Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Potty training with Mickey Mouse

One thing I have learnt from being a parent, apart from the realisation that you will never have a decent nights sleep again, is the ability to accept change.
Because I’ve never been very gracious or accepting with regards to change.
I am a creature of habit, who thrives on routine. I like to plan events well in advance, and alterations to my schedule can feel very unsettling.
However, when kids are involved, anything is possible. Plus, they are changing all the time so you have to learn to adapt and accommodate.
I found this change lark quite a task at the beginning. Just when you get used to something, guess what, it’s time for change.
For example, you get the hang of bottle feeds, then it’s time for weaning (but what if he chokes!). You enjoy pushing him in the pram, with him facing you, then it’s time for him to face outwards (but I won't be able to see him!). You love the security of him in the moses basket next to your bed, then it’s time for him to switch to a cot (but he will be in his own room!). You don’t mind changing nappies, then your mum buys you a Mickey Mouse potty for the dreaded potty training (everyone tells me how gross this is!). And all the other changes in between.
See what I mean?
I used to wail at Mark, “Oh lets not do that yet, he’s still a baba.”
Then you realise you don’t want your child not to progress, or heaven forbid, you get left behind.
Not that I’m an expert, but I do think some mums love to rush to the next stage, when perhaps you could enjoy the current stage a tiny bit longer. Some mums, I have witnessed, pride themselves on how advanced their little one is.
Is it really a competition? Let's not forget that babies are human beings and therefore can progress at different times in their life. There are recommended ages and average times, but as we all know, recommendations and averages can simply be recommendations and averages!
Yet, nowadays I have embraced this change factor with a lighter heart. I‘ve had to, otherwise I fear the next chapter, and that really isn’t the point.
I’ve also had to realise that plans can alter very swiftly, due to Tommy’s sleep pattern, his general health, or his dirty nappy.
These days if I make arrangements, I know it’s wise to add, “All being well with Tommy.” He has to be my priority now, and his sleep and health can determine what goes on.
Many has been the time that I’ve had to text a friend and warn them Tommy is still deep in his morning nap so we will be at their house later than expected.
Many has been the time Mark and I are about to leave our house, when one of us has thought, what's that smell? Oh wait for it, here we go again...
So you see, I've had to realise change is not necessary the enemy. It's just a huge part of my life, and it should be treated with respect, not suspicion and frustration.
If possible.

Monday, 13 April 2015

Handmade by Clinical Melon

My friend works in a delightful little tearoom.

It sells delicious homemade cakes and cups of tea.

I popped in to see her and this charming little place.

Of course I had a slice of cake and a cup of tea.

And admired the decor. Dainty tea cups.

Mis-matched furniture.

It has a real vintage vibe to it.

Showcasing are homemade arts and crafts.

I love this cupboard, boasting clay magnets and candle holders.

Plus, wait for it, drum roll made by yours truly.

Cheerful birds and baby prams.

A footballer, a cupcake and a dinosaur.

Wedding cake and a fairy.

I call myself, Clinical Melon. (It's an anagram of my maiden name, if you were wondering why). Next stop, gift tags. Let's hope they sell!

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

Adventures in Easterland

We walked across a big field...

to a magical Easter garden.

We found deers

and walked across a bridge

until we came to a castle, with it's own moat.

My nephew followed his Easter bunny map

along the river

with yellow flowers.

Tommy loved finding sticks.

and spending time with daddy.

After eating more chocolate, we all went home.

Friday, 3 April 2015

This way to the Easter hunt

The Easter bunny has been very busy this year.

He left lots of eggs in our garden, we just had to follow the signs.

Can you spot the eggs?

Peter Rabbit was looking after these eggs.

And more eggs!

Tommy had a great time collecting them.

So did his cousin, Will.

Then we all had tea.

And cakes.

Happy Easter, dear readers.

Tuesday, 31 March 2015

What a good job

Sometimes, I gaze out of a train window and imagine living someone else's life.
Not because I'm unhappy with mine. Far from it. I realise it's not the most glamorous or exciting life in the world, but it's all mine. And I kinda like it.
The fantasising is merely due to other people's job functions.
For example, did you know someone is employed at Barts Pathology Museum to look after 5,000 specimens? Basically, they are surrounded by and look after body parts all day long. That one really got me thinking. How creepy would you find that? Personally, it wouldn't be my ideal job.
Every week I read Stylist magazine, and every week I read the Work Life page and I'm fascinated by other people's occupations.
A fairly recent entry was a Fashion Curator, who visits designer's French chateau's, and scours castles to look at family photographs. Not a bad life, compared to little old me who visits an office every working day, which overlooks KFC in a car park.
Of course it doesn't always do to compare our lives to others. As the Fashion Curator stated, her job is not all it's cracked up to be - she once spent a month inputting shoe details into a spreadsheet in a chilly Paris basement. See, even super cool human beings have to do mundane tasks.
But I do enjoy reading about other people's lives, in particular the strange and unusual ones. Job titles which take me on entertaining journeys, days which are filled with incredible things. Which often leads to that ancient question, what would your dream job consist of?
I frequently ask people this question, and I've been met with a variety of answers. Only the other day, whilst lunching with a friend, I couldn't resist propositioning him with this thought.
"A monkey trainer," said he. "Or working in an orphanage for Orangutans."
Well, it would certainly be different from his current occupation in advertising. Perhaps that's the attraction? Pure escapism. Either that or his love for hairy animals.
As for me, I think you could probably accurately guess it. Have you got it yet? George Michael's PA. What else would it be?!
Or an artistic photographer. Or a talented writer.
Or a publishing company for magazines. Oh hang on, silly me, I do work for a publishing company for magazines. Funnily enough, when I was growing up, this did feature on my wish list. Okay, it's not flashy consumer magazines, and I don't circulate at posh media parties (although it has been known in the past, just the odd one, now and then), but neither do I really want to work for flash mags and attend parties.
I’m perfectly happy with my technology magazine and I’ve now progressed to academic books. I don’t really understand the books but I’m finding the new challenge interesting.
I work with nice people, some a trifle odd, but harmless enough. We used to receive a free lunch, but now we pay a £1 for 3 courses, which is incredibly good value when you think about it.
So you see, life isn’t so bad after all.
However, should you hear through the grapevine that George Michael is searching for a new PA, don’t forget to mention my name.
Many thanks!

Monday, 23 March 2015

The brie, the bullet and The Black Cat

The year was October 1942, and we were invited to the official residence of the Deputy Mayor of Casablanca, Monsieur Le Grandbutte, for a dinner where the guest of honour was to have been France's greatest living mime artist, The Black Cat. But the greatest living mime artist was no longer living. He had been murdered. And we were all suspects.

My name was Ingrid Pith and I was a Danish art-dealer, specialising in finding paintings from all over Europe. I was busty and flirtatious and having an affair with two of the men at the dinner party.

Over pate, beef, cakes and wine, we learnt who murdered The Black Cat. And why.

It wasn't me folks, it was the French lady who was actually a man in disguise. I can't remember her/his name now.
Oh it was a very funny evening.

Wednesday, 18 March 2015

Little things

Last Sunday was Mother's Day.
I bought my mum some vintage coloured flowers and some goodies in her 'Mum, you are my sunshine' bag.

The goodies consisted of, iced biscuits. "They're too pretty to eat!" declared my mum.

And a scented candle. "Too pretty to use!" declared my mum.

Tommy bought her a 'Why my nanny is brilliant' book. I found a charming online shop where you can personalise books.

I got a gorgeous card full of photographs of Tommy.

And a salt and pepper pot. Our ones are smashed. I am so pleased with them. Sometimes it really is the little things, don't you think?

We all went out for lunch at country pub for a roast dinner and chocolate brownies. Bliss. Tommy was a good boy and was treated to chips and chocolate. He loved them.

What a lovely day was had by all.