Friday chat

 Blogging for Sanity  2 Responses »
May 112012
 

Help the Aged

I must tell you about Lily.  She is a lady on the bed opposite my mum who is currently in a cottage hospital for recuperation.  I went in the other day and she was kindly exclaiming that I didn’t look old enough to have 3 kids and that ‘I’ve kept my figure’.  So you can see why I instantly liked her.  She beckoned me over…’How old do you reckon I am, then?’ she said.  I looked at her and wanting to be kind I said ‘Late 60s?’ (meaning mid 70s).

92!!!  Flippin’ heck!  The shock on my face said it all and she giggled and waved a pot at me.  ’Wrinkle cream!  Used it all my life!’  ’Well Lily, ‘said I ‘I am getting myself some of that!’ (actually I already have some…alas).  She then proceeded to rustle in her bag and produce some haribo which she insisted I give to my children who were with me.  Son was in fine humour and he went over to thank her which made me proud.

Then, when I went in yesterday I was feeling a bit low.  Littlest had me up at 5am and I was basically knackered and allowing myself a blue moment.  The nurse asked me if I was alright and I was touched that she had noticed my weariness.  The scragged up hair and HUGE bags under my eyes probably gave it away!  Then after chatting to mum I got up to leave and Lily called me over to take some marshmallows over to the lady in the corner because she didn’t have any munchies.  The she asked me to pick up a bag for her.  ’It’s got my curlers in it.  I am seeing the doctor tomorrow, I can’t go without my hair done’.  Bless her, her spirit and still keeping herself youthful and elegant at the age of 92 really made me go a bit fuzzy and want to give her a hug.  I didn’t, because I don’t think you’re supposed to and she is so slight I thought I might break her.  But Lily is all I hope to be at 92.  Cheerful, optimistic and still promoting a sense of humour, something many old people have drained out of them through illness, loneliness and confusion.

Britmums Live

One wine-fuelled evening a few weeks ago I decided to sign up to go to Britmums Live.  I am there on my ownsome and although feel very chipper about it now, I know I will get through the doors and think ‘Oh, crap.  Why am I here?’.  I am quite a shy person and although once I get going you can’t shut me up (I even worked as an actress) I am rubbish at chit-chat.  My worst scenario is a room full of people I don’t know having to make small talk.  I feel like I am 12 again at the school disco and retreat to the loos or just leave altogether – flight definitely overtaking fight and at an alarming rate.

Anyway, I remind myself I am 39 and really should be better at this by now.  So I am going and I am really looking forward to it.  I was just going to go on the Saturday but laughingly said if I made the finalists of the awards I would go on the Friday too.  To my ongoing disbelief I did make it onto a finalist list, so this week I duly booked myself into the local Travel Lodge (£60 for bed and full brekkie and 20mins walk!).  Cheap, cheerful and hopefully a guarantee of being clean.

What am I nervous about?  Well, it’s not just the small talk, but meeting other bloggers who might actually recognise my blog or tweet with me and shattering the illusion of, well, me.  Blogging and tweeting gives you a persona and I know there are a good few who meet up and chat on the phone, but I am not one of them.  Britmums Live is fuelling my teenage angst of ‘What if they don’t like me?’.  So silly, I am a grown woman and if people don’t like me then so be it, I honestly and rationally don’t really care but I find the blogging world and twitter especially, a bit like being back at school.  There are the cool kids who wittily tweet to each other and everybody want to be followed by them, there are the boys, there are the girls, there are the silent tweeters who listen and join in the conversation if only in their heads, there are the new kids, the old kids and the nerdy kids lurking on the periphery.  I won’t say which category I think I fall in to but one type of kids twitter doesn’t seem to have is the mean kids – the bullies and the bitches.  Everyone seems lovely and in it for the same reasons, going in the same direction. It is Hogwarts online.   This I will remember as I fix a big smile and head for the Britmums butterflies…


Poo

 Blogging for Sanity  18 Responses »
May 032012
 

What is it with kids and poo?  Actually, dogs and kids and poo.  My son is a serial poo-er. Wherever we go he has to have a poo; Grandma’s, the garden centre, even in the en-suite at my mum’s hospital room.  And he is very proud when he produces ‘a really stinky one’ or one of noteworthy size. It’s like he’s marking his territory and the louder, the prouder.

Littlest is potty trained and is still SO chuffed when she produces a poo and duly has to show it to all and sundry.  Regretfully, if she shows it to Fergus he is wont to try to eat it, which is why you should NEVER allow a dog to lick you.  They EAT poo.  Simple as that.  Human poo, other dog’s poo, fox poo… and rabbit poo gets nibbled up like canapes.  Why, I will never understand and don’t care to investigate.

Perhaps the potty-mania is why pooing is instilled into our young as such a remarkable achievement.  We are told by the books to whoop and dance around when your toddler produces a no.2.  One book even suggests phoning Daddy at work to celebrate the success.  Let’s hope it’s not on speakerphone during a conference call.

One of my favourite books is ‘The Story of the Little Mole who knew it was None of his Business’ which is all about a mole who has a poo land on his head and he sets out to find the culprit, examining the evidence along the way.  Literary poo.  And a cracking read.

‘Poo’ was the first rude word my kids came home from school with.  They would snigger in a corner and whisper it and then when they moved on to squabbling the biggest insult of ‘You’re a poo!’ would be saved until the end and sending the recipient off to the nearest parent in woeful hysterics.  The shit would metaphorically hit the fan.

BFF made me laugh the other day as she commented that she was up and out early that morning as there was a frost which made the dog poo on the lawn so much easier to pick up.  Grim, yes.  But practical too and all dog-owners take note.

My other BFF was proudly showing me photos of the fake poo she made for a show she was doing the props for.  I wasn’t sure how to comment.  Remarkable likeness!  Well done!  How does one react to such a creation?  She is top of her game in prop-making, but I have to say, I preferred the cupcake she gave me from the set of Calendar Girls.

I suppose poo is just one of those bodily functions that, like farting, is always a source of hilarity and achievement.  Sorry to dump that on you.