31 December 2006

Chickie’s Got a Brand New Bag

I went to sleep to Accountant’s projected lunar display for the second night running and tolerated another silhouette show. The earless dog now barks, growls and, my personal favourite, yawns. A talking whale was practiced and proclaimed good enough to be added to the repertoire.

As Accountant has been very helpful around the house whilst being off work, I organised a little treat for him this morning. A handpicked drain hair garnish on top of his shower gel. x

Chickie is now belatedly walking with assistance, so we thought we’d take him to get some proper ‘big boy’ shoes. He measured in at a 4½ F. Unfortunately, the ‘trainer’ shoes selection were all wrong for Chickie’s ultra smooth style so he left empty footed.

Chickie has changed this week. We’ve all noticed. He’s started doing comedy routines with funny faces, odd mannerisms and deliberately coughing and laughing to get attention. He's like a less sophisticated performing chimp. I’m ignoring it for now and hoping it goes away.

Another thing I’m hoping goes away, pronto, is his regression to blowing raspberries with a mouth full of food. This first started about six months ago and lasted ages. It was a hectic three months for the washing machine, with everything, including myself, getting sprayed thrice daily.

I didn’t much care for this phase of Chickie’s development so was dismayed to be wiping myself down after receiving a shepherd’s pie shower in the café this lunchtime. As I was in public, I couldn’t go as mental as I would usually have liked so smiled through gritted teeth. He did it again at dinner time but just laughed at my attempts to explain that it came under the heading of unacceptable behaviour.

Chickie was recognised today by the waiter in the café who came over to say hello to him and gave him a chocolate flake. It’s not because he’s been in the paper but because he’s apparently a regular. It seems to be where Glam-Nan and Snowy retreat to when they're babysitting.

We bought a bigger sleeping bag for Chickie today as vacuum packing him into his 6-12 months ones was becoming difficult.

The heavens opened on our way home so Chickie took his first bus ride as we leapt on the first one available. My drenching left me looking like Alice Cooper with mascara smeared all down my cheeks.

After stuffing my face full of Toblerone Truffle Peaks this evening, I was intrigued to know the calorific damage. 850 kcal was a little more than I’d anticipated.

29 December 2006

Chickie Throws a Sickie

It’s definite, the After Eights were a mistake and reappeared last night, ironically, after 8pm. The vomiting prompted a full Chick strip to check for rashes and assess vital signs. A slight rash was present so I did the glass test. I couldn’t really decide whether it was blanching or not so checked him under every available lightbulb. The coldness of the glassware and blinding floodlights left Chickie deeply unimpressed with the level of care received from his healthcare providers and reaching for the BUPA application form.

I was 99% sure he was fine but decided he should be brought downstairs for monitoring. Within ten minutes, Chickie was sat grinning on the sofa, watching Planes, Trains and Automobiles. He was sent back to bed as we’d been played for fools long enough.

I got on the scales this morning to find myself three pounds heavier. I consoled myself by eating a Chocolate Orange. I don’t normally buy anything containing sugar as I know I can’t be trusted. However, if it’s forced upon me, I apply my favourite logic which allows me to stuff my face, the quicker the better, so that I am then free to start my diet knowing the cupboards are bare of temptation.

Accountant suggested a walk this afternoon so I reluctantly removed my new slipper socks that have been permanently attached to my pads for three days and put on some proper shoes. We went into town so I could return 70% of the presents Accountant bought me, although nothing came close to the dog coasters of 2004.

I’ve felt some rare pangs of affection for Accountant today. He’s done housework, ironed sixteen shirts, fed a regurgitating Chickie and made me many cups of tea. To show my appreciation, I may just allow him five minutes snoring tonight before I wedge my fingers up his nostrils like a bowling ball.

Whilst in town, I debated to myself how bad it would be to spend Chickie’s Christmas spends on myself as he was only one and would never know. I decided I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye again without feeling guilty so bought him some vests with chicks on them instead. I anticipate him looking super gorgeous in them.

28 December 2006

The Accountant's New Torch

I am now of the age where I realise that no matter how artfully I apply my make-up and 'poof' my hair, I’m not going to be the next Miss Worthing without a chin implant and access to a good dentist, at the very least. Preparing for a night out post-Chickie is no fun. The pressure of squeezing into, then bulging out of any kind of evening wear fills me with dread and makes me look forward to reaching my 60’s when I can legally wear those floaty polyester smocks made popular by The Golden Girls.

Luckily, I don’t get to go out in the evenings too often as you can probably tell from the fact I have time to write a daily blog. Last night was an exception though and we went out for din dins with our friends.

After discarding a variety of outfits based on the fact that they committed one or more of the following violations: emphasised my big bottom; clung to two or more stomach rolls or showcased my saggy man boobs, I went with a dull but safe shirt/jumper combo and looked much the same as Accountant which may be why Claire the Chav commented that we looked like brother and sister. It was too disturbing an observation to dwell on.

Our kind and ever-diplomatic friend, M, quickly distracted us by telling us about her Christmas Party. M went on to explain how a director at her work had whispered something lecherous into her ear whilst grazing the top of her bottom with his fingertips. It was only later in the evening, after feeling oddly uncomfortable, she discovered he had deposited a mint imperial down the back of her knickers.

My mind was still wandering back to the brother/sister thing and made me regret swapping Meerkat and Claire on the tableplan, in the hope we’d all have a more interesting evening if Meerkat was positioned at the other end of the table.

Later on, Accountant grossed everyone out when he playfully grabbed all the jelly beans off the plate and then replaced them with the addition of hand sweat sauce. Meerkat still tucked in with gusto.

I’ve always been drawn to people with a touch of quirkiness to their character so only have myself to blame for Accountant who sits precariously on the fence that separates the eccentric from the abnormal.

As I lay in bed last night looking up at the ‘full moon’ on our ceiling, I wondered whether Accountant had finally fallen off that fence and landed on the other side. His father, an older version of Accountant, gave him a wind up torch for Christmas which is now one of his favourite things. He brings it to bed with him and it was responsible for our new indoor solar system. Accountant thought the torchlight made for a ‘romantic’ mood. I explained the only mood I was in was a bad one and to put the torch away. He later prodded me awake to demonstrate his new range of torch lit ceiling hand silhouettes which extended to a dog with ears and a dog without.

That was the point I booted him out into the spare room. Off he went, with his little wind up friend. I awoke four hours later to the raspy tones of Accountant’s Phlegm Requiem in D Minor. After waiting 20 minutes for the finale which never arrived, I reluctantly got out of my warm bed to explain sweetly to Accountant that, whilst I appreciated he was feeling a little snuffly, he should shut up immediatley. He relocated downstairs where he knew I would never be bothered to venture, and kept me awake for another 40 minutes with his snorting and spluttering.

27 December 2006

The Chickie Show

Watching Chickie charge around the room like a Tasmanian Devil on Proplus made me wonder whether the After Eights we gave him were a mistake. Chickie wouldn't let us have any without him, adopting the 1 for Mummy – 2 for Chickie distribution method, so we were left no other option.

I had planned for my first born to be raised an organic, corn fed Grade A bambini, free of all artificial colourings and flavourings and whose taste buds would never know processed baby food and the evils of chocolate that have tormented me all my life. That was Plan A. The beauty of being your own boss is the flexibility, so I swapped to Plan B – give the child what he wants if it keeps him quiet.

Chickie has enjoyed a visit from Accountant’s Parents today who have doted on him unashamedly. Chickie has milked every minute of their complete attention.

When my mother previously pointed out Chickie’s theatrical tendencies, I explained that she was talking utter nonsense and my child had not inherited the drama gene prevalent in the less balanced members of the family.

However, after watching him perform belly slides across the rug to his delighted fan club, I realised that his breakdancing routine could be a deliberate attention seeking ploy and that he may, indeed, be displaying all the classic “look at me, look at ME, ME, ME” symptoms.

A game of “Remote Control Grandma” followed which went down a treat with Chick. He pressed a button on his musical toy and Grandma danced, he’d press the button again, Grandma stopped. Three hours later, and I think Grandma was regretting her imaginative attempts to connect with her grandchild.

Things improved for Grandma when she was given a complimentary refresher Nappy Changing course and got to take her first nappy bag home as a memento. For information, all visitors to Chez Chickie are entitled to a complimentary nappy changing session, so just ask next time you’re here. I like all visitors to be fully trained in the event I can’t be bothered.

We then listened to the popular debate over whether calling Chickie, “Chickie”, would scar him for life and then they would ready to hit the road.

26 December 2006

A Disappointing Eruption

In retrospect, the chocolate fountain was 1900 calories too far. As my stomach gurgled and churned trying to understand why it was digesting two weeks worth of carbohydrates in two days, I watched on in admiration at my youngest nephew's capacity for cocoa solids, his morph into Augustus Gloop almost complete.

The last two days have incorporated the very best that the traditional family Christmas has to offer - gluttony, bickering, a drum kit and scintillating topics of conversation which have included comparisons between how Glam-Nan and Brother-in-Law prepare and package their rubbish ready for the bin men, drain rod techniques and screeding. The anthem to Christmas 2006 was "Patience" by Take That which Accountant has had on constant repeat. He bought the CD for me apparently. Best Present, the Wii which has caused loads of fights and provoked Brother-in-Law to have a full-on tantrum when his go was cut short.

We arrived and left to a drum roll as Augustus got a drum kit for Christmas and has been performing in the same demented style as Animal from the Muppets, pummelling out beats he "just made up in his head" and then gathering feedback from his captive audience after each rock session. Day One found me unprepared, Day Two I was smug, enjoying the only pair of earplugs in the room. I nodded along enthusiastically during the "wow, you're really talented" reinforcement sessions, taking my lead from the enthused, nodding faces of my family.

The rest of Christmas was spent undoing the zillions of annoying plastic wire twisty things that are used to render toys impossible to remove from their packaging. I tried explaining to my one year old that he'd be able to play with his toys next Christmas when mummy had managed to remove them. Whose genius idea were those wirey bits of misery and are 120 per toy really necessary?

After dressing Chickie up in his SuperBaby costume and flying him around the room, attention turned to the B List pressies which included a Volcano Making Kit which, according to the box would "perform an amazing eruption in front of your friends and family".

Excitement mounted as the plaster in the volcano mould set and all the family congregated to witness the AMAZING eruption. The special concoction of vinegar, bicarbonate of soda, red paint and washing up liquid were mixed together and placed inside the special volcano eruptor. We all stood back and waited with baited breath as nothing happened. Half an hour of staring and vinegar top ups followed and our volcano didn't look like the picture on the box. Sister apologised to her two very disappointed children who had invested over an hour of their time into Operation Volcano.
Brother-in-Law cheered us all up with an amazing eruption of his own - no bicarbonate of soda required.

25 December 2006

Super Chick

I got Chickie's cold for Christmas, thanks Santa, although I'm sure 'sinus infection' wasn't on my list this year. As such, I'm too pooped to write anything today but as a picture paints a thousand words, these should do the trick.

24 December 2006

Chickie's Off - Albeit Slowly

I staggered out of bed this morning as, no matter how long I sleep, I always feel like rigor mortis has set in when I peel my eyelids back come morning.

Chickie had stayed over at Glam Nan and Snowy’s, coinciding rather well with his transformation into The Snot Tot. They were lucky enough to enjoy an ‘Audience with Snuffles’ between 2am and 5am this morning. My journey into consciousness also got a kick start when Accountant was deliberately lying in wait for me outside the bathroom door, staring at me, lips tucked in.

I collapsed against the doorframe in terror as I pondered whether deliberately scaring your wife and her heart murmur half to death was really the act of a stable, loving husband. I decided probably not and sought my revenge. It came when I sent Accountant out to tend to our two week long drainage problem, caused by his over active bottom.

Deliciously, peering into our now severely blocked drains complete with floating nasties and some form of fungus, found Accountant returning to me green and heaving.

We then went round to Meerkat Manor for lunchipoos. After lunch, Meerkat and Accountant sat on the sofa exchanging love heart sweeties. Accountant gave Meerkat, "For Keeps" and Meerkat returned the sentiment with "Be Mine". They then went outside giggling like girls, reappeared outside the back window and lit up cigarettes except, they weren't cigarettes, they were lollypop sticks. Meerkat and Accountant seemed to find this much funnier than it actually was. We then played a new game called "Spin the Poff" which involved whizzing her round and then watching her swagger around the room. No Poffs were harmed in the ‘Spin the Poff’ extravaganza.

Chickie has showed us up again today. After a couple of nasty bouts of constipation, he has decided that the production of ‘nappy dumplings’ is far too painful a business and to be avoided. As such, he’s sealed the exit, the effort of which turns him purple and makes him grunt like a hippo. If you pick him up mid-clench, he remains frozen in the lotus position which he demonstrated today for everyone as they looked back in horror. Unfortunately, what goes in must come out and it seems that the McChickie Nuggets are making their escape under the cover of darkness, catching him unawares whilst he sleeps.

Something momentus happened today. Chickie walked properly using Poff’s baby walker with no assistance. He did lengths of the lounge/diner. I was so proud of him.

It’s never quite so good though when the ‘All Singing/All Dancing/Top of the Range Poff’ performed this minor feat five months before and is now an accomplished gymnast . LucyWucy and Meerkat did their best to look impressed and Poff kindly walked in Chickie’s wake clapping.

I appreciate he’s not the fastest one off the developmental starting blocks but Meerkat’s email which followed on our return home was just mean, “Please find attached images of your 14 month old child using a 'special baby walker' aimed at children between the ages of 10-12 weeks. His progress however, we all agree, is excellent........ “

Well Meerkat, I'll leave you with this. No one likes a smart a#&e baby no matter how cute she is ! x

23 December 2006

A Shocking Announcement

Today’s blog comes with a health warning - magic knickers should not be worn for 16 hours. The chafing began after 8 hours, the numb right bottom cheek around 10 hours and loss of circulation in both legs at 12 hours.

It seemed a good idea to tuck my flabby tum tums into the ultra tight pants at 7am this morning, an even better idea to wear two vests and tuck them into aforementioned pants to keep flabby tum tums company. The look was complete when I pulled on a pair of 60 denier black tights over all of the above, finishing just beneath the saggy boobage which was being propped up and inflated by a magic bra.

The reason I had squeezed myself into all of the above was because we were going to Accountant’s Cousin’s wedding. Chick was packed off to Nanna and Grandad’s and off we went off to Essex.
On arrival at the church, I was actually very grateful to be wearing so much underwear as the only source of heat was coming from five candles. The priest made no apologies for the broken boiler and just told everyone to sit down and be quiet which was a touching start to the ceremony. Scared by the feisty cleric, I reduced the volume of my teeth chattering and sat shivering quietly wishing I had a hot water bottle and a duvet. The ceremony lasted over an hour by which time most of the congregation had turned varying shades of blue.

We were eventually instructed to leave and all raced to our cars to put the heaters on and get to the reception venue as fast as possible in the hope some form of warmth would be provided. For some reason, Accountant’s dad had parked in the middle of a field as opposed to the half empty church car park so we all laughed and pointed at him as we drove past. Hot mulled wine on arrival was a good start but incredibly, no heating again. I was quite glad to be able to keep my coat on though as it meant I could concentrate all my energy on thawing rather than holding my stomach in (magic knickers assisting).

Whilst sipping our mulled wine, we all stood and watched Accountant’s dad driving past the window, having amazingly missed the very obvious car park once again. We pointed and laughed at him for a second time.

The usual wedding antics followed with all eyes firmly fixed on the waiter with the canapés. Everyone in the room formulating strategies on how to get as many prawn balls as possible without appearing greedy. I adopted the “charm the waiter with starved cheekiness” approach which worked beautifully and put me three chicken satay skewers and one sausage ahead of everyone else.

Next up was the flapping over the seating plan and which dodgy relative you were sat next to for the rest of the day. My concerns did increase over the course of the day as new and distant relatives to Chickie were presented to me. I decided to ignore the fact that there could be possible genetic links between these people and my son and offered a prayer that my chromosomes would cancel out theirs. Please God.

One of my favourite moments occurred when I walked past the coats cupboard and heard knocking. It was a bit like walking past a phone box and the phone starts ringing – do you answer it, don’t you? My curiosity got the better of me and I opened the door to find a woman who had turned around to hang her coat up and the door had shut behind her and plunged her into darkness. She had worked herself up to the verge of hysteria despite only being in there a matter of seconds. She later introduced me to her boyfriend as the lady who had rescued her from the closet.

Throughout the day, I did find toilet visits particularly stressful as I kept having to unpeel my pants and spend ridiculous amounts of time untucking and retucking myself. When I saw the easy access toilet, it gave me hope that my next attempt may be easier but no, it wasn’t that kind of easy access. I then managed to block the toilet up by being over zealous with my preparation paper (loo paper all around the seat). I legged it as fast as my now starting to chafe upper legs would carry me.

The final high point to the day was the Best Man’s Speech. Bless Him. He was clearly nervous and the rhythm of the speech a little erratic as he kept referring to his notes. However, there was a point when he actually came to a grinding halt and that was the special moment he accidentally announced to 120 adults and, more importantly, 8 children, 2 days before Christmas that Santa didn’t exist. Gasps of horror rippled around the room as realisation of just what he had done dawned and 8 little lips started to tremble, the mothers desperately explaining to their sobbing children how The Best Man was only joking.

22 December 2006

Tis The Season to be Traumatised .. Tra la la...

No lazing around in the fluffy wuffy yumminess of my bed this morning but, unlike every other day when I’m inadequately dressed and looking rough’diddly’rough-rough, nobody knocked on my door to see my perky little face with freshly brushed hair on top. I was so proud of myself, I did make a special nappy bag trip to the dustbin and clattered the lid down extra loudly. Short of screaming, “Look everyone, I’m up, I’m buffed, I’m coiffed and it’s 8am”, I felt I’d done all I could.

I had three boys under the age of ten to be scrubbed, fed and dressed by 9.30am. The nephews had stayed over and I had to make sure they were ready this time as last time they stayed, Accountant had been in charge of overseeing proceedings and when Brother-in-Law knocked on the door to collect them, two boys and an Accountant answered it in their pyjamas.

I don’t know if it’s a boy thing, but I’m 99% sure it is based on extensive personal research, but when you say, “put the laptop down and go and get dressed”, what they seem to hear is, “completely ignore me and continue playing on the computer forevermore, my little techno-poppet”. It’s the same with my husband, “can you unblock the toilet sweetheart” translates to, “completely ignore me and watch tv forevermore, my drain obstructing darling”.

After five attempts to prise them off the sofa, they reluctantly moved. I was back in control. Next, the feeding – that won’t take long, a spot of cereal, a splash of milk. Not so. They don’t do cereal. They placed two orders for cheese on toast “with none of that Cow stuff” – (that’s Laughing Cow spread which I used once but have since learnt is not acceptable!)

Eventually, the doorbell chimed the happy tune of “I’ve come to collect the boys!” and off they went. That left one baby. One baby who had a date with The Poff and a big fat white haired old man (not Snowy – the other one!). We were off to Santa’s Christmas Wonderland at Paulton’s Park!

As you’ll know, Poff was previously traumatised by her encounter with Santa and his Elves but we were hoping today would be a turning point in her festive attitude. Unfortunately, not so. This is the touching moment when Poff was reunited with Santa. I think the look of blind terror says it all. LucyWucy was really pleased she’d paid £28 for the rubbish plastic toy and a hyperventilating baby.

Chickie was mesmerised by all the lights as you can see from every photo of him staring gaumlessly at the ceiling.

Poff also had a mini freak out at the talking tree which, in her defence, was the stuff nightmares are made of.

A brief go on the swings although Chickie looks more like he's parachuted into his, a peer at the Meers and £8 spent on two ginormous Winnie the Pooh in Santa Hat balloons and we were ready for home.

21 December 2006

DJ Chickie in the House

Why haven’t I learnt that every time I get up late and venture downstairs looking like Nora Batty, someone is always guaranteed to turn up and catch me in all my slobby glory?

This morning found me face to unwashed face with a SWAT team of window cleaners. There I stood, greasy hair scraped back wearing my still stained dressing gown and spotty fluffy slippers. I endured the usual chit chat about the weather, once again, hiding my deep shame at being caught in yet another state of disgrace.

I still carry with me the utter embarrassment of when I was heavily pregnant and woke to hear strange noises coming from the nursery. I wandered into the room wearing only my knickers to find one of the window cleaners staring back at me through the sparkling clean glass. The poor boy almost dropped his squeegee. I shrieked and ran back into the bedroom where I saw the rattling top half of a ladder up against the window. I then went into a state of utter panic and found myself desperately trying to seek refuge in a room where there wasn’t an 18 year old boy peering back in. As there was so many of them, I ended up in the bathroom frantically trying to let down the blind before the next one got up the ladder and saw my flesh coloured elephant size silhouette through the frosted glass. Unfortunately, I can’t remember which one of them got the full frontal so tend to avoid eye contact with all of them as a precaution.

Chickie had no such issues as he scrutinized one of them through the French doors, up on all fours like a little pitbull. The window cleaner tried to act casual but think he found being eyeballed by an unblinking one year old slightly unnerving.

Once the window cleaners had left, Chickie’s attention went back to ‘toy of the moment’, the stereo, as he resumed his post as Resident MC. Turn on, boogie, turn off. Turn on, boogie, work it, work it, Turn off.

It’s newspaper day once again. To all of those who mocked me, namely Sister, Glam-Nan, Snowy, Brother-in-Law and Accountant (yes, all family!) I am back and I’m bigger than you’ve ever seen me before and not just because I've stuffed my face with chocolate all week. I also feature not one, not two but THREE times. Framed signed copies of celebrity family members in the local paper make a thoughtful Christmas gift don't you think?

20 December 2006

Frozen Chickie

It’s suddenly very, very cold. I knew Chickie was grateful for his extra layers despite being unable to move any part of his upper body. He showed his appreciation by glaring at me from his car seat.

We went to a playdate this morning to see Natalie and one of her little girls, Sophie, and my friend Claire the Chav brought her bambino, Isabella. In blatant defiance of the no-dummy rule in force at her house, Isabella has devised a cunning alternative. At least it's discreet!

Natalie is married to Kevin who I have known for about fourteen years. Kevin has delighted me over the years with his unashamed love of girly music, his ultra-ultra competitive streak, his utter laziness and excessive wind.

I have many, many memories involving Kevin’s ridiculous behaviour over the years but my all time favourite still makes me chuckle ten years later.

I’ll set the scene. We were in church, it was quiet as the congregation contemplated deep spiritual matters. Kev was leaning back on his chair as he was incapable of doing anything normally, including sitting. I thought it would be an excellent moment to dig him in the ribs. I delivered the short, sharp and very unexpected poke with the stealth of a ninja.

Kevin not only fell backwards off his chair but the shock caused him to lose control of his bottily functions. Fifty horrified faces turned in unison as Kevin let rip a true whoopee cushion style thunder dumpling and collapsed amidst a green haze on the floor.

The babies had a lovely time although Chickie upset Sophie by eating the Party Ring she had been saving for her older sister for when she came home from school. A replacement was immediately produced from the Emergency Party Ring Selection Box. Phew. Sophie gave Chickie a kiss to show all was forgiven or she could have been trying to retrieve the biscuit?

Gambogini has desperately been trying to comment on the blog after I wrote about her in Sit Down and Be Quiet but, unfortunately for her, it's not working! What a shame. Seems like your defence will remain unheard my dear friend!

Also, thank you so much Gambogini for the personalised 2007 calendar that arrived this morning featuring twelve of the most hideous photographs of myself ever taken. I will deal with you when I see you but in the meantime, let's all enjoy this special photograph of you xxx

19 December 2006

Dented and Demented

Today presented me with a dribbling Glam-Nan, a patched Meerkat and Snowy with cartoon birdies flying in a circular formation around his head.

Glam-Nan had been to the dentist and was the first of the afflicted to arrive. She sat on the sofa performing face contorting lip stretches whilst softly showering my rug with saliva as she attempted to say, “I’z hope I’ms not’sch going to’sch ssstay like’sch this’ch permanently’sch”. I gave her a little bowl to collect the slobber and put Chickie away in case his new look ‘less than Glam-Nan’ gave him night terrors.

Next up was Snowy swaying in the doorway clutching his head looking decidedly woozy. When faced with a potential medical crisis, I did what all normal people do, and cried. It transpired that Snowy had walked into a ladder on the roof of a car. As I’ve spent my whole life avoiding the absorption of any medical techniques, I adopted the “cuddle him better” approach whilst monitoring his every breath through my tears.

Dazed and Drooley looked after Chickie whilst LucyWucy and I went to the cinema. LW explained that The Meerkat had also been in the wars and after repeated eye swelling episodes during the course of the day had eventually gone to the vet who had provided a fetching eye patch for him to wear. Unfortunately, I don’t have an actual photo so have done a little editing to give the effect.

Whilst watching the trailer for “The Museum at Night”, I made the interesting discovery that LucyWucy has a taxidermy phobia as she tried to play down her mini freak out at the creatures coming alive in the museum. I reassured my now “strange” friend that it wasn’t real but must admit am really looking forward to some “Lucy’s House at Night” practical jokes featuring a stuffed Meerkat.

The film was good and, as always, saw me float home in a fluffy bubble of romantic delusion expecting Accountant to have morphed into Jude Law by the time I arrived home. That bubble has now popped as he bends before me now, in just his pants, scavenging chocolates off the floor.

Chickie said "ball" today and his favourite new tricks are climbing the stairs at speed and turning on the stereo to play some funky tunes and have a little bop. He also enjoyed Glam-Nan's Granster Rapping session which included his favourite "Whose my little baby boy, whose my little pride and joy" - repeat to fade. He was really pleased to see me when I got home and did his special leg and arm flap that he does when he's excited. Love him. x

18 December 2006

6 Babies, 7 Mummies, 1 Daddy and Sydney The Space Hopper

As a full time housewife, I feel a certain pressure to have a perfectly clean and tidy home at all times. After all, everyone knows I don’t do ironing, so if the house was a dump as well, I may as well advertise that all I do all day is watch Hallmark Channel which, of course, I don’t.

It’s just pure coincidence that I happen to know the daily schedule off by heart: 9am McClouds Daughters, 10am Picket Fences, 11am Seventh Heaven, 12pm Diagnosis Murder, 1pm Hallmark Quiz, 3pm Afternoon Movie.

Anyway, the last minute change of venue to my house for our Christmas NCT meet up this afternoon launched me off the sofa like a firework. I then performed the cleaning equivalent of Supermarket Sweep and explained to Chickie that I had raised domestic readiness conditions to Defcon 3. Unfortunately, I failed to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation and he just followed in my frenzied wake untidying everything I had just tidied.

The next challenge was converting the house into an adventure playground fit for seven unruly toddlers to wreck. Then, health and safety considerations, checking plug socket covers, general hazards and emergency exits to ensure aforementioned toddlers left in the mint condition in which they arrived.

Lastly, the catering. The additional pressure to that of good housekeeping. A basic requirement for a real housewife is to have a larder full of home baked treats, the sweet scent of which should waft up your guest’s nostrils as they arrive. When I was pregnant, imagining Mummy-Me, I was generally sporting a fetching apron whilst stirring an angel cake mixture with a wooden spoon, smiling serenely at my perfect child who had volunteered to do the washing up. Instead, the scent of nappy bags is the welcome whiff of choice at Chez Chickie and I leave all baking to Mr Kipling.

All seven tots were in attendance and destroyed my carefully created illusion of domestic perfection in minutes. The devastation after three hours was total. By the end, fights were breaking out over the Helter Skelter toy, breadstick missiles were being launched at the babies who had the good toys, Isabella got her leg squished under the stair gate and Lucie did a giant face first ka-splat and left with a big red circle on her forehead and a matching one on her nose.

Luckily, Santa Em was on hand to cause a temporary distraction from the brawling and falling as she dished out some pressies to a group of babies dangerously close to the edge. One lucky baby even got a Space Hopper. Oh, No, my mistake, that's actually the Sydders who I don't think appreciated her friend's constant attempts to climb on her back and bounce her round the house.