It's been two weeks now since my wedding day and I have to say things are totally and utterly back to normal. You would almost think the day itself never happened except for the massive collection of photos which we are still waiting for (!) and the abundance of cards which I am today determined to take down.
My wedding day was as close to perfect as I could have hoped. The presence of thirteen children under the age of ten meant mega chances of things going wrong. But no. The food was all lovely, the magic knickers combo which I decided in the end to wear worked like a charm (no point feeling virtuous when no-one would know what I was wearing under The Frock apart from me - even lovely husband was cleverly deluded by my quick change in the bathroom before bedtime from parachute harness into delicate gossamer underwear with zero capacity to hold in, push up or smooth. By then it didn't matter!) Although I find myself stuffing random food into my mouth ever since the big day in the manner of Cookie Monster from Sesame Street (remember him?) simply because I CAN, after three months of watching every calorie in the interest of looking like a goddess for a day. Hopefully this impulse will subside soon before I put back all the baby weight I lost!
The only thing that marred the day was a moment of stress with my mother, who halfway through the evening approached me to ask angrily when I was going to sit with her. Lovely husband and I, along with new mother-in-law were taking turns to do half-hour shifts upstairs watching the small one sleep in a travel cot and so when I was around at the evening party I tended to be flitting from one person to the next. As I said to my mother, I has assumed she was fine with the group of friends I'd invited that are her friends really, not mine. But unfortunately it seemed not. I ended up overreacting totally and spending my next upstairs half-hour in tears. As my best mate said to me the next day, it wouldn't be a wedding without an argument, would it. The whole thing was made worse when next day my mother rang to apologise and confessed that she had lost my bouquet, which I had asked her to put on my dad's grave. I told her it didn't matter, as she was so upset. But to me it does matter, and I am still striving to move on from this.
I have smoothed things over with my mother, and things are back to normal. Except that I feel more than ever that the quality of my relationship with her was dependent upon the presence of my father. And this does worry me.
But enough of the downside, I am now happily married to lovely husband and had the happiest happiest day. Photos on their way, as soon as I get my paws on them!
Monday, 19 October 2009
Thursday, 24 September 2009
Nine Days To Go...
As I write this I look like I should be attending a glittering red-carpet premiere or glossy Hollywood party rather than looking after a house and a toddler. At least that's true from the neck up, as I'm wearing my usual jeans and T-shirt combo. This morning I had my wedding hair trial.
I am one of those people who never likes their hair when the stylist has just cut and blow-dried it. In fact, I have never had my hair cut before and not immediately gone home and washed it and restyled it myself. This is no reflection on any of my hairdressers (there have been a few), and I always compliment them and tell them I love it, it's just that I never really feel like me when they've finished. I don't know if anyone will relate to this, or if it's just particular to me, but it's just the way I am. The current trend for use of straighteners has made the problem worse, as my hair is quite thick and even when I straighten it myself it still has a bit of bounce. But when straightened professionally at the salon after a cut, in its perfect glossy state it just looks to me as if it's had every ounce of life ironed out of it.
Therefore I approached this morning with a certain amount of trepidation, since I am relying on Sam the Hairdresser to make me look like a goddess on the big day, and there will be no washing and re-doing myself this time. But there was no need to feel stressed! I now know that my years spent striving for straight hair out of my nightmare tresses (not curly enough to be properly curly, but wavy enough to be a right mess when left untamed) have been misdirected. All this time I should have been having some kind of perm!
I decided I wanted loose waves putting in, in an effort to look glamorous but still recognisable as me. I hardly ever wear my hair up, and so there's no way I was going to start on my wedding day when everyone that knows me will be analysing me from all angles. Sam got her straightening irons out (how is it that straightening irons are now THE thing to use for curls?) and within the hour it was finished. She pinned up a couple of strands 'for height' and put in a couple of these hair jewel things and I swear a miracle had taken place. I look like I belong on a film set and now I've stopped feeling relieved, I am sooooo excited. All I need to do now is hold firm, keep away from the chocolate and cakes for only another week and I should be home free!
I am one of those people who never likes their hair when the stylist has just cut and blow-dried it. In fact, I have never had my hair cut before and not immediately gone home and washed it and restyled it myself. This is no reflection on any of my hairdressers (there have been a few), and I always compliment them and tell them I love it, it's just that I never really feel like me when they've finished. I don't know if anyone will relate to this, or if it's just particular to me, but it's just the way I am. The current trend for use of straighteners has made the problem worse, as my hair is quite thick and even when I straighten it myself it still has a bit of bounce. But when straightened professionally at the salon after a cut, in its perfect glossy state it just looks to me as if it's had every ounce of life ironed out of it.
Therefore I approached this morning with a certain amount of trepidation, since I am relying on Sam the Hairdresser to make me look like a goddess on the big day, and there will be no washing and re-doing myself this time. But there was no need to feel stressed! I now know that my years spent striving for straight hair out of my nightmare tresses (not curly enough to be properly curly, but wavy enough to be a right mess when left untamed) have been misdirected. All this time I should have been having some kind of perm!
I decided I wanted loose waves putting in, in an effort to look glamorous but still recognisable as me. I hardly ever wear my hair up, and so there's no way I was going to start on my wedding day when everyone that knows me will be analysing me from all angles. Sam got her straightening irons out (how is it that straightening irons are now THE thing to use for curls?) and within the hour it was finished. She pinned up a couple of strands 'for height' and put in a couple of these hair jewel things and I swear a miracle had taken place. I look like I belong on a film set and now I've stopped feeling relieved, I am sooooo excited. All I need to do now is hold firm, keep away from the chocolate and cakes for only another week and I should be home free!
Friday, 18 September 2009
Two Weeks To Go
I cannot believe how quickly it has arrived. I now have exactly fourteen days to fine-tune and perfect every aspect of my wedding plans before it is too late. I thought I was doing really well, had everything under control and was totally calm, however my subconscious obviously feels differently as I had a horror dream last night in which everything that could go wrong did go wrong.
In my dream I was in the bridal suite at the hotel getting my entourage of small children ready for the bridal party and was inexplicably unable to locate the small one's dress. Lovely fiance's mother was saying soothing words along the lines of allowing the small one to follow me down the aisle in vest and bloomers while I tore the room apart looking for them. This was followed by the venue manager throwing open the doors of the ballroom (where we are to be married) to reveal a church organ playing the bridal march. As my sleeping brain comprehended that we are not being married in church, the music suddenly shut off and was replaced by scrabbling sounds as the iPod (which should and will be playing our chosen song) failed followed by the sound of my mother getting to her feet and bursting into song.
I woke in terror and have spent the morning desperately going back over the wedding plans and writing reams of instructions for the venue manager in order to avoid such an occurrence. As I said yesterday on the phone to best friend, who is attending with her husband and four children under 7 (how does she do it?), I have to relax and accept that everything cannot possibly go to plan when the guest list includes 13 kids, three of them under 2. I also questioned her on the concept that it isn't possible to get drunk on your wedding day. Someone told me this before my first wedding back in 1996 and sure enough, I put away a large amount of gin and tonic plus wine and was still totally lucid and sober on that day. However she brought me back down to earth by saying 'if you drink a lot of wine, you will get pissed', and pointing out that on her own wedding day she vaguely remembers taking her stockings off in front of someone, but she can't remember who, she just knows it wasn't her husband.
I will be pacing myself with sparkling water.
In my dream I was in the bridal suite at the hotel getting my entourage of small children ready for the bridal party and was inexplicably unable to locate the small one's dress. Lovely fiance's mother was saying soothing words along the lines of allowing the small one to follow me down the aisle in vest and bloomers while I tore the room apart looking for them. This was followed by the venue manager throwing open the doors of the ballroom (where we are to be married) to reveal a church organ playing the bridal march. As my sleeping brain comprehended that we are not being married in church, the music suddenly shut off and was replaced by scrabbling sounds as the iPod (which should and will be playing our chosen song) failed followed by the sound of my mother getting to her feet and bursting into song.
I woke in terror and have spent the morning desperately going back over the wedding plans and writing reams of instructions for the venue manager in order to avoid such an occurrence. As I said yesterday on the phone to best friend, who is attending with her husband and four children under 7 (how does she do it?), I have to relax and accept that everything cannot possibly go to plan when the guest list includes 13 kids, three of them under 2. I also questioned her on the concept that it isn't possible to get drunk on your wedding day. Someone told me this before my first wedding back in 1996 and sure enough, I put away a large amount of gin and tonic plus wine and was still totally lucid and sober on that day. However she brought me back down to earth by saying 'if you drink a lot of wine, you will get pissed', and pointing out that on her own wedding day she vaguely remembers taking her stockings off in front of someone, but she can't remember who, she just knows it wasn't her husband.
I will be pacing myself with sparkling water.
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Swinging The Lead
Eleven-year-old son's successful integration into the new secondary school hit a hiccup yesterday when I received a text from his father (it was the kids' weekend with their Dad and he takes them to school on the Monday morning) informing me that son had 'cricked his neck and can hardly move'. I dutifully rang the school to inform them and then waited for an update from ex-husband's household as to son's condition. Eventually I heard from son's stepmum (so confusing all these relatives!) that she'd called the doctor out as he was in so much pain. At this point I bundled the toddler into the car and drove over there to see for myself. At the back of my mind was son's amazing oscar-winning ability to act sick at will.
On arriving there, the doctor had just left and stepmum informed me that son had pulled a muscle in his neck and it would take a couple of weeks to fully subside. Apparently he would need a few days off school and plenty of rest. Despite bowing to the doctor's greater medical knowledge I couldn't help noticing that son, though lying flat on the sofa, was still in full possession of the TV remote and immersed in 'My Name Is Earle'. As I watched he chuckled at the TV. Alarm bells began ringing.
After helping the poor invalid from the sofa and supporting him to my car, I drove the three of us back home and settled son in the lounge with a hot water bottle. The small one was enchanted to have him home with us for the day and pottered about the room. As the day wore on it became gradually clear to me that, in fact, there was very little wrong with him. He was miraculously still able to operate the laptop for example and claimed he can use the PS3 because it demands he sit up straight.
When I used to work, the children had to be dying before I would let them take a day off, however the knowledge that I am at home all day with the small one seems to have affected their immune systems because they claim to be sick far more often these days than they ever used to. Son has been dispatched back to school today on the basis that if he can sit at a desk with a laptop, he can sit at a desk in a classroom.
On arriving there, the doctor had just left and stepmum informed me that son had pulled a muscle in his neck and it would take a couple of weeks to fully subside. Apparently he would need a few days off school and plenty of rest. Despite bowing to the doctor's greater medical knowledge I couldn't help noticing that son, though lying flat on the sofa, was still in full possession of the TV remote and immersed in 'My Name Is Earle'. As I watched he chuckled at the TV. Alarm bells began ringing.
After helping the poor invalid from the sofa and supporting him to my car, I drove the three of us back home and settled son in the lounge with a hot water bottle. The small one was enchanted to have him home with us for the day and pottered about the room. As the day wore on it became gradually clear to me that, in fact, there was very little wrong with him. He was miraculously still able to operate the laptop for example and claimed he can use the PS3 because it demands he sit up straight.
When I used to work, the children had to be dying before I would let them take a day off, however the knowledge that I am at home all day with the small one seems to have affected their immune systems because they claim to be sick far more often these days than they ever used to. Son has been dispatched back to school today on the basis that if he can sit at a desk with a laptop, he can sit at a desk in a classroom.
Thursday, 10 September 2009
The First Week at Secondary School is a Success!
With the first week of his secondary education just about over, eleven-year-old son seems to be settling in well. The mile long walk to school resulted in his arriving home ten minutes or so after I myself got in from picking up nine-year-old daughter on the first two days. As I opened the door he fell in gasping for air and moaning that he was 'exhausted...need a drink...' The last two days however, he has been sitting on the wall waiting when we arrived back in a cheery mood and announced that he thinks the walk 'is doing me good'.
The lessons themselves have drawn a mixed bunch of reviews. He liked Science, as the clearly savvy teacher had picked as a first topic Forensic Detection, extremely interesting for the kids seeing as half of them are probably watching CSI regularly. He wasn't keen on Religious Studies, mentioning that the teacher had gone around the class one by one and it turned out that no one in the room believes in God. And I read his first effort in his English book 'About Me', which describes his home life. He mentions my divorce in the first sentence and goes on to say that he has two extra parents, one for his mum and one for his dad, and lots of extra siblings, four from Dad and two from Mum. Two of these six siblings are nine-year-old daughter, who has apparently been counted twice as she shares the same parents as him! All very confusing.
The only negative I've heard so far is that he 'doesn't get the maths' and when I questioned him further he said 'you have a sum and then they add in a letter n and I don't understand it!' Lovely fiance pointed out that it is called algebra, and I experienced a horror flashback to my own maths class, where my brain (clearly inherited by eleven-year-old son) struggled to grasp the concept. I comforted son with the statement that he won't be the first kid that has trouble with that, and neither will he be the last!
The lessons themselves have drawn a mixed bunch of reviews. He liked Science, as the clearly savvy teacher had picked as a first topic Forensic Detection, extremely interesting for the kids seeing as half of them are probably watching CSI regularly. He wasn't keen on Religious Studies, mentioning that the teacher had gone around the class one by one and it turned out that no one in the room believes in God. And I read his first effort in his English book 'About Me', which describes his home life. He mentions my divorce in the first sentence and goes on to say that he has two extra parents, one for his mum and one for his dad, and lots of extra siblings, four from Dad and two from Mum. Two of these six siblings are nine-year-old daughter, who has apparently been counted twice as she shares the same parents as him! All very confusing.
The only negative I've heard so far is that he 'doesn't get the maths' and when I questioned him further he said 'you have a sum and then they add in a letter n and I don't understand it!' Lovely fiance pointed out that it is called algebra, and I experienced a horror flashback to my own maths class, where my brain (clearly inherited by eleven-year-old son) struggled to grasp the concept. I comforted son with the statement that he won't be the first kid that has trouble with that, and neither will he be the last!
Monday, 7 September 2009
Less Than Four Weeks To Go... Aaargh!
After nine months of that lovely warm feeling directly resulting from the knowledge that lovely fiance loves me and my insane older kids enough to want to get married, it is now suddenly replaced by nerves and terror at the realisation that there are less than four weeks to go until the wedding. I still haven't found a pair of shoes I like, I haven't lost the last few pounds that would mean I can wear the delicate lace underwear rather than the magic knickers/ultimo bodysuit combo, and tomorrow I am booked in to go handbag shopping with my mother who can instantly bring me to the edge of my sanity with nothing more than a well-placed comment.
As a (dare-I-say-it) welcome diversion from all this, I have eleven-year-old son's first homework project to deal with. After his first three days at secondary school, he seems relieved that the onslaught of homework that he and his friends had hyped themselves up to expect has yet to materialise. I read his homework diary yesterday in order to sign and confirm that he'd completed all tasks set, and saw that of the two outstanding tasks one of them is for next week's English class and is to 'bring in a book or magazine'. No wonder the education system is on its knees.
The other outstanding task has now been added to my own 'to do' list. I found him on this very laptop on Friday in a savage mood because his Spanish homework (mildly impressed that he has Spanish on the curriculum) requires him to 'decorate Spanish exercise book with Spanish themed stuff', and in attempting to print vaguely Spanish pictures from the internet he realised (apparently for the first time) that our two year old printer does not print in colour. His insistence that 'everyone has a colour printer' was met by my own insistence that no they do not, and the argument reached a crescendo with his use of the below-the-belt 'Dad has got one'. At this point I am ashamed to say I degenerated into snarling fishwife mode and with my customary immaturity during these moments suggested that he do the homework at Dads' then.
As is usual after any loss of temper with elder son or daughter (less so with the small one as I seem to have more patience with children who can't yet talk) I beat myself up for the rest of the evening and tried to make up for my childish outburst and rubbish parenting skills by absurdly overcompensating with the homework assistance. This is why today I am going into town to the travel agent to pick up a couple of brochures for Spain, plus a roll of that sticky-backed plastic book cover stuff which my own mother never bought for me and which meant my French book at school was covered in kitchen clingfilm and looked absolutely rubbish next to the rest of the class's efforts. I will however restrain myself from actually cutting out and sticking the pictures on son's behalf, and will therefore still be able to kid myself that when I tick off this particular task in the homework diary it was completed by him!
As a (dare-I-say-it) welcome diversion from all this, I have eleven-year-old son's first homework project to deal with. After his first three days at secondary school, he seems relieved that the onslaught of homework that he and his friends had hyped themselves up to expect has yet to materialise. I read his homework diary yesterday in order to sign and confirm that he'd completed all tasks set, and saw that of the two outstanding tasks one of them is for next week's English class and is to 'bring in a book or magazine'. No wonder the education system is on its knees.
The other outstanding task has now been added to my own 'to do' list. I found him on this very laptop on Friday in a savage mood because his Spanish homework (mildly impressed that he has Spanish on the curriculum) requires him to 'decorate Spanish exercise book with Spanish themed stuff', and in attempting to print vaguely Spanish pictures from the internet he realised (apparently for the first time) that our two year old printer does not print in colour. His insistence that 'everyone has a colour printer' was met by my own insistence that no they do not, and the argument reached a crescendo with his use of the below-the-belt 'Dad has got one'. At this point I am ashamed to say I degenerated into snarling fishwife mode and with my customary immaturity during these moments suggested that he do the homework at Dads' then.
As is usual after any loss of temper with elder son or daughter (less so with the small one as I seem to have more patience with children who can't yet talk) I beat myself up for the rest of the evening and tried to make up for my childish outburst and rubbish parenting skills by absurdly overcompensating with the homework assistance. This is why today I am going into town to the travel agent to pick up a couple of brochures for Spain, plus a roll of that sticky-backed plastic book cover stuff which my own mother never bought for me and which meant my French book at school was covered in kitchen clingfilm and looked absolutely rubbish next to the rest of the class's efforts. I will however restrain myself from actually cutting out and sticking the pictures on son's behalf, and will therefore still be able to kid myself that when I tick off this particular task in the homework diary it was completed by him!
Friday, 4 September 2009
The Look Of The Blog is A Work In Progress!
I am currently attempting to make my blog look more like the delicious ones I keep coming across while reading through the carnival results, with reference to Insomniac Mummy's fab list of sites. However a little knowledge really is a dangerous thing so please bear with me while the blog looks like a mish-mash of styles and colours and it hurts your eyes to read it! Give me a month or so and I might have mastered it!!
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