Anyone for jogging?

Yep. Me. Went for a jog. 

Oh man, I can't honestly say, at this point in time, that i enjoy it one little iota. Getting a sweat on is ok, in ones house, without an audience, and a towel with which to wipe ones brow, but in the wide open spaces, with dog walkers and pram pushers and...FUNERAL GOERS??? 

I always go on a little lane near me which has a couple of farmhouses and a church. I'm doing that app...the one couch to 5k. Pah. (Never gonna make it to 5 minutes at this rate.) 

   

Thing is, I always think people will wonder what the whoopsies I'm doing, stop-starting all the time. I know, I know...it doesn't matter what people think, but you know what? It kind of does to me. Wrong but there you have it. 

Oh, before I forget, I took this picture while I was out. "Running". (Yes, I'm using quotation fingers). 

That was a nice bit. 

Because yes, there was a funeral on at the church and I had to stop and give directions not once, but TWICE, and the second time I had too much saliva in my mouth and my words slurred because I was trying to stop from spitting in her face. She looked as though she was going to ask if I was ok but thought better of it in case she was required to take me home. 

Then I bumped into a lady who I have a slightly shady past with (it was at a Christmas concert, and we were fighting over the front row seats.) We talked dogs and she wouldn't stop talking about it, no matter how politely I kept side stepping away. 

I normally go with my lovely friend Abby...I say 'normally', I think we've only been 3 times...but she is slim and doesn't seem to need to breathe...unlike  me; doesn't get red faced...like me; and runs like a gazelle...unlike little warthog here who can only take baby warthog steps. She is still lovely though.

I go a really awful shade of purple, but I am unwilling to show you. I shall show you a portion. 

Pretty little warthog, I know. 

Until next time. 

Pfffff. 

You can call me "guv".

A few months ago I felt prompted to apply for the role of parent governor at our school. The hubby and I have always thought that we would like to stand for it, A) to make decisions on important stuff,

B) to be more involved in our kids lives  and 

C) to be nosey.  

(Less A and B as much as C, if I'm honest.) 

(Not really, depending on who's reading this.) 

So I applied for it. 

I'm very, um, day-dreamy, I suppose you could call it, so I've never even toyed with the idea before. I can't really imagine me in meetings, talking about financial implications of something financial and other important official things. But this time I really wanted to do it and I can't really explain why that was. However I decided to apply for it because in my experience (around 6 years in this school), lots of people more popular and intelligent than me always apply and I thought it was pretty obvious I wouldn't win the vote. And I wasn't wrong. 

I must just interject at this point that the hubster once applied for parent governor position when our oldest was in reception. There were only 3 others that applied but he didn't get it. He only got 6 votes and 2 of those were from us. (We laugh about it now but back then....oh dear.) 

So I really didn't think I would win the popularity contest, and felt safe in applying. 

Then a few days ago the headmistress came to me and congratulated me. I looked blankly at her and thought "does she think I'm pregnant?" She registered my confusion and hurriedly explained that I had been appointed parent governor and that I should've been informed by now. I smiled and tried to hide the fear that I felt burning in my eyes. Then rang the husband to gloat. 

It turns out that no-one else even applied for the position and I was the only one. My goodness God, you have a sense of humour.  I won by default. 

Of course secretly I'm pleased and quite excited about the next chapter of my unwritten journey (bleurch) and of what the future holds. I have day dreamy moments of saving the school from closure or being commended by the headmistress for rescuing the pupils during a fire or (and this is my favourite), being given a bottle of wine at Christmas as a thank you for my attention to detail in the last financial meeting about important implications of financial things. 

My goodness I'm going to be tedious to live with. Haven't even been to my first meeting yet but am demanding the husband call me Guv and throw petals in front of me as I walk. He hasn't yet but I'm fairly confident I can make him........

E flipping bay.

I have been on a cleansing ritual (or something equally as flaky) to purge us as a family of all the junk we have acquired over the past few years so we would have good space as our children grow. That and we needed some cash. (Ok, it was mostly about the cash.) 

    eBay has been something I've dipped in and out of for the past few years, trying to find the odd bargain that might clutter up our house (oh the irony). And sometimes it's useful, does the job. The hubby, he's cynical, thinks everyone's out to take you for a buck. Me, I'm super trusting. 

    Anyway, my time came to sell a few bits and bobs. It was a startling thing, to find myself addicted to hunting the house to see what I could sell. Then posting it online and checking every few hours to find, occasionally, that someone was WATCHING it!! Eeee! Don't ask how I was when someone actually bid, it was like I'd been given a golden ticket and the destination was the eBay hall of fame. It's a good feeling. And for the most part I had very little difficulty with any customers, the odd message here and there but hey ho, all doable. 

    Then somebody by the name of (and the name has been changed slightly to protect the identity of my customer) 13smallchickens came along. I had put up a jigsaw puzzle (and at this point I will be honest and say it was one of mine. Yes, I had a jigsaw phase, 1000 pieces at a time and yes I went to counselling and have put it behind me...please do not bring this up again), and she, the lucky bidder, had won it. 

     I waited a few days for her to pay me then she sent a message. She lives locally and she informed me that she would come and pick it up. (Cheeky, but  I can go with it.) I messaged her and said ok, giving her my address. (Alright, alright I can hear you screaming FOOL at me, but I'm fairly new to this, remember?) I also told her (and this is where I get really stupid), that I would be out in the morning, that she would have to come in the afternoon. 

     She then informed me that I could leave it outside somewhere safe and that she would drop the money through the letter box. NOW I started to smell a rat and finally got the big guns involved....the hubby. He's so good with this stuff that he's like my own personal ombudsman. He took one look at me as I explained and I could see an inward groan. 

    I have to also note that at this point I checked her eBay page and she had some pretty awful comments..."possible scammer", "didn't pay", "wanted pick up but didn't want to wait", etc. Oh bother. She's going to rob us blind, bring her older brothers who resemble Barry Island Thor lookalikes, and leave her fag butt on the sofa to prove a point. (So what then does she want with a jigsaw?)

    I messaged back with my husbands fine advice and told her that I wasn't happy with leaving my precious Christmas jigsaw outside and that she could come before 10 or after 12 but my husband is ill at the moment and I don't want him disturbed. 

    So today I changed my plans and stayed home. Then I started to doubt she would even come at all. I was worried I would get a negative feedback on my otherwise spotless background. Oh the pressure. Anyway, 12.30 came and this woman pulled up outside my house and stepped out. She was older, with long greying hair held back by an Alice band. I met her at the door and I gave her the jigsaw. She said

"I came as late as possible because I didn't want to disturb your husband."

She looked at me expectantly, as if I was going to explain what was wrong, but there's no way I'm getting further into the lie. (What would I go for? Lymes disease? Pneumonia?) I just smiled and said, head cocked to one side

"Thank you, yes." 

She handed over the money, and that was it. You want to know the really stupid thing? The freaking jigsaw only went for 99p. 

The other half

So in just a few days it's my birthday. Every year it comes, and every year I have expectations of great and expensive presents (a surprise first class trip to New York, diamonds, a really nice facial cream that not only rejuvenates your skin but which also creates a portal into a parallel universe when daubed onto a wall - how cool would that be?) And every year I shed a little tear that I didn't receive the most great and expensive presents and that, thrown into the mix, I'm now a year older too. 

However this birthday is slightly different. This year, on the 25th Feb 2014, I will be able to say that I've been with my husband, the one and only Michael Fitchie, for exactly half of my life. Maybe I'm the only one that thinks this is worth celebrating and acknowledging? Who knows. But I think it's epic. 

(This picture was taken one day before the official "will you go out with me" question. He's the one with the eye patch. And not the girl.) 

So he's lush. He's funny. He sometimes really makes me mad because he farts, and it smells so bad that I have to breathe into my sleeve, but he finds it so funny that he becomes weak with laughter, resulting in me getting stroppy with him. (The last time he did that, however, I ended up throwing water on his head. Sobered him up pretty quickly, I can tell you. Hardcore, me.) He's hardworking, like, full on. He's intelligent. He's so good with computers and technical stuff it scares me. He's a bit sensitive. He's a great dad. He gets grumpy when he doesn't get to go on his bike. He's generous. He's a bit of a snob.  He doesn't mind being naked. (I'm currently struggling whether or not to put this in the positive or negative category.)

He's... (Actually, you know what, it has to be a negative. Too many of my friends have seen parts of him they weren't supposed to.) He's....(though we do have a giggle about it, and anything you laugh about has to be positive, surely?) He's really crap at beating me at stuff...like wii tennis. (Totally pan him). He's a great husband. He's sociable. He's kind. He's supportive (even when I was in my cross stitching phase.) He loves to share (like the time I had morning sickness and puked in the car...he had to stop and get out to share the vomiting love.) He's strong...crazy strong. He loves anything poo related. He's extremely talented (drumming, sewing, growing a beard, looking like cheesy famous people).  

He's many, many good things. 

There's more, of course there is, but I have a sneaky suspicion that I will bore you with the details. 

And the laughs we've had together are innumerable. 

And as I write this he's downstairs wrapping all my wonderful presents...I'm almost certain that there will be a silk dress embroidered by blind midgets from china which was started 2 years last October and which has real emeralds sown into the shoulder pads...but if there's not then I'm ok with that because (puke buckets at the ready...) he's the best gift I could have ever wanted for any birthday. He's the gift that keeps on giving (ok, I just threw up a little bit in my mouth and had to swallow it again.) And he does a stirling job of getting my it right. Every. Single. Time. (Though there was that one year when he bought me plastic flowers...)

Love you chap xx

I just want you to know...

You know what's funny? When I think about my kids I've realised that the way they entered this world has determined their characters a wee bit. Perhaps. 

Ollie was late, by 16 days. They had to practically stick a pack of c4 up there to get him out, and even then he had to be airlifted out the sunroof in a hurry. Thing is with olls is he's stubborn and strong willed, as many kids are I suppose. He just decided he liked it there so he stayed. Now? Now he nags you for something, he knows what he wants and he won't let it drop. He can be quiet, observant. I think he knows things but he doesn't let on that he knows things. He's impatient, bossy, all the things the oldest child should be. I like to think it will make him a great leader one day, that all that stubbornness is actually determination in child form. He's so good with his sister, he's helpful (when he wants to be) and he's lovely. Really lovely. He's my oldest, my firstborn, my beginning of a journey into motherhood, which has seen me really fit into the niche I was designed for.  I really love him, he's amazing. I just want you to know that. 

Now Ben. Ben is...in a completely different world. He's a character to say the least. There's not a day goes by when I don't roll my eyes to heaven and wonder where he's wandering off to now. After having an emergency c section on Ollie I was determined to have a normal birth on my second. Was all set until they discovered he was breech. Happy days. Another one to be ripped mercilessly from my insides. I tell him often about how he used to sit like a meer cat inside my tummy, peering around. He always had to be different, all the other kids were in the correct downward position. He loves hearing about it, always laughs his head off. Ben is a meanderer. He strolls through life and enjoys the journey. Surely one can't complain about that? Except he takes his sweet time about it (along with the hobgoblins and aliens which reside in his head) and sometimes it gets him into trouble. But he's just so funny and random, and quirky. Yes, definitely quirky. If you're going to see me hide my head in my hands at any of my children, it will absolutely be Ben. He's my second, the middle boy, the one who had to fit into a schedule undetermined by him.  And I really love him. I just want you to know that. 

Now Jasper is the birth I enjoy thinking about the most. Imagine the scene. 38 weeks pregnant, a c section booked (for 2 weeks time), I go out for a meal to TGI Fridays with some 'mum and toddler' friends I'm close with. I stand, for a wee, and feel a glug. (Sorry). Pause. Rush to the toilet. More glugs. (Really sorry). Panic. Friend pops in to see if I'm ok (she's had 5, she must know what's happening, this has never happened to me before...2 sections, remember?). Ring the hubby. He tells me to stop kidding around, couldn't be a worse time for us to have a baby. I leave in a mad frenzy (drama queen that I am had to announce it to the whole table, resulting in squeals, frantic texts to absent mums, mouths agape), and with a close friend....who is also heavily pregnant!!! (Also, a missed opportunity...why didn't I think to tell the staff, could've had free meals for a year...). Anyway, this little boy of mine, my youngest boy, my poppet, is always the first one awake in the house. He hates going to bed early and missing anything, he loves to be in the middle of the action. He's popular, crazy, and also quite stubborn. I think he decided he'd had enough of missing out on the action; he could hear his brothers having all the fun, why shouldn't he come out early to meet them? So c section number 3. He's hard working, sociable and is still young enough to give really great cuddles.  I really love him. I just want you to know that. 

Finally the girly. She's not so easy to read, she's still young, not even 2. Her birth was relatively straight forward, (c section number 4), though I had a slightly more difficult pregnancy. One thing I know though, she's been born into a fantastic family...she has 3 older brothers for goodness sake. When I was pregnant the first time I was desperate for the baby to be a boy. For many reasons, but one was so that if I ever had a girl, she would have an older brother. (I always wanted one). She has 3! Who knows if they will protect her from bullies and creepy blokes as people keep assuring me they'll do. Who knows if they will sneak her out of the house when she's 16 and drive her to a night club and keep an eye on her without us knowing. (I seriously hope not). Who knows if they will kidnap any future suitors and take him through an initiation process (strip him naked, blindfolded, leaving him in tescos at 2 in the morning). I don't know. All I know is she has 5 people looking out for her and that can't be too bad. She's sweet, dainty, and also stubborn. She's shy, likes to babble, and likes her independence. I really love her. I just want you to know that. I don't love her more than the boys because she's a girl. I love each of my children equally and unconditionally. 

Being a mum is the most amazing thing I've ever achieved. (And that's saying a lot from a girl who's been married to Fitch for as long as I have). 

Scrooge

So this weekend I have sweated, smiled to the point of pain and swelled. (No, not my ankles, but swelled with pride). (No, not the bad sort of pride, the good sort.) (IS there a good sort?) (Don't know but my over-use of brackets is beginning to bug me too.)

Many years ago, my buddy Marcia was thrown in the deep end. Instead of waving at me as she drowned, she pulled me in with her and we drowned together. Except we didn't drown, we floated, and together we started doing amazing things. (Ok sounds a bit flaky, will drop the dodgy analogies, along with the brackets.) 

This is just a little thank you to her for trusting me and my crazy ideas (what WAS I thinking with that minstrel? Not very Dickensian...) and for letting me offload when things got too much. For putting me in my place when I moaned that I wasn't acting in it (at first, though things got rearranged half way through). For trusting me to direct a group of people (whose only experience of acting has been in this church). Flip me, what was she thinking? 

I have had a ball, there really is something thrilling about treading the boards. (Is that right, or am I mixing my idioms?) I'm proud of the cast and crew and proud of my mate Marcia who managed to find a buoyancy aid for us. Thank you to all who came and joined in our journey. (Now pass me the bucket, I need to vomit). (And not just because of the slushiness but also because of those damned brackets.)  

Nonsense...

Why can't I ever think of quick, on the spot one-liners? 

When told by a complete stranger that I finally got lucky "fourth time round" (with regards to having a girl after 3 boys), why did I politely and respectfully reply with "oh we always wanted lots of boys, we're really rather happy" instead of "shut up you stupid woman, who sat on your face and squashed it?" 

Ok I know why I never said that, it's because it's unkind and mostly untrue. And I can't stand the idea of hurting someone's feelings even though they've hurt mine. But still...it would have been a fun story to tell. 

I was raised to be polite and kind to others, which is sometimes a pain in the cahoops. (I made that up, it doesn't mean anything, just a random word). Only when I feel justifiably angry do I speak my mind. 

Once, me and the hubby were driving into a car park and a lady of the (much) older generation got in our way and cut us up. We tutted and shook our heads (as one does), and finally parked once she had moved. Seconds later we experienced mild shock and surprise when she came and knocked on the window. 

"Just so you know I'm partially deaf so can lip read, and I am not a stupid cow." 

Me, incredulous...

"We never said you were, you stupid cow!" (Ok, I didn't say the stupid cow bit). 

I was shocked but assured her (politely) that we didn't say anything of the sort and she walked off. Then we laughed so I didn't get angry at all. Doesn't really prove my point, does it?

Ok I've got one. It's about a DVD but it's boring so I shan't tell it. But I got mad and told that woman what's what, and trust me, we got our £3.99 back, yes siree. 

Anyway, I'm too polite and maybe that's a good thing and maybe it's not. I just hope that when it comes to the things that counts (silly people telling me my gorgeous 3 boys are unlucky when they are right there, within earshot), that I can speak my mind respectfully and calmly.  The witty one-liners which would make me feel better are sure not to, though I particularly like the ones about fat mothers...

Bye.