Sunday, 31 December 2006

cocoa overload


I never, ever thought I would say this, but I can't face any more chocolate. There really is such a thing as too much chocolate, and I've surpassed my limit. For some strange reason, everyone got me products made of cocoa this year. How did they know that I have a bit of a thing for this type of treat? Yeah, subtle I'm not. My husband purchased stock in Cadburys for me, so I am now officially part owner. My chocolate booty this year included: Hotel Chocolate products (truffles and a 500g slab of rocky road chocolate), lots of Green and Blacks goodies, delicious fair trade Divine dark chocolate (it's morally good for you so you can eat more), a Green and Blacks cookbook that came with a giant bar of chocolate, and a selection of Canadian chocs from Mom. To top it all off, I made a chocolate trifle for Christmas Day and I spent the week nibbling on Quality Street and anything else that happened to be placed in little glass dishes around the house.

Chocolate, I love you dearly but we need a bit of a break. You fill me with happiness but you also make my heart burn. You've been keeping me up all night and this has to stop. Please forgive me for putting you in the pantry until I can face you again.

Pass the salad, please.

Friday, 29 December 2006

surely you jest


From this week's pregnancy-related emails:
Welcome to week 16! You may find your regular clothes are getting a bit tight.

BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! How cute.

Friday, 22 December 2006

we're number 1!


For the bazillionth year running, Jack is the number one boys' name in the UK. Yet oddly enough, we don't know any other little boys called Jack. Just to tease you all, I will say that our boy name contender (still undecided on that one) is in the top 20, as is our girl name (decided on that one). Am I bovvered? Not at all. I think that if you choose a name that has some meaning to you - whether it's just something you like or has some sentimental significance - it doesn't matter whether or not it's popular. I don't really understand why people fret if their baby's name appears on these top 100 lists. If you like a name, use it!

Thank you; that is my tip of the day. I hope you enjoyed it.

and the bells were ringing out for christmas day


It's the last day of work before the holidays, my cards are finally in the post, my cookies were a hit (the nursery staff requested I bring in more soon), our little boy made us a Christmas pudding card and met Santa, one of Jack's presents arrived yesterday (better than nothing), I had a wonderful meal at my favourite Indian restaurant with my lovely girlies last night, and I drove into work singing along to "Fairytale of New York" really loudly. I think I'm ready for Christmas now.

My fellow ex-pat Canuck Vero tagged me on this one, so here is the last meme on this blog for 2006.

Five things you (probably) didn't know about me:
  1. I've never had a cavity. In my teeth; don't be rude.
  2. When I was 7, I met one of the dogs who played "The Littlest Hobo". He signed a picture for me and I got my picture in the local newspaper.
  3. I sold a book to Bjork. She's 2 feet tall and looks 8 years old. I also sold petrol/gas to Brian Orser, Canadian figure skater. He's 2 feet tall and looks 18 years old.
  4. I spilled a plate of hot french fries in the lap of a blind man when I had a very brief career as a waitress. At the same job, I dropped a tray full of ketchup bottles.
  5. The first record I ever bought was a 45 of Blondie's "Heart of Glass".


To all of you, have a wonderful holiday - and try not to get stuck in the fog. I mean honestly, how stereotypical. Now everyone's going to think it's always foggy here. Tsk.

Much love and happiness to everyone!
Lisa, Paul, Jack, Jasper, and Beanie xxx

Wednesday, 20 December 2006

desperate measures


I've had to resort to child labour to get my cards finished. I'm not proud.

singalonga with jack


Please try to ignore the wailing sounds of some lunatic woman in the backgroud, and enjoy the cuteness.


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jingle all the way


My cards are still sitting on the dining room table; filled out, addressed, but just not posted. Yes, even my overseas cards. I get a tummy ache just thinking about it.

Jack's nursery is having a Christmas party tomorrow and we were asked to donate some food for the festivities. I decided to make gingerbread men, and Jack could help decorate (we used up all the silver balls on the tree ornaments, so his nostrils should be safe for the time being). As I've found with all the North American cookie recipes I have, the gingerbread men didn't turn out well at all. The dough spread so the men look like Mr. Blobby, and the cookies turned out thin and crispy instead of thick and chewy like they are supposed to. Fortunately, I have a backup cookie recipe that I will try out tonight (bless you, Nigella) and that I know turns out perfectly fine with British ingredients in a British oven. Why do my recipes from home turn out so badly here? The same thing happened with a batch of chocolate chip cookies I tried out a couple of years ago, and it just uses standard ingredients like flour, baking soda, brown sugar, butter, eggs, etc. Truly, I'm stumped.

To top it all, I just got an email today saying that Jack's Christmas presents have been dispatched and should be arriving on December 27th. Thankfully, he's too young to know (or care) that his presents will be late, but I'm so disappointed. I know he'll have plenty of presents from all the relatives to open on Christmas Day, but I so wanted to see his reaction to his new JCB ride-on digger with accompanying hard hat.

On the plus side, our tree looks very pretty, all my shopping is done, and I don't have to cook or clean next week. Deck them halls.

Sunday, 17 December 2006

there must be another one hiding in there


I finally got around to taking a belly picture today, and just for fun, let's compare with a picture from my pregnancy with Jack. On the left, I'm 14 weeks 4 days with Jack. On the right, I'm 14 weeks 1 day with Beanie.



It's worth pointing out that I started this pregnancy 25lbs. lighter than I was before falling pregnant with Jack. So when they say you tend to show a little bit sooner with baby #2 or more, they aren't kidding. Better get going with those pilates, eh.

Friday, 15 December 2006

thank you and goodnight!


Update to the funniest thing we've heard on the baby monitor:
"La la la doo doo doo laaaa. La la laaaa. Dooo deee dooo. La la laaaa...YAY!!" [claps hands]

We think he's been rehearsing for tonight's Christmas play.

Thursday, 14 December 2006

i need some reindeer and a really fast sled


Okay so if you live in North America or New Zealand and you would normally receive a Christmas card from me, I can only offer my sincere apologies. Said cards are currently sitting on our dining room table (some of them written) and haven't made it anywhere near a mailbox yet.

I know, I know. Think of it as the Christmas that keeps on going, well into 2007.

Monday, 11 December 2006

now that's more like it


The hospital in Cambridge runs student scanning sessions twice a year, but with Jack, I was too early for the first one and too far along for the second. Fortunately, timing is on our side this time and I've signed us up for a scan. So on January 16 from 10-11am, not only will we get paid one shiny new fiver for our troubles (and free parking to boot), we should also find out the gender. This is good news because our silly hospital doesn't tell you the gender unless you pay £60 for a specific gender scan. I refuse to give our hospital more money - I think we've paid them enough for a new wing in parking fees alone over the years. As an added bonus, it means less of a wait to see Beanie again. This makes Anxious Mummy happy.

Five more weeks until we find out if we need to panic about not having a boy name. Whee!

Thursday, 7 December 2006

because it's there


Last night, Jack found a little silver ball on the floor that had escaped when we made some decorations on Monday. See Exhibit A:



After a few moments, he pointed to his face and said "Ball! Nose!" and upon closer inspection, I saw a little silver glint in his right nostril. For reasons only known to his toddler mind, he decided to shove the decoration up his nose. Paul held his head while I tried to remove the ball from his nose with a pair of tweezers like a life-sized game of "Operation". It finally dropped out on its own and Jack went off on his merry way.

Seriously, why do kids do stuff like that? Is it to give us heart attacks?

Wednesday, 6 December 2006

notes from placentabrainland


I talked about being slightly superstitious and being aware of "signs". Recently, I realised that the NT scan was exactly three months after I found out I miscarried. I feel like Squeak's watching over this one in a way. I also realised that the flower for the month of June is a rose, which was the English name my grandmother used. So maybe that's two people watching over Beanie right now. I'd like to think so.

The baby likes: pineapple chunks (bleah!), pasta, curry, fish and chips, peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and dill pickle flavoured popcorn.

The baby doesn't like: non-starchy vegetables, chicken (only sometimes), cooked mushrooms on pizza, eggs, Chinese food (although I had a strange urge to eat egg rolls the other day), and anything swimming in butter or a cream sauce.

One day I really wanted some Kellogg's Crunchy Nut cereal (Honey Nut Corn Flakes to us North Americans), so I bought some. Then I decided that I didn't really want it after all. Yerrrs. I never really had specific food cravings with Jack (it was more a general thing like "something spicy" or "something salty") but this time I get urges for particular food items...usually something I don't have in the house and/or cannot purchase in this country. Thankfully, the food silliness is going away somewhat now.

Damn, I really want egg rolls now.

Tuesday, 5 December 2006

out of the pregnancy closet


...and boy, am I glad. See the post below to read through my ramblings from the first 12 weeks (well, 10 weeks of pregnancy really - don't ask me how this stuff works). It's been tough. Really, really tough. It was impossible to know what it would be like to be pregnant after a loss, and it truly threw me. Panic, worry, anxiety, fear, pessimism, superstition (before I had the miscarriage, I kept coming across articles about people losing babies which made me extremely aware of "signs" like that this time around), dread, paranoia, and a million other negative emotions have plagued me from the beginning. I used to absolutely love being pregnant; it breaks my heart that this has been stolen from me.

I felt sick all day yesterday, waiting for 6:30pm to have my scan. I kept myself busy, which is easy to do when it's my day off with Jack. We ran errands and spent the afternoon making Christmas tree decorations, and seeing the happiness in my little boy's face as he smeared icing and sprinkles all over the place lifted my heart. I spent the later hours trying not to wee, drinking copious amounts of water. We got to the Day Assessment Unit and discovered that we had to wait - ironically, because the lady ahead of me didn't come prepared and had to wait for a jug of water to make it through to her bladder. We sat (I squirmed) while Jack pointed at every visible object and said "What's that?" Personally, I think it's rather cruel to force a nervous pregnant lady who is about to burst to wait for half an hour. I really do hate hospitals.

Our turn finally came and the Mysterious Mr. Lim (readers from Jack's birth will remember this character) entered the room to do the scan. The scan was so thorough and he kindly pointed everything on the screen out to us. Jack kept up his chant of "What's that?" interspersed with "Mummy!", and he was brilliantly behaved after a shaky start. Apparently entering a strange darkened room full of electronic equipment isn't a pleasant experience when you're a toddler. The baby moved around like mad, waving its arms, stretching, and at one point, it turned its back on us and mooned us. This is why I'm thinking "boy" at the moment. My risk for Downs and a few other chromosomal defects were assessed, showing a far reduced risk for my age group. In fact, I'm carrying the baby of a 28-year-old. Not bad for an old broad. It was wonderful to see the baby being so active (Jack barely budged during his 12 week scan and had to be prodded every now and then by the sonographer), and it was a huge relief to know that everything was fine. Finally.

This pregnancy has been very different. I've had every symptom in the book and not only am I craving specific foods (some of which I normally hate - like fruitcake, for goodness sake), I've gone of some foods as well. Never had that happen before. Still thinking boy but with all the trouble I've had so far, maybe it is a girl after all.



one more time


I guess that night away for our anniversary did us more good than I realised - I'm pregnant again. While I'm very happy about it, I'm also terrified that it'll end in another miscarriage. I hate that the joy of being pregnant has been stolen from me and I feel almost detached from the whole thing. At the same time, I accept that things are out of my hands and I'm grateful that we have a two week holiday to help take my mind off the worrying. I will get a scan at 8 weeks instead of 12, which is a huge relief. I don't want an earlier scan or any other tests done before then because we lost our little one just before 8 weeks. Had we seen the heartbeat or had any other tests done before then, we would have thought everything was okay. Not knowing makes things easier in that sense, and 8 weeks isn't long to wait in the larger scheme of things. That's less than 2 weeks after we return from holiday.

So far, I've been feeling almost exactly as I did when I was pregnant with Jack. I feel like I'm constantly jet lagged, on the verge of getting a cold, and experiencing really bad hayfever. The nausea isn't as bad this time and my other symptoms are pretty much as they were with Jack. I find all of this strangely reassuring.

I have a load of posts sitting in draft form from my last pregnancy that I'll keep for myself and probably never publish. What I will share from those posts is this:
I'm far more relaxed this time, which is due to a few things: having been there/done that before, being too busy toddler wrangling to obsess over every little twinge and tingle, and knowing that things are pretty much out of my hands at the moment. It sounds dreadful, but I've accepted the fact that there's nothing we can do in the first trimester but wait until the 12 week scan. Worrying will do absolutely nothing to prevent something bad from happening, so I'm just letting the days pass as usual. I think that knowing this will be my last pregnancy makes quite a big difference, too. I am trying to enjoy every minute of it rather than stress because I don't have my head in the toilet (yet).

So I am going to enjoy every single second of this pregnancy because now I truly understand how precious it is. Just over 5 weeks to go before we face the first hurdle. God, do I ever need this vacation.

Monday, October 23
Just over 6 weeks along now. The day I hit 6 weeks, morning sickness found me and slapped me around real good. Imagine your worst hangover, triple it, put yourself in 88 degree heat with nothing but American restaurant food to eat, and you can imagine the level of hell I'm in. I was never this sick with Jack or my last pregnancy, so I think this is some sort of cosmic payback for the easy pregnancy I had with Jack. Blergh.

Friday, November 24
One month later and I'm kind of surprised that it's been so long. I think it shows how pessimistic/cautious/scared I am, and it's my brain's way of not getting too excited about things just in case something goes wrong. I've built an emotional wall around this pregnancy, and I'm too afraid to feel anything. What a horrible, sad way to be during a time that should be so special. It probably also explains why I've been feeling so rough: extremely nauseous, heartburn, pounding headaches, numerous digestive issues, fatigue, placenta brain, and just a general feeling of being unwell.

Time to be positive. We had our 8 week scan and we saw a little heartbeat flickering away.



The nurse said that my chances of carrying to term are now 90%, because we've seen a heartbeat at 8 weeks. The baby is measuring slightly ahead of schedule (just like his/her big brother), and it was a relief to pass that first milestone. We have nicknamed this one "Beanie Baby" because it looked just like a kidney bean on the scan. The NT scan is on Dec. 4 and if all goes well, this post will finally go public. It's been a very, very long and harrowing wait.

Monday, 4 December 2006

and then there were four


Introducing Beanie Baby (thus nicknamed at the 8 week scan because s/he looked exactly like a kidney bean), due June 16, 2007.



We had the NT scan today (to look for markers for Downs and other abnormalities) and all is well. Apparently I have the same risk as a 28-year-old now, which means I can now claim to be almost 10 years younger on my next birthday. Or at least that's my interpretation of things.

Details of the first 12 weeks and associated paranoia will be found on the baby blog shortly. But for now, one huge massive sigh of relief. My god, I will finally sleep tonight.

Thursday, 30 November 2006

required reading


You know, it really gets my goat (that's right - I've got a goat. Want a piece of it? Do you, punk?!) when people state that blogs about certain subject matters are "lame" or boring. According to one blogger, writing about kids and cats is akin to cornering someone in a dark alley and forcing them to watch reruns of Question Time. Luckily, I don't own a cat so I'm still cool to the youngsters of today. Word. Anyway, my point is, I don't really see the purpose of saying blogging about a particular subject is less worthy of cyberspace than say, posting naughty pictures of yourself. If you're not that thrilled by a blog, skip it; there are about a bazillion other blogs out there that might be of interest. Putting other blogs down is just bad blogging karma, if you ask me. It may lead to things like weird formatting in your CSS or your comment numbering going all wonky.

Kristin of "Debaucherous and Dishevelled" fame has been nominated in the 2006 Canadian Blogging Awards for best blog, best personal blog, and best family blog. Note that entrants have been nominated by others; you cannot nominate yourself. I've followed her blog for a long time now (back in the old days when we were up the duff with our boys), and I simply love her writing - even though it now involves discussions about kids. God, how LAME. (that's sarcasm, by the way) While you're at it, please feel free to vote for Ed of "Blork Blog" (which sounds remarkably like a Lord of the Rings character). Cast your votes here.

I'm not saying just go and vote blindly just because I said so - I do know that I should only use my powers for good, but sometimes it's hard to resist. What I'm saying is please do go and check out these blogs if you're not familiar with them. They are not just blogs from friends, they are incredibly well written and deserve the recognition (if not a couple of extra readers).

By the way, Ed sometimes blogs about cats, but I'm okay with that.

Wednesday, 29 November 2006

a whole lotta nothing


Some of you have been curious about the lack of posts around here, and some of you have even been speculating about my whereabouts. Rest assured, I'm still alive (others can attest to this) but simply not up to anything particularly interesting. I've got blogstipation; no ideas are coming out at the moment. I usually come across several topics that I file away for later use, or amusing situations that happen to us. Sometimes we go places or do things that are worth writing about. If all else fails, someone at work will eventually do something comical and worthy of a post. But lately, nada. Life is work, playing with Jack, getting errands done, watching Lost and scraping my brain off the ceiling, and occasionally getting together with friends. Even Heat magazine hasn't been that interesting lately.

So there you go. I've just blogged about the inability to think about something to blog about. Please don't give up on us just yet - I'm sure something interesting will happen soon.

Monday, 27 November 2006

snips and snails, and puppy dog tails


My little boy has been asleep on the sofa since we returned from the soft play centre almost two hours ago. Oh how lovely it was to cuddle and coo over two little girl babies; such a treat when you're mummy to a boy. Caroline's daughter Emily gave us little gurgles and smiles, and Tosha's daughter Kalila happily sat in my arms (and Jack happily played with the puddle of spew she left on the table, but I digress). Meanwhile, Jack tore around the place, diving head first into the ball pits and making "ROOOWRRRR!!" noises. Jack followed Indigo around and they copied each other's every move. They yelled and screamed, and most of the time they were just little toddler blurs blazing past us. Totally adorable, but it made me think that having two boys must be exhausting. Cute, but exhausting.

Other cute things:
-Jack's toys in his cot are called "puppy", "puppy", and "raaaaaaarrrrr!" (the lion)
-he's still doing his pretend wees and poos, but come anywhere near him when he's doing a real poo and he'll say "noooooooooooo!!!" and hold up his hand to stop you. He's a very private young man.
-he has his first Christmas play on Dec. 15. I will spend the entire time taking pictures and sobbing like a lunatic.
-funniest thing heard on the baby monitor for a long time: "Da-deeeee. Da-deeee. It's da-deeeee. Da-deeeee. It's da-deeeee." (repeat for another 10 minutes)
-just like his mummy and daddy, Jack thinks raw celery is Satan's salad ingredient.

Wednesday, 22 November 2006

potty all the time


Jack has started to mimic us, both verbally and in actions - which is both amusing and frightening at the same time. Amusing to see us recreated in mini me form, frightening to realise that we really do need to stop swearing and eating things right from the fridge (that last one probably only applies to me). So the other day, Jack looks at me with a frown, grabs his crotch (as boys are wont to do), and says "Wee!" "Jack having a wee?" I ask in my cheery "let's be chipper about potty-related things so that our son's not traumatised about the whole thing" voice. "WEE!" he says more adamantly, and points towards the downstairs bathroom. "Owah..owah" he says, meaning "shower", which is Jack's word for the bathroom. Goodness, he actually wants to use the toilet, I think.

So we walk to the bathroom together, and then I realise a) we don't have a potty nor a footstool to reach the toilet and b) I have no idea how to aim a toddler's winkie so that he actually wees in the toilet and not all over my shoe rack. I knew that he's definitely not ready for potty training yet, so I wasn't even going to attempt it. Instead, we did a "pretend wee". I put him on the toilet (fully dressed) while he sat there with a massive grin. "Did Jack wee?" I asked. "Yeah" he said, and he got down, flushed the toilet, and put the lid back down. I kid you not. We have raised a boy that doesn't leave the seat up. If we teach him how to cook, he'll have women pouring through his front door in around 20 years.

Almost every day since that first toilet trip he says "Owah!" and points to the bathroom, and I sit him on the toilet as he gleefully tells me if he's had a wee or poo. The other day, he took some toilet paper and pretended to wipe afterwards. If he starts spritzing the bathroom with that nice air freshener we always keep next to the toilet, I may find that slightly disturbing.

Tuesday, 21 November 2006

photographic evidence


I've finally uploaded our pictures from California here. Detailed travelogue type commentary will be unavailable until I get a week off in a dark cave on a deserted island. (With broadband, naturally.) Enjoy!

Friday, 17 November 2006

this might get ugly


Jack can only identify one Disney character, and he always does so with an enthusiastic cry of "POOH!!" When Jack fills his nappy, he says (solemnly) "Poo."

I'm just wondering how this is all going to pan out when it comes time to potty train.

Thursday, 16 November 2006

storytime with jack


Jack pulls his picturebook off the bookcase and climbs up into our bed with it. It's 7am, it's dark, and I don't have my contacts in.

Jack: [pointing at a picture in the book] "What's that?"
Me: [squinting and moving the book closer until my nose touches the page] "It's a truck."
Jack: [pointing at another picture in the book] "What's that?"
Me: "Car."
Jack: [pointing at another picture in the book] "What's that?"
Me: "Aeroplane."
Jack: [pointing at another picture in the book] "What's that?"
Me: "Digger."
Jack: [pointing at the same picture in the book] "What's that?"
Me: "That's still the digger."
Jack: [pointing at a different picture in the book] "What's that?"
Me: "It's a..."
Jack: [interrupting] "What's that?" [rapidly points at another picture] "What's that?"
Me: "It's...um...wait...what are you pointing at?"
Jack: [pointing at another picture in the book] "What's that?"
Me: "That's the car again."
Jack: [pointing at an empty space on the page] "What's that?"
[long pause]
Me: "Mummy's going back to sleep now."

Yeah, yeah I know. Bad Mother.

Tuesday, 14 November 2006

chatterbox


Jack's vocabulary seems to have expanded rapidly since our trip to the States. It started with a few words and has evolved into two-word sentences, which is very cool. I'm not one to brag and there seems to be lots of other children around Jack's age who are reciting Shakespearean sonnets from memory, so this isn't at all about how brilliant my child is. It's all about how wonderful it is to be able to interact with Jack and thoroughly enjoying watching him learn about the world around him. We had the crayons out yesterday and he pointed at one and asked "What's that?" and I said "purple crayon." "Puh-ple," he repeated solemnly. I could almost see the little cogs turning in his head as his brain filed away this new piece of information. Everything in the house is identified by a finger point and "it's mummy's", "it's daddy's", or "MINE!" Apparently Jasper owns nothing, which is a bit sad, really.

I won't list everything he says, but suffice it to say that anything said in a tiny toddler's voice is pretty damn adorable. Equally, the word "mummy" when said in a sad sleepy voice in the middle of the night is enough to make me say "Yes, darling whatever you want! Cuddles? Milk? Snacks? My credit card number? Here! Take it! Take it all!" I am going to be in deep trouble for the next few years.

On a totally unrelated note, many congratulations and much happiness to lovely Lisa over at Turquoise who had a baby girl yesterday!

hiding under the duvet for the next six weeks


I don't care what my television tells me - I am NOT ready to start thinking about Christmas yet.

Friday, 10 November 2006

damn yankees


Hi. I'm still alive - apologies for the distinct lack of bloggage. Please accept this gift of a miniature Peanut Butter Cup* as compensation. Anyhoo.

On Halloween night as Paul and I sat in London traffic, we heard several news reports about additional police on duty to deter hooligans from creating all sorts of havoc. It's a night for yobs and vandalism, they said. Local residents were afraid to leave home for fear of something unsavoury passing through their letterboxes. Decoy buses full of police officers roamed Merseyside, attempting to pick up troublemakers planning on trashing public transportation vehicles. The BBC interviewed the average person on the street about this harrowing night, and a comment that kept coming up was why should we acknowledge this American holiday? I read a newspaper article expressing a similar sentiment; that Halloween is an American invention and causes great strife in our nation. As if somehow the fact that trick or treating is an American tradition makes it inappropriate to celebrate here, and furthermore, this explains its unwelcome affect on British youths.

I think that Halloween is not celebrated here as it is back home (Canadians trick or treat too, you know - just with big winter coats over our costumes so you can't actually see what we're dressed up as) because it simply isn't a tradition here yet and no one quite knows what to do with it. I always describe my amusement each year at our local trick or treaters. We get none, they come on the wrong day, or they don't even bother dressing up. This tells me that there is great confusion surrounding this holiday, although it does seem to be improving the longer I live here. I'm not sure why there is a general distaste for it just because it's deemed American. It should be fun, with a bellyache the next day.

I came across another article about how awful it is that the British use "Americanisms" such as "Can I get...?" instead of "May I please have...?" So when you go to Starbucks to request a beverage from the 17-year-old behind the counter who really doesn't give a shit whether you live or die, you should do so by saying "May I please have a tall cafe latte?" instead of "Can I get a tall cafe latte, please?" because the spotty teen will be greatly offended by your American-ness.

I'm sorry, I just don't get it. As a Canadian, we do tend to find our downstairs neighbours to be somewhat rowdy and a little bit weird to be honest, but I can't say that I've ever found something to be abhorrent simply because it's American. When we were in California, people constantly acknowledged Jack. Businessmen with silly looking Bluetooth headphones at the hotel would greet Jack with a "Hi, Buddy!" and restaurants brought us endless supplies of crayons and balloons. Although over enthusiastic American store clerks can be unsettling to the outsider, they were very nice to have when we did actually need help. People smiled at us and chatted to us. No one batted an eye when I asked for menu substitutions. I'm two sizes smaller in the States. Sorry, that's another issue altogether.

What I'm saying is, Americans aren't all terrible. They're not all uncouth beasts who go around breaking windows on Halloween night, demanding food products in an impolite manner. All things American aren't terrible. We watch their television programmes, listen to their music, and watch their films. We celebrate Father's Day without (much) complaint, which is an American invention. And who doesn't appreciate a good burger? Mmmmm...burgers. Be right back.

Anyway, that's all I had to say. I might not always understand Americans and I'll never be tempted to eat grits, but if we could learn how to do Halloween like they do, that would be more than fine by me.



*(Supplies are limited. To claim your gift, you must come to my house between the hours of 7am and 7pm on weekends only, and answer a skill-testing question. Offer not valid in Quebec, Hawaii, or ROI. Thank you.)

Friday, 3 November 2006

but i only let him watch the discovery channel


I always claimed that Jack's not interested in television (thus explaining my lack of knowledge about things like Ballamory and fit looking guys in The Wiggles), because he never seems to pay attention to it when I have it on. Or so I thought. While we were on holiday, Jack found a remote in our hotel room, held it up to me and said, with great seriousness, "On." Ha ha, how cute! Then the next day, and every day following: "On." (repeatedly until I either told him that the TV was broken or I just switched it on to avoid a hissy fit). At the airport while we were waiting for our luggage to come crashing down the conveyor belt, he spotted two monitors hanging from the ceiling. "On." he said, with his little pudgy finger pointing at the screens. It's true what they say; television is a drug and my son is addicted. Or I should say, he's addicted to switching it on - he doesn't really care about watching it. My son is addicted to white noise, then. Probably goes back to the womb. Or something.

Thursday, 2 November 2006

you know you're a Bad Mother when...


...you decide that you will diligently avoid giving your child nuts in any form until the age of two (due to nut allergies on both sides of the family), only to notice your son is chowing down heartily on a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Ten minutes after giving it to him.

I blame the jet lag.

dust. anyone? dust.


Just a quickie to say that we saw Little Britain live on Tuesday night, and it was absolutely fantastic. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, and we were mere feet away from the boys (row G!) The woman next to me didn't laugh once and only clapped at the end, so I'm assuming that she was there under duress, fulfilling some sort of community service.

Coming soon: my post about why the British shouldn't fear nor loathe Americans. No, seriously.

Thursday, 26 October 2006

home


Hello; we're back. Thank you for not robbing us while we were away, but I'm very disappointed that none of you mowed our lawn. The holiday was fabulous, but the jet lag is horrendous. I feel like either bursting into tears, passing out, throwing up, or all of the above.

Pictures and details coming soon, but in the meantime, please enjoy these highlights:
-chocolate-covered Nutter Butters make me run around in a little circle on the floor going "woo woo woo woo woo!" like Homer Simpson.
-the American version of "Deal or No Deal" features glossy models holding up shiny briefcases. Our version features dumpy fellow contestants with red cardboard boxes. I kind of like ours better, to be honest.
-I managed to avoid all of my shows, except for 20 minutes of Desperate Housewives. I have been told that if I did watch Lost, I'd be peeling my brain from the ceiling right now.
-why do they show so many ads for prescription sleeping pills on television? Particularly in the middle of the day - late at night, I could understand.
-Rachel Ray makes my head hurt.
-the best sushi in San Diego can be found in a tiny restaurant hidden behind a dry cleaner's and a 7-11.
-you cannot buy summer clothing in California this time of year because technically, it's autumn. This means shops are full of wooly sweaters, coats, mittens and hats, and furry boots. It was 88F while we were there, and I saw a woman wearing a bomber jacket and furry Ugg style boots. No, seriously.
-yes, I did bring my own teabags with me again.
-why do the same nappies cost £8 here and $8 in the US?
-if you use the term "cutlery", Americans sometimes find this confusing.
-Jack's got Micky Mouse ears with his name embroidered on them.
-I am eating nothing but salad for the next year.

Saturday, 21 October 2006

i'm sure there's a vitamin in there somewhere


During our holiday, I have discovered that Jack likes: Denny's pancakes, fries dipped in ketchup, cheese pizza, whipped cream on ice cream, eating cream cheese off bagels (and leaving the bagel), Subway sandwiches, macaroni salad, egg rolls, and pretzels. At least we've been giving him organic milk every day, so I'm sure that cancels all the junk food out. Sort of like when you order a Diet Coke with a Big Mac.

On the plus side, Jack now has a lunchbox in the shape of Shamu. How cool is that?

Friday, 20 October 2006

on being a man


From a very early age, the male of the species learns to suck in the belly when donning beachwear.

Tuesday, 17 October 2006

postcards


Greetings from Coronado!



Is it my imagination, or do zoo animals not really give it their all these days?



Saturday, 14 October 2006

dude, where's my time zone?


Greetings from a really crappy wireless connection at the hotel! Our holiday so far, summed up briefly before the connection craps out again.
-Toddlers know not of sleeping in so that mummy and daddy can recover from jet lag. Toddlers wake in the middle of the night thinking that it's time for Cheerios. Toddlers can catch up on lost sleep in strollers and car seats during the day. Toddlers are not for the jet lagged.
-Ate, shopped, ate, shopped, ate, ate, ate. End day one and two.
-I say "Hi" when I walk into stores, salespeople say "You're visiting here from England, right?" What the...? Are Gap staff psychic?
-Americans make the best burgers. Full stop.
-Peanut butter M&Ms do not seem to exist in this state, nor do Oh Henry bars.
-I have managed to avoid all my television shows so far. I would have watched "Lost", but I fell asleep at 8 that night.
-It's almost 10pm right now and I'm not that sleepy. This is great news because it means I'm almost on local time. This is also bad news because it means I'll be up again in another few hours when my little boy wakes up for his Cheerios.
-Today: zoo (Jack likes monkeys). Tomorrow: cycling around San Diego and eating copious amounts of Mexican food. Ay carumba.

More updates, pictures, and other pithy remarks coming soon.

Friday, 6 October 2006

so long, suckas


I'm leaving, on a jet plane...well, on Monday.

Don't know when I'll be back again. Oh, wait. Yes I do. Wednesday, October 25th.

Blog from : a broad headquarters are officially on holiday! Please don't break into my house while we're gone, but if you are going to rob us, steal the Sky+ box so we can get a new one. Do feel free to go over and mow the lawn, though.

Think happy, turbulent-free plane thoughts for us, please. xx

and i don't even play one on tv


Reason #278 why you should never seek medical advice from the Internet:
I just spotted a post on a mum/pregnancy board I sometimes read from a woman who's 16 weeks pregnant was wondering if it's safe to go to a haunted house. Her husband was concerned she could be frightened into labour. Several responses followed, all of which cautioned her against partaking in such death-defying activities. The best response by far was from a woman who claimed that if the mother is frightened enough, she can give her baby a heart attack. No, seriously.

So again, I stress, do not seek medical advice from the Internet. Unless it's for entertainment purposes, such as posting it to a blog for the amusement of others.

Truly, I do despair for the human race sometimes.

Thursday, 5 October 2006

i'm not all that, nor a bag of chips


On the days when I struggle with the failings of my body and make myself sick with worry about what might happen next time, I come across writing like this, and it gives me a new sense of perspective. Julie's blog always makes me feel like "damn, why can't I write like that?" but today, it made me realise that there are women who have been through far scarier wars than I. Much of what she said hits very close to home for me in several ways, but it also reminds me that my body did manage to do something incredible - it gave us Jack.

I'm shutting down the pity party. For now.

have a drumstick for me


For the second time in my life, I'll be in the US (or en route to the US) on Canadian Thanksgiving. I'm very upset that there will be a distinct lack of turkey and pumpkin pie on Monday, and I doubt that British Airways will rustle something festive up for me in the galley. I was telling my mom about this in an email the other day. She offered me this bit of information: "Starbucks has just started selling pumpkin cappucinos."

Sweet merciful crap, pumpkin cappucinos?! If there was a flavour combination I never wanted to experience, it's pumpkin and strong coffee. Most of Starbucks' holiday concoctions have been fairly palatable. Eggnog latte, fine. Gingerbread latte, kind of gross but I can accept that. But pumpkin flavouring in a cappucino? That's the drink of satan. Or someone who smokes 12 packs a day and no longer has any tastebuds.

Maybe I'll just make some pie when we get home.

Thursday, 28 September 2006

pride


I am proud of...
  • Finishing the knitting on time (the second project I've ever done!) for Caroline's beautiful girl Emily.



    And here it is in action!


  • My little boy for spouting out new words every day and learning how to turn doorknobs (actually, not sure if "proud" is the right word for that one - "worried" maybe.)
  • My husband for mapping out the closest Starbucks, Burger King, Outback, and Denny's on his fancy pants phone/GPS thingy for our trip to California.
  • My dog for not hating me after I accidentally locked him in the backyard until I came home for lunch the other day, because I thought Paul had let him back in the kitchen before we left. I'm amazed he hasn't run away to the animal shelter down the road yet.
  • Me for not completely losing my marbles and hope after what we've been through.

splat


So last night, I got caught up on some television progammes that have been sitting on Sky+ for a while. This meant that I watched the final three episodes of "Lost" back to back - while our Sky+ box decided that it would be hilarious to malfunction only during these episodes. Every minute or so, the sound would jump, either missing bits completely or getting out of synch with the image. It was like watching a badly dubbed film that had been edited using a blunt butter knife and duct tape. For three hours, I tried to decipher plot twists and key pieces of dialogue with snippets like this: "Who are you people?!" "We're the...frn...blrp...ack...urd." I had to scrape my brain off the ceiling by the end of it, and I'm still feeling a bit woozy today.

Seriously, my aging organs can't take this sort of stress.

Monday, 25 September 2006

bless our cotton socks


Two years ago today, Paul made an honest woman of me...as I waddled down the aisle four months pregnant. To celebrate our anniversary, we spent the night at the Old Bridge hotel, where we got married. We dropped Jack off with friends (the husband is a policeman/inspector, but we did warn him about Jack's cries in case they have concerned neighbours) and went off on our merry way.

A huge, inviting, dog hair-free bed greeted us when we arrived at our room:



and I ran around in little circles, squealing like a child on Pixie Stix when I saw the enormous bathroom:



We tarted ourselves up, and went down to the terrace for dinner. Oh my, but it was delicious. Our waitress has been working there for a while and remembered us from our various visits, and after we told her it was our anniversary, our desserts were presented with an extra decoration:



We ate and ate and ate, and drank and didn't have to worry about keeping a clear head because our little boy was safe and sound with our friends, and stumbled back up to our room. Big feathery pillows sank blissfully under the weight of my tired head. I woke up feeling relaxed and happy, and we lounged around in bed and ate our perfect breakfast:



I had a long bubble bath afterwards, and read the paper slowly. Heavenly, unadulterated luxury for any parent.

Happy anniversary, Paul. Let's try this anniversary lark again next year.

Friday, 22 September 2006

life: get one


The doorbell rang at 7.30 last night, and I could see two neon green vests through the obscured glass panels next to our door. I figured that it was either the police or construction workers, or perhaps other members of the Village People. Two policemen walked in and asked if we have children, and if so how many and their ages. Two thoughts crossed my mind: they are doing some sort of neighbourhood census at a weird time of day or there is some lunatic on the loose and they are going to warn me to lock all the doors and windows. Paul came down the stairs with Jack in his arms, pointing out that this is our one child who is 19 months of age. The policeman asked if Jack had been crying lately as a neighbour rang the police because they were "concerned" about Jack's crying.

No, seriously.

Luckily, one of the policemen had a 19-month-old daughter himself and after taking one look at Jack, knew immediately there was nothing sinister going on in our house. (Apart from that sweatshop we've got in the loft, but who can resist the large cash bonuses from Nike? Oh, and that small child we keep up the chimney. But I digress.) We had a chat about grumpy nights and teething, and he rang his wife to ask which type of teething medicine they used. They left with a "no harm done" farewell, and said that they wouldn't even file a report. It was all rather jolly and civil, but I was seething. What idiot would ring the police for this? Jack cried mostly in the evening. If he did cry in the middle of the night, Paul went into his room to calm him down and even spent one night sleeping next to him. Granted, his cries probably pierced all houses within a 10 mile radius and it's been warm so we've had the windows open, but why on earth would you suspect the worst based on a couple of sporadic crying episodes?

It made me feel sick to know that someone in our neighbourhood thinks we're abusing our son. Considering what we've been through lately and knowing how much more my son means to me now, the accusation is maddening.

I fantasize that the telephone conversation went something like this.
Operator: "Huntingdonshire police, how may I help?"
Concerned Citizen: "A child has been crying really, really loudly in my neighbourhood lately and I'm concerned for its wellbeing."
O: "Right, how long has this been going on?"
CC: "Two nights."
O: "And for how long? All day and night?"
CC: "All night. Well, part of the night. Maybe just the evening. Off and on."
O: "And could you hear any other noises like shouting or anything else out of the ordinary?"
CC: "No, just crying."
O: "How long have you lived in the area?"
CC: "Several years."
O: "Have you heard crying from this house before?"
CC: "Erm...no. Not really."
O: "So basically, you heard the sounds of a small child crying a few times over the past two days or so in the evening. Nothing else?"
CC: "No."
O: [makes little circular "cuckoo" motions with her finger and rolls eyes at colleagues] "Okay, we'll send someone out to investigate."

I am certain that the person who made the complaint is not a parent, has no common sense, and has a lot of free time on their hands. Either that, or it was someone on shift work getting pissed off with hearing my son scream his lungs out when s/he was trying to get a bit of sleep and called the police "concerned". Whatever the motive, it really saddens me that people are this paranoid these days. Have you not seen a toddler throw a tantrum at the supermarket and heard the ensuing screeches?

I'm tempted to push Jack around the neighbourhood in a ratty stroller, wearing nothing but a stained dressing gown, fuzzy slippers, and with a cigarette dangling from the corner of my mouth. Perhaps I'll place a bottle in a brown paper bag in Jack's lap. That'll give the neighbour something to talk about.

Thursday, 21 September 2006

my kid sucks lemons


Seriously, Jack chewed on half a lemon for 20 minutes the other day. Won't eat chocolate cake, but loves lemons. Boys...who can figure them out?


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Tuesday, 19 September 2006

birth days


Jack kept waking up last night, crying out every few hours or so. Paul trudged bleary-eyed back and forth between our room and Jack's, until the last time he screeched at around 5:00 this morning. Restless, not wanting to be confined to his cot, he must have sensed that something was up. Meanwhile, about 8 miles down the road, Caroline started having regular contractions. At 5:21 in the morning, she gave birth to a beautiful little girl called Emily.

We had lunch with Caroline yesterday; Jack and I watched with fascination as Emily the Bump moved around like an octopus in a Ziplock bag. Jack patted Caroline's belly and we talked about whether or not she thought the baby would arrive soon. So for all the ladies in waiting out there, the leek and potato soup at the White Hart pub in Godmanchester may well induce labour. High fives and congratulations to Caroline, Drew, and Phoebe! I'm sorry that my birth coaching skills weren't required, but hey - you're the one who requested a fast labour. Tee hee.

So, what a wonderful day to give birth. Why? Because it also happens to be the same day on which my gorgeous husband was born. Thirtymumble years ago today, Paul came into the world looking very much like his son. And like his son, he makes my heart leap and makes me feel very lucky indeed. I love you with all my heart.

Happy birthdays.

Sunday, 17 September 2006

returning


I went back to work last week. I was partially dreading it because I didn't want to be jolly and sociable, and I was partially welcoming it because it would give my brain something else to think about. It ended up being pretty good on the most part, specifically for the latter reason. A few close friends gently welcomed me back and made me feel loved and supported. The others did the typical British male thing and completely avoided the issue, which was fine by me. I felt almost back to normal and even laughed a few times (some real belly laughs, too), but on Friday night I had a bit of a meltdown. It started with the pain of having to delete appointments like my NT scan, the 3D scan in California, and my due date from my Outlook calendar - I forgot they were in there until I went through it to do some project planning. There was lots of talk about babies, pregnancy, and birth because it was my friend's last day at the office before her maternity leave. Then finally, I opened up the envelope that's been sitting on my desk since Monday containing my hypnobirthing CDs that I'd ordered the week before. It all came crashing down that evening, but maybe that was a good thing. I wept in Paul's arms after having held everything back to a few watery-eyed moments the entire week. I felt better afterwards.

Early pregnancy is a very surreal concept; it was impossible for my brain to process the fact that there was a little human growing inside of me. Before you feel the first movements or have the first scan, it's all a bit abstract. So when I was told that I had miscarried, my brain didn't know what to do with that information. Even now I feel like I wasn't pregnant at all and it was all just a horrible dream. Does that make any sense?

So now, we try again. The nurse said that I will get a scan at 8 weeks next time, at which point if a heartbeat is seen, my chances of miscarrying go down to around 2%. Although miscarriages are very common, particularly in the first trimester, mine was quite rare because it was a "missed miscarriage" (i.e. the baby dies but you do not miscarry naturally until some weeks after, if at all). This only happens in around 1% of pregnancies. But enough with statistics.

I really want to remember this baby, so I have put my scan pictures, pregnancy tests, and the cards and a printout of the comments and emails sent to me in a box. We nicknamed this baby "squeak" because Jack was "pip"; this was the first thing that came to Paul's mind when I asked him what we should call the baby. So to remember Squeak, we are going to put a little mouse ornament in the garden. Christ, I'm making myself cry again.

I am better, but still in a bit of a daze. Time will heal this wound, along with the sound of Jack's giggles, the arms of my husband, and a furry black dog who likes to sit on my feet.

ouch


After each episode of "Lost" that I watch, my brain hurts just a little bit more. It's the double episode season finale in two weeks. I expect my skull to implode at approximately 11pm GMT on the Tuesday.

See, this is why I should just stick to shows like "X Factor".

Tuesday, 12 September 2006

happy dance


I'm on the rocky road
Heading down off the mountain slope
And as my steps echo echo,
louder than before
Another day is done,
say goodbye to the setting sun
See what I found,
Turn back to the ground
Just like before

And hey hey hey
Hey beautiful day, hey beautiful day


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Friday, 8 September 2006

thank you


When Jack was born and I was feeling miserable in hospital, Paul printed up the 40+ comments that people left on this blog and brought them to me. Reading through the 40+ comments you've left for me this week has lifted my spirits once again. To know that friends, family, and people who only know me by the words I type care enough to leave a word of kindness and keep us in their thoughts has helped enormously. For all the emails, cards, flowers, phone calls, and the enormous box of chocolates (I love my girls), thank you. The hole in our hearts is getting a little bit smaller.

I'm grateful for our beautiful son and for my husband who has made me feel more loved than I thought possible. I'm grateful that I've got a furry black dog who thinks I'm the greatest thing since rawhide chews.

Talk of trashy television, cookery, strange things that people have knit and other such sundries will return shortly. It needs to, for my own sanity.

Tuesday, 5 September 2006

goodnight sweetheart, goodnight


When I woke up yesterday morning, I saw more blood. Paul rang the hospital and they told us to come to A&E. Our neighbour came over to mind Jack and she held me tight, whispering that she once had this happen to her, too. The drive to the hospital seemed so much longer than usual, although the empty waiting room was a welcome sight. We were taken to a room right away and waited to see a doctor - the one doctor that they had, due to cutbacks. We sat in the brand new wing, the plastic all clean and bright, waiting for hours for the one doctor to see us. The girl in the room next to me also came in with bleeding, and we could hear her moans of distress through the paper thin walls. An old woman down the corridor kept pleading in a shaky voice, "Would somebody help me, please!"

I was wheeled to the early pregnancy unit where a kind, grey-haired nurse gently explained that she will get her bearings first and then show me the screen once she knows what she's looking it. A few moments passed and she turned the screen to me, "I can't see from this angle; it's too blurry to make out any details." I saw the gestational sac and what she called my "little one", which was completely dark and solid. She switched to a transvaginal ultrasound and called in a colleague. On my back, staring up at a spiral decoration that twirled with the breeze, I heard nothing. They agreed, "It's not good" and the nurse placed a hand on my knee, shook her head and said "I'm sorry." Our baby stopped growing almost two weeks ago.

I sobbed from a depth within me that I hadn't reached in a very long time, so pissed off and so distraught. I cried because I hadn't known my baby had died and because my belly was still expanding. I cried because up until the morning before I was still nauseous and feeling so positive about this pregnancy. I cried because I was nearing ten weeks and our midwife was going to try and listen to the heartbeat the day after Caroline's baby shower, and if we were successful, I was going to tell more people about the baby. I cried because our first scan was booked for the day of our second wedding anniversary. I cried because I would have to cancel the scan we planned in California, because I knew my VBAC CDs were coming in the post today, because I just bought some maternity clothes, because we already had names picked out, because we had hired a fantastic independent midwife and I was finally starting to feel confident about birthing at home.

They gave me a tablet and a leaflet, and we went home. The handout said that I may experience period pains, but it felt more like early labour pains and they became almost unbearable. Today, the cramps have subsided but I am experiencing something that is very much like lochia and it will go on for another week or so. Tomorrow, I am going back into hospital for the day where they will give me more medicine (which means more pain) to ensure that all of the "pregnancy product" has been removed. In a week, I will have another scan.

I held Jack tight, tight. I went up to bed and stroked my belly, and whispered "I'm so sorry" over and over because I couldn't hold on to my baby. I am broken.

Friday, 1 September 2006

laughter is the best medicine


Nothing in the world cheers me up more than the sound of Jack's giggles. Absolutely nothing.


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Wednesday, 23 August 2006

and no one got hit by lightning


I'm at home today; my cold has moved down into my chest. There's a lot of room down there, so why not. Anyhoo, here are some pictures from Sunday's christening, and I'm pleased to say that a plague of locusts did not descend upon me. Some pictures of note: cream tea in a graveyard (no, really) and Tom Baker's headstone (no, really). In all seriousness, it was a fantastic day and I'm honoured to be godmummy to this lovely little boy.

I must take this opportunity to apologise to my dog. Not only did I remove his blog from this site, I no longer update his picture page and he has to put up with stuff like this on a daily basis:


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I'm so sorry, Jaspey. I promise to make it up to you.

Tuesday, 22 August 2006

eighteen


I looked after my friend's little girl Lauren yesterday afternoon. She has big blue eyes and wispy blonde hair, with a toothy little grin (in fact, she reminded me so much of Heather's daughter Becca that it made me a bit teary, but I digress.) She pointed at things and said what they were, very gently stroked Jasper's fur and gave him several kisses (which were returned via a large slobbery tongue), and sat and played happily with whatever was in front of her. Jack followed Lauren closely for the first little while, imitating whatever move or sound she made. And then Babyzilla came out to play.

Jack threw himself on the furniture, frantically climbing on any surface he could. He stood on the dog to get up on the sofa more easily and at one point, sat directly on his head. He threw every ball out of his ball pit with an enormous "RAAAAHHH!" with each throw, discovered that crayons make interesting sounds when they snap in pieces, and every time Lauren reached for one of Jack's toys a chubby little hand went forth accompanied by a "na na na na na na!" and much head shaking. He climbed on top of me and sunk his teeth into me a few times.

Lauren sat on my knee, cuddled her stuffed dog and quietly listened to me read her a story. Jack ran laps around the living and dining rooms, pausing briefly to whack his hands against the closest available glass surface. Lauren pointed out parts of her body when asked, with a big grin each time I praised her for getting it right. Jack lifted up his shirt and showed Lauren his belly, then tried to kiss her several times. Lauren said "night night", "book", "doggy", "daddy", "mama", "biscuit", "milk", "baby", "bye bye", "more", and "up" that afternoon. Jack's vocabulary is generally limited to "uh oh", "hiya", "mama", "daddy", "dog", and "car", and a lot of other things that will come to mean something to grown ups one day.

Lauren left us with a wave and a little kiss (Jack finally got one too) and I started clearing up the Trail of Destruction left by my son. Are all little boys like Jack, I wondered? Why doesn't he say more words and know where his ears are yet? Are little girls calmer and do they talk earlier than boys? When it comes down to it though, none of this really matters. Although it's so difficult not to compare Jack to other children his age (reason #578 why I avoid mother/baby groups), this rambunctious little boy is the light of our lives. I wouldn't change one thing about him - and the constant picking up of toys keeps me in shape.

My Babyzilla is 18 months old today. Happy half birthday, my little dinosaur.

Sunday, 20 August 2006

see you in the funny papers


We made today's edition of the Sunday Express magazine, albeit with the wrong URL. If anyone reading this is wondering why this blog doesn't mention babies, stretchmarks, toddler temper tantrums, and the astonishing variety of nappy sizes, please click here to go to my baby blog.

To see a bigger pic of the Express interview, click here.

Friday, 18 August 2006

fairy godmother


I'm at home today with a miserable, stinking, streaming, crappy ass cold. My throat, eyes, and face hurt. That's right, my face hurts. (Which reminds me of that old schoolground joke: "Does your face hurt? 'Cos it's KILLING me!" har har har) The only one home with me right now is the dog, and he's ignoring me in favour of a nap on his beanbag. Man's best friend, indeed.

I'm trying to get lots of rest today so that I'm in reasonable shape on Sunday, when Paul and I become godparents to our little cousin Marcus. I've never been a godmother before, and I'm sincerely hoping that the vicar won't ask me if I actually attend church or subscribe to any particular religion. Maybe I could mention that I have indeed been baptised and confirmed, and then say something like "Pardon? Coming!" and dash out the door. I envision the following:

Vicar: "Do you promise to help raise Marcus following the beliefs of the Church of England?"
Me: "Um. Yes?"
[All the lights go out, a loud clap of thunder is heard.]
Loud echoey disembodied male voice: "Pfffft!! As if!"
[A plague of locusts descends, completely ruining the afternoon's cream tea and annoying several relatives.]

In all seriousness, I am over the moon to be a godmother to this lovely little boy. His mum Gail is Jack's "guide mother" (we are heathens, remember?) and she purposely booked her son's christening to fall exactly a year after Jack's naming ceremony. Made me all weepy when she told me, it did. So here's hoping that the cold goes away, the locusts descend elsewhere, and the cream tea is enjoyed by all.

Thursday, 17 August 2006

an interview with ayun halliday: virtual book tour stop #17


So I get an email in my inbox from a lady called Ayun Halliday, asking if I'd like to participate in her virtual book tour for her new book Mama Lama Ding Dong. Suuuuuuure, I thought as my fingers flew to look her up on Amazon. Oh good lord, she's a real author who's published stuff and everything! Rightyo, sign me up then.

It's touted as a "mothering memoir", although that doesn't really do it justice. It's a fun, witty, razor-sharp collection of observations from a mother who can write. We here at blog from : a baby headquarters had the pleasure of interviewing Ms. Halliday for today's stop on her virtual book tour. Please, no shoving and no flash photography.
1. Welcome to blog from : a baby! Are there any demands* you would like to make for this particular stop on your tour? *(I worked in bookstores for many years in Montreal and witnessed peculiar author requests during book signings. For example, Anne Rice demanded Puffs tissues and Tab cola, neither of which was actually available for purchase in Canada. Indeed.)

Oh my god, I can make demands? Shoot, I wish I'd known about this clause for the 16 virtual venues preceding yours on this tour!

As for Puffs, I don't need no stinkin' designer Kleenex! Toilet paper's fine for the likes of me.

2. How about this weather, eh? Pffft! (Lisa's note to Ayun: in Britain, it is mandatory to begin all conversations by complaining about the weather.)

I can't get too complain-y with it today, mate! It was a sunny 82 in NYC today - The kids & I took the subway to the beach at Coney Island! They went on the Free Fall and the Tilt-A-Whirl. We took in the freak show. The East German guy who pulls a surgical glove over his head and inflates it by exhaling in short bursts was there. I bought a $3 Corona from an enterprising, unlicensed vendor patrolling the filthy sand. So, I don't feel inclined to complain about the weather. Not today.

3. Why do an online tour of mummy blogs to promote Mama Lama Ding Dong? How did you come up with the idea?

I had to delay the bricks-and-mortar tour for my most recent book, Dirty Sugar Cookies, because my husband's new play was slated to begin previews the same week that the book was published, and one of us needed to be emotionally and physically available for the children. Afraid that, deprived of the usual shuck and jive, the book might sink like a stone, I went on a virtual tour in support of it, and while that was a lot of work, it was also a lot of fun, not to mention good for sales. Dirty Sugar Cookies is a culinary memoir, so most of the stops on that tour were food blogs, with the occasional lit blog thrown in to spice things up a bit. For Mama Lama Ding Dong, there was never any question that mummy bloggers would provide the most appropriate and enthusiastic venues. While it's thrilling to see one's name in the newspaper, it's important to remember that yesterday's newspaper lines today's bird cages. Web content, for better or worse, hangs around much longer.

I have to admit that I cribbed the blog tour idea (with permission) from my fellow author (and mummy blogger), Andi Buchanan. I'm not sure where she got the idea, but apparently there are a bunch of inspirational business-shelf authors who've been making the virtual rounds for years!

4. Online writing is becoming more prevalent and "regular people" are becoming as well known as published authors through mediums such as blogs. Do you think that people are buying less books on topics like motherhood because they can read boatloads of advice for free on web sites? How do you "compete" with this as a published author?

I think the two compliment each other. People who like to read like to read, period. I enjoy the information superhighway aspect of the web, the fun of clicking through dozens of links, unsure of what I'm going to find, but I also enjoy the sensual aspects of the printed page, the weight of a book in my purse, the idea that I can sneak in a couple of paragraphs while waiting in line at the post office.

Also, my sense of most blogs is that the posts come pretty much off the top of the author's head, which is what gives them their sense of immediacy, however inflammatory it may be. Books go through numerous edits, so presumably, the author has given some thought to what she's saying; it's not so much of a postcard from the id.

Look at it this way: homemade chocolate chip cookies taste great. So does half a tube of Pillsbury Ready-to-Bake, nuked for 30 seconds in the microwave. Must one cancel out the other? I think not.

5. How do you think your book will be received by a British audience? Is the subject matter universal?

The Secretary of Defense assures me the citizens will rush into the streets throwing rose petals. If your intelligence contradicts this, please advise ASAP.

I think the subject matter is fairly universal, at least throughout the Western World. Mothers who can't relate at all are probably inhabit the extreme ends of social class - to a desperately strapped single mother who can barely scrape together her child's daycare with the minimum wage she receives at Walmart, I must seem like a pampered matron who doesn't have anything to complain about. And to the wealthiest of the wealthy, whose employees handle the laundry and meals, I'm some sort of boho kook, rolling around in a hovel. And that's just the Western world! I'm sure your average mom in Darfur has completely different parameters for what constitutes stress.

As far as loving our children, and hoping for their continued health and happiness, and comprehending that life as we knew it before children has been irrevocably altered, yes, that I think is universal.

6. What's surprised you most about being a mother?

The physically grueling aspect. The carrying, the juggling, the deferment of one's own comfort to accommodate the human being squirming on one's lap at meal time, the alarum that bids one to wake in the middle of the night, trying to use a public toilet without putting the baby on the floor, the constant dressing and undressing, the impossibility of anything but the most military of showers.

7. What is the most annoying myth about motherhood you've come across, either in everyday life or in the media?

That motherhood confers frumpiness rather than respect. Though Saturday Night Live's "Mom Jeans" commercial is pretty funny.

8. And finally, will you promise to tell all of your American friends that it doesn't always rain in England, the food is actually quite tasty, and surprisingly, some people have rather nice sets of teeth?

Oh, we've heard all about your heat wave and Nigella Lawson and your dazzling choppers! But I'll endeavor to keep spreading the word.

an interview with ayun halliday: virtual book tour stop #17


[Copy of today's post on the baby blog.]

So I get an email in my inbox from a lady called Ayun Halliday, asking if I'd like to participate in her virtual book tour for her new book Mama Lama Ding Dong. Suuuuuuure, I thought as my fingers flew to look her up on Amazon. Oh good lord, she's a real author who's published stuff and everything! Rightyo, sign me up then.

It's touted as a "mothering memoir", although that doesn't really do it justice. It's a fun, witty, razor-sharp collection of observations from a mother who can write. We here at blog from : a baby headquarters had the pleasure of interviewing Ms. Halliday for today's stop on her virtual book tour. Please, no shoving and no flash photography.
1. Welcome to blog from : a baby! Are there any demands* you would like to make for this particular stop on your tour? *(I worked in bookstores for many years in Montreal and witnessed peculiar author requests during book signings. For example, Anne Rice demanded Puffs tissues and Tab cola, neither of which was actually available for purchase in Canada. Indeed.)

Oh my god, I can make demands? Shoot, I wish I'd known about this clause for the 16 virtual venues preceding yours on this tour!

As for Puffs, I don't need no stinkin' designer Kleenex! Toilet paper's fine for the likes of me.

2. How about this weather, eh? Pffft! (Lisa's note to Ayun: in Britain, it is mandatory to begin all conversations by complaining about the weather.)

I can't get too complain-y with it today, mate! It was a sunny 82 in NYC today - The kids & I took the subway to the beach at Coney Island! They went on the Free Fall and the Tilt-A-Whirl. We took in the freak show. The East German guy who pulls a surgical glove over his head and inflates it by exhaling in short bursts was there. I bought a $3 Corona from an enterprising, unlicensed vendor patrolling the filthy sand. So, I don't feel inclined to complain about the weather. Not today.

3. Why do an online tour of mummy blogs to promote Mama Lama Ding Dong? How did you come up with the idea?

I had to delay the bricks-and-mortar tour for my most recent book, Dirty Sugar Cookies, because my husband's new play was slated to begin previews the same week that the book was published, and one of us needed to be emotionally and physically available for the children. Afraid that, deprived of the usual shuck and jive, the book might sink like a stone, I went on a virtual tour in support of it, and while that was a lot of work, it was also a lot of fun, not to mention good for sales. Dirty Sugar Cookies is a culinary memoir, so most of the stops on that tour were food blogs, with the occasional lit blog thrown in to spice things up a bit. For Mama Lama Ding Dong, there was never any question that mummy bloggers would provide the most appropriate and enthusiastic venues. While it's thrilling to see one's name in the newspaper, it's important to remember that yesterday's newspaper lines today's bird cages. Web content, for better or worse, hangs around much longer.

I have to admit that I cribbed the blog tour idea (with permission) from my fellow author (and mummy blogger), Andi Buchanan. I'm not sure where she got the idea, but apparently there are a bunch of inspirational business-shelf authors who've been making the virtual rounds for years!

4. Online writing is becoming more prevalent and "regular people" are becoming as well known as published authors through mediums such as blogs. Do you think that people are buying less books on topics like motherhood because they can read boatloads of advice for free on web sites? How do you "compete" with this as a published author?

I think the two compliment each other. People who like to read like to read, period. I enjoy the information superhighway aspect of the web, the fun of clicking through dozens of links, unsure of what I'm going to find, but I also enjoy the sensual aspects of the printed page, the weight of a book in my purse, the idea that I can sneak in a couple of paragraphs while waiting in line at the post office.

Also, my sense of most blogs is that the posts come pretty much off the top of the author's head, which is what gives them their sense of immediacy, however inflammatory it may be. Books go through numerous edits, so presumably, the author has given some thought to what she's saying; it's not so much of a postcard from the id.

Look at it this way: homemade chocolate chip cookies taste great. So does half a tube of Pillsbury Ready-to-Bake, nuked for 30 seconds in the microwave. Must one cancel out the other? I think not.

5. How do you think your book will be received by a British audience? Is the subject matter universal?

The Secretary of Defense assures me the citizens will rush into the streets throwing rose petals. If your intelligence contradicts this, please advise ASAP.

I think the subject matter is fairly universal, at least throughout the Western World. Mothers who can't relate at all are probably inhabit the extreme ends of social class - to a desperately strapped single mother who can barely scrape together her child's daycare with the minimum wage she receives at Walmart, I must seem like a pampered matron who doesn't have anything to complain about. And to the wealthiest of the wealthy, whose employees handle the laundry and meals, I'm some sort of boho kook, rolling around in a hovel. And that's just the Western world! I'm sure your average mom in Darfur has completely different parameters for what constitutes stress.

As far as loving our children, and hoping for their continued health and happiness, and comprehending that life as we knew it before children has been irrevocably altered, yes, that I think is universal.

6. What's surprised you most about being a mother?

The physically grueling aspect. The carrying, the juggling, the deferment of one's own comfort to accommodate the human being squirming on one's lap at meal time, the alarum that bids one to wake in the middle of the night, trying to use a public toilet without putting the baby on the floor, the constant dressing and undressing, the impossibility of anything but the most military of showers.

7. What is the most annoying myth about motherhood you've come across, either in everyday life or in the media?

That motherhood confers frumpiness rather than respect. Though Saturday Night Live's "Mom Jeans" commercial is pretty funny.

8. And finally, will you promise to tell all of your American friends that it doesn't always rain in England, the food is actually quite tasty, and surprisingly, some people have rather nice sets of teeth?

Oh, we've heard all about your heat wave and Nigella Lawson and your dazzling choppers! But I'll endeavor to keep spreading the word.

Tuesday, 15 August 2006

krispy krack


I'm fairly certain that Krispy Kreme coats their doughnuts in some sort of highly addictive drug. I went in to said establishment on Sunday to purchase one doughnut and while I was in the queue, a spotty young lad leaned over to me and said "Are you interested?" "Erm...in what?" I asked. "A hot, fresh doughnut - a free taster." He handed me a sticky warm doughnut that went down in three bites, and as I took the last bite, the girl behind the counter asked how many doughnuts I'd like. "Two. No, three! THREE!" I paid for my goods and left feeling a little bit dirty and ashamed.

Now the odd part is, around ten minutes after eating the free doughnut, I was hungry again. Coincidence? I think not.