Hiding While the Clock Strikes

Shhh, none of them know where I am.

I know I should be celebrating and toasting the year that was 2011,
but I'm actually feeling a little more like, "Hey, 2011! Don't let the door hit you on your way out!".

So, they're in the kitchen eating really greasy food and laughing over who can make the most annoying sounds and I'm here with you. Yes, one really can have too much family togetherness. Please tell me about your exciting plans so that I can live a little!

Last Giveaway of 2011!!

The sneaky, hidden pieces of broken ornaments are still littering corners of the living room; the Christmas DVDs are in all of the wrong cases and any chance of removing the red food coloring (used by a certain cookie chef) from my white counter top diminishes each day...

so it's a perfect time to scrapbook, right?!

My family probably doesn't agree either, but considering the huge production we all (as in you and me, not as in my kids, husband and I) just pulled off, I think we (as in you and I) deserve a break.

 I'm not a digital scrapbooker. 

  

I claim to be a traditional cropper because of the tactile gratification to be had working with textured papers and the satisfaction (stress release) obtained from smashing out wonderful cutter shapes- leaving bits of paper strewn from one room to the next...

but the truth is,  

I'm scared of technology. terrified.

I just don't understand how people make these beautiful, creative pages without pulling out a pair of pinking shears and gobs of sticky dots. 

Get thee behind me, Fear! because 

MyMemories digital scrapbooking software has changed everything.

Looky what an average technophobe like me can create in just a few minutes:

 Are you proud? me too! This literally took me only minutes! (Less time than it's taken me to compose this post, that's for sure). And there's no glue in my hair or glitter on the carpet. I don't have to wind the few bits of ribbon back up or...It was SO easy! Oh dear, say goodbye to me now kids.


I can't be the only one neglecting my home and children, so it's share time...(It's been a long time since I was so excited about a new product that I couldn't wear on my feet, so I hope this is something you'll be eager to try.)

If you want to give this a try for yourself, just visit the MyMemories website and

use this code STMMMS29382 to get a $10 discount off the purchase of the My Memories Suite v3 digital scrapbook software and a $10 coupon for the MyMemories store - a $20 value!

Better yet, visit MyMemories, choose your favorite digital paper pack or layout, and then come back and tell me about it. You could WIN your very OWN MyMemories Suite v3 software **FREE**!!

What, you want more chances to win? 

Tell your friends and have them mention that you sent them for an additional entry. Link to FB, Twitter, or follow the MyMemories Blog through your blog, twitter or FB and receive even more entries. 

FINE PRINT -aka really small font declaring important details:

*Not a scrapbooker? There's photo books and calendars for future gift giving, and for the price of FREE, how could you resist?
*Anyone can win, I don't care if you live in Timbuktu-- the software is downloadable AND Mac compatible (yes, Windows too).
*Contest ends January 5th, 2012  8.00am GMT (in commemoration of my children going back to school so that I can do some digital albums!)
*You can share the $20.00 discount code with anyone, but the winner of the free MyMemories Suite v3 digital software will receive their code after the contest closes.

A video to show how easy it really is:


 Good luck!

Great British Advertising- Christmas

What I love about England, reason 5,022:

The recycling of adverts and celebrities. There's no need to spend thousands on new production staff when you can just reuse the same commercials year after year. If that doesn't appeal, use BITS of old commercials to make them new.

This little blue alien family has become a favourite in our house: (play it a few times and see if you can get it out of your head)

Another way to use The Snowman video:

And the sentimental:

I LOVE this place!!

One Step Forward...

I am not making, sending (or grieving over) Christmas cards this year.

Whew! That felt great to say.

Helping the kids with their 60 classmate cards was enough.


So, the huge box of ridiculousness I have saved over the year (recycled cards, cute things cut out for embellishments and wooden stamps) can take their guilt-mongering bits back into the Rubbermaid container they crept out of and go back to the garage where they should have stayed.

There is no family portrait, despite my researching local photographers and venues in November. Our calender was too full.

And yes, I really might just skip the baking as well thankyouverymuch.

Time for a little holiday downsizing! Some things are just going to have to go this year and it's either the excess or my sanity.


Do you hear the empowerment?






Now I'm off to create the bus-sized hamper I volunteered to do for one of the boys' football Christmas parties. I am a sucker for direct eye contact from the manager pleading, "We still don't have anyone to make this years' hamper..."*

Somebody please sew my lips together and tie down my stupid arm!!



*Addendum: Sorry all, I've been living over here for too long-I forget what's American and what's British anymore. A hamper is like a basket or box filled with goodies. They usually raffle them off. I'm NOT filling the thing, only making the wrapped box for everything to go into. However,  I have issues and will expect it to be perfect... thus my problem volunteering for things like this.

Another Christmas Nativity

Tomorrow my little tiny baby, born the same year my first school Nativity-aged child performed as a shepherd, will be appearing on stage as an angel.
She's five already! Where does the time go?

I've been especially broody this last couple of weeks-not necessarily to hold an infant in my arms again, but to watch giggling, mischievous toddler-aged boys in action. (I'm the gray-haired lady in the BX watching your children act up, with a smile ladies).

But I digress.

Christmas is really important to our family. We make a big deal about telling and retelling the story of the birth of Christ. Tonight at the dinner table Miss Ky's brothers asked her about her play.

Them: "What's it about Miss Ky?"

Her: "It's about Jesus" (I'm appreciating that she didn't finish the sentence with "Duh" even though her tone inferred it)

Them: "What does Jesus do?"

Her: "He goes to sleep".

Not exactly the same way I remember the story, but maybe tomorrow it will be a little clearer...

Because You Will Make the Same Mistakes Next Year

Dear 2012 Me,

Fight all urges to be helpful. When extended family asks you to give them an idea for Christmas gifts for the kids,
do not do it!
Do not listen carefully to every reaction the kids have in the store or to the advertising between shows. Do not scour the web pages of places like Toys-R-Us and Amazon for things you know the kids will like.
And especially do not take the time to make lists for each child of various ideas in different prices ranges to be emailed or read off over the phone.

They don't really want those lists!

Half of the family will just get what they want to anyway and the other half will just contact you a couple of weeks later--multiple times-- to ask you to tell them again, and then they will just get what they want to anyway.
Please remember: Your family members are incapable of reading through older emails or phone texts to read what you painstakingly compiled, so don't do it!

Please trust me on this. You do it every year. This year you have this warning, heed it.


However, with the world getting ready to end and all, at least this is the last year you have to fend off those relatives.

P/S Don't forget to stock up on mince pies-- I hear they are THE party food for the End of the World parties.

Too Late to 'Pologize

There's an emotionally heavy post sitting in my drafts folder, but it's the holiday season and I'm not sure I want to share this part of my life yet.   Oooooh, teaser...  
not so much-it's in regards to the "ugly" death I referred to in a past post.

Instead,




let's play "Guess-what- these-stories-have- in-common", shall we?

Story 1

When I go out to buy groceries, I usually bring home special treats for the hubby and I to share...



in front of the football game (Hey, it can't all be romance, can it?).
The latest treat was white chocolate and raspberry cookies. I get pudgy excited with these fun little finds.

Only, when I got home, the husband was stuck in front of his computer doing his online classes so I sat alone in the living room eating my cookie. Becoming pudgy all by myself.

The next day when I reminded him about his cookie sitting in the package, this is what he found.

This wasn't me! Those are kid teeth prints!! How do they eat half of a cookie, put it back in the package and actually think they won't be found out?
At least Hubby won't gain any weight.

Story 2

We took the kids to Wembley Stadium to see England V Spain.

First of all, Wembley is NOT where they play tennis, that's Wimbledon and it's here as well, but we went to see football, not tennis. We got to see a lot of the Barcelona players (only the BEST team in the world!) and it was SO cool.

It's sad to say that when entering the stadium I had that, "I can't believe I'm actually here!" feeling I got the first time I went to Conference in Salt Lake City. Probably best not to compare since so many people already think footy has become my golden calf.

Because our journey to the stadium was fraught with transport disasters, we made our kids eat dinner after the game and the poor little guys had to wait an hour just for a table. They were good sports. Have I mentioned I have great kids?  
After 10 pm we hoped that the crowds would be thinned out on the tube. It might have been if the route hadn't been plagued by construction and diversions.

At one point we had to hop on a double-decker bus to get us to the tube station where our car was parked, but that bus broke down, was eventually revived but then we were left driving with no lights (the children were watching out the front window giggling, "We're gonna die!"). Finally the bus had to stop after sideswiping a car only a mile from where our car was parked.
Our parking place expired at midnight and we pulled out with five minutes to spare. The kids trudged zombie-like to their beds at 2.30am.

Crazy thing is, we're doing this all again when the Olympics come to London.
(warning to anyone wanting to travel on any kind of public transport during that time-- we will be out there with our little black cloud!)

The answer to what these stories have in common:

Nothing.

I'm just busy adjusting to having the Hubby back, surviving the holidays and dealing with some traumatic stuff--that I will share eventually--so please forgive me for not acknowledging comments from the last 6-8 weeks. I have loved hearing from you and my inbox has been what's kept me putting one foot in front of the other.

Thank you!

Invitiation to My Favourite Troll

What a lucky blogger am I!

I'm sure several of you have received the attention of a certain troll who seems to be overly biased against one certain gender from one particular nation (I will not give him the satisfaction of directing you to his links or blog).
As I have had several opportunities to laugh at this poor, opinionated and ignorant oxygen waster, I thought I'd share a few highlights for those of you so unlucky to have been skipped by his tirade.

This person claims that a certain gender from one particular nation are "most likely to cheat on you, to divorce you, to get fat, to steal half of your money in the divorce courts, don't know how to cook or clean, don't want to have children, etc. "


Extremely silly to target this blogger who blogs about her own mini-nation she has given birth to; has never cheated, never stolen from or divorced her spouse, is cleaning and cooking obsessed...did you say fat? Let's face it, how many really passionate skinny cooks do you know?

He also claims these same beings are "immature, selfish, extremely arrogant and self-centered, mentally unstable, irresponsible, and highly unchaste." 

Well. Okay then. I'll accept a few of those qualities and raise you: nurturing, considerate, caring, self-less, dedicated, creative, light-hearted in a sarcastic way...

Highly unchaste? Yikes. Me thinks me smells someone scorned...

To be fair, anyone who has a blog could be accused of being a little bit of self-centered, but a blog is usually a journal of sorts to document our lives- a little hard to leave ourselves out of it.
Credit to you Mr. Anon, you do manage to beat your chest about all of a (certain gender from a particular nation)'s flaws without once mentioning yourself. Well done you!

As for the rest, that is funny stuff.


This Anonymous ranter then goes on to list several statistics (severely lacking citations) like:

Tens of millions of (certain gender belonging to a particular nation) have had their lives completely destroyed by (certain gender belonging to a particular nation) through the following crimes:

1. False rape accusations (it has been proven that up to 80 percent of rape accusations are FALSE)

2. False DV charges (same as above)

3. Financial RAPE of (particular gender) in divorce courts

4. Emotional destruction of (particular gender) by ex-(spouses) who have stolen their children from them and forbidden contact

5. Divorced (pathetic creatures) who commit suicide as a result

Unfortunately his rants continue in a babbling manner, so he loses all credibilty in his otherwise already weak argument.

As one of the "Over 50 percent of (certain gender from a particular nation) (who is) single, without a (partner of the opposite gender or spouse) (doomed to) grow old living alone with their 10 cats."

--wait, I'm not single and I don't have a cat-- 

As someone who fails miserably to fit your description, I invite you to read through my blog to see who I really am and then determine whether I would be interested in your diatribe.

Better yet,
 

I'm inviting you Mr. Anonymous Troll, to guest blog here, In the Gutter.
But to do so, you will be required to identify yourself and not claim the cowardly anonymous identity.
If you feel so strongly about your subject, then stand up and proclaim it like (the certain gender) you claim to be.
You must also be willing to receive comments from people even if they don't agree with you.



I think that's pretty fair considering it's MY blog and I belong to the particular selfish, self-centered, immature and arrogant gender of which you want to recruit haters towards.

By The Time You Read This...

To get us through this most recent deployment, I vowed to blog.

My intentions were to give an honest, candid account of the struggles, challenges and triumphs we spouses that are left behind experience when our loved-one goes into the desert, but instead...

I moved house. I went from BIG to not-quite-as-big and left behind furniture. You know, sofas, bookshelves, built-in cupboards to, well, empty. It's incredibly hard to put things away when there's not a place to put them.

The children started school...
and needed an incredible amount of clothing, shoes, hair appointments and supplies.

Those same children all began their new football season which requires and hour and a half each on a football pitch for training and then the weekend is filled with tournaments and league matches.

Our professional team began a new football season in the Premiere League which means more TV coverage. YAY.

I became severely addicted to TV. All of my best friends either live in my computer or in the TV now.

The oldest son graduated AF Tech School and he and his new wife moved to their first duty station.

We had a death in the family. A really bad, really ugly death that will probably plague us for months to come.

I haven't lost weight, firmed up, grown my hair (unless you count leg hair which has done quite well actually) or surgically corrected anything.

So, there have been very few posts about this deployment...
but if you think this is bad, you should see the journal they gave us at our pre-deployment briefing.

COMPLETELY BLANK.

Anyway, if you are doubting the news stations reporting that the U.S. is pulling out of Iraq, don't.

We have living proof.

HE'S HOME!!!! TWO months early!!

Christmas came early to The Gutter this year...

and Halloween was complete.

So by the time you read this,
he'll be neck deep in his "honey do" lists and I'll be looking through a garage full of unmarked boxes for the Christmas decorations. Don't pity him, he's got the easier job...

She Says I Says

She says, "I can fix my own hair"

 I says, "Not today you don't".

She says, "I fixed my hair for the party".

I says (yes, I know this is not grammatically correct), "Fine, but I pick the clothes." The face paint was a bonus.

She says, "I'm ready to go!"

Luckily we're not actually going anywhere.


My style choices...

 

Her style choices

I'm accutely aware that one day she will be stronger than me. I says,  "Heaven help her when she hits the teenage years!"

Just Roll With It

School children fight over my packed lunches. They queue for a possible glimpse of what I may have created on the day. It's distracting for my poor children who just want to eat their healthy, delicious lunch.

Not so much.

In truth, it's taken us years to come up with a lunch that doesn't come home and hide itself for a rather unpleasant discovery weeks later. Peanut butter and jam is NOT a delicacy in this country and Gogurts are enough to elicit lunch-time harrassment.
My kids just want to fit in and I want them to eat, so I have done my best to make lunches that don't scream "AMERICAN AT THE TABLE!".

The walking skeleton we call A1 has recently insisted that all sandwiches be made on rolls, not sliced bread, because "That's what everyone else brings". It's cheap, less waste, so I caved.

On Sunday, I realized that we had no bread, no rolls for Monday's lunch.

I'm adamant we don't shop on Sunday, which is ironic considering what all we do on the day (but that's my choice that affects me, not some poor employee that's required to work on the day because business is hopping).
This creates a problem in a country that strictly oversees what preservatives goes into foods-- no bread that lasts three weeks over here. You may get three days, if you move it often and keep your house below 62 degrees.
That means I shop on Saturday for Monday's lunch.  But, other people schedule birthday parties, football matches and then there's lie-ins (haha) on Saturday, so sometimes I can't drag myself forget to shop.

Everyone got a hot dinner on Monday. 
That little oversight cost me £8.40 ($13.20)!!

Later in the evening, the little ones and I sat on the side of a football pitch, in the cold and in the wind for an hour and a half of training.  An hour and a half in the cold is just long enough to make me forget I needed to stop off to buy bread on the way home.


Because of that mistake, today I got up with the roosters and BAKED crusty rolls from scratch (or really close to it- prepackaged rolls from the freezer are scratch, right?).
I pulled the hot, delicious little treasures from the oven and let them cool to just the right temperature. Stacked with thin-sliced roast beef and wrapped loosely to preserve the crustiness of the roll, I knew I had redeemed my error. 

What a Mom! What a yummy treat!


It was after school, as I was distributing chores, Skeleton Boy announces:

"I didn't really eat my roll. I sold it".






I'm going to sell him, that's what I'm going to do...

Dysfunctional Fruit (Great British TV)

Blogging vs Life

Hello? (tap tap) Is this thing working?

There's a perfectly good reason for a silent blog. When I discover what it is, I'll share it with you.
I'm not sure where all of my blogging time has gone. I live a typically average, boringly-common day. All of my kids are now in school, so I should be overwhelmed with free time.

Maybe I should keep a log and see where my time goes...

Me, yesterday: "Does everybody have everything they need for tomorrow?" "J2, Rugby gear? A1, homework? A2, book?" etc... (repeated several times from 4.00 to bedtime)

Me again at bedtime: "Does everyone have everything--a full uniform?"

All answer "yes".   

Look at all of that spare time! Such efficient, organized children!

This morning, J2 says, "Did you wash my Rugby top?" (huh?! What Rugby top? The one under your bed???)

A1 is walking around with a blank piece of paper asking if we have any photos... at 8.01. Bus picks up at 8.05.
Me, unpleasantly: "No way! You don't have time for that now!  I asked you over and over yesterd..."

he folds the paper in half and rips it.

Me, shouting, because it's what I excel at: "What are you doing???"

Him: "It doesn't have anything on it"

Me: "It's a perfectly good piece of paper--MY computer paper!"

so he rips it again, and then slams the kitchen door.

I resist the urge to feed him to lions. Only because there are none in the immediate vicinity.

A1 leaves for school in a foul mood, because his mother wouldn't let him do his homework.


Miss Ky now can't find a white uniform shirt. 

So, I go out to the garage (where we now have to keep the dryer) for a white shirt and think, "It's time to put up my Great Pumpkin sign that Jenni hand painted just for me" (I keep it hanging on a hook inside the garage just waiting for the "Halloween is near!" clearance). This is what greets me in the garage:

??? huh ???

This was NOT here when the homeowner proudly showed me all of his handy work building this garage

someone "helped" with the color

It's not even 8.30 am yet.


I could also have blogged during that first week after we moved in with all of the spare time I have. I could have given daily reports and informative advice such as:

Never leave a hand towel hanging partially out of a sink if you are going to leave the tap on. The towel acts as a siphon and the bathroom floor will soon be soaked. Well, maybe not "soon" but if one leaves the tap on undiscovered say, all night long, there could be a mess.

and golden advice such as:

Never stack precious photo albums in a cardboard box while moving, but most importantly, don't put that cardboard box in a place where children might flood an upstairs bathroom and water could possibly come through the floor/ceiling into that box. And just a heads-up, page protectors are absolutely NO GOOD when the scrapbook albums are in standing water.  



AND: 

Never vacuum dead wasps. They stink. For a long time. Maybe even forever.



If you tell children, "Oh, how lovely, we have an apple tree. One day I will make an apple pie..."

while you are moving in...


They will pick all of the apples off of the tree for you. 

While you are moving in.




Maybe I watch too much TV. Maybe that's where my  blogging time went.
I finally watched an episode of The Middle.  It was the one where Frankie (Patricia Heaton) accidentally eats toenail clippings and runs away from home.

I get it.

And it wouldn't take a Dorrito bag containing toenails to push me to it either... usually a typically average morning like today would suffice.

Bossy Me

Our British Primary school doesn't stress the small stuff.
Like spelling.  I have a sneaky suspicion it's not just our school either. 
The instruction I was given was to let my boy "go with it" phonetically so that his thought process wouldn't be hampered.

I agreed when my little guy started Reception, but only because I thought that after the kids settled in and continued moving up in grades, at some point, SOMEONE would begin fine-tuning the spelling.

Nope.

This morning as the little man was tending to his dinner money envelope, we had to have a lesson on "bossy e's".

"Sweetie, what does this 'bossy 'e' ' tell you about this word?" I covered the second half of the word he had scribbled.

"To say 'dine'".

"Right. So with only one 'n', you are telling the teacher that there is money in this envelope to buy you a 'hot diner'. Do you know what a 'diner' is?"



We both agreed that he didn't want to purchase a diner, hot or not.




Is it wrong that  a few hours later I burst out laughing when finding this (the older child's discarded homework rough draft)?

I think I've come a long way in accepting different music styles, but I'm not sure I would want to buy any of this guy's stuff.

Ghosts, Spirits, Fairies and Elves...Oh My!

Dear Practical Joker,

Since I have been unable to identify what you are,
I'm not sure how to bargain with you.
I could leave bowls of sugar or shiny coins, but I don't imagine that if you are a ghost, those things will appeal to you much.


Whoever you are, please return my computerized car key that will cost us so much to replace, along with my dry erase markers, the Wii power cord and J2's training kit and birthday card from Norwich City.

Brian Froud (my favorite Faeries artist)

The other things you have hidden with glee haven't been such a problem, but for your continued enjoyment we will happily continue to tear things apart looking for them.



Thank you,

Your new roommate.

Postcards From the Crazy House

Dear Friends,

• Having a great time, wish you were here. REALLY wish you were here. Whose idea was this move anyway?! 

Anywho, this is the view from my kitchen door. Not too shabby, right?

• Miss Ky is adjusting, although I didn't expect any less since she has been asking to move from the first week we settled into the old house. She flitted by me the first night, singsonging, "I LOVE this house--by the way, where's the toilet?"

But her quote for the week is,  "According to my calculation, where are the brothers?"
The school has their work cut out for them in September.

• I've emptied three boxes this morning. Nothing got put away, I just emptied the boxes. It's a start!
• I have THE BEST BROADBAND EVER!! No more dial-up speed at broadband prices!

And,

• just for the record, I really don't care if TV rots brains. Three viewings of Rio, one viewing of Diary of a Wimpy Kid and Sponge Bob have allowed me to get my kitchen unpacked. 

Rotten brains, but fed tummies. Even trade-off.

Hope you are well, we'll write soon!

Never Volunteer To Review Something One Knows Nothing About

I spend a lot of time sitting on the edge of damp football pitches for training.
I used to take a book, but soon realized that there is no way Miss Ky is going to ever let me read while she's still breathing.

So I sit. For hours.

Sometimes other parents talk to me. fools
Recently a man asked how I like living here, which was a huge big mistake as I may have bored him professing my undying love for a country that will kick me out of it's company with no remorse in only two years and I may have mentioned I like the place.

He then asked me how I liked the schools.

This question was tougher.

The little guys had a rough year when a good portion of the staff was off sick for a major chunk of time; a head teacher was forced to retire early due to his illness and then there was the death of his replacement over the Christmas break. That school normally gets a glowing report from me, but there were some cracks that many kids understandably fell through.

So, instead, I expounded on how thrilled we were by the variety of options the high school offered (it's better than some colleges I've seen).

The downside, I mentioned, was how I found it odd that my child never came home with homework (he agreed). The man got the queerest look on his face when I said that I had never had any communication or reports except at the end of each term.
He confessed that as a teacher, he was shocked that any high school would not be sending home regular reports.

The next week, my second child going into that same school had his Welcome Tour.
His new Form Teacher (Form is like a Home Room) proudly told all of us bright-eyed parents that all communication with the school takes place in the homework diary...


hmmmmm.....



When I got home, a certain 12 year-old had his backpack searched and sure enough, there was his homework diary (which I DID know about, but had never communicated in).  
Every written page for every school day had MY signature on it.

Only, it looked nothing like MY signature and resembled something written by an adolescent.

Somebody has some eshplainin' to do...





...make that TWO somebodies since apparently I am going to have to recall my recent report on our high school.

My head has been freed from the sand pit I must have buried it in and with two kids at that school this year, I think I just found my reading material for this year's hours and hours of football training...

It All Started...

...with an unidentifiable substance on the bathroom floor.

I cleaned the bathroom, walls-to-floor and told the kids, "Off limits! Never enter this bathroom again for as long as we live here!"

SIX HOURS later, I could make the same demand for most rooms of the house.

Note to self:

If Estate Agent phones to say someone wants to come to look at your house, agree, but make sure they know that you are moving and the house reflects that.
(which I did)
THEN, do NOT hang up the phone and clean places like behind dressers and underneath the beds
(also, which I did)
because NO one looking for a house to rent cares if you vacuumed behind the fridge before they came over.

In my defense, I will be going to bed tonight less stressed than I have been in weeks. My house smells fantastic. The pool and garden look good, all of the kids' rooms are spotless and I have a book to read while listening to the rain fall outside my window.

The bad news is...




They're not coming until 4pm. The unidentifiable substance offender still lives here.

How will I keep the house clean until then?

Olympic Papoose Board comes to mind...

Priorities

I switched back to aluminum. I don't care if my body can hold up artwork on my refrigerator like a magnet, I don't want to stink. Yesterday, when I went to hug a friend goodbye, there was a tiny voice in my head shouting, "And you know you smell good too!"

Priorities.

Tonight, between dish washing, vacuuming, taking out the garbage and the recycling, I slipped into the computer room...
to look at the Tim Holtz site which I try to do at least once a day.
 My right arm, extended over the desk, is numb and tingly. So, I scoot the chair closer to the keyboard. No good. I draw my arm back, lift it over my head and wiggle my fingers. I try again to put my hand back on the keyboard, but OW! So I lift it up and do some shoulder rolls.

Now before you start planning my funeral, I have had this issue with my arm for some time. Sometimes I wake up in the night and think it's surely the moment when I go to the doctor and just ask them to remove this lump that I apparently sleep on regularly. The downside to a tempurpedic mattress? When you sleep heavy, parts of your body get squished.

After the shoulder rolls and an acknowledgement that maybe I've done too much today, I reach again for the keyboard... OW! Dont. care. must. see. new... Tim Holtz sizzix dies...

Priorities.

Today, we had a tea party. With real tea.*
The kids giggled, "It's water isn't it!"
"Nope, real tea".
"It's hot chocolate!"
"Nope, real tea".

Their little faces were billboards for confusion.
It was herb tea. THE BEST HERB TEA I HAVE EVER FOUND!! And if I was the type to regress, I would really expound on this incredibly yummy thing I have found...

Anyway, I made everyone come to the table dressed for tea. The result was interesting...

You would think I could have served scones with cream or cucumber sandwiches, but there's leftovers to be eaten and no Husband to take care of that department for us, so Sloppy Joe tea it was.

We also had grapes.
The kids like to stuff them up under their upper lip and entertain each other with their ape-like faces.

I am a firm believer in playing with your food at the table-- great conversations come from it.

The little guy shouts, "Look, J2 already has a mustache, you can see it!"
We all giggle and go on with our conversation and he adds,
 "I'm going to have a mustache too. I want a French one".

We really laughed over that, until I googled it. I guess there is a French mustache:

Zazzle image

So, instead of packing...

or finishing the laundry...

or preparing for the day tomorrow,



I grant my little guy's wish.

Priorities.

*Mormon moms don't serve tea... 

especially if there's Dr. Pepper in the house! 
Just joking!

Reminds me of another great British advert: 

Au Natural

Does going "natural" mean I have to stink?
Does the avoidance of aluminum (or aluminium for my British friends) under my arms mean that I am doomed to clear a room when I reach for something high?

I think this green/healthy thing is getting old. I mean really, who wants to live longer if we can't stand the smell of one another?

House update: 

We submitted an offer, it was accepted. (yay)

We start our move in three weeks, will be out of this house in 5 weeks. (yikes)

The only hold up at the moment is trying to track down our current landlord so that he can verify that
we have paid in full and on time. He's changed his numbers and living address and didn't bother to tell us. (of course)

While trying to get the house ready for inspection, a large tree fell down in the back yard this morning. (I made the mistake of asking, "What else can happen today?")

*Speaking of great times to be had by all, yesterday, a rabbit committed suicide by throwing itself with extreme force into the grill of our 1-month old vehicle. It smashed through the plastic grill. I have spared you the photos of my hero  12-year old son/aka "man-of-the-house" trying to extract it. You're welcome.

*Our Norwich City season tickets came-- correction, two came, and the request to come in person to the ticketing office with proof of my children's ages came.  The office is 35 minutes from here.

*There was a notice in my military post office box telling me to fill out a form and include a set of the Husband's military orders within a specific time or they will change the combination to the lock. The box is 45 minutes from here.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg called Murphy's Military Law (when the husband deploys, everything will break, or generally just go south).

School FINALLY let out today, so technically, summer has begun. I am wearing a jacket as I type, because I have been chilled all day. I love England I love England I love England I love England I love England I love England I love England...

Did anyone see this Bronx Zoo Cobra's Tweet?

@BronxZoosCobra Bronx Zoo's Cobra

I rllaey hpoe taht Hrary Peottr wnis bset mvoie tnogiht at the MTV Mvoie Arawds! #ParseltongueTweet #MTVMovieAwards

6 Jun via web
 
My stressed-out, naturally smelly arm pits and I will be gracing a son's football tournament tomorrow, what are you doing for your weekend? 

Migration Season

Well,

can I just say that other than Kat, who threw herself in front of me pleading for rationality, for the most part the rest of you were pretty mild. So with that said...


drum roll please...


(one-armed drum roll like Def Leppard's Rick Allen if you like)...

I am officially moving! 


Well, not officially officially- the Mrs. Future Landlord was quite pleased with us and our offer to ensconce ourselves in her beautiful home, but since she and Mr. Future Landlord both have to sign on the dotted line, she still needs to present it to him.
I think he's off haggis hunting in Scotland or something, so hopefully tomorrow I will know if I am officially officially moving house by myself while my husband sits in the hot desert watching Haji dvds.

So that's it. Feel free to call the authorities and have me declared insane.
But first, have a look at this...
(and btw, this isn't a "grass is greener" scenario, we've had some shady things happen regarding our landlord and for our own protection and peace of mind, are moving).

 See? Easy roof cleaning. Perfect sized house for the kids. Fine, that's really the back side of an open carport.

  Our Christmas tree for 2011

Do you suppose I will ever know where she is?

And there's an inside to this place too... look at the lovely floor my kids will flood.






I will miss my Aga. I will desperately, most likely mourn for months for the Aga. I already miss the pool since summer has avoided us for the second straight year. I won't miss throwing money into it via chemicals and the time spent cleaning it only for the weather be too cold for swimming.

And I will miss the Hedwig hooting outside while I type and the Moorhens (who seem to lose babies to our pond every year).


But when winter comes,
and every child gets to stay in their room rather than move to parts of the house where the radiators work,
I will smile.

So technically, we're being snow birds. Flying off to a warmer house for winter (the season that never leaves).

So truth time: How many times did you have to Google something from this post?

Counseling Accepted

I've done it again...

some people overeat when their spouse deploys.

Some watch too much t.v.

Some start an exercise program.

Some learn a new language, start a new hobby or just sit and count the days away.

I shop for houses.

and talk myself into all the reasons I need to move.

yes, again.

NOTHING

...is what I've got. There's about seven drafts sitting in my to-be-posted folder but since they are a LOT of nothing, I thought I'd spare you some time and make a short post about nothing.

With photos.

The daughter has been making sculptures to send to daddy.

Here is a daffodil and a squid.

Give her a break, she's four.

Here is the same girl trying to fry Mommy with her evil laser-scowl all the way across a field (good thing I have a good zoom lens or I would've disintegrated getting this close to her).

She's at her "Sports Day" refusing to participate because I changed her out of her school shoes and into something better for running.

Just for the record, she doesn't go to school with face-less children...

this gives me an idea though...

 I know this is all kinds of wrong, but it's been that kind of day.

Information Please

So many things are missing from our lives these days.

Remember when the broadcasting day ended with a black and white video of a flag waving in the breeze to the tune of the Star Spangled Banner? There was no staying up through the night only to greet children bleary-eyed and grumpy the next morning just so that one could watch the season finale of Desperate Housewives at midnight.

And the nasally voice that was always there, always willing to help...

"Operator, May I Help you?"

I wish we still had Operator assistance.

I would ask if she could tell me where my son's football kit went. I washed it (and the track suit) to return to the team he's leaving... I now only have the track suit top. Socks, shorts, shirt and track bottoms have all just vanished.

I'd also ask her why the military "powers that be" make illogical policies.
Is it really more cost-effective to post a troop and his large family overseas, then pluck that military member out of job to deploy him-- now paying for a family to live overseas while they bring in another military person from somewhere else to cover the firsts' job? Wouldn't it be cheaper to just fly someone from the states where the family is NOT receiving overseas housing allowance?
Not that I'm complaining, I love it here.  
They can pay my overseas housing costs for the rest of my life if they have that kind of money to throw around.

While I have Miss Operator on the line, I'd ask her how she felt about the ELO song...

And then maybe tell her a joke or two:  

-*-  A young man called directory assistance. "Hello, operator, I would like the telephone number for Mary Jones in Phoenix, Arizona.""There are multiple listings for Mary Jones in Phoenix," the operator replied. "Do you have a street name?" The young man hesitated, and then said, "Well, most people call me Ice Man." 

-*-  After directory assistance gave me my boyfriend's new telephone number, I dialed him and got a woman. "Is Robert there?" I asked. "He's in the shower," she responded. "Please tell him his girlfriend called," I said and hung up.

When he didn't return the call, I dialed again. This time a man answered. "This is Robert," he said.

"You're not my boyfriend!" I exclaimed.

"I know," he replied. "That's what I've been trying to tell my wife for the past half-hour."


 

But sadly, there is no pressing "0" any more.  
All I have is Google 
and it has no idea where the newly-washed football kit is... 

Missing Kit, but not the bib or neon-green gloves

Sometimes technology isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

What are you missing?

No Need to Say Goodbye

This dusty blog seems to have lost a lot of followers. I'm not going to take it personally considering I have had NO time to reciprocate comments for the last couple of months. 

On the few visits I did make, Blogger did not do me any favors in my need to type comments quickly before being busted for slipping away to the computer room (while supposedly spending quality time with the fam).

Anyone else having blogger issues?

The Sexy guy has begun his beach (without water) holiday. It's been especially hard for the kids this time-- and for the first time, he was emotional about leaving.
Usually he just "mans up", mumbling stuff about "his job" and "that's the life we signed up for", but this time he was right there with me, "This sucks!"

He scared me a bit with the way he prepared us this time too. A little too thorough, which tells me there's concern on his part (he usually swears there is none). He really made an extra effort to spend some quality time together, even suffering one whole afternoon driving me from field to field to take photos.

 

As the taillights of the taxi faded in the dark hours of incredibly early, all I could think of was, "I didn't get a proper kiss!" 
It was enough to make me want to throw sleeping kids in the car to follow him to the airport.
Stupid me, trying to put on a brave face and see him off smiling meant that I gave him a kiss his mother could have given him.

And this afternoon, Miss Ky, who is only really experiencing this for the first time (she was too young last time), said, "Stop talking about Daddy because I want to have him".
Bless her little heart.
She and her brother spent the afternoon painting pictures and writing cards for their Daddy.

Deployments never get any easier... and  I'm not willing to practice until I've perfected it.

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."  ~Carol Sobieski and Thomas Meehan, Annie

I Read, Therefore I Am

Today is my birthday.

I used to spend the day of my birthday in tears. Now I go all out and start the day before. Don't ask me why, I have no issues with the actual aging process.

Yesterday was over spilled milk. I had a real full-on boo hoo when a full cup of milk went over on the white carpet that a child who will remain anonymous spilled even though she's been told a gazillion times that no drinks are allowed in there.

I spent the rest of the day dreading going to the youth group where I knew the girls were up to planning some sort of surprise. I hate surprises.
When we all got there at 7 pm, one girl came in carrying a lot of bags. The dread set in. I didn't feel well, only just recovered from some nasty tummy bug on wednesday and I know my smile looked forced.
She began pulling out tins and boxes--filled with...

sewing stuff! Yay! As the evening went on with no surprises, I got happier and happier and was downright giddy as I left the building.

This morning, I swore I'd be more enthusiastic. I opened my eyes and the first words from my mouth were "Flush the toilet!"

Never once have I told my kids not to flush a toilet when people are sleeping, so that excuse is not working... and skipping hand washing? Really? How loud can one wash hands? It's going to be just another day...

So, I slip downstairs and there is a package waiting for me...

I never know with the hubby and wonder in awe at his thought process.
This year tops it I think. There's two books wrapped together. He knows I like to read, knows I've sent us into the poor house downloading books onto the iPad, only I think he's forgotten the time and care I put into choosing a book... I can only try to understand why he's picked these two books out of an entire store.

And then I remember last night as he asked about "The Forgotten Garden". I told him that the author is Kate Morton and I quickly made sure he knew that I had EVERYTHING she's written... He replied with, "Tesco has a sale on books, buy one get one..."

Men.

His Father's Day gift that I have planned out since April? I can guarantee you it was not on a buy one get one free offer...

Speaking of books...

don't say I've never done you any favors.
RUN do not walk to your nearest book shop (app) and pick up "The Help"by Kathryn Stockett. You can thank me later. I will warn you, DON'T read it quickly, you will regret not pacing yourself.

I'm off to find a matinee somewhere. The thought of sitting in a dark cinema alone, not escorting someone to the toilet every five minutes sounds like Heaven. Any non-child friendly movie suggestions?

Astrology Is Being Replaced

I may know that you're a Leo and I'm a Gemini, but I don't rush to the morning paper to see who I should interact with.
I don't plot my month around which sun is in my moon sign or whatever it is that people do.
My life path doesn't interfere with what I may eat for lunch today and my Destiny number doesn't keep me from buying more scrapbooking paper on a Wednesday. Cards and dice can't predict my future and tea leaves never touch my cup...

but what I can believe in is iPod Destiny. I don't think I will ever start another day without consulting my music library!

I just picked this wonderful life-changing tidbit up from Pearl, who is wiser than any crossed legged Tibetan Monk (and she's fun to read as well) and am ready to put my music into action.

So here goes...

my iPod shuffle forecast for the weekend is:

"Marry You" by Bruno Mars
"Crawling Up a Hill" by Katie Melua
ELO's "Evil Woman"
"Save Me" by Queen
and "Don't Stop Me Now", also by Queen (my iPhone tends to get stuck on a theme when shuffling, so I figure the next twenty songs will also be from Queen).

Hmmmmm....

What I interpret from this is more of a message for the Hubby, through me, his wise wife.

"Yes, I did Marry You even though most days it's like Crawling Up a Hill.  Let's face it, I'm an Evil Woman. You may think you can Save Me, but I'm telling you, Don't Stop Me Now".

Not very satisfying. I was hoping there'd be something along the lines of "Never eat donuts just before bed on National Donut Day because you will have dreams of half-kitten/half-scorpions biting you", not some message to pass on to Sexy Guy.  Maybe I don't have enough songs on my iPhone.

Go ahead, tell me what your music predicts for you this weekend...

Quick, Take a Pic!

I may be a hoarder...
(never admit guilt)

who could possibly use intervention...
(possibly. I'd rather everyone be wrong and there be no need for intervention)

and most likely seeks advice.
(from people whose opinions matter than those whom I am living with)

When someone mails you photos of their children,

who are easily 10-15 years older than when you saw them last,

do you save those photos?

Where do you put them? 

In a book? 

In a frame?

What if your own children photos sit in  a hard drive somewhere in the grand company of 40,000 other photos?

I just left the dinner table after receiving a thorough ribbing from the Husband.

He seems to think that my photographic accumulation is a problem.

What do you think? Where is the cut off for too many photos?

I may be a hoarder...

Mourning the Summer That Isn't

My mind is on our impending doom the husband's deployment.  
Preparing for it is like going through the Kübler-Ross Model, or five stages of grief.

1. Denial: "Uh, I don't think so..." "Didn't you just go on a deployment?" "Surely they've made a mistake, let's not get excited until the paperwork is in your hand".

2. Anger: At everybody and everything.

Towards Hubby: "Are you flippin' kidding me?! What about _____ and_______ and ________ who have never been deployed in their whole career?!"

Towards insensitive RS President: "No, I am NOT ok with you changing my VT route and companion so that I now have to drive 15 minutes to get her (she doesn't drive) and then an additional 35 minutes to the people I am supposed to visit while my husband is away."

Towards the Military: "What about our camping trip, beach plans--all of our summer?" "What about our Pantomime tickets already booked?"

Towards Flaky Hubby: "So, you are deploying in a couple of weeks, but still managing to take time off to do a hike with your buddy?" "Really?!"

Towards Football Coach: "You have NOT divided the team fairly for these 5-a-sides. Yes, I know you have one strong defender, 2 strong midfielders and a strong striker on each of your two teams but that's not the point!"

Towards random strangers: "Why are those kids staring at me, haven't they ever seen a woman smash the front end of her car before?!"

(anger hung around longer than the other stages)

3. Bargaining: "Fine, so you go away for another 6 months and I'll go home". "Yes, I know that I will be alone at "home" just as I'm alone here, but that's not the point (nor is the fact that there isn't a "home" any longer since we've been moving for the last 15 years)."
"I need more scrapbooking paper to ease my pain...and Wii Zumba".

4. Depression: "I'll get out of bed when I'm ready, pass the chocolate please".

5. Acceptance: "I'm going to be ok, I can't change it so I will have to accept it". "We'll take one bite of the elephant at a time..."

I won't say which stage I am on now, but I can tell you that my mind is distracted (thus the little fender bender between me and an embankment only days before my car was supposed to sell). I'm having a hard time focusing and "being in the moment" which is sad for the kids...

Miss Ky was not in school on Monday, she was home with me. OMGosh that girl can talk! I didn't want to be short with her, but at one point I thought that if she didn't shut up soon, my head was going to blow into a billion abstract bits all over my house.
My thoughts are on automobiles, tv taxes, car taxes, the pool winterizing I'll have to do on my own, Number One Son in Tech school and his wife in Arizona, school fees that hit hard when we got back from the states and older, established trees dying left and right in my garden due to the drought we're suffering...not the constant ramblings of a four-year old.

I decided that the best thing to do with little Miss Chatterbox was put her to work.

"Miss Ky, how about you come out and help me in the garden, would you like to move the water to the apple tree for me?"

"Okay!!! I'm going to get my shoes! I'm wearing my school shoes because if I wear my sparkly shoes they might get mud on them Livvy wears her sparkly shoes to school sometimes and she takes her bike, I want to take my bike to school because I'm a big girl and I don't need a helmet because I can ride with one hand...."
and she sets herself smack on my heels, following me out the door... singing.

"Weee're going to move the water! Weee aaare going to moooove the waaaahhaaahhhaaater, we're moving the waaaater, we are going to move the waaaahaaater..."
She sings for the mile and half (slight exaggeration) we have to walk to where the hose sits.
Then she picks up the hose and turns to me to ask, "Which apple tree do you want me to water?" as she soaks my legs.

We can do this, some days are just going to be a lot less fun than others.