. I want my children to know they are wanted, appreciated and loved. I tell them I love them every day. Not just words said before bedtime or a standard "Yeah I love you too.", but heartfelt and with a big hug.

I keep thinking, the reason I'm angry with my Mom, is that her neglect has made me become a better parent. I really don't want to thank her for that; but I should. I strive for better. I fight for happiness. Even if I'm too tired, my lap is always free for the kids to have a cuddle; my love is never closed. It's made me a stronger person. I want to see this life all the way through. I want to see how this story unfurls. I desperately want to be right here, right now.

I've not talked about it with Mom. I didn't even realize I was mad at her until a year ago. I don't see what good it would do to tell her. She's happy now. She has a life she's happy in. She hardly ever reads anymore. Why should I throw a wrench in? Sounds selfish of me really. I made my peace with my Dad before he died. I've made my peace with my Brother, and my Sister (She's 16 years older and didn't live with us as I grew up) Do I really need to make peace with Mom too?I should just be thankful for what I have today and not worry about the past. She doesn't even think there's a problem. It can't be changed.

But, I still wake up in the middle of the night and cry. It still begs for some attention. What was wrong with me?

Friday, April 15, 2005


Mystery Solved!

My Big Brother, who lives in California and works for eBay USA and who used to be a carpenter, saw the planes listed on eBay UK and made arrangements with the seller to play a wee prank on me.

I was going to hand them in to the police in this morning too.

I'm tempted to sell them on eBay. Or put them in auction in Edinburgh. I'd split the profits; I'm fair.

Actually...Any of you want some antique wooden planes?

BB has e-mailed me. He said he read my blog, and is happy for me to sell the planes and donate the money to charity of my choice.

everybody: "Awwwwwww...."

I'm actually thinking of training the kids to do woodwork...will be a big help when we do the house extention. Won't be long before the Baby is able to drive a nail in three hits. I'll get the girls their own little tool belts and yellow hard hats. Steel toe-cap boots may be harder to find...I have some leftover Ikea nails and allan keys; I could melt those down and make my own steel toe-caps for them. That's the Martha Stewart thing to do. Of course being Scottish, they can already swear to bring a tear of pride to their Granny's eye. Baby can even spit...and she's shameless with showing her butt-crack. Actually we all are. Around here it's just crack crack crack all the time, although, I'm not a fan of those fancy g-string undies that most Crackettes (Like the Rockettes but with more bending and less kicking) like to wear. Hell, I just stopped wearing maternity briefs; they're just so gosh darned comfortable! Unfortunately since having the baby, and losing lots of weight, I had to pull them up to under my boobs to keep them up.

Wow...what the hell was that. Liquid center non sequitur. Say that 5 times fast.

Thursday, April 14, 2005


I got a very large and heavy package delivered to the house this morning. It was addressed to the baby. She is going to turn one next month so I assumed it was an early present. It had no details on the box, just that it was shipped from within the UK. No return address; nothing. I got a wee knife and began cutting through the miles of brown tape...thinking it could be a bomb; but unlikely. But it could be. Screw it.
I opened it and pulled through a thick layer of wadded up newspaper. I saw a wooden handle. I pulled it out, expecting a toy car or something, but it was a safety gauge.



I dig further. The box contains about 5 or 6 old fashioned heavy wooden planes. Not the fly in the air kind, but carpentry ones. Assorted sizes and the blades recently sharpened. The smell of old paint and turpentine is oddly familiar; my Dad was a carpenter. But these are antique, and quite excellent tools.

There's no note inside the box. I have no idea who has sent these...and why to my baby girl???

I have several carpenters in my family, but the newspaper in the box is from the UK, The Scunthorpe Telegraph, and dated March 11th, 2005.

I'm waiting for my Husband to return my call...just in case he bought something from Ebay and forgot to tell me...but again...Why ship it to the Baby?

How Fucking weird is that?!?

Update: Husband has no clue what this either. He didn't buy them on Ebay and has no need for carpentry planes. The Mystery continues...

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Conversations with my Five year old...

I'm really beginning to hate this conversation. We have it every day and I keep hoping it will change. I pick her up after school...

Me: Hello Honey! You look good. Did you have a nice day?

Her: Yes.

Me: What did you do today?

Her: I don't know. I don't remember.

Me: You just walked out of can you forget all ready?

Her: *Shrug*

Me: Did you do some reading today?

Her: Yes. Some reading. About volcanoes.

Me: Cool! What did you learn about volcanoes?

Her: I don't remember.

Me: Did you do some math? Some writing?

Her: I think so. But Mummy...I...Don't...Remember!

Me: Fine. You don't remember. You've only spent six hours in that building and you cannot remember any of it. I'm sure your teachers are really proud.

Her: Can I go play Sonic...

Me: Yes. I think you should. Go now.

Are they sworn to secrecy or something? This is a variation of just about every after school conversation. I know I'm not alone as other parents have complained about the same thing. They could be sewing the panels onto soccer balls and I'd never know it! I feel cheated. I want to know what goes on after the teacher shuts the door.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

11 Things that make me Proud...

As inspired by Amy Krouse Rosenthal's book "The Book of Eleven: A Itemized Collection of Brain Lint." I'm giving listmaking a try. I agree with the Eleven idea...there always seems to be one more thing when you've listed ten, and even though it's an odd number; which I dread, I'll tolerate it for now. I may want to change it to twelve someday soon. We'll have to wait and see.

11 Things that make me Proud:

1.) Ten years of marriage has been easy. We seem to be really good at it.

2.) At 33, I'm still excited about learning new things. What school turned into a chore, life has made fun.

3.) My kids are cool. They are stubborn, sassy and opinionated. They speak their minds. They love and trust me enough to tell me exactly what they think, even if it's to tell me "I hate you!" (Yes, that includes the baby, too. She may just cry and moan, but I know what she's thinking.)

4.) My garden is the best looking space in my home.

5.) I've learned to stop buying books all the time, and use the Library more. It's a really cool place.

6.) I'm an excellent cook, a natural. It's gastonomic chemistry. I like knowing I'm creating warm family memories that my kids may one day pass on to their kids. (And I always share recipes)

7.) I've kept a close friendship going since college despite having some minor personality disorders (That's me...not her). We only talk through the computer, and haven't seen each other in ten years, but it still feels like she's just across the hall. I love you Jill.

8.) My Dad and I were able to forgive each other for all the hard and horrible things we put each other through during my teens before he passed away. Forgiveness really does free the soul.

9.) I'm overcoming my fear of math and learning it again. Statistics used to give me palpatations, now I find relationships and anticipate outcomes and plot them out. In my head. It's like playing the Sims, But it's the Sums.

10.) I give to charity regularly. I can't give cash, but I donate: clothes, shoes, dishes, furniture, books, toys, gift boxes filled with treats and chocolates at holiday times. I give something to charity at least once a month. It's becoming my version of a monthly clear out and I'm no longer a pack rat.

11.) I can't play console games. I'm awful at just about all of them, which means that I don't waste hours of my life trying to be good at them. (I do, however, like to watch my Husband play them.)

There it is. Short and sweet but took me a while to come up with. I kept thinking about things I wish I could be proud know, all those "Works in Progress". This has helped me appreciate the things I have; at least for today, and also shoved a few others into perspective that I have been ignoring for a while.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Forgot to say...

I'm away on vacation with the "Fam". We'll be returning to normality in no time soon, but returning to boring regularity by Monday.

Hope you all are doing well.
love from,

Lyvvie, Husband, Sea Dragon and baby Tiger.

Saturday, April 02, 2005


I'm still struggling with this cold. It's not a bad one, really, just made worse that the baby has one too. She keeps me up most nights so I'm sleep deprived and stuffed-up. And crabby. I took my frustrations out on my house.

When I'm annoyed, or really angry; I clean. I clean like I've been possessed by Mr. Clean...only a vicious and nasty Mr. Clean. When my Husband comes home to a clean house, he worries. When the daughter sees her room tidyed up, she gives me space. Family have learned to associate cleanliness with anxiety.
That means...we are all happier and relaxed with a somewhat messy house.
Which suits me just fine.
With no other idea as to what I should blog about, I thought I would post my bookmarks list. It's not that exciting, but you may find it neat...

  • The official Weird Al Website

  • The Scotsman Newspaper

  • The Boston Herald

  • Yahoo UK and Ireland

  • Welcome to EGG

  • Tesco's grocery store


  • The National Lottery



  • Digital Banking

  • BBC Get Writing


  • UK


  • Mugglenet

  • The Onion


  • Yahoo Groups Wundee

  • All Recipes

  • Masterfoods menu planner

  • The New Writer

  • Club Pogo


  • Lyvvie's Limelight

  • If I had known how much work that was going to be...I wouldn't have bothered. I knw it's not all that exciting a porn or geeky computer programming links (Note no SlashDot) and that's about it. I do have other links I like to visit every so often, like museum sites to view the art, but I usually feel guilty and then go visit a real museum.

    Today we are off have lunch and copious amounts of caffeine in Starbucks with our pal Colin and then...Hit the Mall!!!

    Have a nice weekend.

    I'm pissed off I forgot to say "Rabbits Rabbits" yesterday. Ah well, always next month.