I'd like world peace of course (and a flatter stomach)

Like most people and every Mum I know I have a to do list that is constantly updated and not always completed. I function better with a list of tasks to achieve and it is very satisfying to tick them off even if it's just 'feed the cat' rather than a proper job like 'change the sheets' - this one sits there almost as long as 'clean the fish bowl.'I don't cheat by adding jobs to the list that I've already done (mentioning no names Gemma !!!) but there are some that have been on there a long, long time. 

So, the latest *big* list is - in no particular order - as follows:

• Find a job that I love to do and that pays something - not a fortune, but enough for nice things like Waitrose shopping and a holiday. I love producing and presenting my radio show and writing this blog, but neither of them generates any reward beyond sheer joy that anyone is interested in them :o)

• If I can earn some money it will give me back some financial independence too. When I had my own flat I also had life insurance and Hubbie would like me to have some again so that he and the boy taken care of if anything happens. Life insurance tends to be tied to mortgages so if you're not the main breadwinner it's not considered a priority, but it doesn't seem strictly fair on the boys in my family if I don't have any, so I'd like to sort that out.  

• Lose weight - I know this is a very common wish amongst the women I know this one. I am so fed up with being chubby and it is as simple as stopping stuffing my face and getting off my butt to just do it. To motivate myself to achieve this I'm taking part in Walk the Walk next May with the lovely fellow blogger and real life friend Soraya to raise money for Breast Cancer charities. I'd better get fit by then -  even if it's only the half one - I did the full one a few years ago and it damn near killed me !! I'm also part of Team Honk's blogger relay from Lands End to John O'Groats so I'm not going to humiliate myself with all those super fit Yummy Mummy bloggers taking part. 

• Get the garage project started.  It's been on hold for 2 years now (ie. since we moved to this house) and we knew that the garage had to be rebuilt, but we just haven't got round to doing it yet. As I'm not working full time I should just get on with it really, but I know that it won't be a quick thing and I'm dreading the mess and chaos. 

• Decorate the boy's bedroom. I feel so guilty that we've never decorated his bedroom, but I didn't want to commit to a design scheme then have him decide he doesn't like it any more. I have mentioned before how the Barnaby the Bear wallpaper I'd loved aged 4 waned a little when I was 12. We are aiming to put his 'grown-up' (toddler) bed in the room and decorating it in time for Christmas. That way he will have a new room and lots of lovely presents all at once.

Finally, I would like take better care of myself. To get more sleep, wear my nice clothes rather than my comfy ones and think about my appearance again. I used to take time to choose what a I wore, my accessories, make up and hair and I just throw on what's closest (and clean) now. It's not good enough really.

 I'd like to make the effort a bit more so that Hubbie doesn't see me as a frumpy, grumpy wife and my boy doesn't see me as a lumpy, dumpy Mummy.

So there it is. Yes I'd like world peace, but for now I'll take a flatter stomach :o) 

A cat, a fish, a Baker and the Bloggess...

The cat has started sleeping on our bed upstairs. He used to do that in the old house and before the boy was born, but in this house he has a few chosen spots to sleep and our bed hasn't been one of them. Until now. I wasn't sure why this was, but thought it might be that the room is warmer than downstairs, or he might just like sleeping where we've been. Then I spotted the him standing on his back legs with his front paws reaching up the chest of drawers at the top of the stairs. He was straining to look at something and then I realised what it was. The goldfish.

Vince the fish has lived with us for almost two weeks now and he seems to have settled in nicely. My son enjoys watching him swim and talks to him in 'fish talk' ie. making a face like a fish and going 'pop' a lot. He loved going out to get a fish tank for him and even picked up some cat food for the other family member so he is doing well in his ability to care for pets. I don't have a glowing record as a fish keeper - having overfed goldfish in the past - so when Hubbie said "there's too much food in there for him," I looked sheepish and felt guilty. I don't want to have the death of another fish on my conscience so I'm being much meaner with the fish flakes than I was before.

Overfeeding is a common theme for me so it's not surprising that this latest lesson coincides with my new year weight loss regime. I am resisting the urge to polish off all the leftover mince pies and had my first session of bootcamp last week so I'm feeling quite virtuous so far. The freezer is now bulging with yummy food that I've stored instead of 'getting rid' of it by eating it. I realise how uninteresting this must be to you so I promise not to bore you with the details of how it's going.

I may, however, make reference to how my resolutions are going. For example I've almost finished reading Danny Baker's autobiography and have already started on the Bloggess's book (which is great by the way). That's the reading resolution sorted. I've signed up to try a session of Kettlebells next week so that's trying a new exercise. Finally, I am delighted to report it looks like I have a movie buddie (thank you Sarah - you are indeed a Champion !), so I may have the going to the cinema one sorted too. Not bad going for the second week into January is it ?

Now if I can keep the cat from attacking the goldfish he might make it to February.

Foodie Friday: fudge & fancy gingerbread

Last night I shared my bed with two chaps and there wasn't a lot of sleeping involved.  Before you jump to 'three in the bed romp' conclusions it was my snoring Hubbie and my poorly son - who it turns out has tonsillitis - who kept me from a graceful slumber. What it does mean is that today I'm fairly good for nothing other than mooching around the house mainlining cups of tea to keep me awake and being grateful that I don't have to go to work.

I am so pleased I had the foresight to do my baking earlier this week. If I'd left it until today I'd be in a lot of trouble. Instead I have managed to bake and box up the second batch of peanut butter fudge which is nothing like the first. I have concluded that I didn't boil the mixture for long enough or at a high enough heat the first time so it was gritty and a bit too soft, but it stands alone as a great sweet fix if not an accomplished fudge. This batch is darker, more solid and has the texture of indian mithai with the buttery taste and mouth feel that appeals so much. I also managed to score some fabulous kilner jars to put the fudge into (which I'm tempted to keep for myself actually) so that I don't have to resort to using those take away plastic boxes that always smell vaguely of chinese or indian food even after many washes.

The other less successful bit of baking I did was the long awaited gingerbread kit from Waitrose. The mix was pre-made which required kneading to make it soft enough to roll out, but it was still too dry and kept breaking up. We did manage to get enough stars out of the mixture for my son's nursery party and some to decorate the tree with so it was sort of worth the effort. Once baked though the icing part was the next trial. There were two pre-filled icing bags and a small bag of 'edible glitter,' but the icing was too thick to pipe and did not 'smooth over the top' as the pack claimed. I'm particularly disappointed as this was a pricey £3.30 (and that was on special offer) and rather than being a fun activity to do with my boy it was just a bit too fussy so I won't be getting it again.

The surprise of the week was how well the festive palmiers turned out that I had sort of come up with as a way to use up the remainder of mincemeat and some puff pastry I'd bought to experiment with. I popped some in a jar to give as a gift and I think they make a suitably light alternative to traditional mince pies. They're light and just the right size to have with a cup of tea - which for me is the sign of a good snack.

So that's almost all of my Christmas baking done. Once it's over I'm going to feel bereft so I was delighted to receive a call telling me that the boy and I have a place on the 'Baking Bears' course at our local children's centre. It's a course of classes teaching children some basic cooking skills and is always over-subscribed so it's taken us a while to get a place. As we're starting in January it gives us something fun and foodie to look forward to.



That and the boot camp I've signed up to do in January to counteract all the overindulgence !!

To stay at home or not to stay at home that is the question...

Mother-in-law was asking me earlier this week about work. We'd just finished eating and I was still tired from two sleepless nights with a teething toddler, so I was only really half listening. Initially she asked if I had given up working and I said yes. Then she asked if I was going to look for another job and I said I wasn't sure, but I'd probably look for something that fitted round my boy's busy schedule. She then went on to tell me how it's so much nicer to stay at home with your children and it was simpler in her day as you could do that.

This morning there was a discussion on the radio about women 'having it all' and whether or not it was possible or preferable to work or be a full time mum. As I was driving back from an aerobics class while Hubbie and toddler were out doing father and son activities I only caught two soundbites. One was a woman saying that women should never give up work. The other was that men can have it all because they have women to do the other stuff for them.

I stayed at home with my boy for the first year of his life and that was a bare minimum for me to feel ready to leave him. Then I went back to work - ostensibly full time, but with flexible hours and a lot of leave to use up. I hated being at work while others looked after my boy. He was with family members as my sister and Hubbie did the childcare so he was always with people who love him very much. I missed him so much and my work just didn't appeal any more. When the offer of voluntary redundancy came up we discussed if it would work for us and Hubbie agreed that we could manage if I stayed at home. I loved being with my son every day and took him to playgroups and activities every day.

Then a few months ago I found myself feeling fed up. My life seemed to be about waiting for my boy to nap then while he was asleep preparing for him to wake up. I cooked most evenings and my son ate home cooked food every day. He got so used to me that he would greet Daddy enthusiastically and look disappointed if it was just me - AGAIN.

A job came up locally which I decided to do a few days a week to see how it went and if it would suit me to work as my boy was older now (although still under 2 and increasingly cheeky - of course). I did the job a few weeks and just knew it wasn't for me. I was in an office alone and the work was pretty soul destroying. What had started out as a way to have some time for myself and to spend time with other adults became a long walk at lunchtime sandwiched between massive boredom either side. Another discussion with Hubbie about the pointlessness of doing a job that was making me so miserable led to my deciding to give my notice.

This brings us right up to date with my conversation with MiL. Women of her generation do have a different perspective on how to raise children. It took me and Hubbie a long time to have our son so it was important to me that I raise him and care for him as I didn't have him to farm him out to childminders. My mother didn't have any choice and had to work despite having four children. Her perspective is broadly the same and she encourages me to stay at home if I can while understanding (a lot better than MiL I suspect) how hard it is to work and raise a family.

The phrase 'having it all' is misleading:

Women work because we want to or because we need to
We have children and raise them because we want to or can do
We try and do both because we have to or because we are led to believe we are supposed to

The messages we get about being a Mum are:

Being a Mum is not enough to be 'a job'
Working and trying to raise your children will mean you are not doing a good job of either
Being dedicated to your work makes you a poor parent

So I find myself once again tackling the thorny issue of whether to work or not. If I work we can have a few nicer things and maybe a holiday. It means the pressure is not on Hubbie to bring home the Quorn bacon so he can still have some family life and not be a wage slave to support us all.

If I stay at home I get to raise our boy with our values, our boundaries and to watch my little boy grow into a confident and engaging little man before my eyes. I can look at him and beam with pride when he says "bless you" for someone who sneezes or does all the actions to Incy Wincy spider, or strokes the cat gently after weeks of being told not to pull his tail. It also means I get all the tantrums, the throwing, the refusing to do as he's told and hearing the word "no" so many times I cannot tell you.

I've said before that I don't want to have it all. I just want to have a son who feels happy and secure. A Hubbie who is happy and feels appreciated and loved. A family who feel they are part of my son's life and valued. Oh and if there is room for one more wish I'd like this body in a size ten please.

I want world peace (and a flatter stomach please)

Last week I had a rare night out with some yummy mummies from a baby group I've taken my boy to for over a year. They really are yummy being slimmer, younger and considerably better looking than me (even the ones who are pregnant again - how demoralising is that ?) so I sat at the dumpy, middle-aged & unattractive section of the table that I had designated for myself. Envy is an ugly thing so I figured the noise of the restaurant and my distance from the others would disguise the gnashing of my teeth. I distracted myself from their loveliness by noshing my pasta and debating whether it would be a bad idea to order tiramisu. For the record, it is never a bad idea to order tiramisu unless you care about getting into slim fit jeans.

Then today a pal of mine has tweeted a link to an article about Aishwarya Rai and her post baby weight gain and the consternation it has caused the Indian media. For those unfamiliar with the phenomenon of Ash she is an ex-Miss World, Bollywood and Hollywood actress and married into the most famous acting family in India (her father in law was voted most popular movie actor in a BBC poll some years ago much to the shock of Westerners who had never heard of Amitabh Bachan). In November last year Aishwarya gave birth to a daughter and since then there has been fevered comment on her weight gain and apparent disinterest in losing it. According to the magazines and bitchy blogs in India it is her duty as a star to set a good example of a slim body and to "do a Posh." Of course we're all familiar with the slim body that slebs parade at six weeks post-partum and even I joked with the Obstetrician who performed my emergency Cesarean that I'd like a "Posh tuck." They must hear that joke at least ten times a day - poor loves smile weakly and just say "not on the NHS dearie."

My body loathing is legendary and a few years ago I finally slimmed down to a size ten and wore all the clothes I had thought I'd never get into. Then I fell pregnant and was overwhelmed with the love I felt for my swelling body when I was pregnant. I was so convinced that I'd be able to get back into the small sizes that the positivity gave way almost immediately that my son was born to a sense of failure that I wasn't as slim as every other new mother I met. There was even a woman a few beds away from me who didn't even look like she'd actually given birth despite the evidence to the contrary snoring softly in the cot next to her. My point is that we put ourselves under enough pressure to lose weight without other people reminding us that we're not as slim and our cheekbones aren't as defined as they once were.

I spent all afternoon sorting out my wardrobes and deciding not to dress like a frumpy Mummy any more. The saying goes that you should dress for the job you want. I can't see myself dressing in a bikini, but it's the only time in my life that I can even approximate looking like a Miss World. Take a look at the post baby Aishwarya and see if you think I have any hope at all…

All creatures great and small

At the weekend two horses died as a result of taking part in the Grand National - a race generally seen as very hard on both riders and horses. Once again people have raised issues of safety and animal welfare in a sport where horses have a 'shelf life' just as the dogs in greyhound racing do. For me this raises the ugly question of whether we have the right as humans to use animals for our entertainment.

Of course as someone who shares their house with a cat we have plenty of entertainment of the feline kind. Only yesterday Hubbie was looking out of the kitchen window and said "who is that at the end of the garden ?" He meant the tabby cat who is a newcomer to our garden, but I thought he meant the fox that was tiptoeing his way towards the cat. We scrambled to get outdoor shoes on to chase off the fox and I quipped that if I had a red coat and a horse we wouldn't have this problem. In the early days of our courtship me and Hubbie took part in a debate about fox hunting where we took opposite points of view. It's not the first time I've had that discussion and I still cannot fathom how anyone can see fox hunting as a fun day out rather than a brutal 'sport.' I don't see the appeal of chasing a fox using a pack of dogs and surely being drunk in charge of a horse is just irresponsible ?

I have the same problem with zoos, so not taking my son to see the animals is something I will have to explain to him when he is older. In the same way I'm sure he will want to know why Mummy doesn't eat meat. I stopped eating meat in my teens mostly as I read an interview with Madonna where she said that vegetarians are thinner and paler (yes at the age of 13 I cared what she said !) but also as I was horrified by how animals were kept and cared for in order to be eaten. Battery farming especially made me very distressed so seeing the free range hens that live a few doors away makes my heart sing every morning.

About 15 years later I went through an experimental phase with meat. I had been struggling with IBS for a few years and took advice to get some tests to see if it was the food I was eating. The testing was pretty dubious and I was told I was 'intolerant' to wheat, caffeine, peppers, onions, cabbage, red wine, etc. The usual rubbish that you get when you go for a non medical or 'natural' explanation is to cut out wheat, dairy and sugar, ie. all the nice foods. As a veggie I pretty much lived on pasta and potatoes so to be told that my staple foods were off the menu came as something of a shock and left me with few options (or so I thought). I started to eat some chicken then slowly reintroduced other foods that I hadn't eaten for over a decade. To be honest I found meat really uninteresting and dull. It didn't inspire creativity and frankly I'd have preferred to just be able to eat toast. A few years ago I decided again that I prefer not to eat meat and as it is so much more normal now than it was when I first became veggie and the choices are better.

I still vacillate on the decision about whether or not to eat fish and it is one that vexes me as I am always  on the brink of giving it up. I do really enjoy fish though and despite my high minded ideals there has to be space for enjoyment in life doesn't there ?  Speaking of which I did try being a vegan at university (didn't we all ?) and was exhausted, spotty and pale as well as very hungry all the time. I mean who can live without a piece of cake and a cup of tea (no soy or rice milk just doesn't cut it I'm afraid). I admire those who can eat well on a limited diet, but frankly my body was built on chocolate, chips and cheese. Oh, and the occasional piece of buttery toast.

My mother's daughter

As I was half listening to Radio 4 yesterday I heard that a report had found that mothers who work are less likely to become depressed than women who stay at home with their children. One of the women commenting on this report stated that she would be bored senseless if she stayed at home with nothing to do but look after children and going to work gave her purpose and meaning in life.

Having been at home for over a year looking after my boy I noticed that recently I had become resentful of not having any time to myself in a day and waited with impatience for Hubbie to get home so that I could go and do something other than be with my beloved offspring. I was a seething mass of unexplained anger and found that being by myself with my son was appealing for only so many hours of the day. I don't know many people in the area where we live and the ones I do have mostly returned to work or are pregnant again so I don't even see them much. The weekly routine of playgroups and activities gets us both out of the house and I make sure that we do something constructive every day even if it's just a walk to the park. Coupled with an insane paranoia about leaving the house because of a spate of burglaries in our local area I've become a bit reluctant to go too far or out for too long. This is no way to live I was aware that if I didn't pull myself together I was going to become agoraphobic.

I finally opened up about this to a few friends and they concluded that I needed to go back to work as I was bored and underachieving at home. So in the last month I have returned to working a few days a week at a job that is not far from home. I was absolutely miserable for the first few weeks. I missed my son terribly and couldn't bear being in an office on my own for a whole day with only the scale filled kettle in the finance office to lure me out for the occasional cup of tea. It was, however, lovely to come home to hear all about what my boy had been doing and to see his smiling face and acknowledge that he hadn't been irreparably harmed by me not being there to tend to his every whim.

I'm still not entirely sure that this is the dream job for me, but I do know that when my son waves me off in the morning he's in good hands all day. I enjoy going for a walk at lunchtime and I like using my brain for something other than planning meals for my family and deciding if the bookcase should stay where it is or be moved a few feet to the left. Ok so I don't get to bake as much - which is completely overrated as a pastime by the way - and I'm sure the cat will lose some weight without me giving in to his plaintive cries for biscuits every time I go anywhere near the kitchen.

My Mum worked full time most of my life and didn't have a choice about it. She still cooked a meal for us every evening and managed the household budget as well as ensuring we were all doing well at school. In my mind that is the gold standard of what I should be aiming for and anything less is just me being lazy or not trying hard enough.

Trying to be a yummy mummy is pretty demoralising stuff. From comparing how much slimmer every other mum appears to be, to feeling guilty for sitting on the sofa watching mindless telly while the baby naps it all adds up to not being the woman who "has it all." Which brings us back to where I came in and the Radio 4 piece about the myth of women wanting it all when actually we just want to not be bored or depressed or taken for granted. Being pregnant again would be a pretty sweet bonus too if anyone is asking :o) 

Flippin' pancakes

All of us know that we can eat pancakes any day we choose, there is no reason why we wait until Shrove Tuesday, but sure enough the day rolls around and out come the crepe pans and the Jif lemon (unused since last year usually) and an assortment of different toppings. In our house we have the traditional lemon and sugar, Nutella, banana and maple syrup, fresh fruit and occasionally a savoury option on offer. A few years ago I even bought a heart shaped pan so I could incorporate the two big days together and we could have romantic valentine themed pancakes.

I have, however learned a lesson about making pancakes, it's simple and I'm going to share it with you. If you use large eggs in baking recipes they go ever so slightly wrong. Pancake batter is pretty forgiving so it doesn't cause too much trauma. Cakes and biscuits, however, don't allow for an error with a basic ingredient. Sinking and soggy in the middle - and that's just how I feel when I look in on the disaster that was supposed to be a delicious teatime snack and is now a doorstop. Poor Hubbie ends up eating all the mistakes and disasters and as a result he's taken up running again.

It's another of those 'life is unfair' moments when you realise that for a man to lose weight he just needs a partner who ensures there's nothing fattening in his packed lunch or the cupboard when he gets home. For a woman to lose weight it takes leaving home or stomach stapling or a gastric band. I'm not inclined to do any of these just yet so during this period that we will call the winter fat months (Valentine's chocolate, pancake peril, Easter egg tasting practice) I will be mostly running round the house chasing my son.

Tomorrow morning we'll have some small pancakes with the boy so he can experience the joy of pancake day (albeit a day later). Thankfully he loves most things we eat so chopped banana and maple syrup on a scotch pancake should be a magical treat compared with his usual weetabix brekkie. You never know I might even make pancakes another day just for the fun of it if he likes them.

If you're having pancakes enjoy a squeeze of lemon and a sprinkle of sugar on my behalf. 

Let them eat cake. Them, not me.

At this moment I have about 5 boxes and tins full of cake and cookies in my kitchen. I've got red velvet cake, gingerbread, banana loaf, chocolate brownies, carrot cake and good old Victoria sponge. Before you panic that I've gone a bit loopy they were left over from a cake sale to raise money for the premature baby charity Bliss.

While I type this I'm watching Gok Wan's TV show about teens and body image which is making me feel like a total pig for even having cake in the house. Like a lot of women I have a schizophrenic relationship with food, eating and my body. I took some photos at the cake sale to send to Bliss. I'm in some of them and when I saw myself I realised that I look bigger than I think I am right now. The fact that I've been exercising every day since 28th Dec and being careful with what I eat and yet I still appear to be gaining weight is very frustrating. Even more so now I have a worktop covered in delicious tempting treats.

I've never been someone who eats an entire packet of biscuits or a whole cake or loaf of bread. I am a grazer and can happily munch away without realising how much I've actually consumed. The way I've always dealt with weight gain has been to exercise (a lot) and to control my food intake or to skip meals altogether. This is simple to do when you are single, go to work and only have to take care of yourself, actually it's even manageable when you have a partner. When I was at work I'd strictly manage how much food I ate and went to the gym or for a run at lunchtime. Now I'm at home I exercise when my boy is asleep (or weather permitting take a hike up the hill with him in his buggy) and eat once he and the cat are dealt with. I made a promise to myself to never eat from his plate or to finish his leftovers. To my horror I've found a stray piece of fishfinger in my mouth as I've been clearing his plate and the justification that it's a waste to throw it away is never far from my mind.

In general I've tried to embrace the idea that taking care of my boy is far more important than worrying about my appearance. However, this falls down when I see other mums looking great and fear that the family curse has set in already and I will be the size of my Aunty Bably if I don't take control of this situation soon. I love my Aunty, but I also remember how she was just as jolly when she was young and slim. When I was 11 and went to India she hung her long chiffon scarf to dry out of the window of a moving train, she slapped a man round the face for daring to drive his moped in the road in front of where we were about to cross and she laughed more than anyone I've ever met. She also ate voraciously and was delighted when I made us chips during a power cut in the village where my Grandmother was headteacher of the local school. It never occurred to me that my family's obsession with food and eating would leave a legacy of self-loathing and fear of loss of control.

The year before I fell pregnant I lost a lot of weight and was the slimmest I've ever been (as an adult). I was wearing size ten jeans for the first time in my life. This feat was made possible by focusing entirely on losing weight and thinking about practically nothing else at all. I wore a pedometer, wrote down everything I ate (which I still do, but the list of food is longer these days) and was weighed every week. It was a miserable, self-obsessed, but ultimately successful, way to do it.

So it would appear my choice is to be happy and jolly and overweight (as it is written) or to spend most of my life obsessing about everything I eat and how much I exercise. For now I just have to stay away from all the cake in the kitchen. Hubbie's job is to take it into work and get his colleagues to eat it. A kitchen free from temptation and guilt - now that really will be bliss.

An Ode to tea

A friend came to visit on Sunday afternoon and I offered him a cup of tea with his cookies, mince pies and cupcake. I opened the cupboard and listed what we had: Assam, Darjeeling, Lapsang Souchong, Yorkshire tea, PG Tips and various herbal and caffeine free options. It was then that I realised my love affair with tea is getting out of hand. Having a variety of teas is fine, rivalling the East India Company is going a bit too far.

It actually started when I realised that I was down to my last few teabags and panicked. As I was going to work I popped into Sainsburys and bought some emergency packs of Yorkshire tea and Twinings Everyday tea. Then the next time I was in Waitrose they had an offer on Twinings so I got some Lapsang Souchong, Earl Grey and Assam. There was a free tin with one of them so that was alright. Then I got home and found some Assam and Darjeeling in the back of the cupboard so they came to the front.

So now my daily schedule of tea is thus: PG tips for breakfast, Assam or Yorkshire for morning cuppa while baby sleeps, Darjeeling after lunch while baby sleeps, random selection for afternoon tea. Assam as evening cup and again random for last tea of the day. It's all very bohemian when I throw in a Honeybush or Moonlight Jasmine green tea for a change. It sounds silly, but having so many types of tea has given me a new appreciation for the taste and experience of drinking tea. My palate has become attuned to the slightly tinny nature of Assam, the mild, but ultimately strong perfume of Darjeeling (the champagne of teas no less !) and the sweet comfort of Honeybush caffeine free.

The downside is that now I'm home full time I'm averaging around 6-7 cups a day and before long I'll rival Tony Benn in the tea drinking stakes. Add to this my return to pre-Christmas baking and it is a seriously dangerous combination that ultimately will lead to an expanded waistline and me grumbling that I'm too fat. Hubbie will mumble something about how I'm not and look sympathetic while polishing off the oat and raisin cookies to help me out. It's far too stressful to think about - I'm off for a brew.

You 'n' Resolutions

In a few weeks time most of us will be considering what to resolve to stop doing on 31st Dec 2011 and what to start doing on 1st Jan 2012. Channelling my inner psychic I predict that there will be a few who will resolve to stop smoking, drink less, lose weight, change job, make money and a few who resolve to move house. Resolutions tend to be a public declaration to do something that we haven't really committed to, but we feel obliged to start a new year with a new set of (old) aims. Of course if you really want to make a significant change in your life any day should be fine - why wait until 1st January ?

In the spirit of doing something realistic I've compiled a list of actions. If you just pick one to do - on any day you like - consider it a get out of jail free card with your resolutions later. Don't send me a Christmas card - even if it does donate 5% to charity - just pick something from the list and give it a go.

1. Register as an organ donor
2. Volunteer in your local community
3. Give blood
4. Make something with your own hands and give it to someone
5. Join your local freecycle group
6. Visit or write to an older person you know (no Santa does not count !)
7. Give away those old clothes / books / bric-a-brac you've been meaning to throw out for years
8. Instead of sending a text message or an email to a friend call them and have a conversation

Let me know how you get on :o)

The cat's been sick and Morrissey is on the telly...

So I decided to start with a momentous first blog and was waxing lyrical about all sorts of nonsense when the cat decided to walk over me to sniff the baby monitor and walked back. In the process he deleted all the writing I'd done. Convinced this was him being a critic I took it personally and told him off. Imagine how guilty I felt when minutes later he was throwing up in the next room !!

It may have been a reaction to my telling him off, but it was more likely to be a result of next door having a barbecue this evening. Neo has been caught on camera in the past licking the cold grills of a barbecue and whenever we eat outdoors he is sick (and mysteriously the last of the sausages go missing !) He has also tried veggie sausages before now and that wasn't a success either. Poor lad had no idea what was going on when he bit into those !

Every year we record a lot of the Glastonbury coverage on the BBC and this year is no exception. The usual course of events is we delete the previous year's recordings which we still haven't watched only to replace them with the new ones. This year we have decided to break with tradition and actually watch them first and have just been watching Morrissey. From the song that signifies when we first met (I want the one I can't have) to the one that was played during our wedding (This Charming Man) the Smiths repertoire is pretty significant to me and hubbie. It makes me realise that the bands that I once thought were so radical and anti-establishment are now middle aged (or in most cases retirement age) and firmly part of the establishment.

I find it hard to let go of things: books, DVDs, CDs, shoes, clothes, memories, expectations. It's a cliche that women love shoes, but in my case it's true. Last year we attended 6 weddings and I was pregnant for all but one of them. As a result I was unable to wear the beautiful shoes I'd chosen specifically to match with outfits and kept for that special and unknown future occasion. When the year of weddings was upon us I was carrying my son and a fair amount else in my frock so pretty shoes were not practical. Ironically I don't really care what I wear on my feet these days, but still have the boxes of magic in case I have a special day to wear them to.

Expectations are far more difficult to let go of. The year before I fell pregnant I decided I was fed up with being unhappy in my body and made an effort to lose weight. Following a sensible eating plan and exercising I became the slimmest I've been as an adult. It was very satisfying to be slim and to feel 'normal' for once. Then I found out that the thing we'd been told wouldn't happen had happened and I was expecting a baby. I was so delighted at the news that I didn't consider how this would affect my body in the longer term as I just thought I'd lose the weight again. What I hadn't appreciated was how difficult it would be to just go back to what I did before. I've heard the term 'getting my body back' and it always sounded a bit shallow, but I think I understand what that is about now. For so long my body has served a purpose and my responsibility has been to maintain it for the wellbeing of another person - from carrying him and supporting him to feeding him.  I barely had time to enjoy being slim and I'm now struggling with the idea that it just won't happen again. It's not the most important thing in life, but it is a difficult thing to let go of.

Right, having managed a blog free of feline interference I'm going to cut and run. The baby is kicking the side of his cot in his sleep (which is pretty much what he did for 9 months when I was his cot !!).

Hasta luego !