Tag Archives: Lego

We’re Going to Need a Bigger Boat

I’m scared of the dark, there I’ve said it. I am a grown woman, mother of two whom I reassure and comfort from silly fears yet if I need to use the loo in the night I have to turn on all four lights en route to the bathroom. Last night we were driving home over 30 miles of moor land with only the car headlights and cats eyes in the road to guide our way. Having driven the same journey earlier in the day I knew we were surrounded by miles and miles of barren farm land with nothing but the odd house and herd of bewildered sheep for company. For the majority of the journey I was fraught with anxiety and consumed by thoughts of disaster and chaos. When the rain wasn’t pelting the car the fog was so dense that Geordie was reduced to driving at just 50 mph (insert sarcasm here) on the twisting narrow roads and obviously this did nothing to help my nerves, he was also getting very agitated at me telling him to ‘BLOODY SLOW DOWN’. All I was concerned about was not getting stranded out in the wilderness in the pitch black and had to busy myself with eating Cheerio’s and malted milk biscuits from our daughter’s backpack. I know my fear is silly, I’ve been ridiculed my whole life about it, Geordie says I’m scared of my own shadow, well who wouldn’t be..it’s dark!

My silly fears don’t stop there either. I watched Jaws with my brother when I was fairly young and since then I have been frightened of swimming in open water. When I go abroad or even on that one day a year that the weather is warm enough in the UK to warrant a dip in either the sea or lake, I can barely manage to get thigh deep before the panic sets in and off I run like a great white is nipping at my heels. I can’t even stomach one of those fish pedicure treatments, yuck. The thought of having fish swim around my feet and legs makes me very uneasy. My Mum tells me that when I was born in a suburb of Sydney, Australia she took me down to the beach at less than 10 weeks old and unceremoniously chucked me in the sea. I’m not sure how long babies have the under-water breath holding reflex but it’s no wonder I’m not a keen swimmer, Jaws has nothing on my Mum!

As a Mum myself I appreciate the importance of not imposing my fears on my children and our two regularly go swimming in the safety of the local pool without fear of me launching them into the deep end without so much as an armband.

NaBloPoMo

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Suits You Sir

We had a fight yesterday, well actually I had a fight, launched a half ironed shirt at Geordie and stormed into our daughters room to play with Lego to calm down. By now most of you will have worked out that Geordie is a constant cause of distress to me, and while I love the scruffy sod he gets on my nerves so badly sometimes I could cry. Here’s how it went down.

‘Should we go for a walk around the village, get a bit of fresh air?’

‘Yeah okay then I’ll stick the iron on to sort some clothes

‘Why what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

You can probably guess which side of the conversation belong to whom? During this exchange Geordie was sporting a pair of Adidas navy blue track suit bottoms, with marks on, a long sleeve blue training top with a white marathon finishers t-shirt over the top, also with visible marks on it. Plus he wore the same clothes the day before (hence the marks). While we were conversing I started ironing a plain white t-shirt for him and silently bullied him into finding a clean pair of jeans. I pulled out a blue shirt and began to iron the collar when I stupidly asked ‘What’s up with you?’ to which I got a very terse reply resulting in me chucking the shirt at him and cracking on with my Lego building in the next room.

It’s so frustrating, why go out dressed like a retired P.E teacher when you have three, yes 3 wardrobes full of clothes that are perfectly clean, well-fitting and on trend? Arghhh I’m actually getting annoyed again writing this! Twenty minutes later he saunters out of the bedroom wearing jeans and the t-shirt, clearly ironing the rest of the blue shirt was a step too far and would seem like I had won that particular battle. Okay so he’s spent the last 10 years in the military being told what to wear and how to wear it, so what difference does it make if I give the orders? Oh dear that doesn’t sound like a recipe for a long and happy marriage does it? Just call me the domestic chief of staff.

If Geordie had no decent clothes (which lets face it would never happen) it wouldn’t bother me so much, but I’ve bought him shed loads over the years and its a constant battle to get him to take some pride in his appearance and to give a crap about how I feel walking down the street with the northern version of Worzel Gummage!

We’re off to a farmers market this morning, I’m genuinely worried someone might try to buy him to frighten off the crows!

 

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