Llivestock

Yesterday, we had an imaginary dog. Unfortunately, I kicked over his non-imaginary water bowl. Twice. Flipping mutt.

Hop-along

Today I have done an urgent errand, had a very nice chunk of sticky toffee pudding (for therapeutic purposes, in order to give my friend some respite from his endless PhD), and been chatted up by a ageing phycologist. It has been quite the day. My leg and ankle are very sore from hobbling about and saving my broken toe, but at least I have made a start on he literature review for my Masters. It seemed like a good idea at the time. 

In which I am belatedly quick-witted

I find many things irksome, and I really don't try very hard to conceal it when I do. Perhaps I should. One of the things that irks me the most, or rather, one of the type of people who irks me the most, are the Competitive Mummies. 

I have two children. They are the most excellent creatures ever to grace the face of the Earth. They are handsome, clever, witty and charming. Well, I think so. But you (as a casual observer) would be forgiven for watching for a short while, and then quietly slipping away, muttering to yourself, "Unruly spawn! Beastly, vile creatures [explanatory note: the older one is very fond of picking his nose and eating what he finds. I am unable to disabuse him of the notion that 'boogers' are a delicacy] with nasty habits, doubly-incontinent and incoherent of speech. The little one is practically bald!"

The only thing in my favour since I reproduced is that I don't actually care if your child walked sooner than mine, or can talk more, or is already toilet trained. As my own wonderful Mammy says: "Do you know many adults who can't walk, talk or go to the toilet?"However,  I am in a minority. I am a little tired of the ceaseless comparisons, overt and covert, and the whole atmosphere that surrounds gatherings of Mummies. Sorry, lads, I'm not your Mummy. I'm your Mammy, and she's a whole other animal entirely.

On Sunday, a sort-of-colleague of the Spouse landed in the seat beside us at Mass. Her two children are both very similar ages to mine, and as soon as the Priest left the altar, she took pains to explain how fast her little one could crawl, and that he was pulling himself up to stand. Combine this with feigned horror at his tender age, and pointed looks at my fat wee lump who thinks rolling over is revolutionary (pardon the pun), and you'll understand why I spent Mass praying not to say anything mean to her. Dear Reader (and I think that there may not even be one of you), I was very good. Of course, I simmered all day and then had a brainwave at 4.30pm. What I should have said was, "Oh, isn't it funny how they grow up - sure remember how <my older> walked so much sooner than <your older>, and sure you'd never see the difference now at all!" 

I suppose it doesn't count as being good if you hold on to it until Tuesday and then blog about it. Ah well.

I remember when the Spouse and I were going out together. It was nice. I certainly didn't spend the evening  washing dishes, hearing a voice from upstairs thunder, "No! Take your hand out of there and flush it!" 

I think there's going to be a lot of poo on this blog. In more ways than one.

Hashtag Irish Mammy

- Away to Mass for St Patrick's Day, and not a shamrock between us! Desprit altogether, this house. 

- But I have on my green jumper!

- Yes, but it is a bit of a shitty green. But it suits you! Isn't it lucky that the colour of S H ONE T (for we must currently spell all words that do not bear repeating by a two-year-old) suits you?

I think that other couples have much more cerebral conversations, perhaps about poetry or The Arts, or maybe about shared interests or mutual hobbies. The Big One is away to bed, and the love of my life has already fallen asleep on the armchair. Another exciting evening awaits. I am away to scrub a saucepan. 

Breakdown

Three days into my new blog, and I have broken down already. In my defence, I was so tired last night, I went to bed with unbrushed teeth. It's just as well I hadn't painted my face yesterday morning, or I'd have taken that to bed as well. I am tired of hobbling, but at least the short people were much nicer yesterday than they were on Thursday. 

Rather pleasantly, yesterday brought two cheques from Ernie, each for £25. It is very old-fashioned, and probably from a different social class or something, but I do like the premium bonds. 

Today, I am going to a birthday party for my excellent nephew, who is three. There will be cake and ice-cream. Underneath the juvenile high spirits, it is also a small celebration that my sister is still alive to enjoy these events. Given the level of 'excitement' when her son was born, she really shouldn't be here at all. Thank God that she came through it, and that's definitely a post for another time. 

My nerdy big boy is watching Dr Who on his Daddy's iPad, and my little one is kicking the cot to bits in an attempt to get someone to lift him and give him a bottle. I must get up. 

Updating and downregulating

I have spent a large proportion of the day fiddling with my computer, letting it think about things, and returning to fiddle with it again. However, I have now upgraded to OS X Mavericks, which makes me feel really quite Top Gunnish. All my photos have survived the journey, which is the very best bit of all.
I have found myself in possession of two small children. One of them is two years and (almost) eight months old, and the other one is almost eight months old. Having them so close together seemed like an excellent idea at the time, and I am sure I will find it wonderful when they are playing together and being good chums. Meanwhile, the big one is ligging about like a small alcoholic (bizzare mood swings, partly-coherent speech, random acts of violence, and mostly incontinent), whilst the wee one is teething like mad and hates the world today, despite usually being the nicest baby in the county. I am not allowed (or able) to put any weight on the broken toe, so am leaning on my heel/side of foot, giving me a rolling sailor-like gait. Add this to the short people and I am really quite tired tonight. No, forget that. I am bloody exhausted and so is everyone who comes in contact with me and mine.We are not very good company.

Hello, and welcome.

It's interesting, the things you learn. This weekend, I learned not to lift heavy objects with people who cannot follow instructions. Particularly if you are married to them (the co-lifter, I mean, not the heavy object). As a result of the application of a kerbstone, I am now nursing a broken toe. I have never broken a bone before. It was surprisingly sore. I am somewhat grumpy about this episode.