Its all good --- at the moment.

Parents evening for Tiddles last night and she has just sat some "mock" exams in preparation for the real thing in May. Now, she hasnt been finding Maths in particular very easy, and so when we got her results it was amazing. A whole level up in Maths; amazing results in Science (almost into top level) and amazing results in English, again almost into top level. Very proud parents are we, and her teachers seemed to be so excited for her too. Woohoo, long may this last. Hopefully she will now grow in confidence and only improve further. She was so excited.
Also, she has been invited to sing in the school concert following her audition. Her teacher was blown away by her singing. All amazing stuff for our very special girl.

Then there is The Dodga.
Started on Work Experience yesterday. 2 weeks working in PC World learning about sales, management, etc. Came home yesterday after day one, sitting right up there on cloud nine. Had a fantastic day, was given tasks and responsibilities along with all the other staff, as they have a store assessment on day two,  and felt fantastic. Its been a while since I have seen him really fired up about something and it was wonderful to listen to all the events of the day.
Who knows what life holds for him.  
15 and the world and all it's adventures waiting for him.

So there it is - one of those great days that make you gald to be a Mum, and remind you that the "not so great" days are worth taking so you can enjoy days like this.

War on the wobble.

I have spent the last, I don't know how many years, dieting on and off, trying to transform my less than perfect body into some sort of goddess-like form. Success rate minimal.
I have come to the conclusion that its just not going to happen, so therefore I need to find peace and acceptance in my head for the lumpy-bumpy and wobbly parts of myself that are at the moment not very nice to me.
I had decided that the scales should go!!! How is it that a couple of numbers on a piece of machinery determine the whole mood of your day and possibly even the week? Why is it that a pound or a kg up or down is the difference between feeling like a sleek machine or a sumo wrestler? Its quite ridiculous really. And do I want my daughter to grow up with the terrible pressure that seems to be all around us, brought on by the media and fashion mags etc, where girls have to be stick thin to be beautiful? Absolutely not. So I am making a huge effort to rekindle the friendship between myself and the parts of my body which are less than perfect and a little more jiggly that I would like.
I go to classes at the gym for cardio work - body attack (yes it does feel like I have been attacked afterwards), circuits etc and classes for toning - body pump and flexibar (a long wobbly bar which you flex and move while moving parts of your body at the same time. I think I still wobble more than the bar but we shall persevere). Has it made a difference in the last 2 months? Not a flippin' bit. I am still as wobbly and jiggly as before and I definitely am not losing weight.
Aaaahh I hear you say, but I wasn't meant to be worried about all that. I know, I know, but its a thing in my head which says that if I don't do something I will spend the remainder of my life getting fatter and wobblier, so I must find a way of at least maintaining the level of wobble I have now, or you will see me on Sumo Wrestlers Weekly's front cover eventually. At 44, (apparently middle aged - I DONT THNK SO !!!), I keep getting told its all normal to have waistline thickening (sounds like some sort of disease), and that its all slowing down and getting bigger from here on in. Great ! Well NO I say. I will try to stop aspiring to look like a 20 something and concentrate on healthy living instead. I want to eat nice things, drink wine if I feel like it and not spend every waking moment calculating the calorific value and fat content of every morsel passing my lips, but I also want to look good. Exercise is good for my heart and bones, I know that, and it is meant to make you feel happy (although I dispute that when I am on the floor with the instructor screaming at me to to 24 more press-ups for the 4th time, and I am willing my vibrating arms to stay strong so I don't face plant the ground). I will have to accept that things are starting to travel south and my arms look like I am turning into a flying fox with my worsening bingo-wings, (not quite the "foxy" look I was aiming for), but at least I will be healthy. So my wobble and I will continue our 4 times weekly visits to the gym and there we shall attempt to become friends again, and if I do manage to reach 50 with the same level of wobble that I have now, I will be very pleased. xxxx

Suitcase on my face..

I woke up this morning feeling relaxed. Tiddles was at a sleepover last night so we had a lovely lie-in this morning - not that we don't when she is here, just that the house was a little quieter. Anyway, having decided that I really should drag my lazy backside out of the bed and go have a bath, I took a quick look in the mirror to decide whether I should wash my hair or do a salvage job with the hair straighteners.
WHAT IS THAT? I'm not even joking when I say I had grown something below my right eye in the night. An eye bag (I think) the size of a suitcase, sitting on my cheek like its waiting to go on holiday, all packed up and ready to go. No joke, this thing is horrid. When I went to bed last night my face was normal, well as normal as it usually is, and now this thing has decided to join me in the night.
Even Maintenance Man, who is usually very good at lying about things such as "does my bum look big in this?", made a comment to the effect of "oh god what is that?"  Now I know its bad.
Make up - that's what we need. Wash face, slap on moisturiser and hmmmm yes, concealer and face powder. No, no, no, that's not good. Now it looks like a third eye, only this one is closed.  I feel like Scaramanga, even if he has 3 nipples not 3 eyes.  Wash face again.
Google it!! That's the way to find out anything. Google has the answer to any question you may wish to pose and I use it regularly. Google will save me. Google will give me the cure.
I HATE GOOGLE !!!
Apparently, I am getting old - like I needed stuffing Google to tell me that for gods sake. Inherited genes (cheers mum) and age, along with bad lymphatic drainage (maybe I should just make a few holes somewhere to help things along then) are the cause of this problem and it MAY, not will, sort itself out in a few days/weeks.
Great to I now have to carry my new friend around with me indefinitely. Hooo bloody ray... not!!
So I am destined to a possible life of luggage face. I am starting to imagine what life is going to be like if it grows, am I going to trip over the damn thing all the time? Will I have to tuck it into my jeans? Could I poke it behind my right ear perhaps? Its all too disturbing for words.
Any words of wisdom on a cure would be much appreciated. Until then, I reckon there is only one thing for it - I need MORE WESTLIFE..
Obviously I didn't have nearly enough Youth Serum so if you read this boys,
Heeeeeeeeeelp.
xxxx

Westlife ................ the new Youth Serum.

I have decided that there is nothing like a bit of silliness to make you feel younger. Last weekend was the weekend I had been looking forward to for months. Yes, I am an unashamed massive Westlife fan. Sorry, but there is nothing wrong with a little boyband fantasy - even at my age !! Maintenance Man offered to be on kiddy duty for the weekend so I could go and indulge my fantasies with my sister, (we shall call her Spa Chick), who had also planned a day of retail therapy to follow. So a real treat for me, a weekend away.

The drive was spent visualising my idea of the forthcoming concert - you see, although I am a little over 25, I have only ever been to see 2 other music concerts and one of those was when I was 19!!  The silliness had started a few weeks ago when I happened to say to Spa Chick that I thought we should take some pants to throw on the stage during the show.. as is customary I believe? The conversation went on to figure out how far a pair of thongs might actually travel (not far we reckoned), so maybe a tennis ball in the gusset was the way to go. Now, at this point our sons, both teenagers, had decided that this was definitely not the way for their "respectable" mothers to behave. Of course, this was now a great game of wind-em-up, in repayment for all the years of tantrums and bad behaviour we had suffered from them. Talk of which kind of thong we should buy, whether we should write our phone numbers on them and of course the impending posting of the photos onto facebook and you tube ensued, much to their total disgust. Worried looks and requests for us to behave properly were quickly followed by comments about "middle aged women" caught on TV behaving badly. As we told them, we intend to grow old disgracefully.!

Well, having spent the afternoon trying to decide which outfit Shane (W) would like the most, with Spa Chick making comments along the lines of it not really mattering if it was going to end up on the dressing room floor anyway, (you see how things were getting very silly now), we ventured off to meet the boys - Westlife of course. After locating the bar at the O2 for some pre-show drinks, we decided this was the time to take the photos of ourselves with the thongs. Of course we had no intention of launching them - our seats were unfortunately too far away from the stage, even with a tennis ball, and we figured the people in the rows in front of us may not appreciate thong hats. Even so we had brought them in our bags to continue the charade, not realising there was going to be a security bag search on our way in. A little embarrassing for Spa Chick as hers were discovered by the doorman..... worryingly he didn't seem shocked or fazed at all????

Into the arena, find the seats, sit down, take a breath ---- who are all these people? Shane didn't mention he had invited 19,998 other people. Gutted!! Don't want to share. I feel like a sulky teenager. A voice somewhere in the back of my head reminds me IT'S NOT REAL!!! Shut-up, it's real tonight and I am going to block all these others out, just for a couple of hours. Converstaion continues between Spa Chick and I, trying to decide who will have who for the evening (cos we really DID have the choice you know), and whether Shane (W) would like the younger or slightly more mature model between us.

So, the lights go down, the anticipation is high, I feel like I am going to burst with the prospect of an evening with Shane, Nicky, Kian and Mark (well not so much Mark - sorry), and there they are. OMG -- they are small....... Oh well, look at the screen and they return to normal size, although it could be fun to have a pocket version. Well the show was amazing, we danced, we sang, we screamed like never before, and when the boys came out over the audience on a floating steel girder, bring them so so close, just a little closer, come on, come on..  Oh Bugger!!  Still too far away for my liking.  I really must get front row seats next time GGRRRR.
It was about now that Shane decided to say hi to his wife and kids who were in the audience too. You are joking right? You cant say that Shane. I paid good money for this and tonight you are all mine  -- not married (like me too). The sound of 20,000 hearts sinking was BIG. You can kinda go off someone you know, although this feeling went away real quick when I reminded myself there was always Nicky or Kian (prob also married but don't think about it).

Carry on singing and dancing, the mood is high again, peoples banners are being read out by Kian and I have to say I totally agree with the one that stated "The Tighter the Trousers, the Better the View". AND THEN... someone threw pants!!! Not skimpy thongs like ours, oh no, these were big. Very very big, and had a message scrawled across them not fitting for posting on this blog. I'm sure as Kian was reading this he was thinking "I would much rather have Liesl's thongs"??? Next time Kian, cos I will be getting front row seats for sure.

By the time it was all over, I was feeling like a 17 year old again -- (I know its not that long ago, ha ha I wish ). Do we need creams and potions, nips and tucks or jabs of botox to be young again? No - a little fantasy and an evening of complete silliness is without a doubt the way to do it. Well it worked for me.. just for a while. xxxx

                                 "Middle-aged" my A****





                        

     The "wannabe launched Thong"                                  Spa Chick with her missile

 

                                                  
                                                     Who needs L'Oreal? 

                                                      A dose of these boys

                                                    will do me xxx 

C'mon boys over here ...

Here goes nothing....

Well here we are at last. I have decided that I need to offload, dump and generally share the mixed up stuff in my world and blogging seems to be the way forward. I haven't done this before so if it seems a little odd to begin, please cut me some slack and I am sure I will get the hang of it soon enough -- fingers crossed.
I began by thinking I would have to have some incredibly interesting and unique subject to write about until I was reminded that actually what I do every day is exactly that..... unique. Bringing up a family whilst also working from home with my husband, running our own business, is the most varied and individual job on the planet.
Take today for instance. Today is auditions day for the Spring Concert at my daughters school, and for an almost 11 year old this is serious stuff. Last night her partner in song came to tea so they could practice the chosen number together in preparation. Tears of panic and "I'm not good enough" were shed amongst the really very good singing. This morning we continued the preparation while trying to dress, brush teeth, eat breakfast etc etc etc. I was under full instruction "not to listen" even though she was in full voice. Finally we manage to get into the car, now a full 10 minutes later than we should be, drive 1 minute down the road and ............ PANIC. The CD with the backing track is still at home. Trying to keep my yelling to a dull roar, we spin round in the next available turn point, grab the CD and race back to school (keeping to the speed limit of course). The last thing I heard as I watched her take off down the school playground was "wish me luck mum", leaving me frazzled in the car park.
I am keeping everything possible crossed for a successful audition.... watch this space.
This mornings events were of course only half the story, as I also have a 15 year old son who loves long showers, and I am not joking when I say long. Every morning its the same, bang on the door after 5 mins, again after 10 mins, by 15 mins I am beating it frantically. I am pleased he has such wonderful personal hygiene but c'mon, this is ridiculous. We have tried the threats and the appealing to his sense of logic, talking about the cost of heating the water, but to no avail. What he is doing in there remains a mystery as I am sure he is not washing for that long. Anyway, this morning was no different except for the auditions!!! So while I am trying "not to listen" to the singing practice, I am shouting through a locked door to a boy who is cutting it really fine for catching the school bus. Grumpy faces follow and much muttering under breath, last minute bag checks, lunch boxes, PE kits, (more singing) and jackets and he runs out the door muttering something about potentially missing the bus being my fault - hmmm really?
Of course then I have to shower, dress, clean up kitchen after breakfast has been demolished, fight my way through the fog and clean up the bathroom, which now looks like a sauna after the 15 minute+ shower (he says he doesn't have time to do it this morning - or many other mornings !!), and try to make a bit of a silk purse out of sows ear somehow (thank god for years of experience in how to apply a full face of make up in less than 2 minutes).
Welcome to school mornings in our house. Would I change it? Probably, but hubster keeps saying "one day we will laugh about these things". So when I am definitely not laughing, I will try to remember that when they are grown and gone, I will miss all of these things.....