Memories are made of…licking a Kenwood ‘K’
Birthday cake making has commenced and as a result BB has reached a milestone: she has licked the Kenwood ‘K’. [...]
Just call me the cake fairy
The venue has been booked, the invitations have been sent and with BB’s 2nd birthday just around the corner it’s time to turn my attention to the most important task of all: her birthday cake. Here is last year’s effort (pictured), In The Night Garden eat your heart out, which I have to say went down a treat even if I do say so myself. The trouble is I’ve set the bar now, which means I’ve got to come up with something equally creative this year. Which is easier said than done, as this time last year BB was happy to jump around in her door bouncer as I painstakingly fashioned Makka Pakka’s tail out of fondant icing and secured Upsy Daisy’s hair with edible glue. Misery Guts suggested we ask someone else to make one given I’m no longer on maternity leave and have zero time on my hands, but I’m afraid this is akin to a cardinal sin where I come from: birthday cakes have always been (handmade) by mum, with as much effort as one can muster. So there’ll be no outsourcing here. […]
We’re DEFINITELY not there yet, mummy
A trip to the garage on Saturday afternoon to upgrade the car posed a dilemma: do we go for the metallic blue sporty model with a touch screen dashboard and alloy wheels or the hatchback estate in sensible silver with a bigger, lower boot and plenty of room for Christmas presents. It was a simple case of head over heart. The blue sporty model, roughly the same size as our car now, but better looking and with better gadgets. And we’d still have to take the damn wheels off the Quinny to haul the ****ing thing in the boot. Whereas the sensible silver estate comes with a boot so big and so low all the frailest person in the world would need is a little minor exertion and the pushchair would be safely stowed away in one piece, as opposed to five. And there’d still be room for a scooter and a bike. And Christmas presents. […]
How about a naughty corner…for dads
I feel like a really really crummy mummy. We’ve introduced a ‘naughty corner’ and the expression on BB’s face when she was first put there by Misery Guts will be imprinted on my mind forever (pictured posed by a model, by the way. I’m not that awful).To be honest it’s been a long time coming: discipline up until now has been pretty much zero. Misery Guts has been banging on about a naughty step for a while, and when BB upturned a lunch I’d lovingly prepared for her and threw it straight on the floor it was the final straw.Since we live in flat and have only one step (which is between two rooms and where she likes to sit to watch TV) a corner in the hall away from toys, CBeebies and anything vaguely fun was the only option. I was in a different room when Misery Guts deposited her there and I waited with bated breath, peering round the kitchen door, to see what would happen. […]
Pippa Middleton I (might) need you: words I never thought I’d say
August is almost upon us which means BB’s birthday is just weeks away and the party planner of the century [...]
The (nappy) bag of my dreams…
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a mother in possession of a small child must be in want of a nappy bag. After almost two whole years I am finally in possession of the one I always dreamed of: Cath Kidston’s cowboy changing bag (pictured). Isn’t it beautiful? It’s shiny and red and has pockets and pouches galore and I can’t stop looking at – or stroking – it. Pre BB the £65 price tag for a nappy bag seemed £65 too much, so I settled for a £25 eBay copy in a different pattern instead. I’ve regretted it ever since: given a nappy bag is the only one I ever use – day in, day out – think of the saving I must have made by not buying handbags for two whole years. […]
Conversations I’ve overheard at the beach (and wish I hadn’t)
The heatwave continues and you can forget Brits abroad: Brits at home are priceless. Following a week in Spain, the second half of our annual holiday involved a staycation – and what a week to pick! After seven days on the beach here are the top conversations I couldn’t help but overhear: 1) A family spent a good half an hour setting up towels, sun umbrella, dispensing sun lotion and blowing up a lilo before the mother declared ‘right kids, 10 minutes and it’s time to go home to get ready for Jasper’s party’. Why oh why. 2) A father repeatedly telling his daughter to ‘stop moaning’ while complaining loudly and laboriously to his wife about various office politics. I can’t imagine where the daughter gets it from. […]
Top tips for a stress free holiday with the kids
I’m pleased to report we managed to avoid burning the house down following our sojourn in Spain. So here are my top tips for a stress free holiday with the kids (and husband) in tow: 1) Don’t book seats with a budget airline when your other half is more than six foot four inches tall and prone to bouts of bad temperedness. Misery Guts was (happily) filling in a complaints form just 45 minutes into our flight. 2) Go on holiday with as many friends or family members you can muster (and tolerate) in order to be able to relax on a sun lounger (pictured). Many hands make light work. […]
The chances of burning down a Spanish villa?
BB’s passport has arrived, the suitcases are (almost) packed and we’re off on our first foreign holiday à trois. Like Mothering Sunday, I think it’s fair to say it can’t be worse than our last holiday – a week at my parents’ cottage in Dorset. Their 17th Century thatched cottage, which we nearly burnt down. I kid you not: a chimney that hadn’t been swept for a while and the wrong kind of wind culminated in a chimney fire the likes of which their village hadn’t seen for a very long time. Five fire engines – mandatory when dealing with a thatch to ensure there’s enough water on board, apparently – raced to deal with the blazing inferno which was so hot it shone a bright amber and red light in a perfect semi-circle on the living room floor. Plumes of smoke seeped not only from the chimney but the entire thatch, and emitted itself in a perfect line between the seam of our thatch and next door’s. […]
