My mum babysat Moo for me last night, while I went and Tudored in a desultory fashion on stage somewhere. As well as eating my best biscuits, my mum also did my washing up.
Let’s skip over the biscuit-eating part for the moment. Largely cos I’m still aghast that someone touched my best biscuits without my permission. I mean, I know she gave birth to me and raised me and everything, but seriously – my BEST biscuits? Could she not have eaten my stale macaroons instead? Or the water biscuits? Yes I know they’re savoury but they’re still farking biscuits, innit. Anyway, if you’re reading this, I love you, mum. Don’t eat my biscuits.
Washing up. I hate washing up. This is why: slimy food crap. Slimy food crap on plates. Slimy food crap on plates in the water. Slimy food crap from plates in the water, floating ON TOP OF the water, and then it becomes slimy food crap IN THE SINK. Slimy food crap that I then have to scrape from the plughole-slimy-food-crap-catching-thing and put into the bin. Where it becomes bin crap, and by proxy, bin juice. And we all know bin juice is RANCID MINGE.
But I will do the washing up. I have to . There is no husband here to do it for me any more. And generally, I keep on top of it. I’d only left it last night cos there wasn’t much and I had to get ready for my miserable Tudor flounce-a-bout.
I mention it though because I’ve had a house guest recently who did rather more than the washing up for me. In fact, this house guest practically SPRUNG CLEANED my house. They cleaned my kitchen, including the bin and all the bin juice. They removed the mould from my shower. They hoovered. And dusted a bit. And yes, did the washing up. A lot.
I am grateful. I am, truly. It is no secret that I am a domestic slattern. There are better things to do than housework, innit. Like watching Moo try to jump (‘C’mon, Moo! It’s not jumping till your feet leave the ground! TRY HARDER!’ *falls about laughing*) and active spider avoidance, or eating biscuits (which I can’t do now, THANKS MUM) or grooming unicorns, or practising voodoo.
I thought I was tidy, though. I really did. I thought I was coping with the houseworkisms. Seems not, if a guest feels the need to demouldify my bathroom (honestly, where did they find that Haz-Mat suit?) and my mum does my washing up for me. I know, I know, they’re HELPING me and that’s GREAT, I do appreciate it. But a tiny part of me – the stupid, juvenile, petulant part – sees it as a massive criticism too.
They’re right. I know they’re right. I do need to improve my domestic skillz. I need to man up and find some rubber gloves and spank the shit out of my cruddy house.
How do you keep tidy? (no, not talking about muff for once) (but you can tell me that if you want to)
A mantra is a sound, syllable, word, or group of words that is considered capable of ‘creating transformation’ – innit. That is what Wiki-wiki-wakka-pedia says anyways. And we ALL KNOW whatever Wikipedia says is TRUE and IMMOVABLE.
So when I was tagged in a new meme by the high priestess of gorgeousness Melksham Mum called The Voice Within, it made me stop and think about what my mantras might be. The meme asks us to reveal ten things we say to ourselves every day. Ten things, that, with any luck, with repetition, will CREATE SOME FARKING TRANSFORMATION. Mahaha! Not bloody likely.
Yeah I am so street. I am streeter than YOU. And how do I know this? Because I say ‘innit though’ at the end of EVERYTHING I SAY. Like a mook. Like a street mook. A street mook hanging out on the street. Wassup, blud? Innit though.
This TOTALLY NEGATES any street cred I may have instilled from the previous paragraph. It is necessary, however, as my daughter has decided climbing on shizzle is the bestest thing ever. So I inevitably find myself chanting ‘Steady teddy’ as she teeters towards some precipice with undisguised glee in her eyes. The crazy bastard child.
Can I blog about that?
The ultimate question. And the answer is always ‘yes’.
This can be issued as a demand, an instruction, a question and a general statement of fact. I utter it almost hourly.
No, no, no, no, no, no
Also chanted at my daughter on numerous and various occasions. This will HONESTLY BE the first word/phrase she will parrot back at me. Unless that’s ‘fark off innit though’.
I don’t really swear a lot. Really. At all, really. I mean, I obvs swear a lot here. But in real life? Nah. Not one bit. Rarely. Ever. Except for… oh. And, um. But I don’t really swear. Not every day. Not EVERY DAY. Not like a mantra. Oh.
You bastard cunting motherfarking noob of a mook of a bastard
That’s not SWEARING per se. Just a rather EXPRESSIVE form of expletive. It’s almost creative, so should be allowed.
OK I’m running out of actual phrases now. But I laugh every day: at Moo, at pigeons with gammy legs, at myself when I write funny stuff, at the recent discovery that SAHDandproud used to be a competitive disco dancer, and at the unfairness and futility of life as we know it. And when I laugh, I always think of ‘mahahahahahahahahahaha’ coming out of my mouth. It’s like a thing. I write ‘mahahaha’ in tweets, texts etc. It’s MY thing. So therefore should be included.
I love you
If anything, this meme has taught me that my daily vocabulary is limited and mostly negative. So thanks for that. Of course, I purposely left out any technical unicorn grooming terms, and magical voodoo phrases that I utilise when I’m hexing people. Not everyone can handle that shit.
I think I’m s’posed to tag some other people now, but in the spirit of my previous form with memes, I’m not gunna. If you feel sufficiently tickled by my fancy then by all means, go for it. And good luck. Innit though.
It has been Mother’s Day. Almost over now. A whole day dedicated to the awesomeness of mothers. It kind of makes me feel sorry for other random relatives who don’t get special days. Like, uncles. Second cousins. Step-sisters-in-law-twice-removed. How BAD they must feel. They have lost in life. The losers.
But yeah, mothers are cool. You don’t need me to tell you that. I have been tagged in a Mothering Sunday meme by the pocket-sized Mummy Glitzer and the urbane Middle-Aged Matron. I am obliging them. Cos I’m nice like that. And I got a massive bunch of flowers today. So I’m in a good mood.
Describe motherhood in three words…
Oh Jeezus helpme.
Does your experience differ from your mother’s? How?
Mainly because of the dinosaurs. I don’t have to wrestle velociraptors on a day-to-day basis whilst preparing a meal for a toddler and soothing a crying baby. And the fur bikinis she wore must’ve chafed. So, I’m grateful that dinosaurs are now extinct, and all that.
What’s the hardest thing about being a mum?
Guilt. Being judged by other mums. The neverending battle with bodily fluids. Shit.
What’s the best thing?
How has it changed you?
Fundamentally. Quintessentially. Irrevocably. Terrifyingly quickly. And I have drunk more alcohol in the last 16 months than have ever done in my life before.
What do you hope for your children?
What do you fear for them?
What makes it all worthwhile?
Naked wrestling on the bed. Oh wait, you mean motherhood? Um. Naked wrestling on the bed. Moo’s giggles are the best noise in the world ever.
I’d like to stress that SHE is naked. I am not. We have a giggle pre-bathtime. One day she will shit on my duvet. Then the naked wrestling will stop.
Happy Mo Day, all you Mo Fo’s.
It’s been a difficult and stressful month. Not only did I have to GIVE UP BISCUITS *faint* but I had to BLOG EVERY DAY, as part of NaBloPoMo (which stands for National Act Like A Crazy Bastard By Blogging Every Day Month – at least, that’s what I think it stands for).
Every day. EVERY FECKING DAY. Sure, it could be a photo. Or a 20-word poem. Or a 5,000 word treatise on the dust found down the back of fridges, including paragraphs on how it gets there, and why it resembles something even cockroaches might reject for their dinner. You could literally write ANYTHING, as long as you wrote and published a post a day.
Which, I am pleased to say, I have. Some days, it’s been 2 or 3 posts a day (sorry, subscribers).
Would I do it again? Hmmmm. Maybe – there is another starting for December, after all – but I think my answer would have to be a resounding NO.
No thanks! No siree. I know I’m prolific anyway, and will probably continue in the same vein for ooh, at least twenty years or so (sorry, subscribers) but I think I will ease the pressure a bit. Make December a little less fraught, at least within my blogging world.
This is what I have learnt from my NaBloPoMo experience:
1. It is DANGEROUS to your health. You end up with BRUISED KNEES, like this:
2. It is possible to underestimate the lengths you will go to for inspiration. In the last month, I have blogged about: periods, Hugh Grant, feeling ill, stage kissing, snot, my breasts, swearing, my best friend, marriage, train drivers, sponsored posts, rude words disciplining someone else’s child, photo editing, nicknames, my daughter’s first birthday, bumholes, In The Night Garden and, er, NaBloPoMo. ALL OF THIS comes from my fevered and frenetic mind. Sorry, subscribers.
3. You connect with an EXTRAORDINARY amount of awesome people. They are too numerous for me to name here, but they know who they are. I LOVE YOU ALL (except for you. You smell a bit)
4. It quickly becomes obvious that blogging takes over your life. I plot Moo’s nap times with military precision to fit around blogging. I get all jittery and sweaty if I don’t blog by the afternoon. I need a blog fix at least three times a day. I lie in bed at night and write posts in my head, always striving to be the best blogger I can be. I devote a MASSIVE amount of time to other people’s blogs as well. To be fair, I have slotted it neatly into my biscuit consumption time, but now the biscuit eating will start again, what happens to the blogging? See, I’ve already got sweaty palms thinking about it.
5. And lastly, I have learnt that it is not easy to type NaBloPoMo. And the finickity spelling Nazi in me INSISTS on putting the upper case letters in, which makes my life a WHOLE LOT trickier. I have no sympathy for myself.
So – NaBloPoMo – fare thee well. It’s been a month of ups and downs, but on the whole, I’ve enjoyed it. And my blog – my little tiny blog – has done very well from it.
Thank you, NaBloPoMo! And good night!
*takes a bow* *exits stage left*
I’m SOOOOO fecking popular. Not only was I tagged for this meme by the luscious The Boy And Me, but lo and behold, I was then tagged by the trés magnifique Cafe Bebe as well! Both bloggers what I do love heartily and most verily, innit. So thanks ladies, the cockles of my soul are warmed indeed.
Right! Business! This meme is the idea of Ms Super Amazing Mum, who decided that all the NaBloPoMo bloggers needed a platform to get to know each other a bit better. So she devised these ten fiendish and mind-bogglingly testing questions to fox us all and provide YOU, the blogonauts, with more facts about us (so you can eventually steal our identities, I’m guessing. I mean, if you want mine, take it. I warn you – I am high maintenance).
Once I’ve answered these questions, I tag someone else (someone crazy enough to do NaBloPoMo as well) and then THEY have to do it all! Oh, the twisted mind of the Super Amazing Mum. TWISTED.
Describe yourself in seven words
Irritable. Pernickety. Magnanimous. Lycanthropic. Brown. Squishy. SHOUTY.
What keeps you awake at night?
If you could be anyone for a day, who would it be, and why?
I would be JK Rowling. Then in my guise as a multi-millionaire author, I would donate all my money to one Fran Lewis. Then when I change back, I would use all my newly acquired cash to sit down and write some ACTUALLY GOOD BOOKS.*
What are you wearing now?
A bra made out of biscuits. A tartan cape. A tutu. And DMs.
What scares you?
Superficially? Moths, wasps, crowds, dentists, and needles. Actually? Losing Moo. Losing anyone I love deeply.
What is the best and worst thing about blogging?
The best thing is all the free unicorns I get from PRs. The worst is when people stalk me and try to steal crumbs from my biscuit bra. Not cool.
What was the last website you looked at?
I’m assuming you mean apart from all the social networking ones? *checks history* A photographer’s site, to look at photos of my friend’s lovely wedding last week.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I would improve my bank balance. By morphing into JK Rowling and nicking all her cash.
Slankets: yes or no?
FINALLY. A serious question! None of this FAFFING ABOUT. There is only one correct answer here: YES. YEEEEEEES. Slankets are the next stage in evolutionary blanketry. I mean – blankets with sleeves. WHY WOULD YOU THINK THESE THINGS ARE WRONG? Its benefits are numerous and manifold: warmth, comfort, ease of use, style, charitable causes, and NO ANIMALS were harmed in the making of them. Slankets deserve a place in the highest echelons of blanket league tables. I am voting for slankets in the next general election. The slankets are the life. Slanket now, for tomorrow you may be dead. Slanket? Why, don’t mind if I do! (I could go on)
Tell us something about the people who tagged you?
The Boy And Me is the sweetest thing. And Cafe Bebe has threatened to hug me.
Now I must depart post haste and comment on Super Amazing Mum’s blog post, where you can find all the other lost souls who were finagled into completing this meme.
I am tagging: Five Go Blogging. Cos she is lushballs, innit.
*I do like the Harry Potter books. I just don’t think they’re very good.
You did it. Y’all went and LOOKED AT MY BLOG and now I have to FORGO BISCUITS for the ENTIRE MONTH OF NOVEMBER.
You know how hard this will be, yeah? YEAH? *weeps softly*
Sure, sure, it’s great to smash the 4000 barrier and we’ve not even finished October yet, but people, please – have some pity – for my sake! If I make RASH PROMISES along the lines of, ‘I will give up biscuits for November if my October stats go over 4000′ then JESUS CHRIST don’t actually make me do it!!
Well! The joke’s on you! HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW STABBY I’M GOING TO BE IF I CAN’T HAVE BISCUITS?? Mahahahahahhahaha
Fine. Whatever. I’ll do it.
Didn’t say nothing about giving up CAKE, though, did I?? AHA!
Having a shitty day/week/month? Cling on to the lovely moments rather than drown in all that shit… these are my lovely moments from today:
Waking up to find Moo gazing into my face (I like to think, lovingly. Probably hungrily).
Her usual method of waking up mummy is digging her tiny, knife-like fingernails into my neck and desperately trying to hack away lumps of my flesh. Today she didn’t. Win.
Having a seeded bagel with Marmite for breakfast.
Yum. That is all.
Walking down the (usually traffic-clogged) high street which was empty of cars.
There’d been a fire in a nail bar, which, OK, isn’t lovely, especially for the owners of said nail bar, but no one was injured according to the very nice policewoman I spoke to, but anyway, a large portion of the road was blocked off, however, there was pedestrian access so it was really cool to saunter across it without the fear of being hit by a bus. (Overheard – a mum and her two young kids: ‘Sorry, we can’t go any further.’ ‘But we want to go to the sweet shop!’ ‘We can’t get to the sweet shop, see, the street’s been cordoned off. But look! Ooh! A FIRE ENGINE!’ ‘Whatever, we want to go to the sweet shoooop!’ Ah, gone are the days when fire engines were cool. I still think they’re cool. Are they cool? I hope so. Shut up, woman)
Having an ace friend buy me lunch and make me realise that I’m lucky to have such an ace friend.
And for telling me what a club sandwich was, as my frazzled brain momentarily forgot. And for knowing that, yes, I’d be wanting carrot cake after lunch. And for letting me vent at her for a while. And for generally making me feel wanted and valued and loved, which is what true friends do for each other *snotty sniff*
Having ace absent friends who still make me feel wanted and value and loved.
Proper friends rally round when your life’s in the shitter. That has been demonstrated to me, indubitably, over the last week, but especially the last two days. You guys know who you are: online virtual bloggish mates and real-life, long-lost mates and real-life, long-way-away mates and real-life, close-to-home mates – I heart youse. I do.
Tweeting something about biscuits and using the hashtag #thebiscuitsarethelife.
And thinking it’s the funniest thing I’ve written in ages. Especially when you say it in a mock-Transylvanian accent.
Seeing my Hub smile at Moo as she wobble-stands using her cot.
Poor Hub. He only gets to see Moo through the medium of the laptop screen, which generally means he’s surprised to find out that she isn’t actually pixellated when he comes to visit. Seeing as she wasn’t quite crawling last time he left, I think the sight of her wobbly-standing using the cot as her climbing frame (supervised! I was watching, honest) and then zipping around the room on all fours is a truly lovely thing for him to see. (Seriously; why does Moo find wires/the bin/under the bed/the heavy mirror – ie the most DANGEROUS things in the room – the MOST attractive? And why does she laugh when I say, ‘No, Moo, NO’?)
Reading the Saturday Times mag and thinking I might not have it so bad after all.
There’s an article about a new mum and sleep deprivation. In other words: sheer bloody hellish awfulness. Makes me glad Moo at least sleeps for some of the night. Reminds me it could be a lot worse.
And I guess that’s it. That’s, uh, 8 lovely moments in the whole of today? Pfft. Not many, then. I am aiming for at least two an hour during a 24 hour period – that’s 48 – so I’m 40 behind. Unless Idris Elba* turns up within the next few minutes with some biscuits and gin asking for me, I ain’t going to get any more moments for the time being. Grumpy face.
*I mean, Hub. Obviously, I mean Hub.