The 7 days of laundry

My youngest daughter continues to be a source of wonder to me. This is a photo of her bed.

Another view

 Tis fairly grim, is it not? So how can a child that messy be so clean in other ways? I do her laundry, I'm ace at laundry, it is really one of my best skills. And in 1 week, and I repeat for clarity, 1 week,  my child has worn (and I did count and then write it down so I didn't forget)

 11 pairs of pants, 9 pairs of tights, 8 pairs of leggings, 7 pairs of jeans, 7 bras (and you know how sorry I am that it wasn't 6 as I know some of you are singing along to the 12 days of Christmas)7 t shirts, 6 pairs of socks, 4 shirts, 2 dresses....

 and one skirt. 

My argument in days of yore was always that clothes should be hung up or put away like regular humans but as I am afeared of the BBD and even more afeared of the BBD during AS levels, I am just washing whatever is put in the basket, I am fairly certain that most weeks I am re washing clean clothes but as conversations with BBD scare the bejaysus out of me, I am letting dirty laundry get clean. If we have a brief 2 minute exchange of words and there is no eye rolling (her), deep or sharp intakes of breaths (me), slamming of doors (her), tears (either of us) I just count my blessings and go on my merry way. If she passes her a levels and goes to uni, we can tidy up and redecorate

My deep love of Mumsnet

I am always behind the curve, if it's trendy or new or hip, I will find it years after it is trendy/new/hip. I am a late adapter.

So, eleventy million years after it started, I have become addicted to Mumnet. I can spend hours on it, it has boards for everything, all open for the great British public to chip their tuppenyworth in. I have had loads of advice about parenting a troubled teen, dealing with, quite frankly, bat shit crazy ex partners (not mine) and the best Farrow & Ball colours for north facing rooms. I have had squillions of clothes advice, I now know where to buy really cheap shoes and the best jeans. The mumsnet swears by has made me open my purse numerous times. I bloody love it.

Himself now takes me out for a walk every night just to get me away from it, I will clickety finger my way through an evening nae bother at all. So he has now taken to joining in, we do enjoy an "Am I being unreasonable?" of an evening.

Although he's now not allowed near it if he's had a sherbet as when a nice lady asked for good ideas for her husbands 40th birthday present and ON MY ACCOUNT, SO EVERYONE THINKS I'm THE WEIRD ONE. The bold mr auntiegwen replied

"Tie him to a hotel bed and shag him senseless, You're welcome x"

They haven't banned me though, they just chat to me a bit less now.

The beginning of the end

I am finding more and more that I don't want to blog about stuff for fear of upsetting people. The stuff I have going on with my mother is fairly grim and I would like to blog my way through it but I don't want to upset you my dear readers. I have decided to have a separate blog as I work my way through my mother's declining mental state.

I'm not sure if I have enough to keep both blogs going so if I'm not here, you might find me over HERE

Was it worth it?

This week I have the pleasure of my eldest beautiful daughter's company. EBD is off school for the Easter holidays and she's back here with me, tis lovely. She makes me feel I haven't completely failed as a parent.

On Saturday she met up with her 6th form chums, a lot of them she's known since we moved down south in 2000 and it's the kind of friendship where they all meet up and pick up where they've left off. There are about 10 of them, all went to university, all graduated last summer.

Of the 10, she is one of the lucky ones, her degree in primary education is completely relevant to her degree. Her friend Tom also has a job related to his degree, he's performing in LEGOLAND and his degree is in acting. All of her chums have jobs though, some in shops, some in offices, 1 working for the family business. My child is earning more than she would if she was teaching in the UK, she is most definitely earning a good living wage, in this she probably is the luckiest of them all at present.

Her friend has a degree in international politics, he is being employed by a company to go round knocking on doors asking people if they would like a local bus timetable, if they say yes, he fills in a form and returns it to a local council and then a council employee posts the bus timetable to them. As you are middle aged like me, your head will now be exploding at the waste of public money, you like me will have done the "WHY FILL OUT THE FECKIN FORM? ASK AND IF THE ANSWER IS YES, JUST HAND THEM THE FECKIN TIMETABLE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD"

You might have done it without the swearwords and cross shouty shreikery though.

But I doubt it

In which I have left it too late again, the 2014 remix

On a theme of old.

I still need to lose weight. I have been running again and all was going splendidly. Then I hurt my back, walking, sitting still and lying down became problematic and I am usually ace at them. My back got better now so I had a run, a really nice 4 miles, I properly enjoyed it. I got home and found I had a blister covering the back of my right ankle. It had started off as a small rub from my new cheerful "I might be middle aged but my feet look jaunty" shoes

Except my shoes are even jauntier than those as instead of plain old laces, I have red ribbons. You'd be dead jealous apart from the blister it gave me. You will be pleased I haven't added a photo of my blister, it is a lot less jaunty than the shoes.

So, I am still trying to lose weight (as ever) but I love food and my husband loves cooking, we are a match made in heaven, I just need to move around more. He also likes to buy me bottles of gin, I kept buying Bombay Sapphire, which I love but on recommendation from Curry Queen we now love Sipsmith and courtesy of our local fab shop we found a brilliant gin made here in Market Harborough, God but I love this place, it's called Two Birds When you have gin you have to have some nibbles with it, it'd be rude not to. Hence the ferocious amount of weight gained.

It has now come to my knowledge that I am about to go on holiday, which is great, we will be sans weans, which is greater and it will be sunny, greatest of great.

What is less great is that where we are going will be full of honeymoon couples, therefore I will be surrounded by women 2 decades younger and 2 stone lighter as they will have all been on a diet for years before their wedding so they will be all skinny on the day and honeymoon thereafter. Due to another bout of spectacular bad planning and general failure of life stuff, my honeymoon is happening a mere 15 months after our nuptials. Any weight I had lost has had time to be found.

Also whilst I am away, it will be Mother's day and this will be the first time in 22 years that I have not had any one of my children with me.

Before you feel too sorry for me, I shall fess up, it's a lot easier to miss your weans when you've already had a week swanning round Sri Lanka and are now sitting on your own wee deck of your own wee water villa in the Maldives, I bet the sun will dry my tears up a treat.

See you in a fortnight.

Food & work - part 2 work

Sometimes I think being Glaswegian doesn't help me when people ask me to do stuff I find weird. I think my Glaswegian ness shows on my face. Or perhaps I am just fundamentally unsuited to corporate bollocks.

I have been to That London to attend a training course and several meetings. I have had to have extensive training just so I can go to meetings, effectively. My Glaswegian ness was in full force then. I could not have been more Glaswegian if I tried and I have had a lot of practice due to my advanced age

My friend Lou (also Glaswegian) texted me when I was away asking what I was up to. I believe my reply was 5 words long, letting her know my location and included the words team building shite. Succinct.

I loathe with a passion ice breakers and stuff like that, I would like to do my job and not go to another meeting as long as I live. I get the fear when we are asked to go round the table being asked things that aren't job related. I can answer job related questions with no fear at all. I can even use 2 bob words and pronounce them correctly.

At the end of the 2 days, I could have been wearing a see you Jimmy comedy wig and tartan bunnet as I was asked, and I shit you not, " tell me what colour you feel?"

At this point my Glaswegian DNA exploded. All over the desk, a mix of irn bu, MB bars and chips.

In my mother's mind

It's not been easy dealing with my mum having no short term memory, I'm not as patient or as kind as I would be with your mother and it's hard to keep positive as it is progressive and it's not going to get better. But genuinely, today I had my first proper laugh about the whole thing.

I was speaking to her on the phone and I asked what she's been up to. I was hugely surprised when she told me she'd taken the bus and gone to visit my sister. My dad who's been with her 24 hours a day for months and knows she's not been on a bus since about 1975 gently tells her she's mistaken. She then takes the arse with him and starts telling him all about her bus pass and that he's forgotten and maybe he should get his memory checked. She then told him to go jump in the Clyde.

Still, it's nice that she had a wee bus trip, even if it was imaginary. And as my dad says, she'll have forgotten she's cross with him by the time the kettle's boiled.

Food & work - part 1 Food

Following on from my husband telling me I was only interested in food and work. Today after a visit to the loo, I pulled up my pants and they actually disintegrated down the right hip seam.

Either all the food he makes me has actually made me burst out of my knickers or I now have super human strength due to all this improved nutrition as never before have I managed to break my pants. Ever. And I am 47.

I don't care for any of those scenarios

Clearly Marks & Spencer's quality control lady had nipped outside for a smoke on the day my no VPL low rise thong left the factory.

Bedroom chatters

Every morning my husband talks to me, a big lot, till I wake up. Tis his usual habit, he does love a chat, so I get a good 45minutes of chat every morning. That's another little bit of married bliss that was new to me, I had trained the children not to speak until I was fully caffeinated, then I get himself, chatty is his middle name. He talks before and during my first coffee of the day. This has taken quite a deal of acclimatising to.

Andrew will chat about anything, he feels quite entitled to share his opinion on everything in the world and beyond with me, his opinion doesn't necessarily need to be wanted or qualified, I am his wife, therefore I will want to hear it.

Today's topic of choice was the moon. He was amazed that I didn't know someone had driven a car on it and that there was golf clubs and a family photo of some astronaut's wean on it. Frankly at 6.30 am I don't know my own name, I don't care about that either.

I told him so and qualified this with, "I don't have the spare brain capacity to wonder about someone's wean's photie being on the moon"

To which he replied "Yep, unless it's about what's for your dinner or neurological disorders, you're not interested"

Just my bloody luck for the honeymoon to be over before your food and work obsessed auntie has actually got on the plane.

22

Today my eldest beautiful daughter is 22, that was a bit of a shocker for me, in my head I'm about 35 I think!

For the first time in her life I won't see her on her birthday as she is in Dusseldorf and it's a bit far to pop over for a pizza and a glass of wine. Melancholy wee soul that I am I wonder if it will be like this from now on in, she doesn't have any plans to come back to the UK, she has signed up for another year teaching in Germany and then think she might transfer to the Madrid school.

I'm really, really pleased she's doing this, if you have been reading this blog for a while, she was my chick that had to be shoved out of the nest, she wasn't at all keen on this independence malarkey at all but she's now embraced it.

So happy birthday to my practice child, you mean the world to me and I am so privileged to be your Mummy.

My memory

Should be subtitled "Or what's left of it"

Is it cos I'm stressed? (to be sung to the tune of Moose T)

Is it because I'm getting old?

Is it because I've got way too much work on?

Is it a sign of my own personal doom?

Today I was lecturing at a local university, part of my lecture was on memory loss and mild cognitive impairment in neurological disorders.

I drove all the way home and found I'd left my laptop there.

Do you think I could take my mum's appointment at the memory clinic? Save it going to waste.

My Mother's Memory

Life is not terribly easy for The Beautiful Parents at the moment. My mum has been having memory problems for at least 18 months but has vehemently denied it, she is quite happy in denial land, we have tried all kinds to get her to see her GP but have failed. My dad isn't able to persuade her and doesn't like to upset her, so we have a fair bit of hiding under the duvet about it. As she has been very physically well, she had managed to dodge her doctor for the last 2 years.

Recently she has been feeling nauseous and been off her food. She wouldn't go and see the GP about this as she is scared to, in case they see how bad her memory is. Eventually she was throwing up old blood and my dad phoned an ambulance, she had a perforated duodenal ulcer. The "indigestion" she'd been having clearly was more serious. So she's had some major surgery and has been thrust back into the bosom of the NHS. Normally she's not be best pleased about this but as she's so ill, her arseyness (which is legendary) was abated, she was very compliant and docile.

I went up to stay on the day she got out of hospital and was properly shocked at how poor her short term memory is. I really wasn't fully aware of how much my dad is doing and how little she can now do. She has given up any kind of housework or cooking, she is not really doing anything to contribute to the running of the house, my dad is doing everything. She was still driving but has had 2 bad experiences when a road was closed and she couldn't find her way home, she was missing for over 4 hours and my sister had to drive around to find her. I knew nothing of this.

So I have a mother who clearly has dementia and refuses to acknowledge it, I have a dad who can't walk the length of the hall without being out of breath due to his COPD and asbestosis. My mum can't even make a cup of tea now, my dad doesn't drive so can't do the shopping, my sister will help but lives 40 minutes away and also has 2 school age girls and a 15 month old baby.

So, now we are 2 weeks post surgery, today she went to the GP and had a memory test done. She could not remember any of the answers, not a single one.

My mother is now refusing to be referred to the memory clinic and to ever see another doctor as long as she lives because there is absolutely nothing wrong. She is perfectly happy.

It's the rest of us that are not.

Relationships - part eleventy million

According to an Open University study by Dr Jacqui Gabb, married couples without children are happier than married couples with children. My first reaction? no shit Sherlock.

I have plenty children and I love them, sometimes it's properly difficult to remember why I love them and they seem to want to try stuff to make me see if I can stop loving them but I'm averse to change, I still love them. Despite their best efforts (I'm looking at you Beautiful Baby daughter, winner of the gold medal gobshite Olympics 2011, 2012& 2013)

And as I like to have a ponder and a speculate, I wonder how many of these couples are step parents? This has been the hardest thing of all for me personally. To me, step parenting is all of the work without all of the reward.

I love my husband with a passion previously reserved for David Tennant and fruit and nut toblerones. He is quite frankly the person I can spend endless amounts of time with and never get bored, but trying to balance the demands of the children we have and the influences of ex's and have time to be a couple has been like walking a tightrope whilst juggling fire over a pit of tigers who haven't been fed for a month. Man alive, it's properly tricky.

I am fairly new to the step parenting thing, courtesy of my beautiful husband I now have a stepson, he was 4 when I first met him and he is now nearly 8. He is a delightful child, despite the influence of my delinquent children. I have an easy gig with The Boy Wonder, a really easy gig, he's always cheerful to be with us and he copes really well with living in 2 households that have vastly different norms and routines. He also doesn't live with us full time, which helps with the easy gig, I can be a good step parent when I only have to do it part time.

However my husband does live with a stepchild full time and my mercies, she is not the easiest child in the world to live with, she would try the patience of ALL of the saints. For this alone, he should get a medal. Never mind that he inherited 3 teenagers that I had made earlier. Most normal humans (read sane) would have run a mile.

I have been a parent for almost 22 years (how the hell did that happen, clearly I'm only about 29!) and in that 22 years I have had the benefit of 3 children trying to tap dance all over my last nerve. All 3 of them have at times, made it their mission to dement me. However in that decades long battle of wits, I have learned a thing or 3, I can spot a lie a MILE away, I am quite aware of all their cunning little tricks.

However my husband hasn't had the benefits of all those years of parenting, he got mine almost fully formed with all the problems that the teenage years can bring, up till then he just had to have a ferocious knowledge of Lego Star Wars and an inexhaustible patience for building Lego models and playing X box/wii games. Which, to be honest, weren't a great deal of help to my most troubled child (BBD, not that I need to put that in, if you've even only ever been to this blog once before!)

However both of us have to live with children we have had to learn to love, that unconditional love isn't there as it is with our own children.

He hasn't had the benefit of my children when they were cute and adorable now he just has to try and figure out how to love a teenager/s who see it as their mission in life to eat us out of house and home, make as much mess as humanly possible, doing absolutely nothing to help around the house and still managing to make him feel that he has ruined their life by breathing in a house we bought and have provided for their comfort and easy life. Not easy.

I feel glad to be nearing the end of my intense input kind of parenting, I'm tired of it (gimme a break, nearly 22 feckin years.) I feel like I am 22 miles into a marathon and I've been made to go back and run again from mile 8. I have returned to a phase of my life I thought I had left forever, the park years, cold and very boring for me. With The Boy Wonder, lovely though he is, I have seen it all before and it didn't always interest me that much then.

My kids have opinions and views on the world that my husband doesn't share. The Boy Wonder sometimes comes out with views and opinions that get me up to 90. We all have to love and live with each other. The influences of the children's other parent also can cause no end of problems.

Would my husband and I be happier if we didn't have children?, for me that would be a yes (at this moment in time) but I'm still mighty glad I had them, not sure what he would say. I think our life would definitely be easier, less conflict, less stress, more free time, more money and more autonomy.

It is a work in progress, we will keep trying. They all grow up and leave home eventually, right?

Julen ar over/Julen er overstaet

Or Christmas is over if you don't like the Swedish or Danish translations, I didn't know how to do the wee punctuation marks, don't give out to me, I did Google translate for the titles.

Are you sad or relieved?

We had eleventy million things we had to do over Christmas, we had places to go and people to see, things in the house we must get finished or Christmas will have to be cancelled type of things. Probably just like yourself. We achieved precisely zero of our must do's.

I apologize to my wedding anniversary, who should have found itself in the great splendour of it's creation at One Devonshire Gardens, where we were due to spend 2 nights enjoying ourselves ON OUR OWN, the capitals for emphasis as we seem to have about 10 nights per year where someone doesn't want us to be with them. I also apologize to our good friends Gordon & Lou as we should have then driven on to Edinburgh to enjoy New Year there and then the Loony Dook in South Queensferry the next day. Neither of these things happened as the fuel pump exploded about 5 miles into our journey. No car no Scotland.

I apologise to our house for not painting the lounge walls or getting the skirting boards and window sills installed in the new kitchen diner. Christmas managed to come and go just fine without skirting boards or window sills and with lounge walls that have bare plaster around where we put the new door into the new kitchen. We did highlight the wall with 12 squares of paint that look nothing like the shade on the tester pot, this is why we have 12. How difficult is it to find paint that is 3 shades lighter than the greyish/beige you painted your last house? More difficult than you might imagine.

So instead, we ate and drank our body weight in chocolate and alcohol. We sat on the sofa and indulged ourselves in our new winter passion.

Box sets

Especially Scandinavian crime or Nordic Noir as it's known. We have seen The Killing series 1&2, Borgen series 1&3 and we are currently saving the last episode of The Bridge for tonight. Oh yes, we know how to partaaay. Clearly I am way behind the trend with this, the story of my life. by the time I catch up all the cool people have moved on.

So tomorrow will be bereft of Nordic Noir unless you comment sharpish and I can get an Amazon order in, please let me know what we can do to keep our NN passion alive with.

In which I take agin Bank of Scotland AND HSBC

I should have known that my uncharacteristic flurry of grown up ness and efficiency would come back to bite me.

I shan't bother putting in a Middle Aged Woman alert, I am fairly certain none of you need a rantie auntie warning, that's what you come here for, to embrace my middle aged ness and my grumpy old womanish ness, although in my defence, I still don't have a Per Una cardie, when that happens even I will accept I am a fully fledged grumpy old woman as apposed to the apprentice G O W I am presently.

I am forever moaning about having to change my name to Mrs Adventures because it is such a pain and it needs loads of forms and visits to banks and certificates and all sorts of stuff that takes me away from my sofa, mumsnet and iced top mince pies. Mr Adventures has been hugely keen to have me being Mrs Adventures, which I understand as I didn't revert to my maiden name after my divorce, I totally get that he doesn't want me to have the same name as my ex husband. My only objection to changing was the ball ache of the admin involved.

So to recap, I had to inform M&S so they could make me Mrs Adventures on my MasterCard, I have 2 accounts with Bank of Scotland and 1 with HSBC, all requiring Mrs Adventuring.

M&S sent my marriage certificate to someone else.

Bank of Scotland still haven't send me my new cards, when chasing this up I found out that when they photocopied my marriage certificate they didn't stamp it and certify it. So it went to Leeds and sat there for a bit, then someone at Leeds contacted the Market Harborough branch and was still waiting for them to get back to them . The M H branch had neither contacted me or Leeds. I spent an hour on the phone finding all this out. I had to make another visit to the branch with all documentation so the whole process could start again. The person who dealt with me the first time was actually the branch manager. Go figure.

HSBC also still haven't managed to get my card to me either. This was because they sent it to the branch for security reasons, my old branch, where I used to live. No one bothered to tell me it was there.

So HSBC take the prize for the number of visits and time required to tell them I am married and have moved house. In total by the time I go in to collect my card it will be 4 visits. The main visit where I had to take in my documentation took ages and asked me all sorts of questions about savings, mortgages, wills, insurance and what colour my pants were.

M& S take the prize for worry caused.

Bank of Scotland take the prize for general numptyness.

So as I have been massively annoyed, stressed and generally inconvenienced in all of this, someone should buy me a new handbag, I'm not fussed which of them do it but I do think I deserve a nice present. If you are so inclined I am after THIS but I really would prefer the Cavenham bag, which I can't link to but is properly lovely, navy blue and £169.

That would make me a cheerful auntie again, cheap at the price really.

In which I take agin Marks & Spencer

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a middle aged lady in need of food and cardigans and suchlike fripperies must attend her local branch of Marks & Spencer, It's a comfortable place for the MAL, we feel safe there. Oh sure I also worship at the other altars, to whit John Lewis, Emma Bridgewater and The White Company (The Holy Trinity) but good old M&S, bastion of middle England and the MAL and I go back a long way. It's not exciting but it's safe.

I buy pants there, I love my (now very old) sofas, I have had insurance from them, food is a given and my only credit card is from there. There cannot be a room in my house that doesn't have an M&S purchase in it.

But we have fallen out, I have taken agin them in a big way. If you read that their profits have taken a nose dive, you can explain to all your fancypants FT reading friends why, in fact, feel free to go on News at 10 and tell the nation, nodding sagely and whipping off your MAL reading specs in a sexy manner to make your point, let your inner financial expert loose.

Now I know you will be hugely surprised that despite being married for nearly a whole year now, I still haven't actually managed to change my name across the board, I know you're shocked now, me being a failed grown up! As I am terrified Mr auntiegwen will leave me if I don't change my name to Mrs Adventures, I have grasped the mettle, I got not 1 but 2 replacement marriage certificates and began a frankly terrifying round of efficiency. I am now Mrs Adventures in all 3 of my bank accounts, the council tax people, work, the tax office, the DVLA, the library, do you need to have a wee rest now? Is my efficiency wearing you out? Most probably scaring you, I expect. The very last people to hear the long ringing peal of my wedding bells were M&S MasterCard.

They wished me to send them a copy of my marriage certificate, I did so, by very special mail, as it was a very special certificate. I heard nothing, I don't fret, I expect they're very busy fending off criticism of their Christmas advert/new season clothing range/diminishing quality/insert other of your choice here.

Whilst I am still being very what splendid and efficient but this time at work, they call me and ask me to call them back. I do so, I am a compliant sort of auntie mostly, I speak to someone in the call centre who tells me I am about to receive a mailing meant for someone else, not to read it but send it straight back, I agree, slightly puzzled. This mailing never arrived. A few days later I get another call from them, again I am being very what splendid and efficient and they leave another voicemail. This time I get a real number to phone, a direct extension to a real person with a name, this is most unusual.

I ring to be told that M&S were changing not just mine but another lady's name on their credit card and they sent my certificate to her and hers to me. But the M&S lady assures me that the lady who got my certificate had sent it back and had signed a disclaimer that stated

I confirm that I have returned all of the information sent to me in error. I agree not to make use of, or retain any of this information

How reassuring.

Now as of yet I haven't got the other marriage certificate, it was sent recorded delivery so hopefully it can be found.

Mr auntiegwen is furious, I want to say he is incandescent with rage because I love that expression, he's not quite that mad but he is mightily pissed off that I am having to trust someone I don't know not to use either of our details not to mention our mothers as both of them were our witnesses. There is a frightening amount of information on that certificate, our names and DOB, my former name, our mothers names including maiden names which are a very common security question and both mothers addresses also. He has also taken agin the fact that I have to sign a disclaimer saying I won't use the other person details either, he finds that the height of cheek.

In the letter they sent me telling me this, there is only 1 sorry, I think there should be lots of sorries and lots of we will proactively register you all with CIFAS and pay for this so all sorts of hoops and what colour are your grannies pants have to be gone through before people can come and steal my identity.

Warning
If you steal my identity then you have to have all the bits of my life I don't like/can't be arsed to deal with/am afeared of as well as my good credit rating.


Instead of leaving me to Google and fret and Google and fret and Google and fret.

Shame on you M&S, the auntie is cross, the auntie is very, very cross and is about to compose a very "Outraged of Market Harborough" type letter.

Being Thankful

Tonight I find myself home alone. This is unusual, I spend very little time alone now. I seem to have forgotten what to do. Oh I have eleventy million purposeful things to do, carpets that need hoovering, laundry that needs ironed and put away, walls that need painting. I'm fairly sure you could add to the list. But lazily, I sit, quietly musing on my life, as we seem to be escaping from the explosion in the WTF factory that has characterised our recent life. This seems to be making me quite reflective, or more likely, I actually have time to think about stuff but touch wood, at present my life is smooth (you know I've just knackered my good run now, with my smugness, dontcha?)

Let me share with you, auntiegwens reasons to be thankful (did you hear part 3 in your head?, no? just me that's of an age then)

This weekend I will be staying HERE . I am off to Edinburgh to visit my beautiful son, whom I haven't seen since I dropped him off at uni at the beginning of September. I am so looking forward to this, I have missed him madly.

The Eldest Beautiful Daughter is happily ensconced in Dusseldorf and is working, Glory be to God, a proper job. This means I now have another good place to go and visit and get another fix of my lovely girl.

The younger beautiful daughter has stopped making it her mission in life to win the gobshite Olympics. She is either behaving herself or is getting much, much better at hiding her gobshitery.

I am now the proud owner of my very first pair of reading glasses. I can read again, I could before but the person sitting opposite me had to hold my menu up for me. Now I can read, all by my very own self. There will be no stopping me, I expect I will be in charge of the world soon.

There are loads of other little glorious things that are making me cheerful too, things I would be mocked mightily for by the children, in no particular order...

Fat Boy Slims " Eat, sleep, rave, repeat", how cheap my shopping is at Aldi, my twinkly solar lights working with a tiny bit of winter sun,

WARNING, I AM ABOUT TO USE THE C WORD

It's only 6 weeks to Christmas, I properly love Christmas, I know I said the C word, don't give out to me, I'm middle aged, I have to take my kicks where I can get them, I am carrying on with the C stuff, you've been warned

My giddy excitement that Frances from Bake Off is switching on our Christmas lights in Market Harborough and that there is going to be real live reindeers at M H late night shopping evening, REAL LIVE REINDEERS,

Okay, I'll stop now

Life over the last 3 years has changed a lot for me, I have experienced my greatest joys, the deepest sorrows and the most overwhelming sense of frustration and powerlessness. I have learned to share, take turns and play nice. So for the life I have, from the bottom of my heart, I am truly grateful.

Deo Gratias

In which I apologize, profusely

I am a bad blogger. I used to be a good blogger, I yearn for the days of 3 times a week postings and hours of reading and commenting, mind you I yearn for the days of sitting down. I'm sorry, I just show up and spout stuff at you now. Mea culpa

We have officially moved into our new house, the one we have had since June, the one which we were going to have all perfect and painted and with the new kitchen diner installed and functioning BEFORE WE MOVED IN. As I type I can hear swearing from the kitchen diner as himself tries to fit the kitchen units together, apparently our new fancy kitchen units are badly designed, that's the radio edit. Once all the badly designed units are assembled we only have to wait 3 weeks for our granite worktops to come and possibly eleventy years for our fancy schmancy glass splashbacks. I am aiming for eating Christmas dinner 2024 in there. We fail at stuff.

We moved in last weekend, picking the wettest weekend of the year to do it in, another fail.

We had our move delayed to suit the buyer so we had to do it all over weekends and evenings as we couldn't get time off work at short notice, do I have to put another we fail in? or can you see where this is heading?

We spend ages cleaning and sorting out our old house, today we got an email via our solicitor from the buyer with a slightly random trio of complaints, and a phone call from the estate agent as the cleaner who was employed to go in and clean the house I cleaned and scrubbed and polished had set off the alarm and she needed the code. Clearly my cleaning wasn't up to much.

I have lost my marriage certificate, which I was hoping would turn up as we packed, so I could get a new drivers license, with new name and address. That didn't happen so I have ordered not 1 but 2 replacements, so I can have a spare, in case I fail again.

When you move, you realise what crap you've kept and how much stuff your life contains, I'm not sure I can face it ever again, I just hope my knees and hips are up to the job as we have 3 storeys in this house.

But on a cheerier note, we love Market Harborough, it's a grand wee place, we love the deli and the wine shop and the friendliness and quirkiness of it. So if you're ever in the area, come and see your auntie, you can admire the badly designed kitchen units and no worktops.

And lastly, in other news, the Eldest Beautiful Daughter if off to Dusseldorf, she has a job teaching in an international school there and leaves next Friday. Jaysus, it really doesn't feel that long since she was at school herself and now she will be teaching full time. There she is on her first day at primary, she's the one on the left.


That seems like proper grown up scary stuff, and if you've been reading here a while, you'll know that EBD is a bit afeared of real life, but fair play to her, next Friday she's off to be a proper grown up. I am not even beginning to worry about how she will manage as she speaks very little German, She can order a beer and ask for a kiss, sure what else will she need?



So, my beautiful daughter, go live your dream, it has been the most immense privilege to be your mummy, you are everything I could ever wish for in a daughter and I love you dearly, mo cuisle mo chridhe

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.