No “egg”xageration

Some things happen which just have to be shared…I had started off my weekend rather well in motherly housewifey terms. I had shown the vacuum cleaner around the lounge (just in case it had forgotten where it was) and managed to get in a quick shop before I was due back to take my daughter to her appointment to have her hair dressed for a posh school do (note the contrast in weekend agendas here).

I was running a little late, as usual, and, though heaven forbid, mother speeding, obviously took a corner rather too quickly; I heard a thud as my shopping jettisoned itself across the floor behind me. I parked up and as I opened the back door to survey the damage, an egg gently rolled out and deposited its contents at my feet. Upon closer inspection, which wasn’t hard, as an egg apocalypse had clearly just occurred, I only had two eggs left intact from my box of 6 free range. That left three to account for, not forgetting that I’m short of time here and in danger of landing some short shrift from an unhappy daughter for being late. One (egg, not daughter), having flown the box as it were, was already soaking into the carpet making it look for all the world like some sort of French toast. I then spotted another yolk which had cleverly parted company with its white bit (I know there is a scientific name for this which escapes me just at this time) and was sitting on the bottom of the door frame. Amazingly, it was totally intact which proves, officer, that I can’t have been driving that fast.

At this point, I have to explain, not to brag that I’m posh or anything, but because you need this information to picture my scene, that our car has electronic sliding doors, on the bottom of which currently sat the aforementioned egg yolk. (This is getting to sound more and more like a police report. ) Strangely though, I was still short of an egg. One egg short of a half dozen one might say. Now I’m not one to bet (although I did have a punt on a Euromillions ticket this week, and then spent the day worrying that a lottery win would be just another complication in life to deal with), but the odds on this happening were so slim that a bet could have scooped someone a tidy sum. Egg number 6 (two in the box, one on the floor, one for the toast and one piece of evidence that I hadn’t been speeding) had actually projected itself out of the box and landed like a hole in one in the pocket of the sliding door. Now anyone with a Peugeot 807 with sliding doors will tell you that there was definitely no woman on its design team; the pockets on the door are pretty much inaccessible for any kind of valeting. I thought I’d found a clever solution by calling upon the services of our dog, who will usually clean up anything which is edible. However, she had no interest in clearing up the egg devastation and, seeing the car open, settled herself in, keen to go on a trip. My only solution was to get in the back with her, close the door and attempt to de-egg (another new word maybe?) the car with a bucket and cloth.

We did make it for said hair appointment (quick aside, we took the dog too as I’d forgotten she was still in the car!), and as I returned home with my daughter looking ready to sweep down the red carpet at the Oscars (I could lend her my vacuum cleaner for that, ha ha!), my thoughts turned back to my eggs. You never know, if ever we break down and we’ve not taken a food parcel with us just in case (shock horror!), dried egg may come in handy and I might be able to rustle up a meal.

Getting over it

I was chatting with a friend today who has recently become a mum. She confided in me that she was finding it difficult to juggle the proverbial balls of baby (nice alliteration but that does sound a bit odd!), job, housework etc. Whilst I would certainly not put myself forward as the perfect role model, I did proffer a smidgeon (the dictionary says I may also write ‘smidgin’ or even ‘smidgen’) of advice as follows: there is great solace to be found in sharing your daftness (I think I just made that one up) with your peers and the sooner you do, the quicker you’ll get over it.

I recall a day, many moons ago, when I was a young mum with just one bairn (I’m not Scottish but the word sounds quite “motherly”!) who was around nine months old at the time. It was a fresh winter morning and I had done all my housework by 9am (this part is fiction but the rest is true!). My child, wrapped up in sensible winter clothing ready for a sledging outing, was bundled into the car (winter tyres on, of course) and whisked away by fun mum for a morning’s sledging. The venue had already been risk assessed – just a short run on crisp morning snow. The timing was perfect – no vying for space with other keen fun Mums and Tots as, unlike us, they weren’t up and ready yet. As we set up our sledge at the top of the very sensible slope which shone in the morning sun, it did look a little steeper than I had previously remembered. As we prepared for our descent, I spotted some M&Ts coming our way and was thrown into the dilemma of whether to take a moment to assess our position and risk being overtaken or whether to maintain our pole position. I went for the latter. I’m not a fan of Formula 1, but fair’s fair. We’d got there first.

I realized I’d made the wrong decision shortly after as our speed shot up to supersonic on the morning ice. The vision comes back to me now in slow motion as we both part company with the sledge and my precious bundle in multi-coloured ski suit (on reflection, something less eye catching would have been a better choice) popped out of my hands like a bar a soap and continued her descent down the steep face of the highest peak of the Alps (which is what it seemed like at this point) all alone. By this time, a sizeable group had gathered to view the spectacle. My daughter was unfazed and I now explain that this was an important part of our strategy to help her become a great skier. I was mortified at the time and was back in the car and home before anyone had time to report me to Social Services.

Any mum, when pressed (maybe over alcohol), will admit to umpteen (another good word) tales of getting it wrong but the sooner we can laugh about it, the sooner we’ll realize that nobody gets being a mum right all the time and if they say they do, they’re lying!

Gone in a Flash

Well, it’s been less than 24 hours since my last blog; however, I just had to share a story that happened to a friend of mine this weekend.

We’ve all been there. That family occasion when a group photo is needed to mark the event for posterity. This particular event was actually my friend’s daughter’s birthday. Friends and family had gathered to celebrate and as the meal was rounded off with the traditional birthday cake, out came the camera. The usual kerfuffle (another great word – I needed to check the spelling on that one!) ensued as everyone got into position around the birthday girl. These occasions are by definition “one-offs” so there was no going back for a second snapshot moment. Nevertheless, on this occasion, there was (were?) not one, but two professional photographers in the room. However, since both wanted to be in the photo, after much pondering and postulating over position, lighting and apertures (I’m making this bit up as I know nothing about photography!), the important task was handed over to friend Faris. Now Faris actually owns a clothes shop, and like me, knows nothing about how to take a good photo, but armed with armfuls of advice, he readily took on the job, aimed the camera and clicked as the birthday girl blew out her sparkling candles.

The cake was duly finished off and all sat down to relax and, what else in the home of a photographer, but to view the photos of the day full screen, full blown and in all their glory beamed through the TV. Those who remember the days of having a real cameras with reels (ha ha) of film may recall the anticipation of receiving those 24 or 36 snaps through the post and reliving the moments, only to realize that they had inadvertently chopped off the heads of their subjects, or even better, having taken some spiffing shots of a fab holiday, only to realize they didn’t actually have any reel in there at all! Anyway, back to the evening in question. As the photos were slide-showed (up-to-date jargon!) on the big screen, that moment came. The birthday girl’s head actually looked like it had been removed and replaced by a meteor explosion. Well done Faris!

Well, the mother in question won’t have a photo to remember the birthday by, but she certainly had a story to tell!

Looking forward to my next blog. Will write soon.

Forgetting the tooth fairy

Welcome to my new blog!  In an effort to “get with technology” and use it meaningfully in the English classroom, I thought it might be worth encouraging my students to start writing blogs.  Great…except since I didn’t have the faintest idea how to create a blog myself, I wasn’t sure how that might work.  That issue has hopefullly been solved now due to the efforts of our ever helpful Ed Tech Whizz who has set me up with my own blog.  Then there is the question of content.  A blog needs to be fired by your interest to contribute and desire to share stories…so my dither with content has been solved.  I have a whole bag of stories ready to share on my specialist subject: Being a dysfunctional mother.

It is of course customary when one’s child loses a tooth, to remember the tooth fairy who will come and leave a bob or two under the pillow in exchange for a tooth.  I dutifully told the tale and my daughter excitedly left her tooth under the pillow ready to receive some cash the following morning.  Disappointed, she came to me the following day to inform me that the tooth was still there.  Note to self – don’t forget to put the money under the pillow!  The next day, once again, she informed me that the tooth fairy had obviously lost her way since the tooth was still there.  Second reminder to self…  About a fortnight later, I found a post it on my desk… Mum, could you please remind the tooth fairy to come and leave some money under my pillow only my tooth has been there for two weeks now!

Well, that’s my first story.  Now my blog is up and running, I will endeavour to share more motherhood discombobulations (great word!) within the coming weeks and, you never know, I might even take this up full time!