The end is nigh, possibly . . . .

Chatting in the car The Eldest was pondering upon his impending move to upper school.

“I can’t believe that I’ve only one school left before l leave forever” he pondered out loud “This last year has gone really quick!”

“Funny you should say that Squidge. I realised, this morning, that I’m 48!”

It had come over me whilst brushing my teeth as most horrible thoughts do when you pause to do something dull yet necessary like brush your teeth or go for a wee.

“And?” asked The Eldest.

“Well, that means I’m half way through”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I don’t but twice my age is 96 so I’m thinking there’s a chance I’m over half way”

“Mum, someone could come round this roundabout and hit us, you could have 20 seconds” he said matter of factly.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

The Eldest was born wise, I believe this to be the root of his anxiety, he knew too much too soon. Blunt is something else that he is.

Fast forward a few days.

The Eldest and l were in the car again when the 20 second conversation popped into my head.

“I keep chuckling at your words of wisdom Squidge”

“Which ones?” he asked.

A valid question as there have been many.

“About the possible 20 seconds of life that l have left”

“Oh. Yeah. See, you think you’re half way through but you could be at the end”

Well. I suppose I asked for that.


Take me to your leader

We, the Boom and I, were to produce a bar chart as part of her homework, the subject matter was the favourite chocolate bars of her friends and family. Easy. I popped a wee message on Facebook and the results came in thick and fast which, rather ironically, is the opposite of how the bar chart was coming along.

Three attempts over as many days and I couldn’t have given a bugger that the Twix only got one vote. I had lost the will to give a rat’s arse about any of it.

I had tried to explain the purpose of a bar chart but she learns like me, we need to see stuff, you can explain it till you’re blue in the face and we will both listen intently then ask you to YouTube it thank you very much.

So, day three, whilst The Boom was at school, l began the final bar chart, all she had to do was label it and colour it in and I’d already done one of my own for reference. Basically she just needed to copy mine, she didn’t because she knew exactly what she was doing and what do I know anyway?

We sit. The Boom begins to colour, we have a giggle and life doesn’t seem so bad after all. I decide that she’s doing great and can be left for a few moments whilst l nip to the wheelie bin to dive in head first. Ha, only kidding, l just put the rubbish out, at no point did I truly consider climbing in. Honest.

Thirty or so seconds later I return to find her in the kitchen clutching a pair of scissors.

“What are you up to?”

“Just trimming it” she replied all nonchalant.

“It doesn’t need trimming, it will fit in your . . . hold on, have you cut the end off because you can’t be bothered to finish it?”


I’d got nothing. What could I say? My words failed me, l simply stood in awe at her genius.

World, let me introduce you to your leader.

Nevermore permit any individual to apprise thyself to the contrary.

“We shouldn’t use Owl words, we should use Yr2 words” she stated matter of factly.

“What are Owl words?”

Owl is the reception class, aged 4-5, so words used there are perhaps a tad basic? As one would expect for that age group. Yr2 class are 6-7 so are told to use more. I get that, words are grand for describing stuff, so I’m told.

That said I have a few issues with this.

Firstly, what if a Yr2 child was to repeat this to an Owl? This could make an Owl feel dreadful, the thought that the shiny new words they’re learning are a bit wrong.

“I can’t say happy, l must say extremely excited, happy is wrong”

“Whats wrong with happy?”

“I don’t know?”

“No Boom, there are no wrong words. All words are splendid”

Secondly, wrong words? What the fuck are wrong words?

When you see a cat but say “look at that lovely dog” perhaps? But the word isn’t wrong, you are, no wrong words there then.

When you ask “what the fuck are wrong words?” perhaps? Nope. All of those are fabulous too.

Now, I get it, honestly I do. Children should learn lots and lots of lovely words, words for describing things, places and people, words to help them express themselves and tell their stories. I too should continue to learn lots more lovely words, we can’t know too many. But. I’ll not have it said that words are wrong, except the word wrong which is wrong.

All words are fine by me and you should nevermore permit any individual to apprise thyself to the contrary.

Something wrong up there.

Some of the best, most informative, conversations I’ve ever had have been with my daughter. Not only is she full to bursting with facts, all of which I can guarantee you’ve not heard before, she is also very excited about everything and everyone which makes chatting with her a heck of a boost for your happy cells. The only thing that makes me happier is watching someone she’s just met, someone who doesn’t know, try a conversation with The Boom, it can be a bumpy ride for some.

I say can but I mean could. These conversations, thanks or not to her speech therapist, are fewer and farther between nowadays. Many strangers can understand her now which is probably a good thing albeit a bit dull.

Anyhoo. This brings me to a recent conversation about birthday presents.

“Boom, what would you like for your birthday?”

“I don’t know?”


“Oh, I have one!”

Thank goodness for that.

“I would like a rainbow light up cat”

“Right. Have you seen one of these rainbow light up cats anywhere Boom?”

” . . . . . . . Oh, no I haven’t. They’re not out yet are they? It won’t be here for my birthday will it?”

“No, probably not, sorry”

“I know what you can make in London”

“Oh, What’s that?”

London? Who was asking about London?

“Candles. Candles and buttons”

“Wow! I like candles and buttons” say I trying really really hard to join the conversation.

“Me too” she said and rolled off her bed onto the floor with a bump.

With that she was gone.

London? Candles? Buttons?

Later that day I was wandering about a field with the dog when it hit me. The children had a Tudor day at school, she’d gone in dressed as Boom Boleyn, they’d been to a Tudor doctor and made lavender filled pouches to cover the pong of Tudor England but, more importantly, they’d made candles and buttons.

The Boom hadn’t got an auditory processing disorder or whatever else it was the school had been pondering on. No, the Boom was bored of my conversation about birthday presents so had moved on to something far more interesting, her mind had wandered onto pastures new. The Boom is me but smaller.

In reception the children take in pictures of their family and their house and pets etc. to help them settle in and to give teacher something to nosey at. The Boom had been asked questions about the photos and had answered with utterly random replies not even slightly pertaining to said photo. Teacher had taken me to one side, concerned at the workings of my tiny child’s mind. At the time I knew, I knew that when they showed her a photo Boom didn’t see the person in it, she saw the place at which it had been taken, she saw the memory of what we’d been up to on the day it had been taken, her mind had wandered to the more interesting.

Why on Earth would she talk about her mum in a photo when earlier that day we’d been to the beach and eaten chips in a wind blown tent? Why would she chat about her house when, just before that picture had been taken she’d been trapped in a sand pit? Why, for the love of biscuits, would she talk about the things you could plainly see when she has better things to talk about? Why, when asked, would she talk about school when she’d once eaten a blue cake? Why would she chat to my friend Mer when she could ask Mer if she was in fact her own daughter? It was clear to all of us there that Mer was not her daughter but her daughter is more interesting than the Mer herself. Looking back on it this was a fair question which was given a fair answer.

“No, I’m not Alexa, she’s at home watching a bit of tele in her PJs” replied my dearest friend without so much as a titter.

It’s taken almost 7 years but I get it. The Boom is not hard of hearing, she’s hasn’t got “something wrong up there” as her teacher once wrongly predicted whilst tapping at her head for full effect. No, she just has better things to think about.

The Boom has been ignoring us all for years, she been busy dancing to the beat of her own drum. My greatest wish is that she continues to do so for many more years to come.


Vegans must die.

Tis tricky feeding a family of four at the best of times, one has allergies, one is always on a diet and failing miserably (me) and another doesn’t eat veg. So imagine my joy when the one who avoids veg decides he’s going vegan. Yay!

Squidge has been vegan for a week now and is doing rather well. As inconvenient as it is for me his resolve is both impressive and rather irritating. If only I could stick to a diet like he does, I’d be tiny right now, I am in awe of the 11yr old.

That said, it is time to do the food shopping and I just can’t.

“I’m calling a family meeting” said I.

“Oh no” whined the kids.

I ignored the groaning and continued on.

“I want a comprehensive list of what you would like for tea this week. Squidge, you need to tell me what you can eat now you’re vegan”

He’s more than welcome to vegan himself right up but he can do the research, my brain hurts at the thought of feeding nothing but veg to a non veg eater. I’m not sure how many Indian Vegan burgers a person can eat before they never want to see one again. I’ll buy it, I’ll happily cook it but he must do the ground work.

“Carbonara” announced The Boom.

She’s easy pleased that one.

The vegan fell silent.

I sat scratching Boom’s back, she requested that I did it forever which was fine as we had forever to wait for the vegan to come up with something other than Oreos and prawn cocktail crisps.

We waited.

We scratched.

We waited some more.

“We could rip his head off?”

The 6yr old is a genius. Problem solved.

Once more please.

Can I be a kid again please?

I want my mummy and daddy to look after me.

I want my mummy and daddy to take me to the seaside and buy me ice cream.

I want my grandparents, my uncle David and my uncle Harry back.

I want to go climb the third tree with my mates.

I want to make random phone calls from the telephone box on the green at the bottom of my road.

I want to fill steak pies with sweet corn and whizz them in the microwave then follow that up with a chocolate lovely.

I want to be surprised christmas morning when You Know Who has been.

I want a backie on my mates bike.

I want to throw corn bombs.

Can I then be a wee adult again please?

I want to go on one of those new years eve pub crawls that don’t exist any more, the ones where you could go in all the pubs not just the one you’ve got a ticket for. I want to kiss everybody at midnight. Every. Body.

I want to go clubbing till the wee small hours.

I want to drink. Oh how I want to drink. Lots of boozy yum yums with little to no aftereffects.

I want to pass my driving test.

I want to get my first wage packet.

I want to go drunk sledging in Levi.

I want to buy our first house again and get really rather too excited about buying a fridge.

Then can I end up right here again, right here and right now please?

Thanks xx

Vegan strawberry roses.

Squidge is vegan. Who knew? Not even he until last night. The kid that only eats meat is vegan. Anyhoo, vegan he now is despite my list of non vegan food stuffs.

Eggs both regular and chocolate, McDonald’s nuggets, smoked German cheese and Nutella.

All his favourite things.

Now, should I allow an 11yr old to go vegan? Yes, yes I should. He may be a wee boy but that there is his body and, as such, is his to do with as he pleases. Plus I doubt this will last because Nutella. If it does last and this becomes a complete lifestyle change, whilst remaining happy and healthy, then I’m all for it so long as I can still have shepherds pie.

This is the first of many Squidge decisions I might not agree with, this along with his choice of life partner. They’re not good enough for him whoever they are.

So, we’re a few hours in to his veganismness and he’s doing rather well. Breakfast was vegan, his packed luck is vegan and tonight’s tea is . . . . Erm . . . . FFS what is he having for his tea?

I’ve no idea what a vegan eats but still, I’m immensely proud of him.

Then there’s Boom.

In she strolled this morning, nice and early.

“Wow, you’re up nice and early. Morning Boom”

“Yeah, I’m feeling really good this morning” she grinned.

“That’s marvellous news, you want a strawberry?”

“Yes please. Yeah, only my neck feels a bit weird now, a bit sore”

What now? Since when did anything feel a bit weird? Blooming ‘eck. I gave her Calpol which worked instantly apparently. Go Calpol.

“Can I have a chocolate rose please?”

I made one at the weekend and it went down a storm so this is my life now. On the upside, providing I omit the chocolate drops, I can feed both kids this. Yay.

Kids 0 – Mum 1

But then it is only 8.15am.