Four way traffic lights on the school run

So, apparently, this is the month that Southern Gas has decided my entire road will be dug up, section by section, over the course of six months (Oh, sorry, Southern Gas, that should have read ’25 weeks’ – I guess that must be the gasworks equivalent of the 99p consumer brainwash – i.e. ‘it’s not one pound, it’s only 99p – what a ruddy bargain – let’s buy 10!’). Where do they choose to start this mammoth task? On a four way junction. Where is said four way junction? Only about 30 seconds drive from my child’s school. Deep, deep joy.

Disclaimer: we live a ten minute walk away from the school. Here’s the reasoning behind driving two days a week: on Mondays, I am on my way to work and I have a short enough window to get myself across a ten mile stretch of commuter belt road without adding another ten minutes casually strolling to and from the ‘yellow school’ as JJ likes to call it. On Tuesdays, I have EJ in the car ready to wing him up a big hill after we’ve slowed down the car for long enough for JJ to tuck and roll (only kidding) outside the yellow place of learning. He then gets his own ‘tuck and roll’ moment outside the childminder’s house before I drive onwards and upwards to the massive Tesco to pick up my click & collect shop within the time allotted. (Yes that’s right, I live my life on a ridiculously tightly plotted schedule where every single second counts – including the ones where I am sipping coffee in my slippers (wearing my slippers, you understand, not actually sipping coffee from my slippers).

Now picture the chaos that has begun to ensue in the road outside l’ecole jaune. (Bloody French O’level had to come in handy at some point in my life – come on!). Look I’m not silly, I know the short* cuts, I know the optimal parking spots, I wasn’t there when a road-rage fuelled gridlock brought the (single lane) traffic to a static face-off which could only be solved by a couple of burly builders kind enough to put their fag break on hold in order to solve the crisis with a bit of semaphore previously only used by air traffic controllers and half-cut dads at wedding discos.

And of course, I don’t want a gas explosion to take out my family home. I would rather there by new pipes. But… but, maybe now is a good time to move to Devon?

*long

 

I’ve finally gone self-hosted!

This feels a bit weird and it’s all new to me, but I’ve finally got my own domain and And then the fun began… has moved – to http://www.andthenthefunbegan.co.uk. Please follow me over there as I won’t be adding any new posts here from now on.

A Family get together at Box Hill

This past weekend was one of the hubster’s work weekends. I often take the boys over to my parents house at times like this, but they are currently holidaying in Sicily (lucky things!). Fortuitously, we had been invited down to Salisbury to stay the weekend with my sister-in-law and her two boys, where they have just moved into their new house after a five year stint in Germany. Unfortunately due to unforeseen circumstances this plan had to be postponed. On the up side this left us free to arrange a get together with my sister, brother in law and nieces for a lunch date on Sunday.

We hadn’t really had any plan until the night before when we suddenly realised that we hadn’t really got any idea about what we wanted to do. It is an hour’s drive between our homes so we thought it might be nice to find something to do which is kind of half way between. After much umming and erring, mulling the pros and cons of RHS Wisley, Painshill Park or, our initial desire – ‘a castle!’ (looking at Hever in Kent, the Boleyn family seat – simply too far for us), we settled upon Box Hill near Dorking, National Trust owned land with plenty of walks, trails, nearby cafes and pubs. As my first thought had been to do something outdoorsy which would give us the chance to appreciate the beauty of Autumn, this was a grand idea and the weather was set to be dry (if not sunny).

We opted to do an early lunch for the sake of the boys who get hungry early (!) which ruled out the Smith and Western restaurant nearby which doesn’t open until 12. We ended up at the Ryka’s cafe which is apparently one of the biggest biker’s destinations in England (!!). It is essentially a greasy spoon caff where your main option is burgers, burgers or more burgers (or, in the case of the kids, chicken nuggets!). We appeared to be the only people in there who weren’t dressed from head to foot in leathers!

Next we hopped back in our cars and drove up the zig zag road which formed part of  the London-Surrey Olympic Cycle circuit (and there are still plenty of Tour de France style scribblings on the road!). It took an age to drive up as the road was littered with cyclists funnily enough, causing my youngest niece to comment that she had a problem with Lycra (leather is OK apparently).

There is a lovely ‘Natural Play Trail’ up there so, wellies donned, we set off to discover: Slippy logs:

Climbing branches:

Stump sculptures:

Dens:

A portal through a tree to another world*

And some breathtaking views:

Not to mention many, many, many muddy puddles (which I appear to have omitted from the camera roll – probably due to a sudden fear that my children would re-play that scene from the Vicar of Dibley where she merrily skips into a puddle which turns out to be waist deep!) Before heading to the cafe for hot chocolate, babyccino, ice cream, cake, flapjacks and coffee (Not all for me I hasten to add 🙂 ). It was here that EJ started singing Happy Birthday much to my bemusement until I realised he’d clocked the NT bunting!

All in all a lovely little outing.

*The other side of the tree.

Linking up to What’s the Story over at Podcast Dove.

 

The Black and White Photography Project: Gruffalo

If you go down to the woods today… etc. I like the way black and white makes this shot look like a still from a silent movie. It was taken last weekend on a little family outing to Alice Holt Forest.

Linking up to The Black and White Photography Project over at Podcast The Doves.

 

My Sunday Photo 12.10.14

Taking their inspiration from Peppa Pig.

 

Word of the Week: Bedtime

Anyone who read my Flat Pack! post on Wednesday will know it’s been all about the new bunk beds this week! Although it felt like a big move – and frankly, a huge transition particularly for EJ who has now gone straight from his cot to a full size single bottom bunk at the tender age of two, I’m glad that we’ve done it. Having said that it hasn’t all been plain sailing. On night one EJ climbed in and went out like a light no problem, but night two he wasn’t quite so docile and cried when I tried to tuck him in and leave. I climbed in with him, sang a lullaby, let him have his milk, tried to leave again but he was having none of it. JJ tried to take over for me bless him, but EJ just wanted his mummy! Eventually I told him I was going to go and have my shower and come straight back and, to my amazement, he agreed! Needless to say he was sparko by the time I returned and we went through the same thing last night too so I’m hoping a routine of sorts is forming and he’ll be comfortable with his new bedtime views very soon ( especially as I’m on my own with them for the next few nights while the hubster works).

It was the hubster’s birthday this week but unfortunately we didn’t have much of a chance to celebrate. In the past we have used this week to take a little holiday (this time last year we had a lovely week in Cornwall) but now JJ is at big school we can’t do that any more sadly. I will have to make a better effort next year – particularly because it will be a bit of a milestone for him!

I’ve certainly been falling into bed each night exhausted myself and feeling as though things I normally stay on top of have slid a bit – not least the cleaning this week as my cleaning day was cancelled out by flat pack hell! I am also still trying to find some kind of blogging flow to my week but right now I am writing posts at random times like 5am in the morning – and just can’t seem to get a routine to it, so it seems that most of my posting is happening in the latter part of the week. I find it such a solitary activity that I prefer to do it when I’m on my own. Unfortunately the hubster’s shift pattern is all over the place and often changes at the last minute so I rarely know where I stand.

Other than that, it’s all good and we are enjoying the absolutely glorious autumn colours ( and finally getting to wear some new layered outfits and boots!) but not so much all these squally rain showers!

How was your week?

 

The mistakes we make…

As I tipped over into my thirties I began to wonder where I was going wrong in life. I hadn’t had the confidence or drive to really pursue a career in journalism and had drifted into a vaguely publishing-related office job instead (albeit with the wonderful addition of getting to edit The Book Monster for a couple of years). I was recently divorced after making the mistake of marrying an alcoholic. I was rapidly approaching the ovary-shrivelling ‘geriatric’ stage of fertility and living out a rebound relationship which never really had any chance of making it in the long term.

I’ve made some compromises and had to search for love the hard way (internet dating anyone?) to get to where I am now. And whilst I am very happy and feel very lucky to have two beautiful, healthy children in my life, sometimes I look at the lives of others – people who have set up successful businesses, known what their true vocation was from the word go (and how to make it the centre of everything they do), met and married their first love and had children at the ‘right’ age, created their own dream home (something I don’t even have the energy to aspire to), even people now who have set up a blog with such professionalism and knowledge of what they want out of it – that I’m stunned at what a failure my life looks in comparison. And I wonder if, over the years, I’ve made mistakes – taken the wrong fork in the road, given in to self-doubt, settled for less than I was worth.

But then I realise that my biggest mistake – the one I’m constantly in danger of making time and again with the help of all the many and varied social media platforms – is comparison itself. As the saying goes, into every life some rain must fall, no-one gets away with a life of ups (and by the way Cheryl Cole, being ‘on a rollercoaster, but it’s only going up’ is, in my humble opinion, a bit of an oxymoron, sorry love). The trick of it is to celebrate the ups and, for me, to realise that life is a learning experience and I’m still only half way through.

Perhaps being happy in the present moment is enough to cancel out any number of dodgy past life decisions, because I truly believe that everything we do in life is simply a quest for happiness, whether or not we’re aware of it and no matter how subtly we identify that feeling.

 

Flat pack!

A few weeks ago the hubster suggested that it was probably time to move the boys out of their little beds (JJ’s toddler bed and EJ’s cot respectively) and straight into a full sized bunk bed. Because they share a room (and the fact that the toddler bed was already a bit broken) and the fact that there are space restrictions, it wasn’t going to be possible to transition EJ gently up to the next stage the same way as his brother had.

Despite the fact that all the official guidance says bunk beds aren’t suitable for children under six and ours are five and two (!) we knew that JJ would be fine on the top as he regularly sleeps on the top bunk at my parent’s house. We figured EJ would be OK on the bottom with JJ’s old bed guard on the side.

So, off we went to Dreams and put in our order for a Colarado! I said to the hubster at the time – do Dreams offer a Flat Pack building service similar to the option provided by Ikea? Unfortunately this is not the case. I’m sure their are handyman or independent businesses out there who probably do this but the hubster is not one for ‘unnecessary’ expense and refused to look into that option despite knowing full well from previous experience that he is not the world’s most laid back person when it comes to the Krypton Factor of flat pack! Hello, I thought, little marriage ‘make or break’ experience coming up right here.

So last Thursday the boxes were delivered and yesterday was our first day at home with both children out. D Day (or should I say FP Day?) Little did I realise when I got up with the children at 7.20 that it was going to be the start of a very, very long day!
After I’d dropped JJ off at school, EJ off at the childminder’s and picked up my shop from Tesco and both brought it home and put it all away the hubster appeared nonchalantly, had an unrushed breakfast and we even planned to go for a nice lunch at one of our favourite local canalside pubs. At some point sense kicked in and I suggested we make a start on the beds at about elevenish. We got the boxes open and after a brief panic about lack of instructions and fittings we discovered them at the bottom of the last box.The first thing I read was the suggested construction time: 2 and a half hours with two people. This seemed like a ridiculously long time – little did we know!

After a lot of fixing and fiddling and staring blankly at the instruction booklet we had managed to put the ladder together and one long joint into one of the beds and I looked at the clock: 12.35. The hubster said “you can forget about lunch”. True that, I thought as suddenly JJ’s 3.10 school pick up hove into view.

Around about 1.30 we had reached the point where the majority of the beds were together but we had done the whole thing using the Allen key provided as, despite owning a power drill, the hubster has managed to somehow lose it’s charger so comprehensively that even the previous evening’s house and shed overhaul had not turned up the slightest clue (although it had, to be fair, left me with some rather delightful clear surfaces in a kitchen which the hubster tends to see more as a place to dump random stuff – defunct batteries anyone? Broken sunglasses? 700 water bottles of varying age and size?). Unfortunately the next task involved drilling about forty screws in to fit the slats on each of the two beds and the hubster took one look at that task and shouted “I’m not bloody doing this without a power drill!”. That’s when the panic set in: JJ’s school pick up looming, no chance of finding that ruddy elusive charger, both starving hungry, bits of packing, cardboard, polystyrene, the old beds and mattresses cluttering up the hallway – none of this boded well! Oh, and let’s not forget that we hadn’t bought any bedding yet. I made a mercy dash to our next door neighbours’ but there was no reply. Next stop Homebase. We were pleasantly surprised by the relative affordability of a power drill but not so thrilled with the three and a half hour charge time. Nevertheless we speeded it home stuck it on to charge and then gave in to the situation and moseyed over to Tesco in search of duvets and sustenance.

To cut a long story short the beds were not finished by the time both boys were home. I took JJ to Argos for bed covers (which made us late for picking up EJ but that’s by the by) and when we arrived home I was dismayed to find that, despite all the slats being in, there was still packaging and bits of old bed everywhere, we still had to get the two beds mounted together, the side rails and ladder fitted to the top, the old bed guard adjusted to fit a bigger bed, and all the bedding on and the hubster had his feet up reading an email from What Car magazine by all accounts. Now imagine two exhausted adults, a tired and excited toddler who was like a kid in a candy store when he saw the amount of odd screws, lumps of wood and random scissors scattered across his bedroom floor!

Eventually, after much shouting, screaming, crying, hugging (and that was just me!) the job was finally, after nigh on six hours, done.
Et voila:

And, by the way, despite my misgivings about the insanity that might ensue after lights out, both children went out like a happy little light and slept like logs (watch this space for the EJ top bunk climbing saga which will no doubt follow in the coming days!).

 

Why be smug?

Every once in a while I read a post written deep within this parenting niche and it really resonates. When a post is open, honest and true and touches upon experiences which are obviously so commonly recognised it feels bonding, it feels inclusive and supportive – there’s a real sense of all being in this thing together.

No one ever said that being a mother and a wife was going to be all plain sailing and it’s not everyone’s cup of tea in life, but why, I ask you, why, do some people, who have chosen a different path, feel the need to stick their oar in with a smug comment, essentially boasting that their life choices are better than yours?

When I look at people who have chosen to stick with one child I sometimes think, ‘you’ve got it so easy’, but when I look at someone with three children, my first thought is not ‘ha ha! Look at the merry-go-round you’ve opted for, you fool!’. No, I look up and wonder what I’m missing, how much more fun a family of five might have in years to come (not that I would, in any way, want to have another child myself mind you!). I would certainly never in a million years dump a smug mother-of-two comment onto a post which had opened up about how tough a mother of three was finding the challenge some days.

What these smug ‘single, child-free by choice and living it up’ commentators don’t admit to is that no-one gets away with a life which is a series of ups and no downs. Like the economy, life, by it’s very nature, is all about the peaks and troughs.

I get the feeling that single people who trawl the parenting niche must be there for a reason. Personally, I suspect that they are searching for affirmation of their own life choices and ready to leap on a post which is brave enough to explore some of the less shiny happy moments of the parenting experience.

One recent example, on a brilliant blog I follow (Sisterhood and All That), states “ No kids and no husband means I can lie in bed all day if I want without anyone messing up my kitchen counters. Bliss. Feel free to take this opportunity to tell me what I’m missing out on and how you wouldn’t swap it for the world. Go on. You know you want to…it will make you go all warm and gooey inside” which is essentially the written equivalent of a sharp angry poke in the eye attempting to negate any potential comebacks which might seek to point out that actually, getting married and having children isn’t just a series of screaming, hair-pulling, anxiety inducing misery. (Steph, I apologise if this was genuinely written in jest by your sister or something!).

But you know, whoever you are, just keep searching out the negative bits and we’ll keep dishing ‘em up, but remember to shut your eyes, stick your fingers in your ears and sing ‘la la la’ if you happen to stumble across anything that looks anything like this:

Black and White Photography Project: Camera Grab!

Mucking around in the car today I took a few shots of the boys through the backs of the drivers and passenger seats and they thought it would be funny to try and grab at the camera. I like the way their little faces come into sharp focus in the background and they work well in black and white!

Joining in with Charly’s Black and White Photography Project over at Podcast.