Am I mean?

I have the battle scars from far too many children's parties, we seem to have done them all, swimming parties, bouncy castle parties, bowling, cinema, sleep over, discos, wacky warehouse etc etc etc.

In my 18 years of, quite frankly, top notch mothering, no fillings or asbos, I thank you for your round of applause, I feel I can say I've been there, done that, got the t shirt.

I won't even begin to do the party maths because I am fairly certain if I hadn't spent that money on sometimes 3 parties a year, plus invites plus party bags and all that goes with it I would not be driving an 8 year old car, I would be driving a very swanky new one. I just sucked it up, I have 3 kids, they have a birthday a year, they either have a party or a birthday treat with friends, I just hand over the cash.

The Beautiful Son came home with an invitation to his mate L's birthday treat, it's next week and they are going paintballing, my son is one of 3 other boys invited. It wasn't so much an invitation but more a bill.

If I don't hand over £30 my son doesn't get to go, this is before I've even bought the boy a present. I have never in my life asked for a contribution to my kids parties, if we didn't have the cash we'd do something that cost as little as possible, if my son was heart set on an expensive thing we'd limit the number of friends he could bring.

The only thing the birthday boy's family are providing are the lifts there and back, I'm surprised they didn't ask me to contribute to the petrol.

You have been spared...

This morning I have been as cross as cross can be. This takes some doing, because normally I am far too lazy to work myself up to cross, shouty harridan. It really is difficult to annoy me and my crossness passes really quickly but unusually I have been cross for around 12 hours, I only managed to cope as for most of them I was asleep.

You were going to be given the full 3 verses and the disco chorus of what is currently the top 3 of my personal top of the crossness pops. Most of it is around people being selfish, people costing me lots of money and people taking me for granted. When I say it like that it sort of dissipates, doesn't it?

So instead I will show you a nice picture taken on Saturday night when I was having a most lovely time in a most lovely place, probably much more enjoyable for all.

Dans lequel il pleuvra, beaucoup.

Bonjour mes lecteurs lovely. Au moment où vous lisez ces lignes, je serai un moyen moyen moyen d'un ciel qui se levait à feck c'est vraiment rapide heures.

J'ai pris connaissance des prévisions météorologiques de plusieurs et malheureusement ils conviennent tous que ce sera pleut aujourd'hui et de demain, mais je dois dire qu'il ya de pires endroits pour être plu sur que Paris.

And in English

Good morning my lovely readers. By the time you are reading this I shall be a way way way up a kye having got up at feck it's really early o'clock.

I have read several weather forecasts and sadly they all agree that it will be raining today and tomorrow but I have to say that there are worse places to be rained on than Paris.

In which I struggle to find the correct response

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the auntie is usually in posession of a smart arse remark. It is both my blessing and my curse. Sometimes words just fail me though.

As I have just finished running a 9 week training course for work, at the end I have to perform exit interviews with the participants. Today I spent a lovely hour with a lady who is originally from Zimbabwe. She said to me...

"Oh you have such a lovely figure, such a beautiful big bottom and juicy thighs, you have such a good African body"

And she genuinely meant that as the highest praise, so I am thinking of buying a ticket to Africa, apparently I will be gorgeous there.

In which I upset the Beautiful Baby Daughter

You could have been reading a post about the contents of my handbag or about the 10 things that made me happy, instead you're reading about what a remarkably mean mummy I am. She actually does say that to me when at full capacity crossness.

It was really stupid of me, she is the child most likely to be cross and shouty if she doesn't get her own way, the other 2 are far too lazy to get cross and shouty, takes way too much effort for them.

She came home from school full of the joys that she had run the 800m in 3 minutes 52 seconds, I have no clue if this is magnificent or rubbish but I have been a mummy and a teacher for a very long time, so I am fulsome in my praise, fulsome.

She then needs more worshipping, this is duly given, I express my pride in her as many times as she asks me to. Then she asks for a McDonalds as a reward, I remark that it doesn't really go with the sporting achievement, I mean you don't see Linford Christie in the queue at the chippy do you?

She is not best pleased with me, my having to go for the funny every single time and my obvious great reluctance to drive through the golden arches. My name is auntiegwen and I am a remarkably mean mummy.

The family that eat together...

Eldest Beautiful Daughter, The Beautiful Son and I had dinner last night. Beautiful Baby Daughter was sorting out 2 friends and a boy mess, I'm sure you can fill in the rest yourself.

You would think that an 18 year old, a nearly 15 year old and a 43 year old could have a civilised dinner, well you would if you don't come to my house. The corn on the cob was cold as EBD stuck it in a bowl full of cold water and zapped it in the microwave for 5 minutes. There was some cherry tomato throwing incidents which led to some pips on the painting and the wall adjacent to the table. The table manners were reminiscent of the chimps tea parties of old. But the sparkling conversation made up for it.

ag - (in bright cheery loving mummy type tones) "How was school?"

TBS - (in surprisingly un teenagery proper non grunting tones) "I got an A in English and 2 A*'s in Science"

EBD - (in going for a funny type tone) " Well, I'm not pregnant"

TBS - (in quick thinking mode) "I didn't make anyone pregnant and I still got 3 A's, I win"

Is it any wonder I drink?

Miss Independence

As the eldest beautiful daughter has reached the grand old age of 18 with neither a filling or an asbo, the time has come to pass where she must find something to do to replace school.

There have been a few posts upon this subject both here and on mad manic mamas which is the other site that lets me spout my gospel on an unsuspecting public.

We have now reached the stage in the university application process where she cannot bear to hear another word upon the subject. This is always exacerbated by Tuesdays. On Tuesdays I work with my very good friend, the grown up, per Una cardigan wearing, Daily Mail reading Susan. Susan has a son who is the same age as my eldest (she has more children, also very good friends with my more children too)

Susan takes the university application process very seriously and her parents guide to uni application book is now the Bible. We discuss the progress of our offspring's application every Tuesday. This scares me and reassures me in equal measure, Susan knows so much more about it, I get scared and then come home and tell EBD what Susan says. EBD doesn't want to know and has taken me out of the information loop. What Susan knows scares EBD too, and as she is my child, has gone into the land adjacent to mummy denial land, teenager denial land. But she has a duvet pulled over her head.

Last night twas particularly stressful, EBD has a big 5 hour interview today, for her first choice course in her first (and in her head only choice) university. She has a maths test, an interview and a presentation. They are quite specific in their remit. She chooses a poem to read and present an analysis of. She has to bring all sorts of stuff and I want to actually check her bag, actually I want to pack her bag like I did when she was 5.

I am not allowed to be involved, because previously I checked she had sent her reply slip to confirm her interview and checked she'd told work she may be slightly late as she wasn't coming straight from school. She is going to do this all by her own self, so last night she discovers that the poem she has left to the last minute to do, is 140 words, and she needs 250-300. So frantic poem searching starts, then we find that there is no word installed on any computer in this house, when we resolve this is when we discover the printer has no ink.

And all the time I'm trying not to get cross because she, as usual, has left it all to the last minute.

So please send all kinds of positive thoughts her way today, she really will be an amazing primary school teacher, she just needs to be accepted on the course first. So any wee helpful thoughts or magic spells you can do will be much appreciated.

Welcome to my world

Normal auntiegwen bloggging service has resumed. Can you see what's on my bed? It's my new laptop. I did want a macbook as it'd go better with my bed but I felt the extra £500 it would cost me wasn't quite justifiable even to me, the Queen of waste your money.

So I am back, prone, in my jammies, all is well with the world. If I didn't have to go to work, would I ever leave this room again? I am disproportionately fond of this room and my bed. I read here, write blogs here, watch stuff here, sleep here and so on.

So, tell your auntie, where do you write yours?

In which I am officially the mother of an adult.

Eighteen years ago today, my real job started. After a spectacularly quick labour (3 hours and 20 minutes, yes, I can be that efficient) my beautiful eldest daughter was born. This was the dream baby who slept when she should, ate what was given her and smiled from morning to night. I jokingly call her my practise child, despite my inexperience my mistakes don't seem to have mattered. I used to say that she was my heart wrapped up in a nappy.

For every single day of those 18 years years she has brought me nothing but the deepest sense of love and the most profound happiness. She is genuinely the sweetest mixture of part adult part baby and is just extremely happy and loves life.

She is just about to fly the nest, God willing. She will go off and live the life I have given her. I have found her a beautiful necklace that is inscribed "May all your wildest dreams come true"

So my darling girl, that is what I wish for you, I want all your wildest dreams to come true because I love you more than words can say because you are mo cridhe. My heart.

Techfeckinology part umpteen

BIG HUGE MIDDLE AGED WOMAN RANT ALERT

I put it capitals as well, for emphasis, so if you want to click away now I wouldn't blame you, I'm your auntie, I'll always love you.

If you've been around a wee while, you'll know that the auntie is feart of technology, this may provide a subconscious reasoning in why I only seem to date IT consultants.

Every morning in life I wake up, get up make coffee in the hugest mug I can find(remember I'm a mug nazi too) and return to bed. Whereupon I lovingly wake up my laptop (which doesn't actually belong to me but for a company I freelance lecture for, I haven't since July and I am dodging their calls for I think they want to take my baby back)

I then (in order, for I have bred the children of strange, I am, the mothership) check my emails, I then check google reader for new blog posts, then I make another mug of coffee and then I check my horoscope, I read at least 10 versions of Leo and remember the one that tells me David Tennant is going to shag me.

This very morning, twas very, very upsetting for the auntie, as when she clicked on a wee Leo, there came SEVERAL big boxes,

big scary things fortelling the end of the world,

warning me I had 31 trojans who were trying to use my credit card to buy internet porn or holidays or new shoes

and then the internet connection went (this is why I didn't reply to you, Scrappy Sue, I left right in the middle of our nice wee chat about speedos)

and now I can't connect to the internet, I cannot even get into my documents, my nice screen saver of me and The Beautiful Children is just a big scary blue screen with warnings all over it.

I am writing this not in jammies as is my wont, in real clothes, at my real desk, with my executive twirly chair and not prone on my bed, can you tell the difference?

I am quite frankly (look away now Grandma in Cyprus) shitting myself, have I f****d up a laptop that doesn't belong to me, but has 2 years of my crap upon it? If I can't connect to the internet can I fix this? Why did I leave IT God and where is an IT consultant to shag when you need one?

Please help, anyone who can fix puters? any advice gratefully received, also I expect I'll have to buy myself a laptop now.

Which one? there are gazillions

Please help, I currently have no IT consultant in my life, so I'm counting on you

Why?

I love my Sunday Times. I genuinely love sitting down and spending a few hours working my way through it. I read each section in the order I least like, so I don't even bother opening the sports section and so on till I get to the magazines.

I have been agitated and upset since seeing the photography section in the magazine.

I saw photographs of a man being stoned to death for adultery in Somalia.

I can't get them out of my head. I feel nauseous still. I'm sure there are sound journalistic reasons for publishing these photos and maybe I am far too comfortable in my world where these things are not known to me. Does it help to inform us that these things happen? will it encourage people to campaign against such practices? do I have the right as another human to question people's culture and traditions?

Everywhere I turn there are stories of infidelity, break ups, divorces and pain. I keep seeing the Somali man.