Murdering stick insects...

Wow, what a weekend!...More about that another day, or maybe not. But I’m through the other side, and by going on the basis of what ever doesn’t break you, only makes you stronger…then I am fooking SHERA with the powers of greyskull!!

Moving on, the end of school saw Monty, at one point, bringing me something to sign, very nonchalantly telling me it was nothing. Yeah right. I’m onto you, but I let him have his little bit of fun, and signed it anyway, hoping I wasn’t just signing up gaily for an outdoor activity, Prince Edward style- caving with kids or something, or looking after school kids over the holiday (TERROR). What in fact I had signed up for, was far worse. To look after the school pets-Stick insects. Yes, you read that right, stick insects. Monty had been so keen bless his heart, he had only had to ask though (and probably have heard ‘no’ hence his (not) secretive actions) the thing I have with stick insects, is that you can not even see the, it’s so disconcerting…they are completely ridiculous as creatures, although pretty cool, they’re goddamn invisible! In this house there is NO WAY HOSEA that your demands are getting seen too, all your needs met, when you are visible, so invisible?? Were they to escape their box (which was my fear), they’d be invisible, well, I suppose camouflaged. I was terrified of their arrival. It was short lived however. We were looking after them for but 24 hrs, before they came upon hideous deaths, one drowned whilst ‘taking a bath’ (ooops, note to self-along with the birds and the bees talk, one must also, apparently, touch on insect hygiene with 7–year-olds) incident, and one got accidentally squished...I needn’t have been as they only lasted one bloody day and Monty accidentally squished one when he was playing with them trying to get them to play on the ‘water park’ he’d created for them. They don’t swim, stick insects just so as you know, and If I can spare any more mothers having to go to the pet shop to replace stick insects…hopefully they do all look alike, and no one will know!

Apart from murdering stick insects, our chicken Margo seems to be made of steel and carries on regardless of the fact her neck is so warped it kinks slightly to the right now, but is fine, I am relieved to report. My landlady burst into hysterics when I heard I had taken my chicken to the vets, then nearly collapsed on the floor when she heard they had first names too. But I did, and they do, so there. I shall leave you all now, I have a bath calling, and a dinner date with my man! Then I will tackle the issues before me: the broken washing machine because the dog we were looking after weed in Oliver, my dog’s, bed, so killed my washing machine in the process of getting itself clean. And the fact that this sent Alex to the laundrettes to get the mountains of washing done create by one small house with too much livestock creates, in doing so he succeeded in flooding the laundrettes. He spent the afternoon clearing it up with the owner. Nice work Alex. New washing machine some one please?!!

I would be about as useful as a one armed trapeze artist with an itchy *rse

There is a horrible wait this morning, as we await the news from the vet, as to how our little star Margo the chicken is doing, after having her entire neck and shoulder sewn back together, yep, bet that made you frown, pick a bit out of your tooth and put down whatever you were just eating. I wander out to the kitchen, the phone gripped in my hand like it were a cold beer (I wish), and have a mental debate with myself (I enjoy them), and wonder whether to put the hob on for the kids’ porridge, then flick the kettle on, more important that the kids are fed their porridge than mummy has her cup of first-thing-in-the-morning-onslaught-of-animals-and-children-alike-till-they-get-EXACTLY-what-they-want tea? In order of importance, it will go like that, nah, b*ll*cks to that, I am flicking the kettle on first…!!!

The phone does not ring, so fearing the worst, I make the call to the vets. It turns out that she has pulled through, Margo the wonder chicken! Her neck is mangled and full of stitches, and she is silver. Yep. It is an aluminium protective spray coating apparently. It looks great! Only that it keeps leaving me with silver stains whenever I pick her up. The horrible thing is though, that it’s rarely the injuries that kill them, it’s more the shock on their hearts. It’s too much stress and they suffer heart attacks. This is how it kills them. So we now have a  5 day wait, never knowing from one minute to the next if she is going to drop dead. Nasty business. Needless to say if a chicken had a heart attack, I would be about as useful as a one armed trapeze artist with an itchy *rse, and that’s the truth. How do you perform cardiac procedures on a chicken? Apart from looking like a complete wally and probably having an eye pecked out in the process. Probably. Well I would, let’s face it!

Esmie has been coming into herself recently, lovely expression, but really what does one mean by it? It simply makes no sense. She’s becoming herself, that works. She is the most hard work I have ever experienced from a child going through toddlerdom, I shall give you an example: been somewhat ill of late, need blood tests. Mitzi and Esmie have to come with me, the big 2 are at school. We walk in, as I am at reception announcing my arrival, well I didn’t really ‘ announce’ it, I just told them who I was and why I was there, but still, I throw a quick ‘WhereTF are the kids’ look, turns out, they’ve found the water machine, and ALL it’s plastic cups, which are now being precariously filled and placed erratically on surfaces, the floor, a chair, AND they are still going for it. I rush in, and try and empty the filled cups down the tiny completely pointless weeniest drain, and it floods, I am left with no choice but to down all the rest of them, stack cups, and slosh around dribbling water and trying not to look as though I had just drunk anything, as the blood test was to be a ‘no eating no drinking’ one. The needle, well this is where Esmie decided to switch out the light. This was especially helpful as the nurse was in mid blood taking process. She flicks it fairly quickly back on again, but all the same, it was not one of those ‘look around, shhhh, look around, anyone see what my toddler just did? Noooo, good, got away with it then’ acts, it was a blatant plunging into darkness endangering mummy’s life kind of toddler act. We were going to have words. We make it back through to reception, all lights illuminated, and this is where Esmie the Hideous spies a decorative lemon tree, it’s real, not plastic, which only serves in making the following statement worse, she picks off one of the lemons, that have probably been growing for YEARS, and throws it on the floor. OMG. I have tried to stick it back in where she’d pulled it off from, apologizing, and backing out the door humiliated. And it was only 8.30 in the morning.

Now I have a night out tomorrow night, so I need to get an early one tonight, so I may at least be able to go without big bag lady eye bags (how quickly can you say that sentence?!) Amuse yourselves. See you soon!

It’s not even 7am yet for fookidoodlesake.

To be honest with you, I do not even know where to start. Tuesday was one of the worst days to date, of the years I have trodden my life…It started bad, and ended a lot worse, a very lot worse. Clearing up piles and piles of dog sh*t (we are looking after someone else’s dog for a few weeks whilst they are way, it is her sh*t I am seeing to, always feels much more unfair when it’s not even one of yours), I flicked the kettle on, a cup of tea was absolutely in order, it’s not even 7am yet for fookidoodlesake. I put the porridge on, gallon of milk, 2 kgs of oats…(nearly true story too), I realise the dog has also p*ss*d on her bed, and as I walk through to gather the kids into the kitchen to eat their breakfast, the sudden cold, drenched sodden feeling in my sock, and overwhelming stench of dog p*ss demonstrates it’s presence on the floor and her bed. Fanbloodydooledootantastic. I get the kids at the table, serve up, the pick up the bed, mop the floor (well come on, totally warranted here, although maybe mopping the whole bottom floor was a little OCD), and wander off into the garage to shove the bed in the washing machine. Mitzi has not eaten a thing. She doesn’t want it she says, so I do the '5 mouthfuls and mummy’s gonna be ready to bail or throw herself out of the window’ deal with her. I start hairdressing the unhairdressed pillow hair before me, 4 heads. It’s a lot to tackle in the morning. I set about hairdressing duties, and Mitzi vomits. Everywhere. Clearing it up, telling her it was fine not to follow through with her 5 mouthful engagement, I use her puked on fresh clean clothes (always) to mop up some of it. It’s pure porridge oats too, just to give you a bit of detail, and send my mother-in-law off vomiting into a corner, the fact of it’s contents serves only in making me feel too guilty. I busy around nursing the puker, getting everyone ready for the school run. We are ready, finally, and late (probably acceptable under the circumstances), and I head back to ours to finish clear up and greet friend who will be dropping me off her baby for the day at 9.30am. the change over went well, given that I had a puking child, a crying baby and an esmie (worth 3 toddlers, at least!). Then:

·      Between forgetting everything, to gradually going forwards, backwards, forwards backwards to the car, to it finally just being the car keys I could not find,

·      To nearly running over a roosting chicken (beneath the car), ONE HOUR AND FORTY FIVE MINUTES, to get out the house, to pulling over 5 times for designated child to puke,

• To retrieving an egg, previously laid in the car by now under-car-roosting-chicken, chicken, I mean it’s not even roosting in the right place for fork’s sake, rolling around threatening to wedge itself and henceforth be squished beneath the brake,

·      To finally arriving at the ear specialist. 

I hit the waiting room looking like a dishevelled, frantic multiple bag lady, smelling of porridge-puke. Nice. Good look, I should try this one more often. After Mitzi pukes for the second time in the waiting room, and there are still 5 people in front of me, I bail. Rearranging rendezvous for Monday. I then have a doctor’s trip for Mitzi, as she has just been too poorly of late, bless her cotton socks, and get home at now 3 o’clock, switch the kettle on for a well-needed cuppa, and the kettle electric shocks me. Bastard. This is when I realise I am out of tea bags anyway and bundle all three girls back in the car to get only teabags (so annoying going to the shop for just one thing, a pet hate of mine), teabags got, kids collected, done, all in car, baby hended back over to friend in one piece (thank the lord above and the green grass that grows beneath the blue skies…).  We arrive home. And this is where my whole day changed from ‘pretty mental, but doable’ to a ‘WTF did I do in my previous life to warrant this’ kind of a day. Somehow the dog we are looking after has got out, she has chased a chicken, I call her over not knowing how long she’s been harassing my girls. As I get her in, I get Monty to check Margo (our favourite, she has laid us an egg everyday bar the first couple of weeks she arrived here), he bursts into tears and shouts me. Running over I see the dog has mauled her so badly, there is no skin left around her neck. The vets it is, 2^nd time in 2 weeks. We find out tomorrow morning if she survived the op.

Despite all this, today, I was remarkably organised, changes of clothes, buckets, towels, baby wipes. I did however forget one thing, well two, a change of clothes for me, although I got used to the crunchy patches of dried up sick on my shoulder and trousers, and later the smell of chicken blood too. I also forgot Mitzi’s shoes, she went round in her slippers all day. I wouldn’t have minded too much, only last week at school I forgot Esmie’s, and as mums looked on and laughingly quip, oh, had a paddy about putting her shoes on did she?! And I look honestly, and say ‘well, no, actually, I am a shit mum and I forgot to put her shoes on to leave the house’ no one thinks I am joking either…! Anyway, I am off, Alex’s UFC fighting watching time is at an end..! and besides, a bath is in order tonight methinks…!

Bring on february 10th...!

I have a night out on the 10^th of February, now I announce this, as I have not been out since the 4^th September 2010. Before that, I had not been out since approximately the same date, only one year before, thus I feel an announcement is wholly necessary. You start to get the picture of how glamourous my life is, I so have ‘moved away from all family to a foreign country, 4 kids, no volunteering babysitters-who can blame them?-’ syndrome. But I am just too excited about my night out! I am going to the opening of Frederic Vade’s exhibition. Yes, little ol’ me. He is an artist that has recently moved from Paris (read previous blog, to find out in more depth). I have invited my best mate in France Rachel Bennet along for the whole ‘girl going to the toilet, has to go with another girl’ thing. And also, obviously not just the toilet friend thing, also as I say, she’s my best friend in france, and a bit of girly gossip from time to time away from the kid life, does us the worlds of good, even if you in reality only get round to doing it once a year. *crowd gets out violins, mops away a little tear*

In order to emphasise my total uncontrollable excitement, and rare outings, I have included my recent facebook email interchange with Rachel… 'Twent like this:

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GOD DAMN IT, A NIGHT OUT.....

Between Rachel Bennett and You

Tamsyn Wood January 29 at 12:03pm 

hey rach, my new friend (!) fred vade, the artist who has moved here from paris a few months back, has an exhibition starting on the 10th feb, he has invited me and alex, but due to 4 kids, alex is kindly babbysitting...will u come with me??? i think it'll be pretty cool, opening night of an exhibition should be wicked....

r u here the 10th feb?? really hope u are, and it's something u'll be up for....

let me know *multiple air kisses french styley*....!

love tams xxx

Rachel Bennett January 30 at 10:13am Report

Hello lady,

sounds good to me! Think that might be the day the J and Nick go back to London for the trade show, so will have Marley and Kiedis...is it an evening opening? If so that would be wicked as i can give Marls a good run and we can go out!! Yippee! I love this no Natacha (-she recently left her stupid job) life already xxx

Tamsyn Wood January 30 at 12:24pm 

yep it's an evening do...i am already too excited!

btw, in ur humble fashion opinion, not that i am that sad and geeky, never go out and am thus totally out of touch that i am already planning my outfit or anything, but are leather trousers 'out'?

thanks in advance for fashion tips lady

can't wait, i won't be able to sleep i am that excited!!

check out http://www.vadefrederic.fr/


loads o love, be in touch soon to organise....
 tams xxx

Rachel Bennett February 2 at 8:22am Report

 

Leather trousers are so 'in' right now! In fact i am obsessed, (ok perhaps thats a bit strong), with wearing my 'fake leather' leggings at the moment... Get those babies out of the wardrobe. And the great thing is as the french are generally so behind with fashion, you'll be setting a trend again here and the french will start to follow your style!
I am really looking forward to a night out too. God it has been so long! Yippeee! xxx

Tamsyn Wood February 2 at 7:31pm

i am literally reading this for the 3rd time and laughing out loud...! i am going to have to use this email exchange in a blog, when i write about how too excited i actually am!!

great news re the faux-leather slacks! i am defo getting those babies OUT!

bring on february 10th...!

tams xxx

so you see? Proper geek. But I really am excited. Must go, have some leather trousers to squeeze post-four-baby thunder thighs into!!! Have a truly fab Monday!

Very, very unhappy ending.

Well my day proceeded as follows: up at 6.20 am for good. Although I had been nursing the sick and needy in the form of 4 children, varying different illnesses, multi-skilled nursing required, throughout the night. Tummies, ears, throats, mouths…you name it I have something for it. However, I am not the mummy who witnesses accidents happening to someone else’s kid, and without fail, always has something for it in her bag, just whips out the right gel/cream/spray to cure the injured. How annoying’s that? 'Oh yes, hang on, he’s got a bruise? No matter, look I have just the thing, Arnica!' Bloody f*ck*ng Arnica. Or 'oh, she’s fallen out the tree and broken her arm, no matter, take this splint and handy bandaging, I just so happen to have'. How can you possibly be that organised when you have kids? Or perhaps that’s it, they’re hired kids, she just picks them up from school and takes them to their real mummy, and likes to hover round schools looking like a Super-mum. That must be it.

After nearly reversing over a cat, the dog and a couple of chickens this morning, I dropped the kids off at school, those who were well enough. On the way back out I stumbled upon my worst nightmare…like someone was playing THE BIGGEST practical joke on me…four, yes FOUR cars, IDENTICAL to mine, were all parked roughly in a row. OMG, WTF..I start speaking in triples again. It is really that bad for me. Come on, it’s early; I haven’t even completed the school run yet. This is what I did. I sidled up to car one, pretending to reach down to do my laces up, which is never gonna look suspicious when I have no laces to do. I surreptitiously peer into the vehicle in question, and I am not going to fall for the they’ve stolen the car seats, and actually cleaned the car + *febreezed* in the process, trick today, oh no, car one, is not mine. Car two, drill one went pretty well, I’ll opt for the same technique, shoes, peek in, same interior furnishings, f*ck, this could be mine. Dilemma: do I attempt to get in? Oh, and in all this I know you’re thinking I could have just used the ‘bibby key thing’ but I couldn’t have actually, even I am not THAT dumb, well…my bibby thing gave up the ghost a while ago. No such simple option for me. Hence my Sherlock Holmes style manoeuvres. I realise, on closer inspection, that it is not mine. So I move to car 3, getting dangerous now, as there are parents starting to mill about and leave. Car three, thank god in heaven and the angels in the sky above, it’s mine. Mine is THE only car with the aftermath scratches all the way round, scars left by my then 3-year-old, who decided to clean the wet and dirty car with some stones. Oh yes, very, very, I'll add one more VERY in there- and please add shouting voice for effect, true story. Very, very unhappy ending. I nearly weep with relief, bundle the three remaining kids in the car, and set off to my son’s school, faster than green grass through a goose…

By the time I got back in from school drop off, I was a broken woman. Tonight, I have my son with ‘the gastro’ dun dun dun dun, my oldest daughter with tummy ache, my middle daughter with still poorly ear and other related illnesses, and my littlest, full of cold. Boo to illnesses, boo to cold weather, and boo to no library trip tomorrow. Friday is usually my favourite day, but a day with four proper ill kids at home, is not filling me with zeal. Sorry kids. But I promise I will spoil you rotten and not shout…! Wish me luck, I may never even get to post this post up…It’s serious stuff poorly kids. Have a good weekend all!

I commence ‘heavy-load-pissed-off-mother’ shuffle.

Ok, so my kids are not Prada'd up ever (what child except the Beckham’s ever are? I hear you all cry), but to my mind, as long as they are clean (enough) and trousers are neither trailing on the floor behind them, nor riding half way up their shins either, then I’m fine with that. There’s plenty of time for them to worry about what they are wearing and what they look like to be done in the future, so why bother too early? This is my take, I realise everyone has their own stance. This is why I sat wondering today, after having been given the third sack of clothes for my girls from an ‘I’m being ever so kind, but really, you should take the hint’ faced mummy this morning (although mornings are not my preferred time of day, Alex often mutters things like 'fish-wife, dreadful in the' and such like at me in the mornings, so she was probably just being nice to give her the benefit of the doubt). I keep being given bloody kids’ clothes. Not that I mind, it’s great, saves a fortune, they go through clothes like baboons go through bananas (do they like bananas, baboons? Or is it restricted to the every day monkey tastes?). Anyway, they go through them fast. Faster than I can cry ‘I’ve got big forearms” ok, ok, I’ll stop now.

So, clothes, I must have been looking like a confused breast-fed baby in a topless bar, because the mummy said to me that I could chuck them if I didn’t want them, with that I took the bag saying, oh no, not at all, and thank you very much. And fleeing to the nearest car that looked like mine and tried to get in. I must have been in luck, as I actually managed to enter the correct vehicle. Without trying the lock several times, cursing (that ventriloquist swearing, that no one can properly hear, and you get to say what you want only silently (it’s brilliant, you should try it)…or is that maybe just me??!) Then kicking the car out of sheer unadulterated frustration, the fish wife inside has really and truly reared it’s ugly head, and you find yourself realising that the kids have been pointing to our car for the last five minutes, the 5 minutes you have been randomly abusing some one else’s car for (this, shamefully, is a true story). Not grateful to the 4 kids in trolley, I commence ‘heavy-load-pissed-off-mother’ shuffle. I can actually fit my thumb and little finger touching, around my wrist they are so breakable, and puny and weak so try desperately, not to snap one of my wrists as I push them downhill- now you’d think down hill would be the more preferable slant for pushing a shopping trolley full of small children and shopping…but you’d be wrong. Very, very wrong. The trolley gaily slips off, slightly a kilt, and threatens to hurtle down car park and knock old lady pulling one of those old lady shopping pulley things, behind her (and whilst I'm on this point, why are they always tartan too?). In my struggle to control the trolley load, my wrist actually snaps clean in half. Ok so I totally made that bit up. But the strain is phantasmical (did I just make that word up? Dictionary has red underlined it…I shall go check out it’s spelling equivalents…), after consulting the  'word dictionary’, it does not recognise this word in any capacity, so I have decided to stick with my new made up word…here’s me going with it, the phantasmical strain of the trolley  is nearly enough to break me. Food shopping trips usually are, with the kids in the aisles, you practising your sheep dog skills, as it is like trying to herd wildebeest with a tea spoon. This is why they end up in the trolley-note to self-must think up of new punishment for kids who wander off…thus the strain of the trolley, the reduction of space for putting shopping goods in, and the squished EVERYTHING that you scrape out the bottom of the trolley from under kids’ ‘been punished for wandering off and had to stay in the trolley’ feet on arriving at the till. Whereupon you feel always obliged to apologise for the state of every food item that the till person *beeps* (hey do you think it is always swearing, the till? It’s actually going ‘oh for f**k’s sake, f**k me I’m bored, why the f**k are you buying that?’ when all we hear is ‘beep, beep, beep, beep, beep’ bit of a random thought there, but you never know, or maybe you’re pretty sure that you do know…), through the till, endlessly and painstakingly re-bagging the mangled goods.

This is my shopping world, this is why I HATE food shopping, this is why I want a goat, Alex, and some more chickens, a cow, or two, some sheep, pigs…oh, yeah, and a donkey…!!!

I actually managed to burn down the public street bin...

I walk towards the car after dropping the two big kids off at school this morning. I open the door and GASP! There is no car seats…someone has stolen the car seats out of my car in the short space of time it took me to take the kids into school. OMG! *looks around disillusioned* And they have cleaned it (there’s no re-masticated food on the floor, it doesn’t smell like cat wee (apropos the little cat weeing incident on my son’s leg in the car the other day)), hang on a minute, they’ve put covers on the car seats too…ok, blink. Step back, shut door, blink again, re-open car door, still determined it’s mine. Nope, still no car seats, still smells alright, and still no regurgitated bits of food on the floor. Better get out of here before the right owner of the car sees me, and chases me off for attempted car theft…I try and laugh it off, but when there is no-one else around to share the hilarity, it doesn’t quite work as well. You end up looking like you have completely lost it, and given my already extremely delicate reputation, it was probably not advisable to take on a ‘laugh out loud at your own joke’ stance here. So I prance off, trying to look like I had not just put my child in someone else’s car.

Now a few weeks ago, I chucked a bag in the bin. We’d had a barbecue, it’d been mild enough. Afterwards we went for a walk in the woods near us, when we got back we drove passed all the firemen and fire engines that the town possesses. Before I write any more, and all will reveal itself, I promise, I have to say a few things, 1) I did not do it on purpose, and 2) I am so very, very sorry, and I won’t do it again, and 3) I have not mentioned it before, as I wanted enough water to flow under the bridge before writing about it, as I have been rather paranoid that policemen, would stumble upon my page, Google translate it and come charging round before I can tell them they’ll need bigger handcuffs for my giant forearms, and put me away, so I do need to write a ‘disclaimer’ note here, and say again, that I really didn't mean to, I am really sorry, I wont do it again, and it really was not on purpose. .. But it was me. I actually managed to burn down the public street bin. Bellowing flames, men charging round trying to put it out. I watched through the curtains drawn together, in utter horror and mortification. I still can’t believe I burnt it down. We’d put water in the bag to drench the embers, and I had thought it was dead. This has been a big lesson to me; don’t burn down public bins. Well, alright, a bigger lesson, you can never, ever throw embers in the bin, as even when you think they’re out, they may not be, and you could end up burning down the public bin.

I have been looking after my daughter’s little girl for a few days. She has 3 kids, and is unwell. Her husband goes away for months at a time (this time 6 months…) as he is in the army, and she has no family here, I made her go to bed, and kidnapped her 18 month old for a few days whilst her big 2 girls are at school (well, she’s going back for nights…I have my limits!). I had a Dr’s appointment for Mitzi, another ear infection. The 3 girls, Esmie, Mitzi, and their friend, were all strapped in and wide-eyed, looking out the window of the car. I stop at a ‘payage’ (a toll bridge thingy, as you pay no car tax in France, just a few tolls if you choose to use the motorway, pretty cool), whereupon I immediately instruct the girls to shut their eyes and look away, only it was impossible to, well wouldn’t you find it impossible not to look at a bus beside you, FULL to the brim with boys mooning you and banging on the window? I was shocked and disgusted, I wrote that for my husband, I was unable to take my eyes off their mooning-bums in reality…JOKE, oh god, here we go, another ‘brink-of-divorce’ discussion…!!! To be fair, it was quite a picture. I am just thankful that my friend’s little girl can’t talk much yet…! Although I am rather worried that like I am now, she will be scarred for life, and her parents will never understand why she is screaming blue-murder every time they go near the motorway.