Why is it that when you are watching the Food Network and get inspired to make something you’ve just seen on Diners. Drive-Ins and Dives that your brain forgets to remind you that in TV Land, everything is prepped and ready ahead of time.  So when the Jamaican lady says she just throws boiling water on her saltfish for two hours and then cooks it up, you think .oO(totally soooooooo much easier than changing the water 342 times throughout the day. Let’s do this!)

Only you put your fish aside to desalt and forget that in that two hours you should perhaps be mincing garlic, slicing onions and peppers and chopping tomatoes.  Or maybe you could be getting everything for your rice and peas together instead of watching Ellen Barkin on Anderson and thinking how much fun she’d be on a night out while you add her to your list of imaginary friends.

And then, when you start the prep and get the rice on its way, you check on the fish and RASS that fish is still salty as shit! So you start some vigorous water changes and shake the hell out of it to try and rinse as much of that salt out because, sure your children have been little ratbags all day, but do you really want to take it out on them by sucking all of the moisture out of their mouths?  Of course not.  Because then you will have to spend the rest of the night making them feel better and you’re already in a panic because it’s XFactor night PLUS the finale of Dancing with the Stars.

Your only option is to do what you can to get that saltfish sorted out and ready for dinner and in the meantime you make a note to tell that Jamaican lady that she is too full of chat when you one day wind up in her restaurant on some road trip because damn her coconut drops looked sooooo tasty.

And then, because you are a superstar you wind up with a meal that reminds you that if your husband ever gets too sick of your constant lazy and crazy, you’d happily marry yourself because YUM.

 

22.11.11 Saltfish and Rice and Peas .. Noice

I’ve had so much to blog about lately and through procrastination and fear of jinxing myself, I went silent instead.

Remember that post I wrote where I was complaining?  Oh, not specific enough?  The one where I moaned about the real estate process in England?  Yeah, that one!  Well it is finally coming to an end.  The house is properly sold with no means of backing out now and we have a closing date.

And we have plane tickets.

One thing I made sure not to mention was the fact that we are not just moving house, but moving country.   Not knowing who reads the blog (and by the comments, it would appear to be 4 of you), I didn’t want anyone who shouldn’t have known to find out before Lee was ready.

Do you know how hard it was for me to not say anything about this?! Not say a peep when the house has been for sale since LAST YEAR April?!  Not mention the short notice viewings, the crazy reasons that people had for not buying it, the fact that we ended up going through three real estate agents before one knew what they were doing?  To not talk about having to circle the block with two hungry toddlers in a stroller 7 or 8 times because the people wouldn’t leave the house? To not talk about yelling at real estate agents while I was in the middle of  a parking lot because they had us leave the house for a viewing, delayed it for over an hour and then never phoned to tell us that they were rescheduling it?!

I’ve had to internalise (read: take it out on Lee only) my fears and anxieties and totally logical flip outs about this huge move.   Our whole life is being packed up and sent on the slow boat to Canada.  No jobs waiting on the other side.  No house (though we will have a roof over our heads thanks to my lovely family) to call our own.  There is a shitload of unknowns for someone who now panics at the thought.

Yeah that’s right; the girl who met a boy on the Internet and left her life in Canada behind is now saying she is afraid of the unknown.  The one who took a Greyhound bus to Kalamazoo, Michigan with her friend and stayed in the middle of bumfuck nowhere with a drunken ex-cop with very little furniture, too many guns and no door on his bathroom is now saying she is scared of not knowing what lies ahead.  The same person who went camping in the mountains in West Virginia with a bunch of people she’d never met and no cell phone reception or much clue as to where she was .. yeah, that’s me.

And then along came the midgets and I don’t want them to be able to start a blog and say “oh the times we had, living in our mini-van and eating pork’n’beans heated via the cigarette lighter,  where swinging from the Holy Shit Handles was our only source of entertainment”.  (note: Get mini-van with dvd player)  Though for a couple of nights at least that would be fun right?  Just like a ‘studio apartment’ version of driving cross country in a Winnebago and who doesn’t want to do that?!

So anyway, my muzzle is off. I can say what I feel like when I feel like it once again and it feels great!!

Plus, getting back to blogging provides endless opportunities to put the packing, cleaning, throwing, selling, and dealing with life on hold.  Just what I need.  Or not.  But just what I’ll do anyway.  Because let’s face it, I’d much rather sit here and ramble on to you guys about nothing than figure out why EBay keeps kicking me out when all I want to do is list a fricking Baby GAP sweater!!

 

Is it weird that I just described a 65 year old’s body as ‘banging’?

Anyway, enough about her. This is about me. Me and my grey hair. Make that me and my grey HAIRS.

Last year when I turned 34, I looked through my head and found approximately 8 grey hairs. When you consider my parentage, I was damn happy and almost superhuman to have so few. But something happened between then and now. Something so frightening that I had Lee take a photo and couldn’t actually bring myself to share it with you all.

They’re EVERYWHERE! On the sides, in the front, in the middle, and luckily I don’t really have eyes in the back of my head because I can guarantee there’d be some there too.

I know that this isn’t a massive deal. I mean, I’ve already come to terms that we might have to start taking Amy and Noah to the salon when they reach 9 and 10 because they’re fighting an uphill battle now. But I am still scared. Do I embrace it (apparently my momma says I shouldn’t) and be proud of my silver foxiness or do I continue to hide beneath a petri dish of chemicals and colours a little while longer? If so, do I go back to highlights to let me live the lie longer between touch ups?!

Hello, this is important business here! I almost wish I had short hair so that I could just let it grow and not worry. Then the poor midgets would have everyone at school thinking they lived with their grandparents (no offence Mr. Clooney… err Lee)

But really, can it be that bad to just let nature take its course? It seems to work for Helen Mirren. And okay, I don’t her genetics facially or ‘banging bodily’, but still. I am a lazy person. A cheap, lazy person. I’m only fooling myself if I think I can escape the glaringly grey reality for too much longer.

While I figure out which route to take, I’ll be at the salon on Saturday giving myself a little while longer before I decide who wins in the battle of Vanity v Lazy.

What I wouldn’t give right now to be a 3 year old whose biggest decision is whether to take off some of his clothes or all of his clothes whilst he pretends to be a polar bear.

There are so many memes or questionnaires that circulate in our inboxes, on LiveJournal or Facebook. The ones that are all about “you” often ask what super power you would like to have if you could have one. I never know what to answer to that and often come up with something totally boring or something really dumb, just to get the question answered.

The other day though, I finally thought of one. I now know exactly what super power I want. I don’t think it is an actual known superpower like the ability to fly or to be invisible or to see through things. This is WAY better. At least it would be if it existed and I could have it.

I want to be able to take photographs with my eyes. Sure, I walk around with at least one camera on me at all times and take more photos than most people so that I can capture the moments of the day and so that when I am old and totally grey, I will be able to look back at my reminders of the days that I may not remember so clearly then. But there are so many moments that happen too quickly or that are at such angles that I would never be able to capture them with a proper camera.

With Noah, the moments are out of the blue when he goes from tired to turning toward you and giving you the cutest grin. The way his eyes crinkle and you do not even have to see his mouth to know what expression he has. It would also be useful to catch him in action when he is bouncing from one activity to another absolutely loving life inside his own world.

With Amy, I would give almost anything to catch the look in her eye when she is half drunk on milk and sleep, when she looks up at you and you can tell that at that moment you are the only person in her world and that she feels completely safe and content in your arms. Noah never really looked at me when I fed him. He was busy looking around at everything else. With Amy, that is her time to capture you and bring you into her world for a while. The look in her eye, the curl of her lashes, the slight slant of her eye between smile and sleep; that is the image I want to keep forever, but can’t without this super power.

So if anyone knows how I can go about getting myself hooked up with this, I would really appreciate it. Plus, it would save a ton on camera batteries.

When I was still employed by the wonderful National Probation Service and was pregnant with Noah, the paternity of my unborn BoB was often questioned. Many people tried to claim the baby as theirs, and even my beloved husband got in on guessing the father.

Well, it has taken 13 months, 1 week and 5 days to solve the riddle .. but we now know that the father of this little boy…
The Hair!!

Can only be this guy…
Heat Miser

The wildness of the hair can’t hide the truth any longer. It’s either the Heat Miser or Russell Brand. And well, at least the Heat Miser most likely bathes.

Before you say it, I already know what you’re thinking, and usually you’d be right. .oO(SHE wants ME to take parenting advice from HER crazy ass?) But for today and today only, I actually have some nuggets of wisdom!!

1) When you cannot find your moisturizer, do not be tempted to use Sudocrem (diaper rash cream) instead. It’s not a pretty site. A funny one, yes. Pretty, no.

2) When taking your son or daughter for vaccines, when they start to cry after the injection just whip out a pouch of Fruitapura (pureed fruit in a Capri Sun style bag). Apparently it is magic in a packet, because Noah totally forgot about his “ouchie” and started trying to kiss me instead.

Those are the nuggets.

You may now carry on with the rest of your day and hopefully you are not trying to picture what I looked like with diaper rash cream all over my forehead.

In 99 days baby number 2 is due to start their Day 0.

In 3 days Noah is going to be 1.

I feel like I am living in some alternate reality, yet suffering the exhaustion of the person who is pregnant with the totally almost one year old.

Noah is sick right now and instead of getting better he seems to be getting worse. Somehow I have to plan and prepare for a birthday party and clean our house with 29ish pounds of sick baby attached.

If someone has figured out how to freeze time around you so that you can get things done … then please, let me know. I’d offer to pay, but you’ll be in for a handful of loose foreign change. Which is better than nothing and you can always save it for those donations envelopes on the plane.

.. no, not Christmas. Nothing to do with mulled wine, hot chocolate, shortbread or turkey. Not even anything to do with squeezing past people in the aisles of over crowded shops getting last minute gifts or avoiding people passing you with sharp parcels in what appears to be a deliberate attempt to deflate your bump.

It’s toilet paper time again of course!

Last December, Lee and I made a normal trip out to Costco where we purchased some bottom friendly Andrex toilet tissue. Forty-five rolls of it. Well, I peeked under the counter the other day and nearly panicked as I realised we were down to one on the holder and two under the counter.

Off to Costco we went. This year, the toilet paper offered was Velvet. I wasn’t so sure, but I did the finger test (poking it through the wrapping to feel the softness) and decided that it was bottom friendly as well and at £17 for another forty-five rolls we couldn’t really go wrong.

Plus, the perk of buying toilet paper once a year is worth a brand change!!

So until next December…. (or until we have a house with more than one washroom)

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, someone other than me (and I’m only assuming that I’ve done the following, though I have no recollection of this…) threw up in my hair. Oh, and on my face, on my chest, down my stomach and even got it on my back.

Now, I should probably explain that sometimes when Noah simply drools on me I get grossed out. I know that it is natural and that he’s a baby and they all do it. However, it matters not. It grosses me out.

So when I saw the Vanilla Volcano eruption begin, I panicked for a millisecond. For a few brief moments I contemplated whipping him over the side of the bed .. similar to how my mother reacted when on Space Mountain at Disney World I could feel the contents of my stomach reaching up into my throat. Only I couldn’t. I just held him up above me so that he didn’t lie on his back and choke.

I know that most babies have already done this by his age. That we’ve been so lucky to escape all illness up until now. But holy crap. It is one of the scariest things I’ve ever been a party to. He seemed so vulnerable though nowhere near as upset by it all as Lee and I were.

And though he became super cuddly during his brief days of his tummy issues and I am not sure that I’ve ever felt love for someone as strong as I did when he only wanted to fall asleep on me, I can honestly say that I hope no one ever throws up in my hair again.

Oh, and I’ll take the drool any day.

Though perhaps not so much on the sofa. If only because it is not a “wipe clean” surface and it appears to have an ingredient that prevents us from masking the Drool Dots.

And the Brits have the nerve to say that the Americans and Canadians can’t spell:

sleep tight