Bank Holiday Thrills

We took the Chums to a local Steam Fair on Monday. I love a bit of Country Fair-ness, and this one certainly hit the spot. It had everything: overpriced fairground rides, dodgy crafts, hobbyists with their steam engines and tractors, delicious and greasy food from unsavoury looking characters in vans. Bliss.

A high point was the Catapult stall. 10 shots with a REAL, LETHAL catapult to try and hit a target. The prize? A real and slightly less lethal catapult of your very own. My brother gallantly attempted to win one, he stepped up to the mark, fired off a metal ball bearing towards the back of the tent and then ducked as the bloody thing ricocheted off the metal poles holding up the target and grazed the side of his face.

On chatting to the bloke running the stall, it transpired that he'd seen a stall like this the other week so bought himself a tent and some catapults to 'give it a go'.

'Hmm,' he mused, 'I maybe should have covered those poles with foam, what do you reckon? Also, I've lost a couple of hundred ball bearings, I think they're going through the back of the tent'.

I have visions of a pile of injured bodies piled up behind the tent. The languishing corpses of a hundred innocent Fair Goers, struck down in their prime by stray catapult bullets as they perused the stalls trying to choose between a badly drawn door plaque (Beware Of The Wife) or a dream catcher with a lop sided wolf woven into it.

Tragic.

What's not to love? Tractors, portaloos and caravans. Life doesn't get any better than this on a Bank Holiday...

#rantlockON

Yesterday I was a sobbing mess for most of the day.

Walking is now quite the issue, and turning over in bed is agony (WHY do I feel the need to turn over fifteen times a night?) After a misjudged comment from my Mum ('well, how are you going to get through the next four weeks?') I collapsed in a snivelling heap for the morning. You know when the tears start and then you can't stop it, and then everything anyone says just makes it worse? That.

I need positivity and 'it'll be ok'-ness, not the doom laden 'well, you'll have to give up work' comments I have been getting. Working is fine, looking after the mindees is not the hard bit. Breaking up World War III on an hourly basis with the Chums is harder, and they will be back at school next week. There is no point giving up work as the workload won't decrease by enough to justify not having an income. It's not rocket science. So stop suggesting it, loved ones, and start just metaphorically patting me on the head and saying 'there, there', which is what I actually need from you right now.

We had our scan on Thursday and have learned that a) he's definitely a boy and more importantly b) my placenta has moved out of the way (hurrah!), so the home birth plans are well and truly green for go. I am 37 weeks as of tomorrow so it really could be any day now. Although the Chums were both 40+10 so realistically he's likely to stay put for a while longer. He's very comfortable, even if I'm not. I'll keep you posted. 

A slightly squished but fairly clear picture of his face...

xx

Nesting

My house is really tidy. Don't all fall off your chairs in shock though, I'm sure it's all part of being very pregnant.

Yesterday I decluttered downstairs, including cupboards that haven't been opened for three years, the kitchen and my desk. I was ruthless. I'll probably regret this when I can't find some VITAL piece of paperwork that looked like junk mail.

This morning I cleared out the airing cupboard and discovered that we own eight different duvet sets in varying sizes, three tablecloths and LOADS of flat sheets. I have never used a flat sheet in my life so I have no idea where they came from, but they will be useful for giving birth on so that was a good job well done. I wondered why the cupboard was so full, I could have sworn it only contained about three towels and a spare pillow.

So, the house is sparkling and spotless, the Chums are at the beach with Grandma and Grandad and my mindee is sleeping for what will probably be another hour. Time to lie on the sofa and eat biscuits, I think.

As an aside, baby Michael Flatley (now THERE'S a scary mental picture <shudder>) is Riverdancing away like a mad thing lately. My abdomen is like something out of a horror film, so much so that one of the school mums recoiled in revulsion at a party on Sunday and exclaimed, 'oh my GOD it's moving!'. Er, yes, it does that.

 It's all very lovely and comforting to feel him flexing away in there but it is very discombobulating when I'm trying to speak or read or concentrate and he batters me from the inside. Oof.


xx

Random acts of kindness and other lovely stuff.

Recently I have been overwhelmed by both small and large acts of sweetness and generosity from friends, family and total strangers.

I have had gifts in the post from amazing far away friends just to cheer me up. Gestures large and small from friends nearby. And to top it all off this week, a BIG thing (to me) from a perfect stranger that has just about reduced me to a hormonal gibbering wreck of gratitude.

I hope I can do enough to 'pay it forward'. I feel very cushioned and coddled by the universe at the moment, lots of nice things keep happening.

Tra la la.

IN OTHER NEWS I've had a lovely day with the Chums and the mindees, they all did Big Art on the patio with chalks, which the rain has now sadly washed away, there's been minimal fighting and the toddlers have been adorable as ever.

Both mindees were sitting on a chair together like two bookends (they are very similar but completely unrelated), babbling away in toddler speak and CACKLING like drains at whatever they were telling each other. It was fascinating. Although of course the minute I tried to catch them on camera they stopped. I think they were plotting to take over the world. They should enlist The Pie into their schemes, I'm sure that's her aim in life. If she had a moustache she would twirl it.

Oh, and randomly, here is a lovely photo of my wonderful parents, just because I saw it earlier and it made me happy:

Peace and love, amigos xx

Laziness = GREAT. Enforced laziness on the other hand SUCKS ARSE.

<sigh>

I am a huge fan of doing very little. I make it an art form most of the time, in fact. Given the choice between doing something constructive and sitting on my bottom watching tv, well, you get the idea.

But today I have WANTED to do loads. I'm in a sort of nesting mood but without the useful bursts of energy that usually coincide. I'm also a massive control freak, I dont' know if I mentioned that.

So I have had to endure watching the Rock God weed the garden, do the washing, cook dinner, generally bustle himself around the house  doing it all ever so slightly wrong and not as quickly as I would have done it.

I kept getting pangs of guilt and uselessness so tried to help, only to be told firmly to sit down and relax and that he had it all under control. Which he really, really did. He's done a fantastic job and I've done precisely nothing.

But I'm bored. And ratty.

And there's still a really long list of things that I want to do, none of which I'm allowed to (hoovering and putting the old pc up in the loft, for eg).

I'll console myself with Ben and Jerry's Phish Food.

S'mores!

So, to continue my theme of how flipping great weekends are, I shall tell you all about Saturday.

We were pootling around in the garden, I was playing with my new toys (car seat and attachments and coccoon for my Phil and Ted's pushchair, I am becoming quite the pram hun) and the Rock God was mowing the lawn while the Chums pulled up dandelions.

I love my garden, it's a bit of a wilderness but it's getting there, and I love the weekends when we do a big lot of work on it and it looks like a 'proper' garden. This lasts for about a week before the grass and weeds take over again.

Then my parents arrived for a visit. My parents live about 200 yards down the road so we see a lot of them.

We all sat in the sunshine and put the world to rights for a bit. Then we decided that the weather was so fine we should BBQ back at my parents'. The Chums went on ahead to set up the paddling pool while my Dad lit the barbie.

When the Rock God and I got there, the Boy was already soaked through to his pants (he would find water in the Sahara and soak himself, he has a gift) and the Pie was being a gymnast extraordinaire on the climbing frame.

We had a lovely meal of sausages, steak and pork chops and then my brother came up with the idea of making S'mores on the fire.

S'mores. The food of the gods. Something my brother picked up in Canada a few weeks ago.

You put chocolate on a biscuit and put it by the fire to melt. Then you toast a marshmallow on a skewer. THEN you sandwich it all together with another biscuit. It's gooey, it's melty, it's sheer artery hardening joy. 

This is a very neat and well put together version. Ours were nothing like this.

So that was pretty epic. Then we let the Chums run around with the hose for a while under the premise of 'watering the garden'. I wish I'd taken pictures because they are just bonkers. Two kids and a hosepipe = hours of fun.

Such a fantastic day.

Topped off this morning by a completely undisturbed lie in until 9.05. Oh yes. Life is sweet.

Weekends and how I love them

I really, properly, count the days until Friday. I am living for the weekends, I LOVE them at the moment.

I get to Thursday and I can start to TASTE it. It's the not having to go anywhere-ness, not being responsible for anyone else's children-ness, having the Rock God around all day-ness of them, I think.

I especially love weekends like this one where we have NO PLANS at all other than pottering, finishing off odd jobs and mooching.

There is some stuff to go up in the loft, the lawns need doing and the Chums' clothes need sorting through. Even better, I can delegate ALL of that!

They are watching The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (good film, although they have butchered the storyline a bit). The Rock God is in the kitchen tidying up and putting the washing on. I have just had a lovely long soak in the bath and read my book.

The wonderful BoF (top banana friend and all round good-egg) sent me some perfume and a card in the post as a treat to cheer me up after my epic pregnancy moan. The very lovely A left me a bag full of towels to give birth on and instructions to rest and look after myself while she's away on holibibs. K is also regularly checking in from HER holiday to tell me to take it easy. My Dad keps sending me little texts and emails to check after my well-being.  I am being thoroughly well looked after and I am feeling very spoilt and special.

I thought you might like to see some photos of my rather gorgeous family, and so as I'm feeling all full of cheer and good feeling, here are my favourite recent photos of the Chums:

Life is good.

Ponies and Football school.

Like the obvious suckers that we are, we have committed ourselves wholeheartedly to the idea of 'extra curricular' stuff for the chums.

Fortunately for our bank balance, the Rock God is a musician, so piano and guitar lessons are provided at home.

But somehow we have been roped in to riding lessons and football club, alongside Beavers and Cubs.

So this means the chums do an activity EVERY day of the week. It's exhausting. And expensive. And, lets face it, a little bit boring. I mean, yes, I get all the joy of seeing my beloved progeny engaged in the activity they adore, blah blah blah, but seriously, standing in a muddy field on a wet Saturday morning has NEVER been my idea of fun. And horses? Meh.

Legoland!

Ok, that was really REALLY moany, that last post. So I'll post about something fun instead.

Last Friday we went to Legoland and it was AWESOME.

We went en masse: me, the Rock God, The Boy, The Pie and my toddler mindee. My parents came (it was my Dad's birthday) and my sister and her nearly two year old, and RG's brother.

So lots of us.

We obviously picked a good day to go, the weather looked shit in the morning so perhaps that's why. But it was perfect. Not too hot and not windy or wet or cold or miserable.

The longest queue we had was 45 minutes. How cool is that? That was for the Laser Raiders ride. The kids loved it. So did RG. He took it all very seriously, aiming his laser weapon at the Lego Mummies like a pro. Rather fabulously, on the way out there was a queue-less uppy downy fairground type ride for the bigger children, which made their day (and made me want to puke just watching it).

Then we grabbed some disgustingly delicious Hot Dogs and Nachos from a stall. Oh that was good. And not too pricey.

We stuffed our faces while watching the Pirate show in the harbour, brilliantly done and a hit with all of us.

We split up for a while after that so the bigger kids could do some bigger rides, and we took the little ones on the gentler attractions. I love that Legoland has so many things the smaller ones can do, it's by far my favourite theme park because of that.

I totally loved the Boating School ride, as did the toddlers. What's not to love about a scenic boat ride surrounded by Lego animals? The kids went off and did the Log Flume and the Driving School. Small kerfuffle when The Boy had a meltdown because he wanted an overpriced laminated driving licence, but he got over it quickly and we went off to go on the Atlantis ride.

WHICH WAS BRILLIANT! You go 'underwater' in a submarine (the bottom is submerged) and see huge rays, sharks, clownfish, mermaids, treasure, oh it was FAB.

And then on the way out they have more aquarium-y bits to interact with. We were very impressed.

Oh, and the best bit was that it was all paid for with Tesco vouchers. I think we woudl have resented paying £40 EACH for entry, but as it is it cost £13pp in vouchers, so well worth it.

A jolly good day out with the chums.

Pregnancy and how shit I am at it.

I was so horrendously broody for ages. We got married in August last year and after waiting a decent four months decided to just go for it.

After all, with two already and a plethora of everyone else's children in and out of the house all the time, we reckon we're pretty much experts at this parenting lark, right?

The Rock God came into our lives when The Pie was three and The Boy was four, so he's keen to do the baby thing for the first time. He is an absolutely fantastic parent, much better than me in fact. He is motivated and patient and laid back and fun. A good counterpoint to my Benign Neglect style of parenting.

So. It turns out we are massively fertile and after just one month of frantic shagging, the job is done and I am knocked up. Hurrah!

The vomiting started immediately. Oh the joy. And the fatigue kicked in soon after. All I did for the first couple of months was cry, sleep and puke. A bit like being a newborn myself really.

We consoled ourselves with the promise of the second trimester being the bit where I glow. Except the second trimester turned out to be the bit where the bone crushing agony of SPD/PGP kicked in.

Heard of it? I hadn't, really. I'd had some niggles towards the end of my pregnancy with The Pie, and apparently that was the start of it. It gets worse with subsequent pregnancies. Oh joy. Basically my pelvis is splitting apart at the seams. It's as much fun as it sounds, and judging by the packed out physio session I attended, it's pretty common too.

As advised I invested in a support belt (useless), dutifully started the exercises they prescribed and bought a birthing ball to sit on. And got my head around the pain (sort of) and got on with it.

And now here we are at 35+5. I am so happy to be having a baby, really. We have been told he's a boy, we've picked out names, we speak to him and sing to him. I've decorated and bought nursery equipment in a frenzy of nesting. The whole family sit with their hands on my tummy, feeling his MASSIVE kicks and punches and rumbles, which is lovely.

But I am secretly (well ok, not so secretly) SO miserable. I can't sleep, I can barely walk, I am so tired I feel sick. I am ratty as hell. I can't drink coffee (gone right off it) and even wine has lost its allure. The Rock God is pissing me off through no fault of his own on a daily basis, poor man, not to mention the kids (is it the end of the holidays yet?). The adorable kicks and punches FUCKING HURT. My pelvis feels like it's made of glass and shattering slowly. I can't turn over in bed without searing agony, and I'm sweating like a disgusting pig.

I told you I was moaning.

I'll cheer up in a minute.

So....a blog.

I thought I'd make this a little introductory post. In the interests of politeness, and all that.

Well, there's me, I'm Sam. I'm very pregnant and mostly whinging about it. More on that later.

Then there's my husband, a mate of mine christened him the Rock God so we'll use that here.

We have two children, The Pie is a seven year old machiavellian genius who is plotting to take over the world. She likes princesses and violence. The Boy is nearly nine and has inherited his mother's innate ability to procrastinate and avoid hard work. He likes anything with a screen.

Then there's the one I'm incubating. Blank canvas so far, although judging by the kicks he's going to be an Irish Dancer.

We have a big, mad extended family who mostly live very nearby. I'm sure they'll feature in my posts too.

I'm not sure at all how interesting anyone else will find this but we'll give it a go.