Tag Archives: PostAWeek

Guts bus!?!


My daughter, Lori, told me that it’s time I wrote up a blog post with some of the latest and most entertaining searches leading could-be readers to my blog.

So, for Lori. :-D

It’s quite clear why they landed here:

sarsm effeicieny ;-)
101 ways to embarrass
confused memory loss always tired
be prepared funny poems
mr adhd mr men
looking forward humour
adventures of a house wife
poem wobbly belly
day in the life of a popular girl

I love it when searchers pose a direct question to google:

is ritalin a strong medicine?
why is my dog falling over and banging into things
what does love mean to me
are road runners, rabbits, and most rodents adhd?
what is my favourite word
does customer service exist in germany?
do children with adhd who are on ritalin still need to use hi fi system?
is jodi sta. maria’s son have an adhd?
the tomato has sugar ?

Even the one word ones can be funny:

wellies
laundriness
mamadizastre

I suspect some inquirers however, leave bitterly disappointed:

embarrassing massage moments
blog by a teenage girl about life
teenage toes
older women in gymslips
germany mama porno
date blog
spa humor
hot and bothered
soaked
typical life of a russian teenage girls
funny poems about the red carpet

There seems to be an obsession:

man muscle
muscle men 2011
(thirties or forties or fifties) musclemen

Some searches are slightly disturbing:

musclemen torture
my husband doesn’t love me on ritalin or off
make things change
hairy leg blog
use a doormat to kill a rat
get revenge on a guy who broke my heart
guts bus
i hate my existence blog
i should just not speak ever

Some of my searchers on the other hand, are particularly cool:

not in denial
we kissed and there were fireworks
head no go
in denial about toothache
busybodies who think they are better than you
do gooder dont do good
stuck in my yang
Clap your hands and sing hallelujah notes

What???

sarsm un animal
escalator on trolley prohibited
pictures of bunker beds for kids in mother’s pride
alternative to however
we’re sorry, but your form is missing a required field. please try again. heineken
funny poem on there’s a rat in my tummy
act of claiming within false pretences
simon pegg pampas grass
never sure (I’ll have you know, I’m quite decisive)
doldrum the bottom of the mountain
eurovison dont make it my shop
straight teeth poem
waiting rather impatientle for 16.30 to go home
fresh bread tannoy announcements
pregnant pregnancy complications abnormal positive test results

And finally:

itriedbeingtasteful

Feet

Don’t forget to pack your toothbrush


If you decide to go on a self-catering holiday with Mr Fix-It and four children then you have to be organized.

You have to remember everything.

I remembered: four different types of toothpaste, three sorts of mouthwash, toothpicks, five electric toothbrushes, and one small person’s use-up-some-of-your-own-excess-energy hand-held brush. I even remembered a cup for rinsing.

But I forgot the toothbrush charger.

Well, that’s not strictly true.

I remembered a toothbrush charger. But the wrong toothbrush charger. Meaning only one of the five electric toothbrushes had the possibility of being charged, while we were away.

No matter.

I had already thought to charge each individual toothbrush fully before setting off.

So that they should last the week.

Except on the drive to Geneva, for a one night stopover with friends, one of the toothbrushes got accidentally pressed.

We listened to it attempting to clean the other brushes.

We listened to the life slowly trickle and hiccup out of it.

Of course, it was the mother brush.

While planning our holiday I had tried to think of every possible eventuality in terms of packing.

Indeed, had we been stopped and searched at either the Swiss or the French border the customs officers would have had a field day discovering the likes of: sun block and woolly hats, oven gloves, candles, a torch, bin liners, anti-histamine, washing powder, a corkscrew, nail polish remover, 17 pens, sellotape, a happy birthday sign, salt, a sewing kit (you know those travel ones you ‘take with you’ after an overnight stay in a hotel), a full every-type-of-conceivable-possible-emergency first aid kit. And naturally, the obligatory cuddly toy.

I could only have watched from the sidelines as they chortled at my analness.

However, on my return journey I could have politely informed them that we had in fact used all of the afore-mentioned items.

What with our late night walk. A birthday. Pizza. A lot of washing. Several medical and accidental incidents.

And a few *hic* bottles of wine.

Yet, despite my careful thought and attention to detail, I could not have imagined (not in a zillion years) that my husband, would, during his stay, have been deflated by the fact that we had no pliers in our luggage.

Yep.

That’s right.

We broke the washing machine.

And poor Mr Fix-It had to fix it with a mere screwdriver that I’d last minutely rammed in my rucksack.

Three in the bed (and the middle one said…)


I have spent the night trapped in-between two lovely men.

I am exhausted.

NO! Not like that!

I’m married.

One of them was my husband.

And the other my had-a-nightmare thus need-a-cuddle son.

I lay there. All night. Sandwiched in the middle.

Mostly awake.

Because I really, really, really, really needed to pee.

But couldn’t work out a way to remove the filling from the sandwich without waking up one of the slices.

I did attempt a slithering-in-a-snake-like-fashion-out-of-the-bottom-of-the-quilt manoeuvre. But any slight movement apparently initiated the exact same movement from my seemingly sleeping son.

If, say, you’d been a fly on the ceiling, I’m sure you could have mistaken us for synchronized bed-movers/shakers.

And any slight brush against my light sleeping husband and he’s awake in an instant. I know that from experience. I’ve even managed to wake him from my dreams at times. The slightest waving… OK slapping arm and he’s sitting bolt upright in bed snorting, “What?!?”

So I lay still and contemplated the effects on my kidneys.

And admired the power of my bladder after having had four children.

There’s something to be said for four Caesareans.

Though trampolining is still out of the question…

I digress.

Again.

Finally the youngest of us awoke. Refreshed.

And I have visited the Water Closet.

What really needs to happen now, is that I go back to bed and am intoxicated by that lovely thing called sleep on this beautiful (but cold?!?) October Sunday morning.

Good Morning! Goodnight!

Night terror


I’ve been chased out of my bed by a shitty mosquito.

It’s been buzzing around my head, threatening to fulfil its vampire instincts the minute I drop off.

I know where it’s planning to leave me with a great big spot. On my face. Which I will then, of course, have an allergic reaction to, resulting in me growing an extra head.

I’ve tried informing it that I really need my beauty sleep. My husband and I have a once in a lifetime date on Saturday night and I’m already starting to put him off with my red, shiny, dripping nose. My loud sneezes. And the hoarse throat that has been coming and going for the past week.

Begging has done me no good. The evil parasite just zoomed by my head some more.

So now I’m going with the ‘open the bedroom door and leave the hall light on’ plan. In the hope of tricking the merciless one into thinking there are even more bloodsucking opportunities out there. Somewhere over the rainbow. Or even, beyond that light.

Are mosquitoes even attracted to light?

Could just be moths…

Do you agree with the death penalty?


WordPress asked:

Do you agree with the death penalty? Is it ever right to kill? And under what circumstances? Is it worth the risks of being wrong?

Yes, actually, I do.

And my circumstances are extremely specific. I agree with the death penalty for someone who has murdered more than one person.

You may now wonder, but why not for someone who has been proven to have committed murder once? A fair question. I think that there can be a lot of reasons for a one-off killing. A constantly abused wife. Self-preservation. Jealousy. Financial hardship (a gun going off in a robbery, for example). Snapping over because of psychological problems.

I believe these people should be punished if deemed necessary but also be helped so they have the possibility to one day be a valuable member of the community again.

But a person who repeatedly takes the life of another, in my mind does not deserve to have life themselves. They have forfeited that right by their own actions.

To allow them to live puts the public and also other prisoners and prison workers at risk.

Keeping them in prison, at the tax-payers expense, for the rest of their lives, for me, is not the correct answer.

I also think that the families of the murder victims deserve closure.

They deserve to know that what they have to live with, no one else will go through at that perpetrators hands.

A friend of mine was murdered. He went to a concert, happy, free. He left his friends to nip to the loo. He did not return.

He was stabbed by a ‘high’ teenager in an unprovoked attack.

The perpetrator got life imprisonment, which in Scotland means that he could already be out on parole.

I hope that he’s had therapy and has turned his life around. That he’s suffered the consequences of his actions and now wants to make a go of his life.

But were he to kill again, I would want him quite simply, deleted.

*Wherever you are Colin, I hope you have found peace. You may be gone, but you are not forgotten.*

This message will self-destruct in 5,4,3…


Be afraid.

Be very afraid.

You have been experiencing a drought.

Meaning: I have been enduring a lack of opportunity for outpouring.

Thus I have been gathering data.

Thinking thoughts.

Analyzing absurdities adventures.

Taking notes.

Mental notes.

OK, some are scattered around on little bits of paper.

All around.

It’s a bloody mess.

*Organized chaos.*

You have been experiencing a drought.

Await a flood.

In the near future.

You have been warned…

Squeezing it all in


“Mama, guess what I’m thinking, it starts with pffff… pffff… pffff…!”

Is how my week began.

“Fish? Flipper? Fin? Frog?”

Sat on the loo, surrounded by water, I took some inspiration.

Solemn head shakes proved my inabilities as a mind reader.

I thought further afield.

“Fun? Fire? Feather? Film?”

To more shakes.

After a few more desperate attempts including, “Feet?” and “Fly?” I gave up.

Com-pu-ter!!!”

It really set the pointer for the week. Indeed, it describes my life. I live in a state of constant confusion.

In my disorganised over-stretched totally bloody knackered flustered condition, I have failed miserably and am therefore bringing you my 101 challenges update two whole weeks late.

I’m sure you’ll forgive me when you learn I have actually achieved quite a lot. Especially considering my current somewhat overwrought status. (But then again I have used up four full weeks instead of two?!?)

I’ve been marching on with the film challenge. I’ve watched True Grit (a thumbs up for that one), Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (who can’t resist a bit of Johnny Depp?), Igor (fortunately, I slept through the middle bit, but I’m still counting it, after putting up with the torment, yes, it’s that bad), Treasure of Silver Lake (1962) and Winnetou 1. You’re probably thinking what? with the last two. They’re old German westerns and inspired by the fact that we took the kids to a live wild west show (that and my husband sees this challenge as a way to relive his childhood).

I’ve also been to three new restaurants, one as a date-night with a friend and the other two as stop offs to just-eat-something, while running backwards on this old merry-go-round I call life.

I’ve fitted in guinea-pigging my family with four fatifying new recipes including: banana muffins and cheats raspberry ice cream (from my new ‘Give yourself a heart attack’ recipe book).

And talking of food, I’ve landed myself another new challenge. Preparing a healthy playtime snack one Friday at Aden’s school. When asked yesterday at the parents meeting, I put my hand up, offering my help. “I could knock up a few simple muesli bars…” I looked around at all the other heads-and-hands-pointing-firmly-downwards parents, a little taken aback at their unwillingness to assist. All became clear when the teacher enthusiastically oohed and aahed and signed me up with my own blood to provide a healthy snack on my own for, oh, about 100 people. Gulp.

(None of those other mothers showed me the slightest bit of sympathy. They more looked at me with that death-stare expression: ‘you baked your own bed’…)

Excitingly, I also found someone I have not yet eaten sushi with. So ecstatic was I, I dragged the poor woman out of her house that very evening (no chance to back out on me ;-)). We had a delightful time and I think she’s now a convert.

I’ve also squeezed in going to the pool once and the gym twice. I am officially a gym failure. I suspect Michael, the gym master, hates me now.

Fantastically, we have a few new 101ers. Some are typing up their lists as you read this. Others are still to be *officially* added (by me anyway).

But please give a warm welcome to these two newcomers:

DAD TO LIBBS.com
momof8crazymonkeys

One of my challenges is to achieve 50,000 hits on my blog. Now it’s a ridiculous pipedream very tall order but this week the figure loomed rather nearer. I still can’t believe it but this post received a whopping 566 hits. I have had face ache all week, I can tell you.

Thank you!!

Your Stories Request


A few years ago I remember my eldest, Joni, coming home from school and asking me about my most embarrassing moments. Some kind of new age homework…

I prattled on for half an hour, then she finally interrupted me and said, “Actually Mum, I only need one example!”

:oops:

A recent post I wrote resulted in a couple of bloggers revealing some hair-raising hysterical stories of their own.

Slowvelder started it:

Too funny! Reminds me of the time my daughter told her kindergarten teacher about the huge cockroaches at our house. (She was thinking peacocks!). I hope your kindergarten teacher is prepared :)

I then went on to tell one of my embarrassing stories, which goes something like this:

When I lived in Scotland, I used to look forward to parent evenings. They took ten minutes and in general those were gushy minutes of: Look at how cute her pictures are! What’s that supposed to be? Along with proud smiles at red ticks and smiley stickers. And teary-eyed laughter at entertaining snippets of our lives and little stories in ‘The Writing Book’.

Until that is, Joni (my eldest) ruined it all.

(OK, I do admit, I didn’t write all of this in my return comment to Slowvelder).

I had as usual, enthused over her drawings. Felt contentment because of her perfectly calculated sums.

I lifted ‘The Writing Book’ filled, Ladies and Gentlemen, with hope. With pride. With naiveté.

I read through the sentences, at the start with a smile.

“Mummy and I went to the park.”

“I ate a cheese sandwich with Maleehah.”

Then suddenly:

“Our rabbit died because he starved to death.”

Along with a picture of the once living rabbit.

Our rabbit did die. But of old age!!!

It struck me that such comments really are worthy of their own post.

Tilly confirmed this, with her addition:

lol! My brother told his teacher that ‘Daddy kicked my teeth out.’ First my parents knew was when social services turned up on the doorstep. Dad and Little Brother had been playfighting and his loose front baby teeth fell out :)

I love this story. Probably because it didn’t happen to me.

So, my question to you is, how have your children shamed embarrassed you? Or, even better, how have you yourself discredited your own parents?

Freshly Pressed


Now I have your attention.

Thank you!

It does seem to me from a few blog posts I read lately, that WordPress bloggers, seem in general, to be hankering after that prestigious Freshly Pressed moment.

Now, I’m a bit thick.

I had to ask one such blogger (as it was rather unclear to me) if we have to submit posts somewhere to be in contention for Freshly Pressing.

He, kindly, wrote back to me and informed me: No. No submission. Every post that’s written could potentially be FP’d.

Now, I don’t know how it is for other bloggers, but I definitely think that some of the articles I write are of better quality and some are of a worse standard.

What would happen if they picked one of the worse ones?

I would be inundated with a brief moment of popularity and people would think that that worser one is a true and accurate representation of my actual ability.

Shit!?!

The haves and the have-nots


I haven’t so much to report in the form of challenge achievements. Despite the fact that we’re enjoying the summer holidays and I should technically have time on my hands.

It actually appears that time is like sand and flows freely through the cracks it finds in between my fingers.

I still have not managed to:

  • Write up the story instalments from Lori and my spa trip in June
  • Go back to the gym
  • Go swimming even though we’ve had temperatures for many consecutive days of over 30°C
  • Try any new restaurants
  • Work on my book
  • Visit any castles/palaces/museums on my list
  • Find an affordable wine I really like

You may now wish to shake me/slap me/tut at me but I’ll be honest with you and explain that I have been sleeping/attending appointments/dreaming of boring a hole in my own head to alleviate an evil and unrelenting migraine. Finally, I’m free of it. It turns out that at one of those appointments, I was given a medicine which has excruciating headaches as a side-effect. I am thinking of throwing the medicine packet back at the chemist – I had to pay 36 Euro’s for the damn thing – and demanding a refund. Or, I could just stamp on the pills to avoid passing them on to some other poor unsuspecting bugger.

Although not on my list, I have managed to book a little holiday in the south of France for us. :-D .

And I’ve been to the dentist who joked merrily about “checking my wisdom.” I don’t think it was funnier in German. Though I did give him a nervous, obliging laugh. Turns out my wisdom is still intact. (I laughed quite deliriously at that point).

I also now have three children having their teeth pulled into order by shiny braces, rather than just one.

Which led me to learning how to make mango lassi, that counts as a new recipe, right?

In celebration of a mouthful of metal, we went for brunch. Not my wisest move. I know, despite my apparent wisdom. Picture: dribbling, dissection of food, ouches, non-understandable conversation…

I could have picked a new restaurant to help with my challenges, but I failed miserably by instead opting for a revisit. Sometimes though, it’s good to return to where you know the food is much and reasonable. The toilets are handy and clean. The service is quick.

Akasha loves the breakfast there. Hot chocolate. Bread, butter and nutella. And a biscuit for a little extra sugar.

Sat opposite me, ear-to-ear in nutella, with a little extra dab on her nose, for that face paint effect, previously red dress smeared brown. She noticed two tiny-little tomato seeds fall from my loaded bread, onto my white top. She rolled her eyes and gushed, “Mama, what are you like?”

I’ve watched another film. Johnny English attempted to distract me from my migraine. I do like Rowan Atkinson and can’t believe we’ve had this DVD in the house for years and I’d never managed to see it. All the way through I expected to recognize a scene and admit I had viewed it previously. But no, I got right to the very end without any such realization.

I decided after the last update to take on the challenge of finding 101 101ers to join our group. It’s a big challenge so I am/have enlisted the help of all challengers!!

And you know what? It’s going really well!!

Please welcome:

Silly wrong but vivid right

Thoughts from me

Vicrace Design

And also a very special mention to the-gingerbread-house.co.uk who actually joined us a while ago. (Sorry again that I’m late).

Now I’m off to watch my sons circus performance, supposedly he’s brilliant at standing on a ball and simultaneously juggling.

Keys – check. Three sisters – check. Hankies (potential proud moment) – check.