May 2009 Archives

And so on Orange Wednesday I took The Boy and his mate The Girl (not girl friend!) for a cheap night out at the pictures (yes Brabbin, pictures) to see Night at the Museum Two.

We got to the cinema and stood at the back of three huge queues full of jostling people. I thought the kids might get restless but The Boy found 5p on the floor which he and The Girl decided to invest in pic n' mix. I was well aware that they'd only get a paltry half a Malteser with their new found treasure, but at least they'd be kept busy while I waited to get the tickets.

Although we actually arrived at 7.10 for a 7.15 start, by the time I'd got through the queue it was 7.35. This wouldn't have bothered me as at worst there might be a danger we'd miss all those lovely adverts, but the film was actually sold out. The next showing wasn't till 8.05.

"Are there any other kids' films on any sooner than that?"I asked. I explained that I didn't fancy another half hour wait, plus the trailers plus the film.

"Erm, yeah." The lad behind the desk replied. "We've got Wolverine on at 8.30"

I stared at him for a moment or so, and realised quickly that there would be no point in pursuing this idea any further. I bought the 8.05 tickets and went off to find the kids, wondering how on earth I was going to occupy them till we could go into the theatre.

Expect to see this headline in years to come, and apparently I've got no one to blame but myself.

Using the miracles of modern science to get yourself knocked up at the age of 66 is outrageous.

When I heard the news this morning that a woman is set to give birth when she is 67 years old I couldn't get me breath. What was perhaps more disturbing were people's reactions. Lots of people were quick to point out that men father children at that age. In fact they're capable of siring offspring well into their 80s and beyond. (shudder)

I'd like to thank those people for the biology lesson (and the mental image). I'd also like to point out that it's physically possible for some 9 year old girls to get pregnant. Doesn't mean they should now, does it?

Do you think looking after your toddler is hard work? Is chasing after this small person in your life starting to wear you down? Ever searched for something to make life seem that little bit easier?

I have a simple, yet brilliant solution. If you think one toddler is difficult, try looking after two.

This is how I spent my day off last week. How much more difficult could one extra pair of legs be? I'd thought as I volunteered to babysit Lucy Henman-Hill's son, J Man.

I planned to take both boys to play group, have lunch with my friend Lisa (mom of 1 + 1 on the way), then home till 5.30 when J Man got collected.

I went to playgroup and stood outside door to community centre wondering how in the name of God I was going to get the tank of a twin pushchair through the doors. After some random passer-by took pity on me, and helped me hold one of the double doors, I got into the main hall and unleashed the two bags of energy from their safety harnesses.

There I was, happily working away when The Norman appeared at the photocopier behind my desk.

I can't remember how the conversation started. First we were discussing the fact that all the photocopiers seem to be on a go slow, then we were talking about women who've recently gone on maternity leave.

Suddenly, she grinned at me. "And have you got anything you want to share, eh?" And she topped the loaded question off with a wink.

"Not again!" I said in dismay, my hand instinctively going to cover the gut I was now acutely aware of. This is the second time someone has assumed I was pregnant in nearly as many months.

No. Of course they don't dream. And even if they did 'dream', all the dreams would consist of would be ambiguous colours, patterns and shapes, with perhaps the odd Telly Tubby thrown in for good measure.

There certainly would be no complex thought processes; no sequences of imagined events or plot-lines. I doubt The Kid is old enough to have a well ordered conscious thought, let alone continuous streams of unconscious imaginings that rise to the surface of his mind as he sleeps.

He certainly wouldn't create a 'frightening' scenario in his mind, not least because I've never actually known him to be frightened when he's awake.

That was until 3am this morning. I was awoken by a very sudden, shrill, shriek of terror eminating from the little bedroom.

I should have known that asking The Other Half to purchase some feminine hygiene products while he was at the shop, wouldn't be as straight-forward as I imagined.

I'd given him guidance on what to get: purple pack that may well have a picture of a moon on it and perhaps some blue drops in the corner.

It was the gleeful look on his face as he triumphantly plonked down on the footstool, the thing he'd just spent 30 minutes looking at in Sainsbury's that made me stifle my initial reaction, which would have been along the lines of: "What the bleedin' 'ell d'you call these?!"

Is it me, or is clubbing just not what it used to be? Give me a choice of trying to get a taxi at 3am whilst fighting through swathes of people who, about 6 months ago were below the age of consent , or being safe and warm in my bed, I know where I'd rather be. Has clubbing itself changed beyond all recognition, or did I just get old?

Yup - when people ask me if I want to go to one of Broad Street's faceless bars to listen to music so new I've never heard it before I promptly make my excuses. Then I heard that Stoodi Bakers is returning for just one night. It's at the old Stoodi's building (now Miskas) on Sunday the 3rd of May. I have to say I'm sorely tempted.

I know. I'm neurotic. I'm being irrational. At least that's what people tell me when I share with them that this whole swine flu business is scaring the pants off me. They say it's just a lot of scaremongering by the media and those companies with a vested interested in selling antibacterial products.