The Ick Factor

The Twilight saga is something that I am begrudgingly sharing with my children. In one respect I am loving visiting the cinema with the children, enjoying their excitement waiting for the films to release, watching trailers, looking for snippets of related gossip online, taking turns in reading aloud the books at bed-time but on the other hand...it's Twilight.

Compared to some of the dross they watch, it's not so bad. If it was just an ordinary film, I could cope and would consider it time better spent than watching Lizzie MacGuire, Hannah Montana or HSM but I'm just annoyed at the whole hype and hysteria that surrounds the film series.

My Facebook wall contains status update after group membership relating to the films or actors and I grimace with each comment, ANNOYED that adults are even entertaining this film aimed at children.

I purchased tickets for Saturday night and surprised them 20 minutes before the screening. Husband was left with pizza and chocolate supplies, oh and the baby. Off we went.

The film is certificate 12A and my children are seven, eight and ten, but I expected the cinema to be filled with teenagers down to kids the same age as mine. It was an incorrect assumption. There were far too many men in the cinema for a start. During a sold out screening of Sex And The City 2, my girlie mate and I counted a total of 6 men. We decided that 2 were boyfriends trying to score points for being currently in the dog-house and 4 were gay.
I forgave the Saturday dads taking their daughters to the cinema for a treat and I forgave the teenage boys who were accompanying girls they obviously want to feel up. But there were men in there, loads of them, too many to have been just going to get on the good side of their significant others.

We sat down with our assortment of popcorn, buckets of coke, Galaxy counters and funny crispy cracker things.We had two women in their forties on one side of us and a couple in their thirties the other side.
We giddily chomped away and ignored tuts and loud sighs from the large ladies to the left, who were obviously miffed that my little tribe had selected to sit near to their temporary base.

I kicked over the crispy crackers and Finn kicked over the popcorn. They tutted and exhaled some more.

It began...

The film itself is bearable. More scary and gruesome than the others and there were a few comedy moments this time, with one character giving some light relief. The fight scenes were entertaining but to sum it all up...

Sulky, sullen, miserable and pale Avril Lavigne with a large chin and small pouting mouth loves the Jedward vampire with the large forehead and incredibly terrible hair. Neither can act.
She becomes in danger and manages to manipulate a teenage boy/werewolf who also happens to be in love with her, into fighting to protect her. Everyone fights. The end.

I have missed out the section when Avril tries to convince Jedward to fuck her, but he declines wanting to wait until marriage. Avril tells her father that she is a virgin.

At this point my eight year old who hasn't yet learnt the concept of volume control, shouts over to ask "What's a virgin?"
I hurriedly try to shush her with "We will talk about it when we get home."
More adults tut, exhale and turn around. None of these adults have kids with them, even though they are watching a children's film derived from a children's book.

Junk food was eaten, the film was enjoyed, we left, we dissected and discussed in the car on the way home, then I fought to get them into bed as they were all exploding around me like bottles of pop, high on Twilight excitement, cola caffeine and E numbers.

But I'm missing out the ick.

The children looked at me when the audience, and when I say audience, I mean the grown women sitting in the theatre started to whoop, cheer, clap and coo when Jedward asked Avril to marry him. I was mildly panicked that I was sitting amongst "crazies" and the children appeared to have the same concern.

People clapped and gasped and ooo'd and awww'd during every kissing scene.

I had noticed the ADULTS wearing Team Edward or Team Jacob tee-shirts stating which teen character they would prefer to...?  I have no idea how to finish that sentence. I felt a bit yacky.

But the crème de la crème of disturbing was when Jacob, a school attending aged fifteen BOY (actor Taylor Lautner who started in the Twilight movies when he was merely sixteen but now eighteen) appeared topless on screen. The applause was rapturous, ADULTS got to their feet, there were wolf whistles and screams of delight.

I worried that people were masturbating around me.

If I had been in a cinema full of older men, whooping at Miley Cyrus removing her shirt then there would have been a major pandemonium, they would have been called paedophiles by the media and Linda Papadopoulos would be appearing on every daytime television show to discuss the decline of society. But why is it okay for women to fantasise over teenage boys?




I tried to block out the alarming, inappropriate behaviour I had witnessed but just as a precaution, removed from Facebook all my "friends" with Twilight obsessions. It's all a bit too kooky for me.

"The Best Gift You've Ever Received?

This post is the response to a question posed by HelenW71

"The best gift you've ever received?" 

This is a particularly strange topic for me and I’m not sure I can answer the question. I have discussed present giving with my female friends many times, one conversation taking place in front of my husband, leaving him slightly terrified.

I have fallen out of love over presents I have received.

Drastic but true.

Christmas Day, my face fell and I couldn’t hide my disappointment when I opened a Lightning Seeds Compilation CD. It wasn’t that I didn't like the band and would have preferred something different. It was the fact I had a HATRED for the Lightning Seeds This was December 1997 and was a gift from my Boyfriend of nearly five years (although we were young, our wedding was booked and we were marrying in the Bahamas, the following June.) I knew at that moment that he didn’t know me at all. That during the past four and a half years, he clearly hadn’t listened to anything I’d said. I knew that my love for him was now, from this moment, fading. We split up six weeks later.

Present disappointment goes back to childhood. I was fairly spoiled toy-wise due to being an only child, which gave a little more financial leeway for my parents and the fact that they went through a nasty few years during which, I did actually suffer, so out of guilt, presents and toys were handed to me freely, by parents and family around. I think I was the only 8 year old with 72 My Little Pony’s plus every possible building, kit or accessory available. I learned quickly to manipulate the guilt for any new purchase I needed so by the time Christmas or Birthdays came, the novelty had thoroughly worn off and there was nothing I wanted any more. 

 As I got older, being part of a single parent family, the money dwindled, so presents again, were longed for and I made sure that I allocated every scrap of my mum’s present budget on things I NEEDED rather than wanted, such as school shoes, toiletries and school trips. 

When the gifts were still bountiful I used to present hunt. I’ve always claimed to hate surprises, but I’m not sure that’s true. Maybe I like the mission of tracking them down, uncovering the hiding places and on one occasion, I found my presents already wrapped. I spent the afternoon, two weeks before Christmas, unwrapping them carefully, cutting along each piece of sellotape, looking at the contents, then skilfully re-wrapping and tossing them back into the Santa sack. I felt sick after I was finished, realising that I had in fact, spoiled my own Christmas day.

I’m equally as bad with the reverse, present giving. If I have a gift that I think someone will like, I have to tell them as soon as I buy it. Literally I get to the point of begging them to share, ruining the surprise, no matter how much they plead not to know. Now, I tend to buy everything as late as possible so I don’t announce to the kids a week before, what exactly they are getting of Father Christmas.

My Ex-Husband was shocking when it came to gifts. Two years running I received the same book for Christmas. One year I received various bubble baths, even though we only had a shower in our apartment. The final year, which included the duplicate book, I also got a travel guide of Spain (had no intention of visiting or general interest in Spain) a Craig David CD (can’t bear him and instantly had the Lightning Seeds flashback) and a Lemar CD. I had never expressed an interest in Lemar either, but I was always an Indie kid and this was an incredibly bizarre choice.

The worst present I received from him again, was a clincher. It was a massive smack of reality and once again, I knew things were falling irreparably apart. I can’t remember the occasion, possibly my birthday or maybe a wedding anniversary, we were already at a point of struggling within the relationship. I was teetering on the edge of depression and doubting every feeling or emotion. I was still at this point, attempting to try. I knew our relationship was awful and that I didn’t like how I was being treated but was prepared to work at things. I had explained my feelings and he had listened. This was a first, my opinions and thoughts were being considered and it was a step forward.

He asked me what I wanted as a gift. He said, if you could do ANYTHING, go ANYWHERE, where would it be? What would you do? I knew money wasn’t in abundance and have never required to be spoilt as an adult, so I made a suggestion.

If I could do anything or go anywhere, it would be the Natural History Museum in London. Financially, it wasn’t too extreme, we could just go for the day, spending money on petrol and parking but we could take a picnic. We didn’t need to spend much more.

As I was falling asleep one evening, for the millionth time, I told him why the Natural History Museum. It was the last memory I had of my parents being together, being part of a family. I think it was maybe their attempt at trying to fix things or giving one last try before separating, so it was a fairly emotional activity that I wanted to partake in. Also, during this one last family trip, I remember the life sized Blue Whale model suspended from the ceiling and the dinosaur exhibition, which was the set and story of the Disney film “One of Our Dinosaurs is Missing” which was a childhood favourite. I secretly hoped over the next few weeks that I would be whisked away to the capital for the day to visit this significant location.

During the meanwhile, we went to see Madonna in concert. Random you may think, nor relevant to the story? We debated for some time as the tickets were expensive, but concluded that we would pay the £90 each and go to watch her. She was an icon? And in years to come we may regret not going while we had the chance. The concert was great, really good and we both enjoyed it much more than we anticipated.

With a big smile on his face, he woke me one morning and handed me an envelope. Inside were tickets? I thought this was the moment. The moment I would find out when I would be going on my trip down memory lane to the Natural History Museum. But tickets? Maybe they were tickets for the London Eye or something, an added perk to experience whilst we were there.

Jaw to the floor, my mouth fell open and I felt my cheeks flush, trying to hide my utter devastation when I saw tickets for a flight to Paris, a hotel pamphlet and… Madonna concert tickets?

London had apparently never been considered and when I answered his original question of “If I could do ANYTHING, go ANYWHERE…” had been completely ignored. We were now going to watch exactly the same concert again but this time in Paris.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Paris, very much so, but I have been there a few times. City breaks had been achievable over the years we were together, whereas beach holidays abroad hadn’t. Paris was well outside our budget at this time and the first lot of Madonna tickets had been sheer luxury, a second lot, were unjustifiable.

I couldn’t even hide my disappointment for five minutes. The row started…

I left the house for a friend/neighbour’s for a coffee. She called me an ungrateful bitch as he had. She said he had made such a wonderful effort after I had complained about the Guide to Spain book and the bubble-bath. That this time he had “done good.” I felt vile. Maybe I was an absolute bitch?

 I had just wanted something that was a) massively cheaper and b) incredibly special. But yes, he had made an effort and we were going to Paris in two weeks.

I didn’t mention it when I arrived home and accepted that we were France bound and we should make the most of it, a chance to work on our fractured relationship.

We got lost on our way to the stadium and missed three-quarters of the Madonna concert but it was okay, this was a three day trip and we had arrived that evening, there would be plenty of things to do.  The next morning I ask of plans for the day? He looked at me and snipped aggressively. What are you expecting to do, he queried. I didn’t mind and was happy to go with flow, thinking he maybe had some predetermined idea. He nastily advised me that we had no money. That indeed the mortgage would bounce this month as he had spent the funds on this trip. I was devastated. 

That day we argued in the hotel, then argued some more near the Eiffel Tower and I cried an awful lot in a Parisian park. We had enough to eat the basics and to get us back to the airport, but that was it. I think the trip cost around £800. We never recovered after that and I knew I no longer loved him. No more effort was made from either side. I’m not even sure how long it was before we ended our marriage.

So when it comes to presents, it’s a risk to buy for me. If the item is not wanted, then I can’t help but think the buyer has no insight to who I am. Just like when my Dad bought me a watch one year. I guess he doesn’t know my fear of wearing watches and that I don’t want to continually know the time. That I don’t want to clock watch my life away and when I do refer to time, on a few occasions during the day, I would much rather seek out the information,, that having it attached like handcuffs to my wrist.

However, on the up side, the person that gets it right, well, that will be pretty special. Husband is aware of my gift fears and is pretty apprehensive about buying me stuff. He has been okay so far. A CD that was given to me for Mother’s day was a band I liked and one we had seen together, even though I thought a CD was pretty pointless as we could download it, I loved the idea that he had taken my children to the shopping centre and bought it with them as their gift to me. A safe bet at Christmas was the make-up and new cosmetic bag I received. This was something I had specifically asked for as when you are a parent of three, also rocking a bump, new make-up becomes a treat rather than an ordinary toiletry.

Please don’t misinterpret that I expect to be treated like a princess. I don’t have a monetary amount I think should be spent on me for each occasion and do firmly believe that the best things are free or at least fairly cheapish. I’m also crap at buying stuff for other people so I know how tasking and stressful trying to give something wonderful to another.

I could list wonderful thoughtful presents that would bring a tear to my eye and would mean the very world but for me, that’s not the point. The gift could be simple and pointless but special because of the significance or thought behind it.

The closest thing to a favourite gift would be the de-icer the husband gave to me a few years ago. We were casually seeing each other and I had already retired for the evening at his cottage. It must have been wintery and I had an early start in the morning, leaving his place for work, way before he would wake. When I went downstairs there was a can of de-icer by the front door waiting for me. I had been meaning to get some for weeks, cursing each morning at my absent-mindedness, as I used a CD to attempt to clear my windscreen, while my fingers froze.

It’s like Cinderella with her glass slipper, I will truly know I am with the right person when they give me the perfect gift.  

Maybe they already have. 

Maybe when Husband suggested another baby despite me not initially particularly wanting one, he was giving me the perfect gift? Maybe when I became pregnant, that was the perfect gift. Maybe it’s a gift I gave him right back, He wanted his own child and now the idea was planted, I was fully on board. Maybe Indigo is the perfect gift  we gave each other, the one I have been waiting for all this time.

Meme - What Are You Afraid Of ?

I have many fears, some common, some considered irrational however none quite have the same physical effect on me as the mortifying one I shall be sharing.

Tagged by Yummy Mummy No 1  

Darth Vader and Storm Troopers.

As a child I watched the Star Wars movies and remember regularly role-playing with the kids in the street as we used our "lightsabers" to battle (luckily, I was the only girl and could be Princess Leia) I also remember doing the same to "Dempsey and Makepeace" but that's a whole other Meme. My apprehension to Darth Vader has always been there, I can remember fearing his presence on the screen but that's were my anxiety ended.

Over the years it appears to have developed further into more of a phobia. Not seeing the black mask image and hearing that breathing frequently over the years, I'm not sure why the fear became irrational. Surely it should have dwindled with maturity and remained a childhood fear?

Working in a call centre, managers regularly akin costumes motivational purposes, looking past the fact that a grown man walking around dressed as Buzz Lightyear or Fred Flinstone causes a slump and temporary depression rather than boosting morale. I walked into the building one day to find several men dressed as Yoda, Darth Maul and Storm Troopers, I felt my heart literally drop and my stomach turn. I remember feeling hazy and my vision blurring a little while the panic set in with the realisation that I was surrounded.

I have never been keen on masks and have often taken dislike to some of the costumes at work (unfortunately it would appear that Banks like to spend money on vast selections of fancy dress as well as massive bonuses) particularly at Halloween, so my close friends and manager could predict my reaction.

I could feel breathless as I scanned the room for help but my eyes resting on the crème de la crème of terror. Darth Vader.

Don't get me wrong, the costume was far from wonderful quality and it was a far cry from Darth in the film but I can only describe the sensation as sheer terror, despite knowing the person who was inside it.  I caught sight of my manager herding the Star Wars ensemble to another part of the (fortunately)  large office while another colleague held the doors open wide for me to flee. But I couldn't run away in case....I was CHASED!

The only thing worse than seeing Darth Vader would be to be chased by him. I actually feel ill just typing that.

A few years previously I was working for a concert promoter who hired the Manchester Evening News Arena to hold a Star Wars Convention and a perk of the job was to attend for free. It was in line with the promotion of the new movies which fans where flying to America just to view the trailer in cinemas.

Walking round the tedious exhibits of film props and vehicles, seeing behind the scenes footage on massive screens, I wandered aimlessly between each room as the area had been divided into sections by thick black curtains. The final section for me was empty, everyone stood around looking a little confused at the balcony with stairs, at the far end of the make shift room. Then they appear...

Storm Troopers, marching into the room, bloody loads of them. I froze, this must be the point of turning, this is the moment when it became a phobia. The Storm Troopers walked between the small crowd and stood with guns pointed at us, surrounding us. I think I was panting and unable to talk. I know I wasn't going to move in case I attracted more attention from them. Then Darth Vader walked onto the balcony. I'm not sure if the costumes where directly from the movie but they were certainly fantastic quality. As good as it gets. Darth's breathing echoed around the room and he started to walk slowly down the stairs. I managed to refrain from curling into the foetal position and urinating, remaining statuesque as the Storm Troopers "arrested" one of the crowd and escorted him out of the area, flanked by Darth Vader. I left the arena in tears.

You may think that such a phobia is rarely tested as I can simply avoid the film and with prior knowledge can elude the fancy dress clad call centre managers, but when walking into the local shopping precinct with your partner on a Saturday afternoon, you don't expect to walk into a Sci-Fi convention.

I was too late. We were in the central courtyard and had missed all of the promotional posters, not realising what I was about to face until I saw six Storm Troopers walk out of Burtons holding their guns. I took refuge in Iceland, shaking with panic. I had only just moved in with OH and if he knew of my dislike for Darth and his white scary entourage, he certainly wasn't aware of  the dramatic reaction I would display. I tried to contain some of it and I am convinced he thought it was me acting or hamming it up, but I physically couldn't force my body to leave the safety of Iceland. Our planned shopping trip of two hours while our car was being valeted, I insisted was no longer plausible. Assuring him that If he got me safely from the central courtyard to the multi-storey car park, I would wait for him there but again, sheer terror was preventing me from functioning normally. Standing there feeling helpless and childlike, holding his hand and fighting off the dizziness that would cause me to drop to the floor if I allowed it, I tried to convey the absolute funk taking over my very being, whilst giggling in dismay, trying to laugh off the stupidity of what was causing me to react this way, thinking that he would be asking me to pack my bags when we arrived home or would be calling for my sectioning under the mental health act.

It's really hard to describe the effect fear has upon you but even hours later, my legs were still shaking, my body ached and I felt wired with adrenaline.

Apart from the odd email sent every now and then by colleagues, when they remember my fear (I notice them all swing back in their chairs and look towards me as the email pops up containing a Storm Trooper photograph) and an occasion when I sat in Pizza hut about to start my meal when I noticed a promotional six foot Darth Maul a few feet behind, causing me to leave before eating, my phobia isn't alarmed daily.

It's something I'm embarrassed of and something that can easily be taken advantage of. People don't get ridiculed for fear of heights! But I do laugh along too when others mock, even though my insides are churning and I fight not to faint.



I shall be brave now and look for supporting pictures for my post. Maybe if I squint and partially close my eyes, I won't be as frightened?

Emperor Penguin

It's OHs first Father's Day - but not really

He has acted like a father of three since we moved in with him but today was a little bit different, he has Indigo now too.

When we were just "seeing" each other we watched one of the Planet Earth or Life documentaries, I can't remember which series and they are similar anyway, but it was the episode with the Emperor Penguins and their battle to nurture their egg until a baby chick hatches, in the worst conditions imaginable!  I watched with OH, blinking back the tears as the male penguin braves the 120mph icy winds for the 64 day incubation period, then gives the chick back to the female when she returns. The male Emperor Penguin is unarguably the greatest father in the animal kingdom.

We were talking about this during a recent shopping trip, the kids and I and within minutes came across a plastic Emperor Penguin in a toy shop. It seemed fated that it should be OH's Father's Day present.

What makes me most grateful is his lack of experience, no family children around, he went from a single man living alone to a father of three within months. Even though we had dated for longer, he was introduced to the children 2 months before we all moved in together.

There was no plan of action or talking before hand about how things may turn out, we all just went for it with gusto. It was naturally easy for him it seems. I have him to solely thank for being a mum of four too. Not because of the obvious reason of conception, but the whole idea of having another child used to make me shudder. I had my children, end of discussion. My biological clock had well and truly died. Yet he mentioned a baby and I had a clear vision of us with a little girl. It happened and I'm eternally indebted to him. As predicted, again, he is a natural. When I watch him with her I can tell how much he loves her and how she adores him right back. They are little peas in a pod and I can't wait to sit back and observe as she starts to crawl, walk and talk, knowing he will be right there, idolising her and loving her to bits.

Growing Up Beside You

Sometimes I feel that my eldest daughter has more common sense than I do.

8 year old daughter was upset and crying at bedtime and it transpired that she feels inadequate and not able to do the things that eldest daughter can do. That others think less of her. She questioned herself and her capabilities.

I listed and agreed the strengths that eldest daughter displays and discussed the amount of praise she seems to generate from many sources for her behaviour and personality. They cannot be played down or dismissed.

Then I continued to list and praise the character of my 8 year old, her eyes lighting up when I tell her that even though she maybe a messy and disorganised person, she genuinely is the funniest person I have ever encountered. Her quick wit from such an early age, her adult sense of humour, her ability to speedily make light of an upsetting situation in exactly the right way is something I couldn't do.
I admit that she sometimes drives me to the brink of insanity, but if I am there because of another reason, she is usually the only one that can bring me back.

I tell her stories of her toddling about, cracking me up, as she was walking and talking way too early. She was the child that phoned the police every time she managed to get near the telephone unsupervised. She was the one that hid bread, cheese and margarine at the bottom of her wardrobe and we didn't find it before the field mice. She is the one that screamed loudly one new years eve, just after I had settled down with my first glass of red wine, to reveal the blood pouring from her perforated eardrum, cotton bud in hand. She is the child that climbed up the decorating step-ladders left in the bathroom by Granddad and helped herself to a bottle of camomile lotion that she subsequently drank.  The child that was messing on the stairs with an umbrella, the child that I had to tell to be careful in case she fell, seconds before slipping myself and breaking my foot. She was the child who got up excitedly in the early hours, while the rest of the house slept, to go to the holiday suitcases, all packed and ready to help herself to a full box of Calpol sachets. I tell her how important these memories are to me, how many times I have told these stories to friends and after the initial shock or upset or commotion caused, that we have giggled and commented on her sparkiness and sense of adventure.

I remind her that yes, she may be considered lazy by others, but she has always been on a different level with intelligence and could easily reap the awards that eldest receives if she could be bothered. I pointed out that yes, she would in fact look smarter for school and have perfect immaculate hair and polished shoes, if she could get out of bed swiftly in the mornings, without being asked fifteen times. I highlighted that her organisational skills are definitely not one of her strengths, but does she really care?

I also remind her that all the people around her love her exactly as she is and wouldn't dare want her to change even the slightest.

She is a "mini-me." I'm terrible. My reputation for disorganisation and messiness, for being scatty and late, precedes me. More importantly, I could care not.  I have never really been one to care about what others think. Except the ones really really close to me. No doubt, 8 year old will develop the same brazenness if she hasn't started already. Smiles concluding the end of our chat.

I'm so grateful for eldest daughter (just turned 10 years old) as she is like my second in command, ahead of OH, in fact, she could easily run the household. I ask her opinion on things that she shouldn't even be concerned with, rely on her to remind me of appointments, birthdays and shopping lists. She knows who is doing what and why. There are times I feel guilty as it feels like a role reversal and that she is the parent. I have justified it now to ease the guilt by accepting that we are just different personalities. She being the prim and perfect all rounder who will try to excel at everything she tries with 100% effort, without a hair out of place. Whereas I, well, I'm not even sure who I am yet. When I grow up I want to be like her, but for the time being, I will be the messy, loud, chaotic one with unkempt hair, giggling over the 8 year old's comical antics.

I heard a song yesterday morning for the first time that I thought of later on when talking to 8yr old girl.

Growing Up Beside You - Paolo Nutini (YouTube link)

I don't always get the way you feel,
But now I've learned to live with that.
It's like I'm a part of something real.
I was hittin' the bottle, now I've broken the seal.
Looks like I'm growing, I'm growing up beside you

And the sun sets the scene,
While the rain misses me.
And all the time I'll be growing, growing up beside you.

100th Post - The Year So Far...

It's been a busy six months...

When going through a stressful period at the start of the year, I turned to blogging, again. I've always had some form of diary but never had a routine and entries were at best sporadic, usually at times of sadness. This time I promised that I would be faithful and consistently post regardless of how busy things got and what mood I was currently absorbed by, so thankfully, the first half of 2010 has been recorded for all to see.

• The wedding kicked it all off and there are posts of plenty, of pre and post marriage arguments, worries about fitting my increasing baby bump into the dress and the realisation that I have to spend 5 days in a cottage with our families.

• Accounts of hormonal behaviour and pregnancy neurosis that surprisingly haven't resulted in my sectioning for safety of self and others.  

• The birth of Indigo and the highs and lows that come with an additional member of the family. 

• Pets have featured heavily so far with the arrival, and departure of Arnie the Pomeranian, the arrival and escaped of Dexter the hamster, followed by his recapture and recent unexplained death. And more cat based dramas ranging from the third litter of kittens to the current stress surrounding "stray cat" dilemma. It's still stalking my cats and fighting with them during the early hours, then marking it's territory, my conservatory, with its scent.

So what do the next 6 months hold? I have the trauma of arranging child care and returning to work, even though I desperately want to stay with Indie. I'm fearful of coping as a working mum of four. OH turns thirty so I'm sure he will have an "I'm getting old" wobble at some point. My relationship with OH is still a daily work in progress and we are eventually getting there but I'm pretty certain that my blog with always be filled with the difficult days. I guess being a part of a six member tribe there will always be something going on to report about.

I'm Such A Bad Parent...

...that when looking for a picture for my previous post on bad parenting, I found this picture...

And thought, wow, I do this ALL the time. 

Now I feel even worse!