Goodbye Messi, you were a superstar

“He was definitely alive yesterday,” I said to the husband as we both looked down upon the rictus corpse of Messi, the 2 year old gerbil who had mysteriously perished overnight. Next to Messi, curled on the floor sobbing heartily was my 9 year old son who had just discovered the tiny motionless body of his first ever pet. He had found him sleeping forever in front of the coconut shell house that my son had used his pocket money to pay for.

Hearing the commotion little sister ran upstairs and burst into her brother’s room. “Has Messi died?” She asked incredulously. Death has been a popular conversation topic for my 6yr old lately. As I was kissing her goodbye before I went to a wedding in Italy a few weeks ago she looked at me intensely and said: “Don’t die Mummy.” Fortunately I made it, but here we were facing an actual death in the household.

My six year old erupted into tears (which were more theatrical and ten times louder than her brother’s): “You never let me play with him and now he is dead,” she yelled and then held her head in her hands as she let the feelings of self pity and injustice wash over her.

I took the hands of both children and suggested that they both say something nice to Messi.”He might not have got to heaven yet so he might still be able to hear you,” I said. The 9 yr old told Messi how brave he was, especially when he had escaped certain death following the sustained attack from his domineering cannibalistic brother Ronaldo. The six year old said she wished she had played with him more, while shooting a dirty look at her heartbroken brother.

Meanwhile the 9yr old had dried his eyes and had begun creating a coffin for his little pet. His rugby boot box was tipped open and gerbil bedding was lovingly spread around. Messi’s red ceramic food bowl was placed next to his corpse. The box was then gently carried into the garden while we began a discussion about where he would be buried.

As we sat around the table the six year old marched into the kitchen wearing her Doc McStuffins medical kit. “I’m going to fix him and make him alive again.” she declared brandishing a pretend blood pressure monitor that was going to “puff air back into him”

I could see where she was coming from. Messi in eternal life did look a bit deflated. We gently explained that this would not work, so she turned her attention to Grandpa instead and started fixing him.

After much consideration Messi’s final resting place is now a large ceramic pot containing a white and orange Port Sunlight rose bush, which Messi will feed as he decomposes. He was also white and orange so my son declared this most appropriate. Messi may be dead but the circle of life continues.

 

 

 

 

The back seat strawberry monster

It was a normal Thursday evening and we were sitting in the car waiting for my 8 year old to finish football training. “Have you got any food Mum?” said my five year old daughter who despite having demolished two bowls of pasta and a pot of trifle was complaining of being hungry.

“Only the shopping but you have had your tea so you’ll have to wait until we get home,” I said.

She glared at me, but  accepted my decree and went back to watching Lego Batman on her Amazon Fire.

At he end of the session I went to collect big brother. I could see the car from the pitch so let little sister stay in the warmth. We were not gone for long. But it was long enough for trouble. I opened the back door and realised that something wasn’t quite right. The car stank of strawberries. And bananas. I looked at my daughter. Her hair was hanging in front of her face like a curtain and her cheeks were shining with sticky, dewy liquid. She was lolling in her car seat drowsily like a baby in a milk coma.

“What have you done?” I asked even though it was obvious. She had climbed into the boot and gone through the shopping, eating two bananas and a punnet of strawberries.

“I told you not to eat any of this.” I said trying to be outraged. Her brother burst into hysterical laughter.

“I was going to make you some strawberries and ice cream at home, but its too late, you have eaten them all.”

“On no Mummy. I didn’t know,” she wailed and immediately started to cry.  Her brother enjoyed this immensely – then realised he wouldn’t be having strawberries either. “You are the worst sister ever,” he yelled and began to cry because he was tired, he didn’t score any goals and as it was the end of term and he was generally exhausted. They both cried all the way home. Sigh.

strawbs#

The week before Christmas

The week before Christmas has been an absolute killer. There is so much happening for the kids at school  – and so much to remember that I have lists all over the bloody house. And I only have two kids. This tells me I am clearly not capable of having three. Norm will be delighted. Anyway here is a little poem about the last week of term.

The week before Christmas

 It was the week before Christmas, when all through the school

Mothers were frazzled and silly jumpers were cool

Notes were stuffed into school bags with haste

That said “tomorrow bring tinsel or biscuits or cakes”

*

But the parents wouldn’t see this until 8:29

“My friend has got biscuits Mum where are mine?”

“Shit” said the mother, out loud in the car

“Mum that’s a swear word, put a pound in the jar”

*

Fuck the jar, said the Mum (but just in her head)

And drove back to the garage where she’d just stopped for bread

Buying the biscuits she handed them to the kids

Who wait till she’s driving then open the lids

*

“Don’t eat them you animals,” she yelled into their lair

They both roar with laughter spraying crumbs in her hair

Pulling up to school they all run in late

At least there are spaces to park near the gate

*

Driving to work Mum starts to feel better

Because she had remembered EVERYTHING from the nativity letters

She even made the costumes, it took her all night.

“I hate my costume, you made me wear tights”

*

“Everyone laughed, you must hate me Mum”

He doesn’t know how many times she stabbed her own thumb

Making angels or shepherds or stars or wise men

“You look amazing,” says Mum “Ignore them”

*

The costume was amazing. But where is it now?

The play is in an hour and it’s not in the house

“I think it’s at school,” says child number one

Grabbing the car keys Mum starts to run

*

But no one can find it. The costume has vanished

The boy starts to cry but there is no need to panic

Mum kept some spares so they call off the search

With seconds to spare they head to the church

*

That night when the children were snuggled in bed

Mum checks her emails to see what they said

The festive requirements make Mum start to sob

There is only one solution – to give up her job

*

Tuesday go to nursery with mince pies for a party

Wednesday is the fun run and the toddler’s nativity

No uniform Thursday (with shoes that are sturdy)

Christmas jumpers on Friday then pick them up early

*

Then the week before Christmas will come to an end

Thank God for wine, a reliable friend

Well done to all parents who shared in this plight

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night

Elf2
Our elf  is a right bastard

A very tricky Christmas list

letter2My 6 year old son’s Christmas list is less of a list and more of a challenge. Does anyone know where I might be able to find a rock from the moon? Seriously.

Christmas list

  1. Puppy (Never again. I’d rather die )
  2. The connex big thing (I asked him what this is – “Santa knows” he said. Balls.)
  3. Arsenal home kit socks (just the socks! hahahaha)
  4. Football (because the 16 he already has are just not enough)
  5. MK Dons red kit (Their kit is white. Arrrggghhhh)
  6. A wild spider (Ha. Not a chance)
  7. Chompling (Say what?)
  8. Zomling (These are £1 in Tesco. Excellent)
  9. Dresses for Nana, Mummy, Charlotte and Georgie (Nana’s name was written first. I think he loves her best today)
  10. 3D pens (See number 7)
  11. A rock from the moon (more likely than getting a puppy)
  12. Squashy dough (This won’t be saltdough that we can make or play dough that we can buy anywhere. It will be some specific generic stinking bright green chemical shit that is sold through phone in adverts on kids TV.  Like the stuff we got him last year that is now welded to the carpet in his room. Just no)
  13. Nintendo DS whatever has Mariocart 7 (he has been asking for this for 2 years and I have refused thus far for fear of him leaving this world and living in virtual reality)

As for the rock from the moon he doesn’t think this is unrealistic. “Santa goes right past it” he said. Maybe I should tell him the truth.

That Santa doesn’t need to fly that high.

IMG_7185
“Take this back and get me a puppy”

 

 

 

LEGOLAND: everything is not awesome

 

Legoland1
Grasping bastard

There is something quite distasteful about arriving at a theme park and being told that you must pay £5 to park your car, despite the fact that an adult ticket cost £49 and a child admission is £45. It is like arriving at a nice restaurant and being told that you must hire a knife and fork. Even worse the cheery yellow lego man in his officious parking attendant uniform waving his grabby little claw hand demanding your fiver, is one of the first things that you see as you arrive. When you have been up since 6am getting three excited children ready, not had time for breakfast and spent 90 minutes singing Little Mix and Frozen songs to prevent your 3 year old having a meltdown during rush hour on the M40, the sight of that outstretched hand is enough to make you grab one of the sandwiches from your picnic and launch it at him.

However I had been promising to take my 6yr old for approximately two years and it was the highlight of his year – so I wasn’t going to let that grasping bastard ruin our day.

Arriving during half term in October meant that the park was busy, but we got there for opening time (10am) and moved through the (tired looking) entrance pretty quickly. Using the Kellogg’s Adults go free offer meant that we only had to pay for the three children and parking for two cars making the total cost to enter £145.00. The entrance is at the highest point so after walking in and past several shops (BIG shop, Star Wars shop and a clothes shop), you head down the hill and into the main park. The park and the rides are set out in several areas: Land of the Vikings (I had high hopes for this area – see Vikings TV show), Heartlake City, Pirate Shores, Miniland, Knights Kingdom, Lego City and so on.

Balls to that
Balls to that

Advice from experienced theme park aficionados is to head all the way across to the far side of the park immediately and go on rides that other people haven’t meandered over to yet. Like the Dragon rollercoaster which we didn’t go on because 3,5 and 6 year olds can’t queue for an hour. Of course we could have paid to queue jump by using the overly complicated QBot system which has three levels of pushing in available ranging from £20 to £75 per person. Yes – no need to get your reading glasses on. It does say £75. Who pays that? For our family of 6 this would have been £450. Equivalent to a whole month’s worth of chocolate for me (just kidding – I spend at least £1000pcm).

But heading to the end of the park to get started wasn’t possible for us because the kids wanted to go on everything that they walked past – including the many, many stalls and games that you have to pay for. Want three shots at getting this basketball through the irregular shaped hoop to win a massive minion? £5 please. Face painting like a fairy? £7 please. Burger? (£8.25 for a meal deal – take sandwiches). I spent a lot of time saying no to the kids – creating a sense of disappointment that was definitely not awesome. Thanks Legoland.

In the interests of balance and fairness I have to say that the kids loved the bits that we had already paid for. The adventure playground – also known as the Castaway Camp was a hit, along with the Atlantic submarine experience and the Vikings’ River Splash. They all did different driving experiences in Lego City and the 6 yr old loved the Jolly Roger pirate ship and even managed not to vomit on anyone #winning (he gets travel sick so the signs were not good).

My tips:

  1. Take sandwiches and snacks. Good ones so that they don’t reject them and beg for burgers making you into the worst parent ever (despite that fact that you have taken them to bloody LEGOLAND in the first place – ingrates)
  2. Don’t leave at dusk/closing time. It took 1 hour to leave the immediate vicinity of the park. 90 minutes to arrive, 150 minutes to get home. Killer.
  3. If you are visiting with children of varying ages take an adult per child and consider splitting up as they will definitely want to go on different rides to their siblings/friends. Try getting a 3yr old to queue for an hour for a rollercoaster that she is too small to go on. You are better off sticking your naked hand into a beehive and grabbing the Queen.
  4. Don’t spend £3.95 on a bag of fruit pastilles. The audacity of the price will keep you awake at night for weeks afterwards.
  5. Decide what you want to do most and go there first.

Now the cost for reading this is £20. And £5 for sitting in your chair while you do it. Sofas are £10…..

*Reading this back I feel like a tight fisted miserable bitch. I am glad I took the kids. I just wish I didn’t feel so exploited. And one the bright side I now know all the words to “Black Magic”. Karaoke anyone?

 

 

The Loom Band Penis

This isn’t what it looks like. Honestly. My 6 year old didn’t go on You Tube and download a video of “how to make a loom band penis” and then create this:

I try and support all of my son's creative endeavours. but sometimes this is difficult.
What else could it be? Really.

I know this because I have checked his tablet history. If someone had uploaded a clip on making extremely realistic loom band penises and this was available for children to watch then I had some complaining to do. But no. The coast was clear. He had obviously created this using his own imagination. Which is much worse.

Fortunately there is a simple explanation. You see he got pretty good at making things from loom bands after being in hospital having his tonsils out last year. We got him the loom kit to keep him occupied – and it did. These weird little elastic bands, the hook and the loom gave him something to concentrate on during that first 48 hours after the operation other than the sharp, unforgiving, raw agony of his cauterised throat. And so I am used to seeing him make bracelets, chains, key rings, webs and so on. This creation is:

(Drum roll)

Quite clearly a combination of a simple single loom bracelet with a  more complicated ladder loom bracelet attached to it with a finger ring extension to make a Superhero fighting bracelet. He wears this all the time and thinks it is super cool and runs around firing webs at people. Of course he doesn’t know that he has created a very realistic replica male penis – so no one tell him!

It's a bracelet with ladder finger link of course, modelled by me. The only modelling I will ever do!
I like to wear it when I go running: “Get lost mugger or I’ll shoot you with my penis”
Friday Frolics
Friday Frolics