The End of the World is Nigh....or maybe not

So, the world failed to end on Friday as allegedly predicted by the Myans (or maybe they just got bored of counting and figured by the time 21/12/12 arrived people would have worked something out for themselves), leaving dehydrated egg on the faces of a small group of perculiar folks who I heard interviewed who were off to live in bunkers for the festive period. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for a bit of preplanning, but if a planet was going to smash into the Earth I hardly think a bunker would do you much good.

Still, the good news was that meant my sister in law could celebrate her birthday the day after. The bad news being I still had a mountain of presents to wrap and a Christmas cake to make. We are quite unprepared for the festive period thanks to an unusual bout of flu for myself and Laurie and Mol and Mr Anonimum going down with a projectile sickness bug. Indeed maybe this is what the Myans were refering to as it felt like the end of the world being trapped in bed with vomiting children and only miserable sick relis and even more miserable pre christmas TV to watch. I swear the TV execs must turf out their most depressing programs before the festive season gets going properly mayhaps in vengence for having so be sugary sweet for a good 3 week block there after.

Ode to Mr Scheffler pumpkin effort

And Lo, it came to pass.....

So Laurie has reached the age when he has clocked the meaning of Christmas. To a three year old this is clearly all about some fat dude bringing you gifts, despite my best attempts at explaining that it was all about this little baby who liked being nice.....I may have got a bit stuck when trying to explain the concept of a whole religion to a little boy to whom the most influential beings so far have been a polar bear called Captain Barnicles and a slightly ineffectual postman .

His current viewpoint however is helpful on one hand, as he can be threatened for the next 4 weeks with being especially good (particually when in ear shot of the chimney, which is a direct line to the big man himself). On the other hand we have  4 weeks of continious 'Is it Christmas yet? Will is be Christmas tomorrow?'' Is Father Christmas making my presents now? and so on and so on. Parents of years previous I salute you for not breaking under the pressure and bursting the Santa bubble early, if only for a bit of peace.

In their wisdom PreSchool has got the kids to produce a Christmas list by cutting items out of toy catalougues.  Laurie has chosen a kitchen, a remote control car and some Fireman Sam stuff. Fortunalty my son is easy to read and the car and kitchen are already in progress. I just hope he is not materialistic enough yet to notice the car was 99p from oxfam and the kitchen is a homemade adapted cabinet. Well budget is small.

I shall resign myself to the weeks of Christmas build up from now on being sctattered with Christmas lists, letters to santa and perculiar renditions of festive musical classics. He can currently only remember the 'Atchoooo,Atchooo,Atchooo' bit of 'When Santa got stuck up the chimney', which promises unpredictable things for the upcoming PreSchool concert.

We tried a really nice red cabbage recipie a work collegue suggested the other day. Definalty a possibility for the festive period- maybe if we both practice a bit Laurie and I will both be ready in time. Providing I've not turned into Scrooge by then.

One for All and All for One

We're half way through Movember and the world has a distinctive flavour of Musketeer with a large percentage of male friends and collegues starting to support some impressive (and some less impressive) facial furniture. Having a tricky meeting with a gentleman colleague sporting a handlebar moustache was made all the more challenging today as I wafted in and out of confusion,fascination,repulsion and focus. The latter being made all the more tricky by the fact lack of sleep is still a major factor in my ability to concentrate.

Mol has been under the weather and very unlike her usual chirpy. Days of winging and clinging and snot and calpol and explosive nappies have run into nights of wailing and screaming and winging and clinging and calpol. Here at Team Anonimum headquarters we have been stretched to our limits of temper and are trying hard to keep our eyes on the happy family prize. Now if only the cat could stop choosing to torment her night time play things by my pillow or understand the concept of the naughty step things may stay just the right side of 'over the edge'.

Tonight, we had belly pork with roast spuds, greens and onion gravy. Mol decided she was a fan of the gravy and was allowed to dip her potatos into the jug, basically only as it was very sweet and she hadn't really eaten anything for a few days. At the end of the meal she was fully embracing the Movember movement with some creative oniony gravey top lip and chin (and eye and hair and elbow) decorations.

D is for Doofus

This week I seem to have been taking a generous dose of stupid in my morning decaffe. Yesterday my school run, buggy or car conundrum, was soon solved on finding I had left the car door wide open after transferring a sleeping Laurie the night before. The good news here was that due to our genteel location, everything lay relativly untouched. The bad news was the only thing to touch it was the massive rain storm which had drenched Laurie's car seat.

So descision made, I was a rather fraut cagooled Mum who dashed up the road (not at all looking the relaxed sporty parent on the Phil and Teds ads) pushing two heavy kids and trying to dodge the puddles, horse poo and other country treats. How I smirked at the man who over took me dashing his son to the primary, at least I wasn't tht late! I smiked some more to myself as I saw him plus son, both looking quite cross, retreating back up the road. Really, who takes their kids to school on inset day, don't these paople read their term dates?

I was busy congratulating myself on approaching the preschool having made it from home in under 10 minutes when it dawned on me the roads were unusually quiet. The car park too was pretty quiet. I started to wonder if that email I had recieved and intended to open entitled 'term dates' may infact have contained some useful information. As I arrived at the gates I met another Mum (looking condiserably more glamorous having stepped daintily out of her 4x4. I had wondered about walking casually past and pretending I had been hurrying at such speed to get to the stop and shop. I decided against it as out of the two, taking the boy to school on and inset was far less shameful than racing to londis. After feeling a little like the kids who turned up to school in uniform on a mufty day, Other Mum and myself laughed it off deciding to never mention it again.

We trudged back up the hill, snowploughing the fallen leaves on our way trying to plan an alternate mornings activity....much of which consisted of trying to dry out a sodden car seat.

Am I talking to myself....?

 I did not share in the delight of my students at the arrival of the half term holidays as despite loving being with Mol and Laurie, it means holidays are not the cause for relaxation they used to be. Laurie has been having bad dreams keeping him up at night shouting for Mum but not often not awake enough to be soothed. Mol is still struggling with her teeth. Sod this recession, after seeing Laurie's saving plan loosing cash again, I recon shares in Calpol may be a safer way to invest for the future than stuffing the bankers pockets.

Mol has started chatting a little more and now has quite a number of words. "More". "Bear"."Milk"."Bum Bum"."Poo". Throw in a couple of animal noises and a smile, point  and a coy simper and thats pretty much all you need at 16 months  to charm your parents into bending to your every whim. I think she may turn out to have abiltiy to hold a conversation that flows over its listeners rather like a tidal bore, not concerned in the least if those in attendance are either interested or even listening. Apparently at her age I held full conversations including relevant lively intertnation  without knowing a word and have carried on in a similar tone since

The Sound of Silence

Silence, it's a funny thing. As a novice Mum I am soothed by it, considering it to be a sign that all is calm and peaceful. Not so this morning when due to the quiet downstairs, I felt safe to get dressed rather than run around the house weighing up the risks of tots weeing on the floor against being caught by the postman in my underwear. (Darn that glass fronted door). When I arrived downstairs I was concerned not to find Mol in the front room where I left her. Instead she sat contented and hiding under a pile of snowy flakes of toilet tissue in the bathroom. I learn from today, silence is a dangerous thing meaning tots are doing something so naughty they know they must be quiet lest risk discovery.

A number of hours later I am praying for a little peace as my lovely girl lies screaming herself to near sleep in her cot after hour two of soothing n rocking.  Why do babies have to get teeth...it seems so unfair both on them and their poor parents. Controlled crying is a killer.

'Life is a Rollercoaster........'

It turns out that aside from being an alleged adultering, slightly faded 90's boy popster, Mr Ronan Keating may have had the odd wise piece of advice. Life is indeed at times, a rollercoaster. I suspect however Mr Keating was not singing of the trials of managing a young family.

Today started well, if a little early, as Laurie slept thru for the first time in a while without waking and screaming 'I want my mum' until he wakes the house. It was such a treat to have a full 6 hrs without having to share the bed with a very sweet but rather sweaty little boy or a little girl who just wants to poke me in the eye of shove her fingers up my nose. After the luxury of a shower, which was only briefly interrupted by a tot demaning a poo..I was full of good intentions to style my hair properly for the first time since it was cut a month ago. However, five minutes after picking up the straighteners and ten minutes before we were due to leave for a party, I am called to assist in the lastest event of toddlergeddon.

Mol had decided to throw her chair backwards onto the floor whilst fastened into her booster, whack her head and vomit her breakfast all over her father. One call to NHS direct later and we are rushing about to gather things before dropping Mol and her Pa off at the Children's Hospital and taking Laurie, rather late to his party.

The party was great, although not so much my last minute grab of an outfit. Sadly a mini skirt and leggings is not the ideal demure look for crawling thru the spiders web atop the soft play..and definatly not for clambering out of the scary toddler tube slide. Mol, was fine...she seems pretty indestructable. We were dismissed from the hospital with some head injury leaflets and instructions to wake her at midnight to check she isn't sleeping too deelpy...! Goodbye 6 hrs, it was short but so sweet.

S@%t happens

And so it came to pass that after a pleasant morning with Mol showing off her new confidence in walking and Laurie having had an enjoyable morning at preschool (a change from the screaming and wailing of the last week), the afternoon went down hill.

The rain set in and a cloud of mizzle hung in the valley like a wet sponge. This meant even a trip to Cow park to jump in puddles was sacked off in favour of wholesome wet weather indoor pursuits. So like the diligent Mother I headed to the craft cupboard and we set about on some plaster of paris creation from birthdays past. Mol then decided she was creativly unchallenged by her finger painting options and came over all Barbra Hepworth making holes in play dough and trying to get her hands on the plaster. A one year old with plaster of paris is never good. A one year old trying to snatch the plaster of paris from her brother is perhaps worse. Screaming commenced and continued into the afternoon.

By the time their father arrived home we were upstairs with the iplayer on, house in disarray, mother fraught, jewelery box strewn over the floor, Mol cross trying to wear an adult tsirt bra, both kids naked bar Mol's nappy and a bath full of poo. Nothing tops off a stressfull afternoon quite like pulling two kids from a bath newly full of poo.

Tonight we had Chilli- a good recipie and hopefully not to blame for the bath incident.

Laurie, the occassionally naked chef

After an exciting day of toilet cleaning, sink unblocking and fitting in a work powerpoint druing Mol's nap, I was hoping on an easy late afternoon with a sleepy boy, tired after a busy day at preschool. Sadly, I was to be disappointed by the enthusiastic tot that greeted me and refused to watch any of the mildly jarring but immensly educationally enriching (I tell myself) programmes CBeebies had to offer.

Instead, it seemed some chirpy presenter had inspired him to want to cook, so we embarked on baked blackcurrant rice and chocolate dipped biscuits. For the next two and a half long hours the kids poured and stirred and prodded and squished away happily enough as I ran about thinking of tot proof(ish) cullinary activities. Laurie worked away, an enthuisatic chef, like his father, although with a bit less skill and considerably less pride in his tidy house. Mol struggled to make the distinction between real and play dough despite the vibrant colours of the latter, but seemed happy enough at the taste of both.

In hindsight, I am thrilled my son would rather do something creative and practical then slouching infront of the box. I am however, left cursing why anyone would think it a good idea to carpet a kitchen and wishing I had been allowed to have a full nights sleep to recover. Alas, it was not to be.

There are times when the kids and the baking and the homemaking and the going to work all get a bit too much. Those are times for my good friend Pino Grigio

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Living in a house, a medium sized house, in the country

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a cat, in possession of a new country garden, is in want of a mouse. It seems it does not matter if this cat was previously the laziest stayabed city dweller. Suddenly, she finds country living provides her with a smorgasboard of tasty furry treats, which she feels she must share with us. Having only in recent months begun to enjoy a full nights sleep, we are now frequenlty woken up by the death shreeks of the local rodent population. Squeek.....skitter skitter....silence....squeek....skitter skitter....silence. A real treat at 2am and makes for a fun new treasure hunt every morning before the kids get up. So far she hasn't found the pond. I fear frogs will be noisier and softer underfoot.

Mol and Laurie have been busy playing and the current obsession seems to be "Doctoring". Mol was running around after her bath with just a stethoscope on and insisted on taking it into her cot. Removing a stethoscope from a sleeping babe turns out to be an operation in itself. The rest of us are covered with plastic plasters and bandages usually for strange underwater ailments (the Octonauts are a big favourite). I have high hopes for being kept well in my old age- long may the obsession continue, although maybe with more underwear on.

In other news it is raining. In the house. We have a damp back passage. A common and unpleasant complaint whoever you may be. On the plus side, hopefully the rain and decorative bucket instillation we have going on by the front door, will discourage the cat from goinng outside. Fingers crossed.

One small step for Mum many giant(ish) ones for Mol

It's been a week of firsts here in the valley. I am starting to find my feet in the village and have begun to make my first brave steps into new mum and tot groups. How come it feels like the first day of school again even for the grown ups? The mums so far are very friendly although super fit. When having nothing so add to a conversation about road biking and marathon running I had to admit to maybe looking into a local Zumba class as my excersise routine to date.Maybe. Still, I feel I have moved to a cliff top village (this may be a slight exaggeration) so the climb must be dong wonders for me!

Maybe to mark the sad passing of Neil Armstrong, Mol has finally decided she will take her first proper `giant leaps` and has started to appear from higher up the wall when she now pokes her head around to say "boo". This is good news in that since she has been cruising since she was about 9 months its about time, but bad news in that blinkin` shoes cost £24 these days. They are however very sweet.

Laurie had his first week at Pre-school. He looks tiny compared to the other kids but it doesn't seem to bother him. He has come home pretty happy so far and has started singing different songs and playing different games. Apparently however he does "nothing" at school every day. I am told by mums of older boys that he will do "nothing" for the rest of his school career.

What would Nigella do?....(if she had half the budget and no waitrose)

Nigella, what a wonder! She can juggle two kids, a husband and a last minute dinner party for 30 and make it look simple. I strive to be more goddess like, although I significantly lack in both budget and bust compared to Ms Lawson.

I do however try to cook for my family everyday as its much cheaper and more convinient than ready meal,s especially as we now live some way from the nearest shop. Cooking for wee ones seems to be a bit of a rollercoaster as you need to balance prep time against cost and "will they actually eat that". Needless to say there are always fishfingers in the freezer and if all fails eggy bread is always a winner!

This morning I wake from a horrid night of teething baby. Normally that would mean a lie in but as a stag widow for the weekend and with an active 3 yr old, I plod on. At this point Nigella would be in some cashmere or velvet wrap and not mis matched Quantas airline pjs. I am ignoring this fact and have  managed to bake a ploddy pie for lunch based on (with lazy adaptations) Nigella's "pizza rustica alla Inglese".

Looking forward, thinking back

One day I realise I will be able to visit the toilet by myself, I will not have a handbag that smells of wee (due to an unfortunate potty training episode) and I will be able to watch grown up television  not Mr Tumble. But I imagine on that day, when I am luxuriating in an empty house with a glass of wine and a book, I may realise I miss my kids.Well I may.

Hence the birth of Anonimum- my way of documenting the sand eating, cat chasing, yoghurt flinging, supermarket screaming, naughty step sitting, nose picking, wobbly toddling world of 'The Early Years'.