A goo goo goo, a ga ga ga, is all I want to say to you.

So for the past few days I have been toying with the idea of thinking about making a start on possibly looking at going back to a full-time job.  Reluctant?  Me?  

 I receive an email from my wonderful former manager, asking me what my plans are to return to work.  I read the message then go hide behind the couch.  Not because I don't want to go back to work (au contraire, the thought does fill me with some excitement) but because I know I will have to go through the worst kind of separation anxiety leading up to not seeing my son for, like, hours a day.  The shock and the horror!  Yes, I know... working mothers the world over have gone through this process since year dot.  But, dude.

After cowering behind soft furnishings for 10 minutes I go to Google and make my hands type in the words "child" and "minder".  I happen upon the details of a nice child-minding lady who lives not far from here, charges a reasonable rate and whose website features happy colours, photos of kids making stuff and jumping in puddles with big grins.  My heart leaps because I think she may be perfect, then it sinks because... well because.        

Creative or Domestic?

This morning after our power walk Rory and I get stuck into a freezer defrost/ice-picking exercise.  It's kinda fun at first.  But we get halfway through before agreeing, in mutual disgust, that this is a job best left until there are at least 2 episodes of America's Next Top Model under the belt.  A lot of natural defrosting can occur in 70 minutes with the door left wide open.  I mean, for Pete's sake.  

I have also recently taken a peek at the wonders of the online creative community.  My lurking has felt a bit like walking onto a crowded beach, still fully clothed and wondering where the hell to put down my towel.  Well, I have decided that this week it is time to run across the sand with a big smile on my face, not look down to see where my towel lands and make a dash for the water.  "Yoo-hoo!" 

 

Afternoon delight

In my shallower moments I realise that beautiful rings make me happy.

Babe report

Over the past few weeks the babe has been honing his laughing talents.  It began as a faintly heard "wheee" in his sleep (who would've thought babies can "sleep laugh").  This developed into an asthmatic sounding "ckckckkk" on the changing table and is now finally a fully-blown "Hehehehe!"

Now he can't stop.

The funniest part is when I respond to the "hehehehe" with a "hehehehe" of my own, and am looked at as if I have done something very inappropriate. 

"You can do it. Put your ass into it."

I have decided I need to get fit.  I have decided I want to lose quite a bit of weight.  I propose to Rory this morning that we should make these two things priority action items for the week. "It makes sense to get rid of some dead wood", he dribbles.  "As long as it doesn't conflict with my snuggling schedule, in which case you can go fix yourself a reality sandwich".   

Creative or Domestic?

Following more bouts of crazy precipitation this past week (and far too many sodden hairstyles for my liking) I declare like a woman possessed that we are refusing to leave the house until it "jolly well" stops.  Way to go!  Rain, consider yourself told!  So I throw open the cupboards and grasp at carrots, onions, potatoes, lentils, anything I can get my waterlogged hands on.  I chop, I dice, I blend, I make what I call "soup surprise" because if it ends up resembling anything soupy then quite frankly I'll be shocked.  

The soup is disgusting.  I assure myself that the flavours just haven't had enough time to blend properly.  So I leave it another hour.  Still disgusting.  I add more chicken stock and all of a sudden it is one of the finest soups I've tasted that day.  If I do say so myself. 

Babe report

Well the babe is 18 weeks and counting.  We attended a weaning fair recently and he sat quietly on my lap listening to some talks from local "experts".  They ranged from a warm and fuzzy librarian (whose fabulous bracelet we both ogled from the front row) enthusing about the joys of weekly story time, to the midwife Frau who warned against the eeevils of weaning a baby too early.  

Achtung!  Rusks will make your tot's teeth fall out, even if he only has gums.  Spooning rice into your young before they are 23 weeks and 25 hours old will surely increase the risk of speech problems, bed wetting and a penchant for KFC.  

Now I am not one to poo-poo years of research and I am sure her case against early weaning is well founded.  She even demonstrated how it is impossible to feed a baby, as its tongue reflex instantly pushes food back out of the mouth.  

"You don't do that, do you?"  I laughed at the carb-comfy baby in my lap.  Only 2 small spoonfuls a day, mind you.  But the evil look we were shot was priceless...  

Rory had fallen peacefully to sleep anyway, dreaming of care factors. 

CBeebies: Just some thoughts

Rory requests some early morning face time today, followed by a trip to Bar Moloko and an outfit change.  After an ongoing disagreement over whether a nap now or later would be best, Rory says he'll just run the idea up the flagpole and see if anyone salutes.  Bouncy chair and colourful daytime TV it is, then.

CBeebies

In the past couple of months or so I have come to discover the wonderful world of CBeebies.  I used to put the channel on for visiting friends' little ones, however for the first time I have actually had time to watch some of the shows properly.  And on particularly frought days I have found it to be "mother's best friend".  Some of the shows are just weird and wonderful but they never fail to turn little frowns upside down.

Here are my impressions of just some of them:

Come Outside

Auntie Mabel is a mature widow who drinks to forget, her sole companion being her trusty terrier Pippin.  During these binges Auntie Mabel imagines she owns a polkadot covered plane in which she and Pippin fly to such places as Seville to pick oranges, or Morrisons to do her weekly shop.  In reality she is banned from the local Morrisons for being drunk and disorderly and so needs the mysterious Edie to pick up her messages for her instead.  

Grandpa in My Pocket

Spoiled brat Jason lives in beach house with Monsoon-dress-wearing mother and magical grandpa, who possesses a unique talent for shrinking himself using a 'magical shrinking cap'.  He then runs about like a not even pint-sized loon, flying model planes and hiding behind jars.  I find myself wanting to chase Grandpa with a view to stepping on him when he does this.  I do not know why.

 

Mr Bloom's Nursery

Borderline hot younger man dresses up as fusty older man - a la Mellors from Lady Chatterley's Lover - complete with bad wig and exaggerated Northern accent.  Shakes maracas and keeps his garden gate constantly open in order to lure small children, creepily named "tiddlers", into his nursery.  Claims that "with his veg and plants he can sing and dance" and so sings to his vegetables, which include a misbehaving family of radishes called the Cheeky Wee MacGregors.  Occasionally Mr. Bloom takes his hat off.  Swoon.

In The Night Garden

Collection of sinister characters with names straight out of some acid-enabled nightmare:  Iggle Piggle, Makka Pakka and The Tombliboos.  Oh, and Upsy Daisy, an annoying dreadlocked rag doll upstart who often screeches into a megaphone for no apparent reason.  I would quite like to pinch Upsy Daisy when no-one is looking.  

How much fun it must be devising and producing these TV gems!  I used to imagine the CBeebies Unit at the BBC as some enchanted, primary-coloured, soft play paradise.  After some consideration I now think all the walls are padded and the meals are terrible.  

Stuff kids TV - perhaps I should start writing children's books.  Maybe then I would be able to keep the house in Scotland and buy, say, a $10,000,000 Tasmanian mansion.

Just let me know when you've had enough.

This morning's breakfast consists of a mouthful of air as I rush around getting the tot ready for massage class.  I look in the mirror and discover a burst blood vessel on my right eyeball.  Great - all I need now is open sores on my face and I'll look just like Woogie from There's Something About Mary.  

We hoof it up to the local nursery with minutes to spare and take our place in the circle, looking forward to participating in the peaceful joy of mother/son bonding.

Well.  He's having none of it.  I admit, there was no time for a top-up feed and a quick nap beforehand and boy am I regretting it now.  I want to giggle as this is his first instance of disrupting class.  I am sure will not be the last.  Anyway he starts with a grimace, which looks like a smile and so the others comment on how much he's enjoying himself.  I smile nervously but don't make eye contact with anyone due to scary bloodshot eye.  He sticks his bottom lip out and I know it's coming...  It must be quite a scene when I finally pick up my screeching baby,  laugh to drown out his cries and look like I'm going through some sort of evil Black Swan-like transformation.  "It's okay, really, he's never like this..."

Today's Rant

Can someone suggest an item of clothing I can wear on my bottom half that's not black and elastic?  Don't get me wrong - it's been great swanning around in a black kaftan and enjoying my sanctimonious post-natal haze these past few months, it's just that I'm starting to itch for a wee bit of colour now.  Even if it's not quite in my desired size.  

Alas, fashion seems to be all about the legs right now.  Legs I don't have.  Everywhere I look I see Bambi in shorts, Bambi in a mini, Bambi in skinny jeans and daughter of Bambi in leggings.  Is there nothing out there for the less coltish of limb?  Maxi dresses just swamp me and midi skirts make me look matronly, as much as I like the idea of them.  Damn it to hell, I will not be lulled into a false sense of security by waterfall cardis anymore.     

Food for thought... 

...especially if you get any stuck in your teeth and don't need to worry about brushing it away:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-477378/Six-weeks-wash-The-soapless-experiment.html

Ooh...

Well it's an all-hands meeting this morning, conducted entirely using the word "ooh".  Agreeing that we need to dialogue later about his recent attitude, the wee man crams his teether into his mouth to tell me we're finished here.

Creative or Domestic?

I weakly attempt a tidy up, realise I did more than I thought yesterday and so declare houswifery off the agenda.  Besides, there's a spider living on the ceiling in the living room and if I switch on the vacuum he might actually move, and I will probably scream.

Sitting at the desk with a blank art pad, some charcoal and my watercolour pencils seems much more appetising:

I did it in a hurry with charcoal and watercolour pencils.  It's rough, it's uneven.  But it's colourful and I needed to do something, dammit.

Domestic: Nil

Creative: Getting there

Obscure delight

I just love daylight savings in Scotland.  At 10pm it still looks and feels like 4pm and it makes you not want to go to bed, ever.  This feeling of the night being young for longer is just as well when it's 11 o'clock and you realise you're just finally settling down to watch a movie and eat the dinner you prepared at 8.  

Heid!

Rory and I hit hair and makeup early this morning for a trip to the doctors (my new home away from home) followed by a cruise to the supermarket for provisions.  Today is Health Visitor day, so there's lots of Monday Mess to tackle before she arrives in the afternoon.

Creative or Domestic?

Do lots of laundry including a load that consists entirely of socks.  Get bundle of socks out of machine, drop two socks.  Pick up two socks, drop three more.  And so it goes, this merry dance of me and wet smalls.  I eventually give up and decide to use my time more creatively, so I catch up on last week's episode of The Apprentice (the UK one, the only one) and an episode of Geordie Shore (I'll try anything once, me).

Domestic Arts: 5 (socks)

Fine Art: 0   

Obscure delight

I received a very regal looking bundle of Royal Jelly toiletries as a gift recently.  First time ever.  And although I do find the scent strangely alluring in an old-school way I daresay it also doubles as an excellent mosquito repellent.  I have been using it the past few nights though and there is something comforting about the smell, it brings to mind childhood holidays and staying at elderly relatives houses.        

Babe report

So our friendly neighbourhood Health Visitor came around today to measure the babe and make sure I'm not feeding him cheese puffs or sending him out to work.  Weight and height are both average but his head is "rather big" apparently.  I tell her that as a baby my head was "rather big" too at that age, so I'm not too bothered.  She recommends in a polite and breathy manner that I "might take him to the GP, just to get it looked at".  I agree to do it, but only because I have the time to and well, you just never know.  
When she leaves I look up his head measurement on the child growth scale thingy and although it is, ahem, bigger than average, it's not exactly off the charts.  I also look at her notes and it says she has advised me to see GP "re plagiocephaly".  Love, you also forgot to call his head a virtual planetoid with its own weather system. 

I vow not to offer coffee next time, then I call and make an appointment with GP re son's deformed noggin.
 

Sun Daze

After weeks of god-awful rain and gale force winds the sun has finally come out to play.  I believe it may be a one day only type deal, but it is a welcome respite nonetheless.  It is nicer to get around in the sunshine, full stop.  I don't know how many appointments I have arrived at lately looking like an extra from The Perfect Storm.  One cannot remain calm nor professional in manner or appearance when wearing waterproof clothing and having to undo approximately 37 tabs of wet velcro on a pram once arriving at one's destination. 

image courtesy of google

Creative or Domestic?

This week follows a lovely long weekend, the main themes of which included pyjama time, eating cooked breakfasts, catching up with girlfriends and having group hugs with the boys.  Also, 90 minute walks (active) were balanced out by watching, in a daze, as Scott played LA Noire (so not active).  As enjoyable and relaxing as it all was I would be lying if I said I didn't boot my man out the door with a big "love you, bye!" as he set off for work again on Tuesday.  This is my domain now after all - the leftover mess from the lost weekend being all mine too. 

Pesky domesticity: 10  
Creativity: Nuls points  

Afternoon delight

I have come to love lurking around the local charity shops, now that I have time to explore the long neglected neighbourhood.  And buried among the fast fashion rejects are some red-hot granny finds, I tell you.  If you get particularly lucky (as I did) then the person serving you will be some volunteer who is bad at maths.  I scored two vintage belts for a pound:  One was actually a pound but the other didn't have a price tag on it, so somewhere in the shop assistant's thought process it simply became "free".  
Being a charity I perhaps should have said something and given him the darned extra pound.  But I am skint, so ner. 

Babe report

Note to self:  Must be careful opening kitchen drawers when my small-faced charge is sitting in a bouncy chair watching dinner preparations.  A near-miss, but still.