No work and no play makes mummy a very cranky girl

People who give your child a toy that makes a noise for Christmas/birthday/"just because" should be immediately shot.


'Harsh', you say?


Well - in my defense - there are several reasons for my less than upbeat tone...

1. I am currently workless and, as a result, frantically looking for a job. 
2. We have a house full of illness.
3. T got me a coffee machine for Christmas and as a result I'm either buzzing on caffeine or I've got a headache.

But enough of my sympathy rant - back to those wretched talking and singing toys.

As I sit here daily, trying to put into words to potential employers why I am so absolutely amazing and downright perfect for their job, I am continuously interrupted mid-flow by an annoyingly perky American woman singing 'Hickory Dickory Dock', or YoJoJo letting us know how much he loves playing his pipling pipes, or a frog in a train calling us all to climb aboard and get counting.


Sure, these toys are fine the first time, especially when I see how much joy Little O gets from dancing to a jauntily tuned drum. And even the second, third – hell, even the tenth time I can still be dancing along with him. But after five days of sitting and listening to the incessant tunes of Fisher Price's finest orchestras, I am close to absolutely losing the plot.


I learned the hard way that switching them off will not help, it only aids to the volume as Little O dramatically sobs and flails about because he clearly can't play with these toys unless they can sing back at him.


My one and only hope is the glorious moment when the batteries finally cease to work.


Is it bad that I was genuinely happy about this?

 

Before.... 

 

...and after.

Death by eyeliner

We've been up north (Yorkshire to be precise) to T's family home for the week and as we're not likely to see them all again before Christmas, yesterday we had a big family get-together with a difference in the shape of a murder mystery party!

I've always wanted to go to one and for those of you who are tempted to hold one yourself – do it! It was the funniest evening I've had in a long while and if you're getting together a new group of people it would be an amazing ice-breaker.

Our version of the 'Casino Killings' was brilliantly cast – with T playing a Mexican casino owner (complete with eyeliner-drawn-on moustache and sideburns), T's mum playing a male croupier (also sporting a drawn-on moustache and goatee) and T's older sister laying the deceased man's wife whilst I played his mistress.

Here's us all in our costumes...

 

T got into character with the help of his mum's chihuahua

Lots of laughs all evening long!

Not such a good sport

T turned to me tonight, and I quote: "I don't think I'm going to play Football Manager anymore*. I'm bored of it". Jolly good - it's only taken him 10 years to come to this conclusion, but better late than never.

It's not so much the computer game I loathe, but sport in general.

Don't get me wrong, I like gymnastics as much as the next leotard-clad Russian, but I just don't know why men can't stick to one sport and one team and leave it at that.

Just when the football season draws to a close, oh what's this – yep, cricket's back on. Formula One? Don't mind if I do. Rugby? Sure. Boxing? Why not! American football? I love the Saints!

Of course, I can only blame myself for our current sports consumption. A few months ago I bribed T off of the computer and the evils of Football Manager with the purchase of a Sky Sports package. Big mistake. He easily outwitted me by turning the television in the direction of the computer he's playing on, in turn doubling his sports intake.

But as of today, there could be light at the end of the football tunnel.

Although I have a worrying feeling that the Football Manager void could well be filled with yet another addition to the sport-watching portfolio...sumo wrestling anyone?

At least David Beckham was nice to look at...

*For those who are privileged enough to not know what Football Manager is – it's a mind-numbing, boyfriend-stealing computer game that leads men and boys to believe that they run a football club when clearly all they are doing is watching 22 dots run around a 2D football pitch (I believe that the game has now improved from its 2D version but T won't give up on the 2008 version – apparently it was a good year.)

And so it begins...

I'm having a bit of a little fish, big pond moment.

When Little O (my unmentionable son) was about 2 weeks old and T (my long-enduring boyfriend) returned to work, I had a bit of a brain wave: in an effort to retain my sanity and possibly interest and entertain others, I would start a blog about my new-found life as a mum. Genius.

Unfortunately, I had been pipped to the post by about 2,000 other mums doing the exact same thing.

Ten months later, here I am – just another mummy moaning and gloating about our darling progeny. However – as the title of this blog suggests – I shall here and now make a brownie guide promise to touch upon a variety of other subjects too (although these shall undoubtedly contain the child at some point, so I'll make my apologies now).

After all, who can resist these big blue eyes?...