Venezuelan dark chocolate, I loves you!

Posted on September 23, 2008

I’m sit­ting here with a piece of slightly melt­ing dark choco­late stick­ing out of  my mouth.  Wha?  Like you’ve never done it.  Pah, it’s one of the plea­sures in life.  Blog­ging by chocolate!

I’ve had a rough week with Squidge.  I don’t think I’m going to be win­ning any par­ent­ing awards.  On Sat­ur­day we went gro­cery shop­ping.  Squidge didn’t want to get into the car.  I was hold­ing her by the arm and she was pulling away.  So in frus­tra­tion I just let go.  You can guess what hap­pened.  She smashed the side of her head into the car and started to cry hys­ter­i­cally.  Squidge is NOT a crier.  She has fallen back­wards down the stairs, done a flip mid-air and landed on her tummy.  The girl picked her­self up and started climb­ing the stairs again.  Not a peep, not a whim­per.  So I knew she was in some pain.  Yes I felt like a com­plete ass­hole.  I know I didn’t grab her by the back of the head and slam her head against the car but I felt like I had.

Yes­ter­day she asked to go pee.  YAY!!  I ran up the stairs with her and while I did this I felt her bum.  I thought her jeans were wet so I started to chas­tise her.  Ooops my mis­take.  She wasn’t wet at all.  But Lindy, HOW do you know this?!??!  Oh that would be the huge gush­ing piss she took stand­ing in front of the toi­let while being told off my her Mom of the Year nom­i­nated mom (it’s an honor just being nom­i­nated. Right? Right!!).

There have been numer­ous moments where I just lost my cool and shouted at her.  Too many moments where I just want to be left alone.  Every time I shout or threaten I feel like a ball of crap that has been scrapped off your shoe.  All smooshed and gross.

Then in the morn­ing I wake up to the sound of Mummy. Mummy. Mom. Mooom. Mooooooooomy and I know all is for­got­ten.  I walk into her room and she greats me with a huu­uge smile, ready for a big hug and a kiss.  I won­der how much longer I have to com­mit these lit­tle mummy indis­cre­tions before they become con­signed to her mem­ory.  I worry about this. I feel guilt over these moments.

I hope that when she looks back at this time she’ll remem­ber times like this.

I hope that I am fill­ing her with many many more of the good mem­o­ries and that the bad ones just melt away.  I love you Squidge, you lit­tle shit.





Weirdo,

Posted on September 2, 2008

Wal is off on another busi­ness trip.  He’s gone to South Africa– Cape Town.  I really wanted to go with him.  I told him Squidge and I would keep our­selves occu­pied.  Unfor­tu­nately the tick­ets are out­ra­geously expen­sive so we’re here– in Man­ches­ter, sunny, sunny Manchester.

I spent 48 hours with­out speak­ing to any­one other than Squidge.  Do you know what that does to a per­son?  No? Well I’ll tell you it makes you chatty when you get together with friends.  In a weirdo hys­ter­i­cal kinda way.  Con­ver­sa­tion becomes rushed, like you spent all this time think­ing about things and sud­denly A REAL LIVE PERSON is stand­ing in front of you and you­just­need­tosaysome­thing now! Now! NOW!  So to my friends I apol­o­gize if I was a bit of a weirdo this afternoon.

This also leads me to some­thing else I’ve been think­ing about.  Yes, I am fully aware that a think­ing Lindy is a dan­ger­ous thing.  My thoughts and my web browser has been on real estate sites.  I We still want to move. The hous­ing mar­ket is in the toi­let at the moment so it’s some­thing that will hap­pen soon but not soon enough.  Now do I want to move to the coun­try or am I a city girl?

The last time we went dri­ving (one of my most favorite things to do) around the Cheshire coun­try­side I had dreams of a house in the coun­try.  I told Wal that YES I CAN live out here.  LOOK how beau­ti­ful it is.  So green and COUNTRY! Then I start research­ing towns and how long Wal’s com­mute would be and could he work from home a cou­ple of days a week.  Then I start look­ing for big­ger houses because if he’s going to work from home he needs an office.  Ooh how about a detached garage that we can con­vert into an office.  So you can see where this is going.  By the time I’m done we’re liv­ing in a coun­try manor house.  So the ques­tion of coun­try liv­ing turns over and over in my mind.  Can I live in a small Cheshire vil­lage where it would take me 30+ to get to friends/amenities?  Where real­is­ti­cally we’ll be liv­ing sur­rounded by houses roughly like what we can afford here in the city w/ about the same amount of land.  The only dif­fer­ence would be that accross the road would be fields instead of more houses.  I don’t think I can if I’m hon­est with myself.  I know that I com­plain about my house and the drunks and pubs and park­ing and… and… and… BUT, I think it’s the fact that we’ve out­grown the house so any prob­lems are exag­ger­ated.  So in the way which is becom­ing our habit we are tak­ing baby steps to get­ting our house ready to sell.  Our bath­room is being deliv­ered on Fri­day so we are mov­ing, slowly slowly slowly toward that end.  Now all we need is for the hous­ing mar­ket to bounce back!





country living

Posted on August 31, 2008

On Fri­day I went to Eddis­bury farm to do a bit of fruit pick­ing.  The farm was beau­ti­ful and I had a really great time.  I think the kids really enjoyed them­selves and knew exactly which ones to pick and which to leave behind.

All of them gob­bled up the yummy sweet­est largest rasp­ber­ries I have ever seen.  I think they ate more than they kept but isn’t that the point of pick­ing your own fruit with children?

I think my favorite bit was sit­ting down and watch­ing them eat­ing apples with the trees in the back­ground– car­bon foot­print 0 (except that we drove 45 min­utes to get there so uuum I guess we did have a bit of a car­bon foot­print but lets just for­get that).





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