Things My Mother Taught Me....

You only get one Mum, right? I know there are all kinds of Mum's out there, good, bad and indifferent, but I've been blessed with my lovely Mum.

She's a strong Yorkshire woman, from good stock. She's not afraid to speak her mind, not afraid of hard work and not afraid to belt out a tune or impart a pearl of wisdom here and there. 

She once made me laugh talking about a friend of hers who'd been looking after her elderly and unwell Mother in Law, she was telling me how she felt bad for her, that it must be awful to be so responsible for someone and to have to care for them 24-7, in a never ending cycle. I pointed out to her that that's exactly what she does for my older brother. He has learning difficulties and lives at home and needs care, attention, time and constant effort. When we first think about entering into Motherhood we imagine our children spreading their wings and flying the nest at 20, say? Maybe 18 if they go to university. Then we get some semblance of life back right? We can enjoy all the things we put on hold to raise our precious bundles. Then we can go on lovely holidays, treat ourselves however we please. Not my Mum. Her commitment to being a Mother goes way beyond that, it's constant. Never ending. And she does it so lightly, like its nothing.   To her it's just everyday life, it's just what you do. Nothing is more important than her children. She amazes me.

And like every good Mum she's taught me lessons along the way. To name but a few they are: 

1. Whatever your child has done, however naughty they've been, whatever trouble they're in you defend them first and give them "what for" later. Growing up always knew that my Mum had my back.

2. Always cover your bottom. We're not talking figuratively here, you should always have your bottom covered with your clothing. Leggings with your bum hanging out are a no, no, no.

3. Don't be drawn. People love to gossip. People love to put others down for entertainment. Don't be coaxed into those sorts of conversation, never say anything about soneone that you wouldn't be happy to say directly to that person's face. 

4. Say it like it is. If someone asks your opinion give it kindly, but tell it straight. Don't mince your words, if someone is behaving badly there's nothing wrong with saying "I think you're being quite rude, is it intentional?" and directness usually shuts people up. 

5. You dont need to spend a fortune to look nice. Dress well when you're out. Change clothes into your scruffy stuff when you're home. It's doubles the life of your wardrobe and avoids issues with baby slobber. 

6. Give and accept compliments. If someone looks lovely, tell them. If someone compliments you, thank them. Resist "oh this old thing...."

7. Seek the positive. There is a silver lining somewhere. Don't be the sort of person who constantly complains about how rubbish their life is, get your head down and work hard to change things for the better.

8. Don't spend money you don't have. If you want it, save for it. You'll love it more because you earnt it. 

9. Never leave the house without mints and tissues. If it doesn't have mints and tissues in its handbag it's not my Mother!!

10. Whisky cures tummy ache. Eventually. 

Thank you Mum, I've learnt my lessons well. I'm so proud of you, you're fantastic, you really are.

My lovely Mum, Christmas 2012

Mostly.....#5

I've been a busy little bee of late! And I haven't done a little round up post for ages, so here goes....

As I may have mentioned, and as you may have gathered my favourite friend in the whole world got married on Friday. We had rubbish weather, but a lovely day!! She looked beautiful. And for as long as I live I will never forget how funny it is when a bride in a big dress needs a wee!!! I think, personally, what I will remember the most from that day is how fabulously Biscuit behaved. She looked adorable and I was just so, so, proud of her.

Proud Mama

On Saturday it was our Village's Open Garden weekend. Essentially people with really very lovely gardens open them up for other villagers to have a nosey. I often feel a little weird about this and traipsing around strangers gardens can seem a little intimate, but it is very interesting! I helped my Dad out for about half an hour sitting on the gate of a beautiful garden, taking pennies and asking questions. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. 

My Mum goes to the local Art Group and they had an exhibition in the church of their paintings.  Because Biscuit goes along with Mum during the school holidays I suggested that she paint something for the exhibition.  She was thrilled.  She painted a little picture of a garden, with some birds, flowers and butterflies.  In the middle she drew a jail where the naughty babies go.  No comment!!!  Anyway, because she did so well, my Mum bought her a "prize" for entering.  She gave her a little pink bracelet and Biscuit was pleased as punch.  She wore it all day and told everyone we bumped into that she'd won First Prize!  It was the only "prize" but I'm not telling her that!

There was also a great Farmers Market taking place on our Common to coincide with Open Gardens. It would have been rude not to take a look.... We bought Homemade Damson Chutney, bunches of wild garlic, a bag of local onions and a big bunch of rhubarb. Lovely!! 

On Sunday we went up to the allotment, planted some carrot, parsnip and spring onion seeds. We earthed up our potatoes (they have to be buried to stop them going green) and did a spot of tidying. All very productive!

After that we went for a lovely walk up the hill behind our house. We allowed Biscuit a well earned trip to the swings on our way home which she enjoyed. She usually bumps into a little chum and has a chat. She's a sociable creature.

We used some of the wild garlic to slow roast with some lamb shoulder. Our whole house smelt amazing! Then we used our rhubarb to make a crumble, a proper Sunday!! 

On Monday I had to work in the morning, some overtime, which is always handy. As I work part time, working on a Bank Holiday doesn't phase me, though I can understand why those who work full time treasure those days off. I'm happy to help out. It was busy and exciting. 

When I got home we had bacon sandwiches. We pottered around for a while then all went for another walk around a local nature reserve. The weather over the weekend had been such a contrast to Friday's, it seemed silly not to make the most of it! We saw Dragonflies, butterflies and some horses out on a hack.

When we returned home Mr Husband watched the football and the rest of us enjoyed tea and blueberry pancakes in the garden with Mum, Dad and my brother. 

I've had a really lovely long weekend, spent enjoying friends and family. I hope you've had a great time too. 

Love, love

Mostly...#2

Thought I'd do a little round up of what's been happening in my neck of the woods:

• Mr Husband Sir has now recovered from the evil sick bugs and I'm hoping that we're all on the road to recovery. I am so bored of germs! As soon as this snot disappears I am determined to stay fighting fit...

• That Baby came home from school Friday beaming with pride at receiving a special award sticker from her Headteacher. I was a proud Mumma. We asked her what it was for and she replied "Sitting still and keeping quiet" . Hey, you've gotta take praise wherever you can get it, right? *despair*

• I'm planning my first night on the tiles since "This Baby" arrived in a couple of weeks. Some friends from work and I are plotting cocktails and amusing dancing, I am ridiculously excited, it's all in the anticipation for me!

• We don't "do" Valentines here, it makes me wretch. Love how Husband checks every year that I haven't irrationally changed my mind. This year I'm going to a WI meeting instead. I'm dead looking forward to it, we have a speaker coming to talk about Haute Couture who worked in some of the big fashion houses. In our little village? How cool is that?

• Last night we joined my Ma and Pa in their extension for a really lovely meal cooked by Pa. I didn't picture the starter, it was too delicious and didn't last long: Brie cheesecake. Amazing! Followed by quail, followed by posh trifle (retro) followed by coffee and white port (who knew?) flippin YUMMERS all of it, thanks Pa xxxx

That's about it really..... How are tricks with you?

Loft

The loft  - enter at your own risk....

I used to mock my Dad about his loft, saying it was Steptoe's Shop up there. It IS like Steptoe's shop up there to be fair. For those who aren't familiar Steptoe & Son was a British comedy broadcast in the 1960's and 70's about a pair of rag and bone men with a shop filled to the rafters with useless rubbish.

Our loft is totally squeezed full, every conceivable space is packed. What's up there you may well ask. The only answer to that would be EVERYTHING. You name it, there's one in the loft. It would probably be quicker to list what was not somewhere in Dad's loft. We're not just talking your bog standard Christmas tree, boxes of decorations, that sort of thing. I swear he could easily kit out an entire other house with all the clobber up there.

It particularly amuses me because outwardly my dear old Pa is an incredibly neat and organised man. The loft is his Achilles heel, the guilty secret that would badly let down his public image....and I know it's there MWAHAHAHA!

I sometimes lay in bed at night worrying that the weight of the lift contents will crumble the ceiling onto our sleeping bodies, and that we'll be found, weeks later in a catacomb like tomb made up of waste paper baskets, dog beds, train sets and old cheque book stubs. I used to complain like mad that he needed to get it sorted, well not any more!

Before Christmas (expensive wedding present) microwave inexplicable broke. It may have had something to do with me snapping off an important looking piece of plastic from the door with my dressing gown sleeve (it was EARLY) but I haven't confessed to that happening so it must have been Mr Husband Sir's fault. Ahem.

I recounted our tale of woe (well, part of it) to my Dad, who said nothing. Went up to the loft, and came down minutes later with a replacement microwave. What a star!

When the kettle gave up on life (limescale this time, not me) he produced from the loft a choice of not one, but two alternative kettles.

On Thursday our lounge lamp passed away. We changed bulbs, fuses and hours of surgery passed in vain. I girded myself for the thought that the corner of our sitting room would from now on be a dark and soulless place. My Pa, in respectful silence left me alone with my thoughts.

He returned, from the loft, with an identical lamp that I did not know existed, this is less weird than it sounds, he gave us the lamp originally, and used to have three the same, he hasn't been cloning our furniture for emergencies. Anyway he lit up the room once again, and quietly retreated to the East Wing (the extension).

It turns out my lovely Dad is not a secret hoarder, or a lunatic of any kind. The reality is that he is SO organised and SO prepared for any twists, turns and minor mishaps that may occur, he has a whole loft full of contingency plans so we don't have to suffer.

I love that man.  And I am never mocking his Steptoe loft again.

So which are you?  Hoarder or chucker?  Can you part with what someday might be just what you need?  Do you plan for what might happen, or go with whatever comes along?  Is there anyone else out there with a loft full of just-in-case?

Stop saying bell end to the Sky man!

***Disclaimer: this post contains mild smut.  Those of a weak disposition may wish to avert their eyes***





You're still reading aren't you?  You saucy minx!

Ok, my husband says I have "no social filter", that's just a posh way of saying that I don't know when to shut up. He's right of course. Apparently the second time we met I asked if he was gay. I based my assumption on the fact he was wearing a set of wooden beads and that he had slightly camp hands. Ridiculous stereotyping, I know. You see, it would have been far more sensible to think it, but not say it, but it seems I'm just not capable of that.  I may also have had a couple.....I'd had a couple the first time we met as well, so many couples in fact that I don't actually remembering meeting him at all. He likes to make a big deal out if this fact, saying he obviously wasn't very memorable. But at least I didn't say anything ridiculous that time, my life could have turned out very differently.

My mouth tends to run away with me when I get nervous. For some strange reason I somehow ended up doing an impression of a person falling over at the school gates earlier, I don't even know how it happened, one minute I'm having a sane and rational conversation, the next I'm wobbling around like a delirious clown.  My mind panics while I think "I don't know what to say, I don't know what to say, say ANYTHING, make 'em laugh and it'll be fine"  and then it comes out.  Usually the worst possible, most inappropriate thing I could possibly say plops out of my mouth whilst silence falls and the eyes turn towards me, oh god the eyes....

Before we moved here I had a bizarre conversation with my Dad. He rang me, fairly early in the morning, and  we had one of the strangest conversations I've ever had in my life. At the time he was obsessing about where the Sky dish would be placed once we'd moved into the house we now share.  He was about to get the exterior walls painted and was concerned about the wiring being visible.

During this conversation my dear old Pa said "bell end" at least six times.  I'm not sure if the term bell end is universal, but just for the avoidance of doubt, we're talking male anatomy here.  Willies.  Specifically the ends of willies. Oh yes.  The first time he said it I let it pass, thinking he'd made some sort of conversational balls up (excuse the pun), the second and third time I was dearly hoping he just wouldn't say it again.  From then onwards I was so mortified that I hadn't said something sooner I couldn't bring myself to point it out.

He was using it as a term to describe the end section of our house, where the overhanging roof meets the walls.  Now it may be the correct term for this area, I don't know, but that's not the first thing any ordinary person thinks of when someone says bell end.

It felt like a ticking time bomb was about to go off, my Dad was INTENT on instructing the Sky engineer to strap any visible wiring under his bell end so no one could see it.  The Sky bloke was then going to think my Dad was either a nut case, or a pervert, probably both and then punch him, quite hard, in the face.  It was the golden shower conversation all over again (another story, it involves old ladies, rose bushes and being told that nobody is that disgusting and I have an overactive imagination, still a sore point, nuff said).  I HAD to stop him from having that conversation or he'd be a laughing stock.  Eventually I decided the best course of action was to consult my Mother, I located her delicately perched on the sofa in a room filled with builders, electricians, painters and the like. I cautiously and (as politely as I could) explained the situation to her using language that she could understand (no graphic imagery), she nodded sagely, and from her seat bellowed at the top of her voice "Kate says you mustn't say bell end to the Sky man - it means a man's penis"

No social filter, it's genetic.  Not my fault.

Ever happened to you?  Please say yes....

We are, We are Ham and Cheese

I suppose our set up is a little strange. We're a family of four who live glued onto my Mum, Dad and Brother. We don't share a house exactly, but we do have an interconnecting door known as (imaginatively) "The Door".

We moved here this time last year and Mum and Dad moved from the main part of the house, where they'd lived for twenty years into the newly constructed extension. The East Wing. Apparently living so closely with your extended family is very continental and mostly it works, it really does. But some days, oh, some days....

Living like this is good for us because we could probably never afford to buy our own house. We rented for years and whilst I've loved every little place we've had together I always had a niggling feeling at the back of my mind that the rug might be pulled from under our feet without warning and we'd be homeless.

Living the way we do also means our rent and bills cost less, although we still pay a fair whack, we get much more space for our money. Way more than we could afford on our own. We also get inbuilt babysitters, good company, someone to hold the baby whilst we just nip off and do a little job and we never run out of tinned tomatoes/butter/eggs/etc.

I'm not so sure how much they get out of this arrangement in comparison to us. But that really is a testament to how generous my folks are. They'd literally give us everything they had to make sure we're ok. Wow. And I love them for it.

But when they sneakily use the washing machine when it's my day, oooooh, grrrrr :)