Pure joy is a hunky man carrying my cat.

This week me and Hubbie were watching an episode of Hawaii Five-0 that I had recorded a few weeks ago. I say 'we' were watching when in actual fact it was mostly me - on account of the fact that my passion for Steve McGarrett is what really draws me to the show. Hubbie was only half paying attention - as usual - so neither of us was entirely invested in it to be honest.

That was until this thing happened. It was a fairly uneventful plot and we were half paying attention and laughing at our kids (we only do this when they've gone to bed as it seems funny when they aren't actually within earshot.) It was while we were chuckling at how odd they really are that we spotted someone very familiar on the TV.

Mr Pickles - looking a lot like Neo

Yep this guy. Apparently he's called Mr Pickles, but we know him as Neo. Yes. Our cat was in Hawaii Five-0 with Steve McGarrett and Danno !!! I cannot tell you how happy it made me to watch the hunky Alex McLoughlin carrying my cat around. A man who can carry a cat as casually as this is guaranteed to warm my heart and let's face it Alex didn't have to do too much to start with. 

Hey Neo, you lucky, lucky lad you. 

I think there is every chance that Steve / Alex may well usurp my beloved (and now married) George as the one who I would leave Hubbie for. If I 'had' to, not for nothing - obviously. 

*Sigh*

So, I'm sharing these images with you and on the blog so that on days when the boys have left the bathroom looking like the Somme and the kitchen looks like a gaggle of cats have had a drag race around it all night or when I trip over teeny tiny hot wheels cars or bleedin' construction pieces of any kind (I will actually maim whoever told my son about those !!) I can find a quiet space, go to this page and drool. 

Danno, Steve and Neo / Mr Pickles. 

Oh and when I showed the photos to big boy he said, "It's not Neo Mummy." I asked how he knew and he said, "His eyes aren't that colour." I didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't the cat that I was paying attention to. In a few years time he will have his own obsessions to indulge. 

And me and his Dad will laugh about it when he's gone to bed. 

I'll pack a bucket and spade - oh and a wetsuit too !!

My lovely blogger pal Louise copied me into her bucket list blog post where she once again reminded me that she is the only person I know who has ever built an igloo from scratch in her own back garden. Seriously, that is some hardcore making dreams come true stuff right there ! It made me wrack my brain to think about what I'd really love to have that cost next to nothing and what I'd do if money was no object. Here's what I came up with: 

My budget bucket list item is to have a photo of all of my family members at once. It doesn't have to be a professional photo, just one that features my parents, Hubbie's parents, our brothers and sisters, us and the boy. We don't have any photos of all of us so it would be lovely to get one taken. Any time we have a family get-together someone can't make it so it's not been possible up until now and as our boy gets older I'd like to have a memento of all of his uncles, aunties and grandparents. Of course there is every likelihood that someone will be looking the wrong way (Mother-in-law) or will be fussing with their clothes (my Mum) or making a strange face (any and all of our siblings) or midway through start running off resulting in a blur for a body (our boy, always our boy). Still it'd be nice to have and seeing as everyone has a camera on their phone, tablet and some people even have actual cameras (I know, weird huh ?) it can't be that impossible can it ? 

My "break the bank" bucket list item is to go to Hawaii with Hubbie and the boy and learn to surf and relive my favourite scenes from Hawaii 5-O. Now those of you who know me a little bit (or have read earlier posts) will know that I have a crush on Steve McGarrett - the new one, not Jack Lord, although I'm not casting any aspersions on his attractiveness of course. I have also always wanted to learn to surf and even paid a deposit to do a beginners surfing course on Fistral Beach in Cornwall over ten years ago that I bottled out of doing at the last minute. Since then I've watched friends having lessons on a beach near Swansea and I've thought about doing a course myself, but nothing has come of it. If I was in Hawaii I'd *have* to learn to surf. I mean it's a cultural thing isn't it ? Also, I have a teeny tiny wetsuit for the boy and it won't get used if we don't take him to learn to surf and that would be such a waste. I did also mention to Hubbie that if we did go to Hawaii for our tenth wedding anniversary we could renew our wedding vows - don't judge, it's a thing alright ? I can just see us on a beach wearing a grass-skirt and coconut bra (and that's just him !). Of course now I've actually applied for a passport for the boy it'll make it easier to take him on holiday. I'd love for him to have some amazing memories of learning to surf 'somewhere exotic off the telly.' If I bump into Alex O'Loughlin we're there, well that's just a bonus isn't it ?

This post is my entry into a competition with Money Supermarket www.moneysupermarket.com/life-insurance/competitions/budgetbucketlist - if you want to join in too you've got one more day - get cracking !! 

I thought I'd also share with a couple of blogger pals who have sufficient imagination to write an exciting bucket list:

www.culturalsnow.blogspot.co.uk (he would write his wearing a monocle and a hat - probably)
www.sliceofbarnes.com (her list would probably feature Adam Ant)
www.jenniferslittleworld.com (she'd craft her list in some creative and amazing way, probably using felt)

Resolutions Schmesolutions :o)

If you'd told me at the start of this year that at the end of it I'd have a weekly radio show of my own I'd have looked at you sideways and smiled kindly. I'd also have been amazed if you'd told me that the most toxic female journalist of modern times would refer to this blog in a column following the fab Mumsnet blogfest event.

So it's with this in mind that I am starting 2013 in a novel way. I won't be detoxing or giving up anything on Jan 1st. Not because I have a perfect life or I am as good as I think I can be, but because I'm coming at this resolutions thing from a different perspective for a change. Instead of stopping doing something I'm going to concentrate on doing more of things I want to do better. By doing that I hope that I will spend less energy and time on the things that I don't need or want.

So, in no particular order:

I am going to make time to read. I was given so many great books for Christmas and I still haven't read the ones I got last year. I'm sure it's possible for me to make time in my day to read a little bit - although this might mean watching less Hawaii 5-0.

I'll be trying new sporting activities that I haven't done before. I've been doing the same exercise classes for almost 4 years now and while they are fun it's a routine for me and I attend because I feel guilty if I don't. That's not a good reason. I used to play softball and scuba dive and ski -  what happened to that action chick ? Oh yes I am a middle-aged Mum now, but that's no excuse is it ?

At least once a month I will go to the cinema and watch a movie - this may entail finding a movie buddie or I could go along on an afternoon when my boy is at nursery. This is all thanks to Hubbie being super generous and getting Sky movies so I can see films at home, but let's be honest sitting in a dark room at home isn't the same if you haven't overpaid for the popcorn.

I'm going to cook at least one recipe from each cookbook I own - and no, not just the baking ones !! Kind people have given me some great books full of recipes which I look at and go "ooh aah," but I haven't actually followed any of them yet.  My aim is to make a seasonal Slater stew, some gorgeous Gok gyoza and anything from the achingly beautiful Lilli Vanilli baking book I won from a fellow blogger. I hope to find some interesting new meals and to use ingredients I haven't tried to cook with before. I will, of course, share how this goes with you for good or ill (preferably not getting ill !)

I'm sure I'll think of other things as time goes on, but these are a pretty manageable start I think. They are already better than my original list which was:

To be able to afford to use Aveda shampoo and conditioner

To have someone to do my hair for me at home

Have a personal trainer to get my backside to exercise when I want to sit on the sofa watching Hawaii 5-0
The beloved Kitchenaid mixer which I really want to own, but I can't justify the cost of 

To be able to travel first class - anywhere

I realised that all of these were materialistic and made me sound like I want to be Madonna - which I used to when she was all cool and wore rubber bangles and lace in her hair, but not so much now.

Thanks for reading my blog and for listening to my show. If you haven't yet tune in at 1pm today or you can podcast it later.

Hope 2012 was good to you and here's to not turning into Madonna in 2013 :o)

Fear and loathing in the muddled mind of a middle-aged mother.

I was out powerwalking the other evening and I'd taken a short cut across the golf course near our house. As it was evening I guessed it wouldn't be too busy and was pondering the previous time I'd wandered too far along the path and been met with a chain across the dead end that warned 'no public right of way.' As I started to walk back uphill I became slightly anxious as I had low battery on my phone and my feet were getting tired. In my head I saw myself twisting my ankle, being stranded and not being able to call home or for help. As I quickened my pace it became more and more of a worry until as I got back to the top and found a path that I could get back home from. It was this path I was on when the following occasion I saw a golfer waving at me to tell me off for walking through the course. The irony made me laugh. I'd been so concerned about the catastrophe that could happen that I hadn't considered the issue that would catch me out - the tartan legged 'sportsman' showing his son how to use a 5 iron.

A 'cat'astrophe ? 

It's this catastrophic thinking that makes my life a constant worry. I can't stop myself - in idle moments - from taking a mental walk to the least desirable outcome. It takes time to realise that I have worked myself up about absolutely nothing, but I know I'm not alone in thinking every siren is a bad news one for me when Hubbie isn't home yet. During a recent spate of burglaries in our area I actually spent every minute I was out of the house worrying about it. While it would take a lot of pages to list all of my insanity I've decided to share the most irrational ones for your amusement.

1.  Hubbie and I had only been dating for a few months and I was going away with friends on a skiing holiday. We were going to Whistler for two weeks and I was thinking of asking Hubbie-to-be to flat sit for me. I kind of knew he could be trusted, but there was still a nagging thought maybe I didn't know him that well. I mean those people he'd introduced to me as his parents could have been actors he'd hired and maybe it was all an elaborate con trick ? Of course it was all fine (as evidenced by that fact we're married now) and the actual problem that occured was one I hadn't even considered. It was when we were in Heathrow waiting to check in our bags that one of our party decided to tell me that I needed to have at least 6 months on my passport to visit Canada and I only had around 4 months on mine. I spent the entire flight expecting to be immediately deported while Harriet kept saying she'd just show them her police warrant card (I'm not sure what that would actually do). As I was preoccupied with this drama I didn't even have time to realistically consider that I wouldn't have been allowed on the flight in the first place if it was an issue. The plus side was that with this nonsense to occupy my mind I forgot about my fear of planes.

2. I used to work in a job that took me all over the UK and at one point I visited Cornwall for the first time and while there I picked up a leaflet about surfing. Convinced that I should try it I booked myself onto a surfing course in Cornwall and paid a deposit to secure my place. I was going alone, but the accommodation was in a shared hostel so I was bound to make friends. About a week before I bottled it and cancelled. I'd gone from "it'll be great, just like Blue Juice and everyone knows it's always sunny in Cornwall" to "I'll break something or drown, they will all be fit and blonde and I'll be small, dumpy and clumsy." I still haven't gone back. Of course now I'm obsessed with Hawaii 5-O and Alex O'Loughlin so I may have to revisit this plan.

3. It was for similar reasons that I didn't get too far with my fledgling stand up career. I did a course in the early '90's when it was all the rage. Some of my fellow students actually went on to become something on the circuit. I, however, struggled to write material, talked over the laughs (if I got any) and just felt terribly embarrassed. The entire premise of failing at comedy is that you 'die' on stage and that has to be the ultimate in catastrophe thinking surely ? I mean, who wants to die in front of a room full of strangers ? At least with impro you have a group of people to share the laughs and the silences with and I'm still friends with some of my impro pals.

By far the worst of my catastrophe thinking involves my beloved son. Every new scenario is fraught with potential fears, but the example I've chosen is particularly bonkers:

3. I've taken my boy to a playgroup called Little lions since he was 4 months old and it's a lovely group of Mums and babies with the occasional special day with pampering for Mums. On one of these days I had booked to have a treatment for which I had to go downstairs to the beauty room. My boy was about 6 months and would sometimes cry if he lost sight of me so the other Mums reassured me he'd be fine and they would keep an eye on him and bring him down if he got too upset. While I settled onto the beauty couch I tried to relax, but the thoughts whirring round my head included, 'I don't really know these people, What if they are baby snatchers ? What if they steal my baby ? I don't know where any of them live. I don't know anyone's last name.' etc. etc. Needless to say he was fine and I had spent my pampering time winding myself up into a frenzy of fear for nothing.

All this self-induced trauma does is give me sleepless nights. I know that's part and parcel of parenting, but what was my excuse before I had my son ? The positive in all of this is that I am so very grateful that the things I worry about are just a figment of my fevered imagination. If it stays in that realm I am a very lucky woman indeed.

Let's hear it for the boy... who wears glasses

I've always been fascinated by the idea that a man becomes more distinguished with age while a woman just gets castigated for trying too hard to hold onto her youth. Similarly wearing glasses is not considered a passion killer for men, but the old phrase 'men don't make passes at girls who wear glasses' was so deeply ingrained in my psyche that I refused to be seen in public in my glasses for the first ten years of my glasses wearing life. Even now I am convinced that I'm treated differently when I wear them, although it's probably the rest of my 'can't be bothered to make an effort' outfit of jogging bottoms and ragged old uni sweatshirt that give offence rather than my eyewear.

For my own part I've always been partial to a bookish looking chap (Exhibit A: Hubbie) and think that it's quite sexy to look a bit nerdy. I prefer to know that a man can speak another language as it just isn't appealing to me to be able to bench press a London bus. Of course if the man in question is also stacked that's a bonus, but I'm guilty of assuming that if he's pretty or fit he's probably a bit thick. In my dating days I was set up with a chap who I was assured was just right for me. As were they all, but proved in reality the legend 'no plan can withstand contact with the enemy' to be true. This truism was etched onto the wall of my friend's downstairs loo for many years (and probably still is).

I digress, of course, but the point is that once I met this man he was as far from right for me as humanly possible. It started off ok with his impressive collection of vinyl and a lovely flat with skylight in the leafy environs of Southfields. He showed me his car - which he loved and which was made of plastic and was an Alpha Romeo and was red. That's all I recall of the car - sorry Top Gear fanatics. We were supposed to have lunch, but for some reason we ended up eating cheese on toast in his flat - oh don't worry it gets worse.  For a start he didn't appear to have any books. I asked if he read and he told me of course he did and pointed out the motoring magazines on the coffee table. Sharp intake of breath as I realised I was in the company of someone who owned no books, not a one. Now I may have mentioned this before, but I will say it again for emphasis. If you say to me that you don't read you may as well say that you kill small animals for fun or you eat children for a snack.

It's almost as bad as when I was set up with a man who "is just right for you - he likes films." Now there's my "likes films" which is the Blues Brothers, Some Like it Hot and Blade Runner and there was his which was pretty much Star Wars and that's it. The only saving grace was that we could blend in and avoid each other as we were at a fancy dress party where I went as Minnie Mouse (with ears I'd fashioned from a cereal packet) and he was some unidentified african leader. I shudder to imagine who exactly it was in those pre-freed Nelson Mandela days.

I guess my point is that you can't really decide who someone else is going to be attracted to based on what you know about them. Some people genuinely do like the opposite of themselves and some prefer a person who likes all the same things as them. I even know one couple who look so alike that they used to be mistaken for siblings rather than husband and wife - now that is just icky !!

Which brings me back to men who look a bit clever (whether or not they wear glasses) and as always to George Clooney who is both hunky and clever, John Cusack who is super clever and more than a little handsome and Alex O'Loughlin who… well he's just delicious so who cares if he's bright ?

Never, never, never… Oh well ok, as it's you

John Cusack often tells his Twitter followers that if poor grammar and spelling bothers them they should unfollow him as the content is more important than how it's delivered (my words not his). It's not a philosophy I adhere to usually, but I make an exception for him as I think his tweets have the capacity to entertain and inform, but to be honest I break my own zero tolerance rule because I like him. It's the same rule that applies to the films he has been in - yes even Hot Tub Time Machine which when I saw an online trailer for I genuinely thought was an online spoof as it looked so bad. I can't say the same for Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil which despite being directed by Clint Eastwood and starring JC (a dream combination in my book) didn't hold my attention and bored me to actual sleep. Otherwise I heart John for wearing a Clash t-shirt in any movie where he has wardrobe approval as it shows he has great taste in listening to English bands - if he wore a Smiths t-shirt I might properly explode.

The same exception applies to my friend Jan who sends me text messages in teenage text speak which grates on me if done by anyone other than her. I suspect it's because I find it endearing that someone who has a senior citizen's bus pass writes "gr8 to c u on Sat, thx 4 cream t." I mean come on that's far too cute to be annoyed about.

On a different tack my husband follows any and all sports (except Rugby, but in extremis he has been known to watch that too) despite the fact that years ago I swore blind that I would never marry a man who was obsessed with sport. Clearly he won me over with his witty repartee, his massive intellect and that meal he makes with prawns and pineapple. Actually I refer you to the previous blog post that lists the lovely things he does which make me heart Hubbie (yes, yes I know I hate when people do that too, I promise not to do it any more). 

An area in which we are perfectly matched is our shared interest in politics which is why my friendship with my closest friend is the most puzzling example of my exception to the rule theory. Our politics are polar opposites, yet we get along and don't actually argue. We disagree, but often find common ground that is not party political. In fact it's thanks to SJ that I shadowed a Green London Assembly member (the lovely Jenny Jones) when I took part in a programme to encourage BME women to become involved in politics. I discussed the scheme with SJ and told her I wasn't sure which party to ask to be matched with and she said that she considered me to be most closely aligned with the Greens. She showed great insight that revealed in all the years we've known each other she has identified something that I haven't acknowledged myself. Now that's a good friend ! 

The most recent revelation has been just today. I have for years been very sniffy about people who home school their kids - and as a yoga teacher and part-time Yummy Mummy I know a few - as I've always seen it as self-indulgent and hippie to take Jacinta out of school because she's far too bright for the rubbish teachers at her school to cope with. This opinion has altered since I've realised that if my son was only offered a place at a very poor school I'd have to seriously consider home schooling him as I daren't risk some yobbish Croydon yoofs hurting a hair on my darling boy's head. Today, however, I found out that my NCT teacher Wendy is taking her daughter out of a local school to home school her. I can't blame her, from what she's told me it's the best decision to improve her daughter's chances of actually getting an education. My own fear has always been that even though I'm a qualified teacher I'd struggle to do a good enough job teaching my own child(ren) the curriculum and I'd feel guilty for letting them down.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have a strict zero tolerance policy on most things with the following exceptions:

1. Poor spelling and grammar - unless you're John Cusack (or Alex O'Loughlin if he's on twitter)

2. Text speak - unless you're old enough to know better and do it to be cool

3. Sports obsessives - unless I married you in which case you put up with far more than I do (and bless you for that)

4. Tories - unless you're SJ, that is the only exception

5. Home Schooling - unless you're a normal person in every other way like my friends Wend and Siobhan. If you're a homeopathic, 'spiritual,' yurt dweller just move along now and we'll say no more about it.

Thanks for listening :o) 

Mum's the word (which I will get my son to say - oh yes I will)

Today marks the end of my first month as a full time Mummy. The plan was that I'd take my boy to visit my parents and he'd have a lovely day. Instead it was chaotic, delayed and unfortunately he was also poorly and needed an unscheduled change of clothes and a wash at my Mum's house. By the time we got home I was convinced that I'd failed so spectacularly as a parent that it would be a blessing on the poor child for me to go back to work and let a professional look after him instead.

As therapy I've decided to reflect on the month I've had and share the things I've actually learned:

1. Hubbie feeding the boy before he goes to work and giving me a half hour in bed is what makes it possible for me to function without turning into a hideous Mummy Monster - without him I'm just a screeching, panic-stricken mass.

2. Taking my boy out to activities every day makes him happy and encourages me to talk to other adults. It's not like he can't play at home, but being in different play settings helps him try new skills and shows me how much he has learned.

3. It is very, very upsetting when other children hit my son, or take toys from him. I judge their parents for this and even though it probably isn't their fault I hold it against them.

4. Having a cup of tea at a playgroup is a treat. At home I make tea, put it down while I fold the washing and then remember the (by now cold) cup half an hour later.

5. My boy is a master at the art of distraction. If he has knocked over a table, while I am turning it back the right way he is off through the now open kitchen gate to get to the washing machine dial which he is forbidden from touching. This skill will prove invaluable later in life, I'm sure.

6. Always have a small make up bag with lipgloss and eyeliner in it. The number of times I've gone out with inappropriate footwear on is more than made up for by being able to put on a bit of glam before stepping out of the car / off the train.

7. Never leave the house without at least a piece of fruit. The number of times I've been delayed for some reason or other and had to deal with a grumpy infant (or even grumpier me) it's been solved by sharing an apple or banana in the car or waiting room - works every time.

8. I am not cut out to be a Mumpreneur (and don't get me started on how much I hate that word). Arts and crafts are hobbies not a job. Sometimes I bake, sew, knit, make cards, arrange flowers from the garden or even grow stuff in pots. I don't, however, have sufficient skill or interest to do it over and over for a living.

9. A bit of quiet time does none of us any harm. There are times in the day when the boy is playing quietly in the back room (yes it does happen, he does stop being a whirlygig at times) and the cat is napping in his basket and I stop and look at them both and start making a cuppa. I switch off the radio and the television and just look out of the window for a few minutes. Then it all starts again.

10. Make time to do something for yourself. Whether it's 20 minutes in the morning to do some Zumba, 15 minutes to have a shower and wash my hair (during his morning sleep) or an hour to drool over Alex O'Louglin in Hawaii Five-O (during his afternoon sleep) I have to do something I want to do every day. If I don't exercise I am properly loopy (and not a little grouchy).

So that's my top ten things that I've learned about being a Mummy to one very busy, funny, cheeky boy. I could have added that getting a child into a highchair / car seat / walker when he doesn't want to is a feat of superhuman strength with very little reward. I could have added that the meal is over when he decides to drop food or his water cup onto the floor followed by "Oh dear." I could have added that the minutes between me taking the boy upstairs and Hubbie arriving home to take over the bedtime routine are always punctuated by tears, throwing of toys and tantrums (which my son finds highly amusing to watch).

Instead I'll add that however hard a day at home with my son might be I remember how magical it felt when we found out we were having our much longed for baby. How I prayed every day for him to be born safe and happy. Most of all I remember how many of my friends would love to be able to stay at home and care for their children. Leering at Alex O'Loughlin is just a bonus :o)