Tremors & Don’t Mess With Mother In Law’s & Their Precious Sons…

by NML on March 24, 2010

We seem to be going through a phase of taking the p*ss out of each. Yesterday, whilst having a late morning shower with the baby (now 11 months) standing by the bath lobbing toys at me, when she look around as if hearing something and then said ‘Hallo’ with a goofy grin. It occurred to me that her supersonic hearing that has us creeping past the girls room at night, may have heard the phone ringing.

Turns out she was correct so I called the boyf back who went into some long winded waffle about grandma (his mum) coming to take care of the girls. He then let out a big sigh and I asked what was wrong and he told me it’d had felt like the end of the world ten minutes before and he sounded so sad! Feeling totally confused as I tried to digest what he was saying, he said something about big tremors and asked had I not felt them. It doesn’t take much to boggle my brain these days and I know I sounded really panicked as I said “TREMORS! What the hell are you talking about?” in a high pitched shriek and then he burst out laughing, telling me that of course he was just messing around and there’s nothing wrong with him. I hung up the phone to his laughing…

In hindsight I realise that if there had been tremors, he would have told me about that first and then discussed childcare arrangements….

We had one of our ridiculous mock arguments in the car last night on the way back from his mums who is visiting for a few weeks. She’s been asking about the walker she brought a couple of years ago which the boyf left out in the garden and it got rained on, and much like when you were a kid and you’d get caught out, it was time for the ‘hot potato game’ of passing the buck.

I ‘told on him’ (yeah yeah, bit childish) and then in true mother style, she defended the honour of her son and said it was also my fault that it was out there. I get on very well with my ‘mother in law’ but I know better than to think I can get away with painting her child in a less than saintly light – tee hee! I know when I’m outnumbered so I quickly agreed but of course gave him a load of grief in the car.

“I should have told her you’ve got form for this! Remember the chair that you left out ? I could never have moved that as it’s really heavy!” and he burst out laughing and a game of who left what where began.

“OK, so are you saying that I’m in charge of the garden and take all the blame for it?” he finally said. “Because if you are, what does that leave you in charge of?” and that’s when we both started howling with laughter because he must be frickin’ joking if he thinks I’m going to be held responsible for everything in the house!

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Back to Work. The Month of Choking and Naughtiness is Over

by NML on February 21, 2010

Tomorrow signals the first time that both of the kids are going to the childminders for over four weeks. I don’t know if it’s because I know that they’re going, but suddenly the exhaustion has kicked in – a bit like when the weekend arrives and you relax and the whole weeks worth of tiredness catches up with you and sucker punches you into lethargy.

Much like when I became self employed a couple of years ago and the then 8 month old S progressively became a handful, the baby, now 10 months has really come into her element over the past four weeks. Two choking ‘incidents’, both of them on stickers… The first time it happened, S, now 32 months chose that exact moment to start badgering me with questions, ‘Mummy, mummy, what ya doing?’, ‘Mummy, can I have a biscuit?’, ‘Mom-mom, can I watch Charlie and Lola?’

Somehow I stayed calm as I didn’t want her to see my rising panic but my imagination was running wild with all sorts of scenarios. In the meantime, I had just managed to grab the end of the sticker when N jerked slightly and somehow swallowed it. The next time she choked (I’ve since thrown out S stickers…), I was spared the long gasping session and she threw up all over herself and me…

None of this compares with when I lost S in John Lewis toy department for what was probably less than 3 minutes but felt like an eternity. The staff there are brilliant and quickly rallied to get help and yet again, I was completely calm on the outside and filled with panic on the inside. I looked at the lift and wondered if she’d gone off in there – ‘OMG! She could be on f*cking Oxford Street right now!’ and then I wondered if she’d been grabbed by a lunatic.

‘Can you give me a description?’ a sales assistant asked.

‘Big head of hair, orange duffle coat, bright yellow Converse…’ and realised that anyone attempting to take my child was being brave with that outfit!

They’d told me to stay where I was so I kept pacing up and down the aisle. Next thing she came bounding over to me.

‘Mummmmm! Mummmmmmmmmmy! I’ve been playing with the toys!’

I’d never been so frickin’ relieved to see her and flung my arms around her. She was totally oblivious to my internal terror.

A customer came over to me. ‘I so admire you! I know you were scared but you kept so calm!’ and she patted my arm sympathetically and I of course started having a blub.

I called the boyf. ‘Jaysus….I bloody lost S in the toy department at John Lewis!’

Cue tumbleweeds.

‘You have got my child haven’t you?’ he said sounding like he said it through clenched teeth. Everyone who knows the boyf knows how laid back and unfazed he is, so I knew he must be cacking himself.

‘Do you really think I’d fecking call you if I hadn’t found her yet?’ and we both burst out laughing.

After them both being at home full time for four weeks (normally S is at childcare a few days a week), I realise it’s unrealistic of me to think I could run the business and have them both home with me full time too. It’s a nice dream but I did a fraction of my usual workload over the past month and my plans to become a more organised person clearly did not materialise. Half the time, the kids were fed and dressed whilst I was starving, looking rather dodgy and I struggled to keep my eyes open by the time darkness was upon us. They’re like a whiriwind of mess and it seems I have two headstrong divas on my hands – S sleeps in sunglasses and tiaras, N just howls in indignation or waves her hands in ‘flunkies come here’ motions when things don’t suit her.

I loved listening to the two of them howling with laughter at their in jokes. S says ‘whoops’ and they both fall around laughing. We’ve also played hide and seek a lot – S tends to hide where I hid last…

We had a blast and the kids despite them fighting over everything from pieces of paper to who gets to sit beside me or on me, they’re really becoming little pals. But I am looking forward to having some time to myself tomorrow. I won’t know what to do with myself! Oh that’s right…I have shedloads of work to do…

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Behold the worst gift I was ever given by a boyfriend: Clear Heeled Stripper Shoes

by NML on February 16, 2010

clear platform heels

Image source

After poking into the distant past to take the mick about the time I got engaged and pondered climbing out of a window, I felt it only right to ’show off’ (I use that term exceedingly loosely) the dodgy shoes I referred to. Behold the worst gift I was ever given by a boyfriend. Admittedly it was just before they were adopted as the mainstream shoe of choice for shimmying around a pole and going out on the stroll, but still…

I was twenty two and yet again, very naive – he was about ten years older. His sister had brought herself a pair whilst on holiday in the US so for him I guess it was like some whacked out version of social proof. If that weirds you out – remember the episode of Friends when Rachel dates the guy who’s always playfighting with his sister and she ends up drawing the line when she finds them in the bath together? Whilst I was spared a bubble bath episode (praise be), this was them.

There’s no nice way to say that I detested them on sight and yet, at his insistence, I wore them on an outing to the pub where everyone was hanging out. With a pair of ‘flesh’ coloured tights that accompanied them. They weren’t my flesh tone that’s for sure… Anyway, I could barely walk in them. I’m petite but I felt like Miss Piggy on stilts and everyone was looking at me whist he beamed proudly.

I actually thought I was going to break my neck. I’m really clumsy anyway – there was the time I tried to make a dash for it when I bumped into a guy I had a crush on. I was wearing high wedges and I tripped and fell, sprawled on the ground in front of him and queue full of people. Last week, I attempted to jump over some soil and stones at the cemetery ( was afraid I was going to step on a grave…) as I tried to get to the burial service for my uncle. Instead, I came crashing down on my left ankle (was wearing high heeled FMB’s) and there was a massive gasp followed by howls of giggles from the crowd. I missed the burial as I had to be carried back to the car…

I digress anyway…

Me in the stripper shoes lasted twenty minutes and then demanded to go home and they were never, ever worn again. They’re now in shoe hell somewhere as I chucked them out as soon as I ended things a few months later.

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V-Day Memories: The One Where I Got Engaged & Then Contemplated Climbing Out the Window

by NML on February 14, 2010

My mate Claire from The Good, The Bad & The Ugly is doing a blog carnival for Valentine’s Day themed around the title of her blog, so in true me style (late as well), I’ll share a funny, albeit bad V-Day story. We’ll call it…The One Where I Got Engaged…and Considered Climbing Out the Bathroom Window a short while later…

Prior to being with the boyf (who incidentally is cooking me a fabulous meal as I type this), I’ve had more dodgy V-Day’s than I care to remember. Dodgy underwear, furry handcuffs, sex dice, one of those enormous padded cards like what you used to get in the 70s and 80s only I got it in the late 90s… Satin covered with a big dog on it and so big it drowned me out…

To be fair, none of these gifts will ever be as bad as the pair of clear heeled stripper shoes an ex gave me for Christmas one year and insisted that I wear them to a gathering at a bar…

It’s not just about the gift clearly but I think what stands out to me is that I was jumping through hoops about V-Day in the past because I wasn’t really being myself and admitting that I really wasn’t that fussed about any of these guys. They were buying me gifts and taking me out to dinner but I didn’t feel ‘cared’ for and actually, some of the ones who were real dipsticks almost expected me to be grateful that they’d thrown me a ‘bone’.

There is of course, The One Where I Got Engaged. V-Day 2002. Really I do wonder if I’ve been on crack in the past… I actually thought that as I was being asked to get married that I should say yes. Lunacy I know, but I was young, very naive, and looking for love in all the wrong places.

I actually knew about the proposal in advance and was sort of dreading the whole thing because he, Mr Brownsuit (so named by this blogs readers a few years back for wearing brown from head to foot – something black folk really should not do if they don’t want to look like a big piece of poo), badgered me and removed every drop of romance out of the whole thing. He talked to me about the budget, made quips about how I should be grateful, and then proceeded to bitch and whine his way through dinner at the very dark Chinese restaurant near Baker Street.

In fact, he was so annoying, we had an argument shortly before he proposed and he told me that I wasn’t allowed to ‘dwell’ on things – he was 34 and I was 23 and he was very bossy and controlling. We had what I thought was a passionate relationship but it was actually just very dramatic especially with his jealousy and possessiveness. Seeing an opportunity, I told him that we didn’t have to do ‘it’ tonight but of course he totally disregarded what I said, and got down on one knee a short while later. He had this look that said ‘Don’t you dare make a t*t out of me’ and to be fair, you can’t exactly say no when someone asks you in public.

I have this tricky habit of breaking out in uncontrollable giggles when I’m nervous or scared so of course I annoyed him even further and had to gather my composure.

‘Just do a legger!’ a voice chimed in my head.

‘Don’t be silly! Can’t you see he’s trying to show you how much he loves you! Maybe he’s behaving like an asshole because he’s nervous and doesn’t think you’re interested!’ another voice chimed.

I did one of those ridiculously tight smiles and murmured yes.

‘Be a little bit more bloody enthusiastic!’ Mr Brownsuit said snidely. Really I must have been on crack!

So I went into the faking orgasm mode but toned it down to ‘feigning happiness at my dodgy engagement’ mode.

He slipped the solitaire ring on my finger and I admit that I thought it was a little small – interestingly, as I convinced myself of the relationship, it inflated in size and only shrunk as we approached breakup time.

Everyone clapped and cheered and we shared an awkward kiss like that awful one between Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard.

‘OMG! Are you f*cking crazy?’ reverberated in my head.

It was the weirdest engagement I’ve ever been at although admittedly I’ve only been engaged once…. The tension was weird and he turned into Mr Personality as strangers came over to congratulate us. To watch him wax lyrical about us, I wondered if I was engaged to Jeckyll and Hyde.

I excused myself and went to the bathroom where I admit that I wondered what would happen if I did a bunk and climbed out the window. But it was quite high up and whilst I’m petite, I’m not a snake or a contortionist…

When we got back to my flat, where my best mate was waiting with the champagne and a look that said ‘Keep it together and let’s talk later’, he had a right go at me and to be fair, even though he was out of order, he was right to be annoyed because I’d said yes to something that I really should have said no to. I didn’t want to create anymore conflict (this became my theme) so I decided to suck it up (figuratively and literally by downing the champagne) and start acting like a happy engaged person as I felt like I’d made my bed and had to lie in it. We lasted another 14 rocky months where I came up with every excuse not to plan a wedding – just opening a bridal magazine had me get panicky like Carrie did with the wedding dress when she was engaged to Aidan.

I’m very chilled about Valentine’s Day – it is just one day. Thankfully I’m older, wiser, and not looking for big empty gestures and I’ve also learned the big lesson to not just go along with things and hope it’ll sort itself out later.

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When are you getting married? Yawn…

by NML on February 4, 2010

just not married written on car windowIt’s hardly top secret but ‘the boyf’ has that name for a reason – we’re not married. Now I know I used to be an unwitting commitment-phobe but really, I’m very much over that. There’s nothing dodgy about why we haven’t got married but between two kids in quick succession, moving, credit crunch, and me becoming self-employed a couple of years ago, I have to say, getting married hasn’t been high on the agenda. But sweet baby Jesus and the angels, people keep asking ‘So when are you getting married?’ and sometimes it really gets on my nerves.

This one time, in bandcamp (joking), a close friend interrogated me for nearly 20 minutes over the phone about why we hadn’t got married yet. By the end, I half expected to look down and see myself tied up whilst the chair got dragged across the room to a makeshift alter where the boyf would be waiting also gagged and bound. I mean hell, I know we give a good par-tay, but it felt like it was seriously bothering her, and if I’m truthful, I find myself wary of getting on the phone with her for longer than a few minutes…

Another friend recently asked when we were getting married and I deadpanned ‘We already are’ and they looked genuinely panicked for a moment that we may have got married behind their back without saying anything.

For the most part, I use the opportunity of people’s nosiness to take the p*ss a bit and I certainly don’t feel pressured, but it is very irritating to have people project their insecurities. I’m not suggesting people can’t ask but I do wonder why people ask dumb questions like this.

Just like when I was single and people would ask in barely disguised ‘morbid’ curiosity ‘Why are you still single?’ as if expecting me to reveal secret horns and a tail, or at least a flaw that could explain it all away and make them comfortable, the questions come because when they imagine themselves in my position, they believe they’d be worried.

I’m sure it’s also because they think we’ll get a karaoke machine in for the occasion…

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