tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18950076581090880842024-03-14T00:48:57.104-07:00QWERTY MumHave keyboard - not afraid to use it.QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.comBlogger950125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-83187607588844441052016-04-27T04:49:00.002-07:002016-04-27T04:49:59.068-07:00Gazillion Incredibubble Wand<div>
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When I was lucky enough to be sent The Original Gazillion Premium Bubbles Incredibubble Wand to review, I imagined trying it out on a gloriously sunny afternoon running barefoot around the garden, entranced by magical, fragile, giant bubbles. It didn't quite turn out that way. It was overcast and chilly - the sort of afternoon when watching a DVD snuggled under a blanket might seem more appealing. Despite the lack of a perfect day, we could not fault the bubbles. They certainly lived up to their part of the picture in my mind.</div>
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The kit contains a doughnut shaped tray, the Incredibubble wand with detatchable handle and a bottle of The Original Gazillion Premium Big Bubble Solution. It retails at £12.99. There is currently a special offer available at Argos where the Gazillion Incredibubble Wand and the Gazillion 33-in-1 Incredibubble Wand can be purchased together for just £19.99 (see link below) </div>
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<a href="http://www.argos.co.uk/static/Product/partNumber/4966511.htm" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.argos.co.uk/static/Product/partNumber/4966511.htm</a></div>
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To create enormous bubbles, simply pour the Gazillion solution into the tray, dip the wand into the solution and wave the wand.</div>
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The children wasted no time getting started. It was a little tricky at first to get used to such a big wand and how to manoeuvre it without the film of bubble mix popping but they soon got the hang of it. </div>
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The packaging boasts the ability to create <i>"Huge! 10ft Bubbles!" </i>The wand design and the formulation of the Special Super Strength non-toxic Blue Gazillion Bubble Solution make it possible to make this claim. We probably got close to 10ft long sausage shaped bubbles but once they left the wand, they reformed into smaller, but still impressively giant bubbles that seemed to defy science with their existence as they hung in the air contorting under the opposing forces acting on them.</div>
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It was utterly mesmerising and in terms of bigger, better, bubble blowing fun, it was beyond compare.<br />
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I probably should not have left the kids to their own devices. Eight year old Addy decided it would be fun to try and get her little brother's head inside a bubble. It was a great effort that resulted in a soapy headed little brother. The bubble mix is non toxic but clearly doesn't taste very pleasant judging by how much spitting my poor son proceeded to do to get rid of it!</div>
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The children did not stop their bubble-tastic fun until the whole 16oz bottle of solution was completely used up. </div>
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QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-29749060808780103992016-03-22T08:08:00.001-07:002016-03-22T08:08:50.150-07:00A Sick DayThe sun is shining. It is a beautiful day.<div><br></div><div>There is only one more day of term after today with the promise of a relaxing Easter break tantalisingly close.</div><div><br></div><div>But I cannot enjoy any of this.</div><div><br></div><div>My poor little boy is sick.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBemXuShVrh3b7KOFW7Jxj7e8gKddA2NTRt95vgAZXioTG2qTax9FRoqi4-f1UwxcnMPVjqUDWzHTMrF-CEMd4PMajvwD-BX5LAUq-QdUoDsWDXUJHxfNTv8EW6I81c0I_IaQA0j4paxcH/s640/blogger-image--979191745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBemXuShVrh3b7KOFW7Jxj7e8gKddA2NTRt95vgAZXioTG2qTax9FRoqi4-f1UwxcnMPVjqUDWzHTMrF-CEMd4PMajvwD-BX5LAUq-QdUoDsWDXUJHxfNTv8EW6I81c0I_IaQA0j4paxcH/s640/blogger-image--979191745.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>It started last night when he got into bed with me then vomited explosively.</div><div><br></div><div>I have not felt rested for some time because the whole family have been plagued with persistent coughs that always decide to be their most irritating during the hours when the comfort of sleep is so desperately needed. Every night I optimistically hope that this will be the night I manage a good uninterrupted night of blissful slumber. Last night certainly was NOT the night.</div><div><br></div><div>Stripping beds, turning mattresses and cleaning <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> vomit off walls, carpets and furniture are not activities of choice for the early hours. My husband took care of a slightly dazed 5 year old while I put sick drenched bed linen and pyjamas into the washing machine and tried to keep myself from falling apart.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The trusty sick bucket is at hand now. I have a little more work to do to get the house back to where we were before the whole sorry incident began. I have even managed to get a some sleep so I don't feel quite so broken.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I am so sorry that my little man will miss these last two days of term. I know there are lots of fun activities planned for the children that he would have been so excited by. All that really matters though is taking care of my brave boy and getting him back to his happy, healthy self.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">He is sleeping now... an angelic face at peace. The sick bucket at his bedside reminds me that the peace can be shattered in an instant.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The sick bucket is ready. I am ready. The sun is still shining.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-27881212378921777632016-03-20T13:49:00.001-07:002016-03-20T13:49:28.557-07:00Colour FunI had my first Cadbury's Creme Egg of the year today.<br />
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This particular creme egg was included in the goodie bag for a Colour Run organised by one of the sixth formers at my children's school to raise money for the charity <a href="http://www.sarcoma.org.uk/" target="_blank">Sarcoma UK</a>. I waited until after I completed the run before indulging in the sweet chocolatey goodness and I <i>did</i> enjoy it - everything tastes better when you feel that you have earned it.<br />
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The race was two laps of a course through the school grounds (about 5K in total) and included colour stations with teenagers pelting runners with a range of colourful powders as well as a wet, soapy, long sheet of plastic for sliding on.<br />
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I was running with two of my grown up daughters, my future son in law and my little ones: Addy (7 years) and Dylan (5 years).<br />
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I fully expected to have to stop after one lap because 5K is a long way for little legs. However, such was the excitement about turning clean white T shirts into a multicoloured mess (not to mention skin and hair) that they both happily opted to complete both laps. Dylan, who is a big fan of the TV show Power Rangers, declared himself to be a "Rainbow Ranger".<br />
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One of my daughters took a rather unfortunate hit of bright red powder right to the face. It was in her eyes and mouth and and did require a good rinsing with a water bottle I had taken with me to stay hydrated. I'd had quite a lot of wine the previous evening and thought it wise to have some water to hand. I'm glad that I did.<br />
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We did our best with the slide but I don't think any one of us quite had the technique despite some sterling efforts.<br />
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We had a wonderful time.<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-89316647932277611252016-03-07T03:37:00.001-08:002016-03-07T03:37:35.535-08:00Mother's Day MassageI received the most lovely Mothers Day gift from my seven year old daughter yesterday. She gave me a little handwritten voucher to be redeemed for a massage.<div><br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeQ5oGhSr4jxTBzZI-A7xXG7yWe_gGGXRAr0xZqTX_TZ5VQRL5w7-VpqbNeloW3meDarKkscBfmmppdEwZzLltfCulMRyKikZLrojZW1-MVzE3TKh3rkDOJx9DinQFOpFbTTxbkc1XyPO/s640/blogger-image--428327505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeQ5oGhSr4jxTBzZI-A7xXG7yWe_gGGXRAr0xZqTX_TZ5VQRL5w7-VpqbNeloW3meDarKkscBfmmppdEwZzLltfCulMRyKikZLrojZW1-MVzE3TKh3rkDOJx9DinQFOpFbTTxbkc1XyPO/s640/blogger-image--428327505.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div><div>She has been learning the art of massage at school as an initiative to promote positive touch by a teacher passionate about the benefits of both giving and receiving massage - benefits that include reducing anxiety, helping with focus and building relationships on trust and respect. </div><div><br></div><div>When I was ready to redeem my massage voucher, I put on some mellow music (a Michael Buble CD did the job) and lit a candle that had been part of a thoughtful gift from my grown up girls that made feel, with every tear that ran down my cheeks, how blessed I am to be their mother.</div><div><br></div><div>Scene set, I sat comfortably on a bean bag and let my little girl work her magic on my back, arms, hands, head and shoulders.</div><div><br></div><div>The massage was wonderful. I am an absolute believer in the healing power of touch. It was without a doubt restorative but the connectedness with this little human being that I brought into the world (and love with all that I am) was indescribably good. </div><div><br></div><div>As a family, we are no strangers to touch. We hold hands and we cuddle... a lot. However, I do think that making time for massage could have enormous benefits.</div><div><br></div><div>At the end of the session, she thanked me for allowing her to give me a massage as she has been taught to do. Learning to give and being grateful for the opportunity to give is so important and I was glad to be reminded of it.</div><div><br></div><div>It really was a very special Mothers Day gift.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWdn_vbvFp9N9l2Ogkku5UcplTsBbAku7P71cZIQ93DAvtQgAEACrWWN925XjtmP1iJesblq57sXTUHL5tVb_R3jP-AuhYJNEbjowZSAvWRDSz9EcVGkq_VZJ3t4RNXNsK1T74VkjK2bqM/s640/blogger-image--2009672366.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWdn_vbvFp9N9l2Ogkku5UcplTsBbAku7P71cZIQ93DAvtQgAEACrWWN925XjtmP1iJesblq57sXTUHL5tVb_R3jP-AuhYJNEbjowZSAvWRDSz9EcVGkq_VZJ3t4RNXNsK1T74VkjK2bqM/s640/blogger-image--2009672366.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-81442073605546461932016-02-26T05:22:00.000-08:002016-02-26T05:22:11.889-08:00Muddy TrainersI don't tend to celebrate Valentines day. The following week is my wedding anniversary so I put my romantic efforts into that occasion instead. My husband did give me red roses and I gave him and the kids red foil wrapped heart shaped chocolates but my greatest Valentines pleasure is buying reduced to clear merchandise in the days following and using them to set the scene for the anniversary celebration.<br />
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That didn't happen this year. Immediately after valentines day, I left my husband and my red roses and took the children off for a few days of visiting with my parents. By the time my anniversary weekend came around I had no '75% off' table confetti/ light up ballons/ cuddly toys/ love crackers etc and no plan.</div>
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No plan isn't quite true. I had arranged for the little ones to have a weekend sleepover with their big sister to give my husband and I some much needed time together. I thought about how best to spend this precious 'us time'. I considered a stay at a hotel with a spa or a dinner for two at a nice restaurant. In the end, the most important thing was the actual <i>time together </i>so keeping it as simple as possible was probably our best bet. I tidied the house and we bought a few treats for a special home cooked meal. The one thing that we both really wanted to do was to drive out to some beautiful countryside and go for a run.</div>
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When we were planning where to go, we made allowances for the fact that it was a bit wet and windy by choosing a forest run. I imagined compacted forest paths sheltered by trees. Arriving at our destination, we realised our mistake. The route we had selected was actually exposed heathland with gorse bushes and steep hills. The drive <i>through</i> the forest to get there had been beautiful and now, here we were in this bleak landscape being battered by wind and rain. Oh well! No point turning back. Off we went!</div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">The weather did ease off a bit and we had wrapped up warm so that wasn't too much of a problem. The hills drained all the energy in our legs but we weren't here to set any speed records so we didn't mind having to stop and walk. The worst part was the mud. So many different kinds of mud. A whole pallette of mud from black through to pale yellowy grey with all shades of brown in between. Sticky mud. Sloshy mud. Deep mud. Vast oceans of mud sucking at our feet with every step. It did cross my mind that we could be in a luxury spa right now having a very different kind of mud treatment. We ran. We trudged. We slipped. We slid. My husband fell over in the mud with fairly amusing consequences. Were we discouraged? No! We were having the best time. We were loving it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">It took us nearly an hour to complete the 5 kilometer circular route - an hour of torturous bliss!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">We had a wonderful weekend. My valentines roses even had some life left in them to provide the romantic touch that I'd failed to do with my usual post valentine bargain hunting. The only slight niggle was the state of my mud caked trainers. I feared they would never be the same agaiin. After leaving them drying for a week, I thought that the best way to clean them would be to put them on and go for a little run in the hope that the mud would just fall away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Today, the sun was shining. I put on my once purple trainers and marvelled at the little dust cloud produced when I tied the laces. I planned the route in my head - out the back gate, across the football pitch to the path that runs around the hockey pitches, through the car park, into the woods, across the meadows onto the footpath that leads back to the road, down the road and back to my house. It was a perfect plan apart from the <i>into the woods and across the meadows </i>part. My trainers are muddier than when I started.</span></div>
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QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-46807899083986507472016-02-24T08:53:00.001-08:002016-02-24T08:53:12.728-08:00Giving it up for LentI had been drinking too much coffee.<div><br></div><div>It was the begining of Lent.</div><div><br></div><div>I put these two facts together and came to a logical conclusion to give up coffee for Lent.</div><div><br></div><div>Had I known how horribly unpleasant withdrawing from caffeine would be, I would never have considered going cold turkey like that. I would have devised a careful plan to cut down gradually over a suitable amount of time and gently beat the addiction into a manageable habit. I entered into my " give up coffee for Lent" plan with ignorant optimism and found out the hard way how it feels to suddenly be deprived of a substance to which your body has become overly familiar with and possibly reliant on.</div><div><br></div><div>The first day without caffeine was absolutely fine. No adverse effects. No cravings. It was day two when the headache hit. The headache could not be ignored. The headache lasted three whole days. The headache was not even the worst of it.</div><div><br></div><div>I thought I must be coming down with flu. My muscles ached with a deep niggling ache that made it almost impossible to get comfortable or to have a restful nights sleep. The ache bore into joints as well adding to my misery. I didn't want to do anything and doing nothing was still ridiculously difficult. These symptoms persisted without any other signs of flu developing.</div><div><br></div><div>It was during the night when sleep eluded me and I feared I might never be at peace in my own body again that I started searching the internet on a quest for find answers for my malady.</div><div><br></div><div>Caffeine withdrawal. It was as simple as that. </div><div><br></div><div>I could have abandoned my self denial plan and launched into "moderate coffee consumption" but I was worried that that might lead straight back to over indulging to a dangerously high degree. I decided to persevere... to remember the relentless aches that had plagued me for days and use than as a deterrent against returning to my old ways.</div><div><br></div><div>The aching muscles and joints subsided about a day after the headache lifted. I didn't feel fantastic but I was OK. </div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">There are still many days before Easter and I am not even going to think about drinking coffee until the period of Lent is over. In the meantime I am drinking occasional cups of green tea or decaffeinated coffee.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I miss the smell of coffee and I miss the ritual of a coffee break (green tea break just doesn't have that same impact) but I am convinced that what I am doing is for the best.</span></div>QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-1477180208530578412016-02-09T04:08:00.001-08:002016-02-09T04:36:04.524-08:00Andy's Amazing Adventures for little explorersI had promised my five year old son a treat for being good. He had his heart set on a certain ovoid confection that is not just chocolate but a toy as well. He wanted this with an almost angry passion. He wanted it with an angry passion that I felt his choice did not really justify (unless they happen to be on special offer). He wanted it with an angry passion that was completely forgotten the moment he found himself in the magazine aisle.<br />
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My little boy's eyes were wide with excitement when he spotted one particular colourful glossy comic complete with free gift. We bought it. He loved it. I was happy that he was happy and it was great that he was reading but I wasn't 100% convinced that it was value for money.<br />
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I was very interested to hear that a brand new comic was being launched based on the popular CBeebies <i>Andy's Adventures. </i>I was delighted to be offered a complimentary copy of the first issue to review but my delight paled into insignificance compared with my son's reaction to receiving it! He literally jumped for joy.</div>
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We are very familiar with Andy and his Adventures. The hat, gizmo, backpack checklist that Andy completes before his adventures is a routine that has often featured in make believe play at home. A big selling point of Andy's Amazing Adventures for us (and I'm sure for many others) is the dinosaur content. My son is a self proclaimed dinosaur expert and wants to be <i>a time</i> <i>travelling</i> <i>dinosaur</i> <i>zoologist</i> when he grows up (as well as <i>an astronaut like Tim Peake</i>). This new magazine was pretty much guaranteed to be a hit with him. I can be a little harder to impress, especially when it comes to making decisions about what to spend money on, but I absolutely loved it.</div>
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The first issue is 36 colourful pages printed on quality paper and packed full with a really good mix of activities including a story, games, drawing, colouring and making. It is very well laid out and interactive with stickers to add, boxes to tick and little pictures to colour to show an activity has been completed. Andy's <i>very</i> expressive face pops up regularly with speech bubbles for encouraging words and fun comments. The magazine is created in association with the BBC Natural History Unit which inspires confidence that the content is more than simple entertainment and provides <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">notes for parents explaining the learning theory behind the fun. In summary, it is a very appealing publication with real value.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I gave the magazine to my son when he got home from school at 3.30pm. Apart from a brief interruption for tea, he did not put it down until bedtime.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">He independently followed the instructions to make his own wearable gizmo and hat and showed them off with pride. He hadn't quite done it right and actually stuck the hat to his forehead with Sellotape which was at least quite enterprising. We played the game together as per the instructions using the mini dinos and T-Rex grabber included as a gift on the front of the magazine. He won. Of course! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Flicking through the magazine now I can see there are still plenty of activities left for him to do including cutting out and making a Dino land for the mini dinos. That should keep him busy tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Coincidentally, Dad had been at a Dinosaur Talk that evening with local amateur enthusiasts. When he came home and asked his son what he had been up to, the reply was this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>I travelled back in time 65 million years and saw a triceratops!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I think that was time well spent.</span></div>
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<b>Andy's Amazing Adventures</b> on sale from Wednesday 10th February 2016, priced £2.75</h4>
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QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-81363319623250981722016-02-02T02:27:00.001-08:002016-02-02T02:27:13.633-08:00The Missing YearsLast year, my husband and I bought a house. Not a house to live in, or to holiday in, or to rent out for profit. We bought a house for our daughter to live in. Don't get me wrong, she does make a contribution to cover the mortgage repayments but it is well below what we could expect from the market rental value. We bought a house for our daughter to live in because she was desperately unhappy with the accommodation she could afford in London where she works - unhappy to the point that it was making her sick.<div><br></div><div>My daughter has traded her single room with a kitchen and bathroom shared with strangers that intimidated her (she is not the outgoing type) for a two bedroomed house to herself (and her fiancé when he is not studying hard at a University in the middle of Wales). She also has me just a short drive away to offer support when she needs it. The change in lifestyle has made a corresponding change in her happiness and well being. I have had the gratification of being able to help and gained a babysitter and running partner.</div><div><br></div><div>For the last couple of days, I have been at the house providing access (and tea) for a couple of chaps who are fitting new double glazed windows. The upstairs is all done and looks fantastic. Rotten window frames and glass dripping with condensation are gone, much like the London room misery. Modern, clean, efficient double glazed units make everything seem much brighter.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWuzn5AHC2vCtMNLmKafrtPye_ZvhQKJYWQ2j3GGBiSyXFuVT6vDvV3aM_QOFzeTXzfW6Mlpi0S8G5IaO4TiV-pKJVCL2307m44DWjESlDNlKT1Z7HBJaLOYQqAlrzmyIhFc_yGwJAUNSZ/s640/blogger-image-1274338688.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWuzn5AHC2vCtMNLmKafrtPye_ZvhQKJYWQ2j3GGBiSyXFuVT6vDvV3aM_QOFzeTXzfW6Mlpi0S8G5IaO4TiV-pKJVCL2307m44DWjESlDNlKT1Z7HBJaLOYQqAlrzmyIhFc_yGwJAUNSZ/s640/blogger-image-1274338688.jpg"></a></div>Out with the old, in with the new.</div><div><br></div><div>It is a lovely little house. Once I got over the fact that a 2 bedroomed end terrace house here in Sussex cost as much as a <i>4 bedroomed detached </i> house back in Shropshire where we lived previously, I began to really enjoy the whole process of property purchasing. I spent many happy hours on the Rightmove website perusing possibilities. We viewed three of those possibilities and fell in love with one. The house reminded me very much of the first house I ever bought (many years and a husband ago).</div><div><br></div><div>I call the twenty years I spent married to my first husband "the missing years". My current husband, the love of my life, was at my first wedding. If fate had aligned itself in a slightly different configuration, he could have been at my wedding as my groom. We could have begun our life together twenty years earlier - experienced buying our first home, starting a family. It didn't. We didn't. I can't regret any of the twists and turns of my life but I also can't help wondering about <i>the missing years. </i>We filled in a big chunk of the missing years when we unexpectedly started a a <i>second</i> family. We joke that we have a 100% extra free life - 100% supporting our grown up children and trying to find time for ourselves, plus 100% meeting the demands of our two growing children and throwing ourselves into family life. Of course that second 100% is not really <i>free </i>- we can get incredibly tired and over stretched - we pay! </div><div><br></div><div>Buying the house, so similar to my first starter home, provided another opportunity for a buy one life get one life free experience. It was an electrifying thrill to be handed the keys. We opened the door on a "what could have been" and filled in <i>the missing years </i>with cleaning, decorating, fixing and best of all, sourcing essential furniture on a very tight budget. We achieved an incredible amount in a short space of time so that it would be ready for when my daughter's London lease ran out. We made a home. We made a home then returned to our actual home filled with furniture and memories collected over time. We returned to our actual home feeling a wonderful sense of connectedness and with hearts less justified in their yearning for missing years.</div><div><br></div><div>The missing years were not wasted years. My husband and I both lived full lives doing the things we wanted to do - just not together. Our togetherness now seems to make anything possible. We have so much living to do in whatever time the Gods see fit to allow us. If the price is that I sometimes feel tired and over stretched, that is a very small price.</div>QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-52714892644535723342016-01-31T05:37:00.000-08:002016-01-31T05:37:37.277-08:00Goodbye January It is the last day of January, which also happens to be the birthday of one of my friends - a very special friend. I am fairly sure that the birthday card I sent him will not have arrived on time, which pretty much sums up what the whole of the month of January has been like. I have never felt on top of things emotionally or physically, I have been unable to sustain much in the way of productivity in either a practical or personal sense and the days have lumped one atop another in a gloomy, suffocating mass of mostly bleurghh-ness (best description I can manage). I think maybe that is just what January is.<br />
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This January has also been punctuated by the deaths of David Bowie, Alan Rickman and now Terry Wogan. Although I can never claim to be a fan of Terry Wogan, his presence in my life via his radio show (played in the car by my dad when driving me to school) and the annual Eurovision song contest hosting, is undeniable. It seems as though the fabric of "influential celebrity figures in my life" is being eroded quicker than I can adjust. And I haven't even mentioned Grizzly Adams!<br />
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It hasn't all been bad.<br />
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There have been some beautiful sunsets and the days are getting noticeably longer.<br />
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We enjoyed one almost perfect snowy day (perfect because the snow lasted for one day and was gone) </div>
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I have managed to do <i>two</i> parkruns with the time for my second improving by 2 minutes. If only improvement were linear and sustainable, I'd be achieving my goal of a sub 30min 5K well before my next birthday (a birthday that I am very excited about this year on account of plans that involve running and four of my daughters and foam).</div>
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There have been plenty of good moments (and although many of them involve being snuggled up in bed under my duvet that does not in any way make them less valid) but overall I am not sad to see the back of this January.</div>
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So to finish, a very happy birthday to my special friend, and <b>goodbye January</b>.</div>
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QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-21184049181683917872016-01-17T13:17:00.000-08:002016-01-17T13:19:50.623-08:00Addy Picks her NoseWe had snow today - not a huge amount, but enough.<br />
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Enough to make the world outside my window look magical...<br />
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enough to get the kids excited...<br />
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and enough to build a snowman.<br />
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We had a glorious, rosy cheeked walk through the woods by our house,<br />
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and the inevitable snowball mayhem.<br />
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Such a lovely way to spend a Sunday.<br />
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Of course, the title of this post makes no sense without my final photograph:<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-50666389639508205862016-01-14T09:56:00.000-08:002016-01-14T11:14:19.488-08:00PlatesPlates? Really? A blog post about plates?<br />
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Let me try and make some sense out of the jumble of thoughts and emotions that are compelling me to sit down and contemplate plates. Contem-plate. Oh dear!<br />
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Back in 1985 when I started to make a home with my first husband, my mother-in-law presented us with a whole lot of "bottom drawer" stuff that she had been collecting for her son. Included in this was a set of crockery. Please don't get me wrong - I was very grateful for everything, especially considering we had very little money at that time - but I did feel that I had been deprived of the pleasure of <i>choosing</i> the things I wanted in my life. Things that I would be using every day.<br />
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The dinner set she provided wasn't even that hideous. This was many years ago but I remember them being a sort of magnolia colour edged with a double border of pale blue and pink and with a mass produced 'hand-made' rustic feel (forgive the contradiction but it is the best way I can describe them). They were OK. They were fine. We ate many meals from them. Did they make my heart sing with joy every time I set the table or washed up? Absolutely not.<br />
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I had dreams... modest dreams in the scheme of things... dreams of a simple but elegant lifestyle of everyday luxury... a lifestyle that for me was embodied by the epitome of classic design that was the Imperial Blue Denby dinner service! I would look longingly at displays of it in shop windows and department stores.<br />
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I did eventually become the proud owner of a starter set and was given a few pieces to add to the collection but no amount of crockery could fix an unhappy marriage. I lost interest in more than just the blue Denby. Over the years there were breakages but I held onto what was left and never completely fell out of love with them or what they had stood for.<br />
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The whirlwind of my second marriage has not allowed a great deal of time to dwell on the subject of plates, blue Denby or otherwise (disregarding a few notable exceptions: <a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.com/2011/04/magpie-monday-inca-plates.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">Inca Plates</a>, <a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.com/2011/03/magpie-monday-tale-of-two-plates.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">A Tale of Two Plates</a>, <a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.com/2011/03/magpie-monday-dinner-party.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">Dinner Party</a>)<br />
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In 2008, I cooked Christmas dinner for a large contingent of my extended family. I went to IKEA and bought enough plates and bowls so that every place setting matched. It was a lot of plates and bowls.<br />
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I have been using the same plates and bowls ever since and no matter how many of the inevitable breakages we had, there were always enough (more than enough!) for our needs. Until now.<br />
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One of my daughters has recently set up home with her fiancé. She did not have enough plates. I happily donated a set to her from my endless supply. I actually found myself in a state of shock when I realised that the endless supply had in fact <i>ended</i>. With only <i>four</i> plates left, it was time to do something.<br />
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I still had four of my original Imperial Blue Denby dinner plates tucked away at the back of a cupboard so I pulled them out as a stopgap until I could find a new matching set of replacement plates. The emotional response to the Denby was still very much in evidence.<br />
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I think that for the most part, I have achieved the simple, elegant lifestyle I always craved and with my second husband it is (again, for the most part) joy filled and wonderful. My Imperial Blue Denby plates no longer represented an aspiration but were more like old friends... old friends I was very happy to have at the table performing the everyday task that comes with being a plate.<br />
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I had to take my car to the garage for a service today. Whilst I was in town I had a long overdue (simple and elegant I hope) haircut and a mooch around the charity shops. It felt like fate, or a rare alignment of old dreams and new reality, when I spotted in a charity shop across the road from the garage, a stack of twelve Imperial Blue Denby plates in three different sizes, in perfect condition with a modest price tag.<br />
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The blue Denby had always had the power to make my heart sing but never so much as in that moment. Added to the surviving pieces of my original collection, it made more than enough for a complete dinner set<br />
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Here they are, purchased, washed and draining on my draining board along with another of today's charity shop finds - two crystal sherry glasses to replace my glass of choice for port which met with a shattering demise over Christmas.<br />
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The restoration of my Imperial Blue Denby dream will most certainly warrant a toast with a glass of port tonight.<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-8455678045125948412016-01-08T08:07:00.000-08:002016-01-08T08:07:56.370-08:002016The daffodils are blooming and Xmas and New Year already seem like dim and distant memories... yet it is still only the first week of January.<br />
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Since moving house last year, blogging has taken a back seat to the long emails I write regularly to my mum to let her know how I am getting on. Exercise has also taken a back seat (most recently to an unhealthy preoccupation with the vast selection of entertainment on Netflix). I intend to remedy both of these situations.<br />
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I will still email my mum (and just try and tear me away from season two of<i> An American Horror Story) </i>but I <i>will</i> make time to sit at my computer and write. My husband has entered me into my first triathlon (not counting the <a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.com/2015/10/tandem-triathlon.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">tandem triathlon</a> that we did together back in Shropshire) which is a huge motivation to get out running, cycling and swimming... so that takes care of the exercise deficiency.<br />
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I have already completed my first timed 5K run of the year (although I'm having to pinch myself that that actually happened) and although it was, what some would say, a pitifully slow 38 minute 5K, it was still 5K and it was a start. This blog post is probably the literary equivalent of a 38 minute 5K, but again, it is a start.<br />
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Happy New Year x<br />
<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-39378012272828823212015-11-10T06:54:00.000-08:002015-11-10T10:52:19.081-08:00Bugs in the Kitchen<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzlgn1rqqJLK_Sjfh2OBwg42I-IFmJuTkXSt-6h2oElyKhvfwGQhKsitQBOexwpJT6y4sGzk2pBuLVUOP-A25cg_NigPcMAG0oGWz1FN8mFu4lZ9dsw2kKnAT0WcqVZuHDkdivAjsPVVN/s640/blogger-image-1014668990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">It has been some time since I put my name forward for a review product. The upheaval of moving and settling into a whole new life has left precious little time for such things. However, when the opportunity came along to review Bugs in the Kitchen, a new game from </span><a href="http://ravensburger.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Ravensburger</a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> featuring a </span><a href="http://hexbug.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Hexbug</a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> Nano, I could not resist.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzlgn1rqqJLK_Sjfh2OBwg42I-IFmJuTkXSt-6h2oElyKhvfwGQhKsitQBOexwpJT6y4sGzk2pBuLVUOP-A25cg_NigPcMAG0oGWz1FN8mFu4lZ9dsw2kKnAT0WcqVZuHDkdivAjsPVVN/s640/blogger-image-1014668990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div></div></div>
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Until quite recently, we were proud owners of a collection of Hexbug Nanos. I found it endlessly fascinating watching these little robotic toys scurrying around in their authentically bug like manner. Unfortunately, my children had an out of control painting session one afternoon whilst I slept, exhausted and oblivious, on the sofa. My son in law discovered the havoc wreaked with poster paint and chubby brush. To say I was not best pleased when he awoke me with the news would be something of an understatement. The Hexbugs were not the only things that had fallen victim to the colourful destruction and ended up in the dustbin. I have regretted my hasty decision to bin everything splattered and covered with paint but cleaning walls and furniture took priority... and my anger needed venting!<br>
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The scene of the above crime is in a house that no longer belongs to us. We have a new home now and bygones could be bygones. It was time to get reacquainted with Hexbug Nanos and what better way than as part of a game for all the family to enjoy.</div><div><br style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><font color="#000000" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzlgn1rqqJLK_Sjfh2OBwg42I-IFmJuTkXSt-6h2oElyKhvfwGQhKsitQBOexwpJT6y4sGzk2pBuLVUOP-A25cg_NigPcMAG0oGWz1FN8mFu4lZ9dsw2kKnAT0WcqVZuHDkdivAjsPVVN/s640/blogger-image-1014668990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzlgn1rqqJLK_Sjfh2OBwg42I-IFmJuTkXSt-6h2oElyKhvfwGQhKsitQBOexwpJT6y4sGzk2pBuLVUOP-A25cg_NigPcMAG0oGWz1FN8mFu4lZ9dsw2kKnAT0WcqVZuHDkdivAjsPVVN/s640/blogger-image-1014668990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRlFgF77CMMOQHuP-Yyx-taqGicwIwD97-vUXjcK4YuKC3kSKGrljbL499GMnqou5zH608at2OivJ1bOFeU3z_Q5oqQZ2IEdq6WHMW4uit7nmJ21dfhlCIF8gEec-dk9TJk305cVbnIt6/s640/blogger-image--1911993334.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRlFgF77CMMOQHuP-Yyx-taqGicwIwD97-vUXjcK4YuKC3kSKGrljbL499GMnqou5zH608at2OivJ1bOFeU3z_Q5oqQZ2IEdq6WHMW4uit7nmJ21dfhlCIF8gEec-dk9TJk305cVbnIt6/s640/blogger-image--1911993334.jpg"></a></div></font></div><div><br>
We played Bugs in the Kitchen during our Halloween fun (there might be a few clues in the photograph!) There was a minimal amount of assembly to do before we were able to play. The pieces all fitted together nicely to create a robust game that did not need to be disassembled to pack away.<br>
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The object of the game is to trap the Hexbug Nano that is busy scuttling around the 'kitchen'. Each player has their own trap and wins a token every time the bug lands in it. The first player to win five tokens is the victor. The bugs are guided into the traps through a cutlery maze consisting of moveable components. A dice is thrown to see which cutlery item you are allowed to move. A strategic rotation of a knife, fork or spoon will open pathways in your favour or block routes to an opponents trap. I actually found it quite difficult to visualise the effect of a move and more than once disadvantaged myself and watched helplessly as the bug scuttled off into another player's trap - the Bugs in the Kitchen equivalent of an own goal!</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwo1PAaK1IzR09VI8h4r9JUBKN3k_LQS_oVJPTZ622fA1-Ud6h1OR1NkzdLMsBRQuijB5dx2DqQDv1T0kWMHpB6Iy5weDLlxHXesAvmWDo3LKdORRzF01vFWeJr0N8v1Dv879muZARsU0/s640/blogger-image--303864105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwo1PAaK1IzR09VI8h4r9JUBKN3k_LQS_oVJPTZ622fA1-Ud6h1OR1NkzdLMsBRQuijB5dx2DqQDv1T0kWMHpB6Iy5weDLlxHXesAvmWDo3LKdORRzF01vFWeJr0N8v1Dv879muZARsU0/s640/blogger-image--303864105.jpg"></a></div><br><br>
It is a fast paced game with lots of excitement guaranteed by the unpredictable Hexbug. Even with my dubious tactical abilities it was a lot of fun. The kids quickly disregarded the rule that the first player to gain five tokens is the winner. They kept playing until all the available tokens had been awarded, counted up to see who had the most and then started all over again. <br style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"></div>
<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1WzX_3zN0P4QbovxBVEkd0jv2yZZOLLZRVTVQyt_uWb1HB4sjEPUVP5dLRNohyphenhyphen4ZCBfMZGfcHKIDi2y7tNsQIBKTwiBw5BtzlNVr8eoS64SYkgQsnYZ9HZqt18wLj6iuOWU8RU9K5bqYn/s640/blogger-image--224337572.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1WzX_3zN0P4QbovxBVEkd0jv2yZZOLLZRVTVQyt_uWb1HB4sjEPUVP5dLRNohyphenhyphen4ZCBfMZGfcHKIDi2y7tNsQIBKTwiBw5BtzlNVr8eoS64SYkgQsnYZ9HZqt18wLj6iuOWU8RU9K5bqYn/s640/blogger-image--224337572.jpg"></a></div>QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-52979124922252856622015-10-15T10:37:00.001-07:002015-10-15T10:37:50.924-07:00Tandem TriathlonMy little Addy goes to 'Magic Club' one evening a week at her new school. She loves it. She especially loves it because dad takes her to and from school on the back of our tandem bike, weather permitting. As I watched them ride off together this week, I was reminded that I never published the post I had written about the Tandem Triathlon I took part in with my husband during the summer before we moved. It was a big deal for me so rather than deleting the draft, I have published it here for my benefit more than anything. If you choose to continue reading, be warned, it is a bit of a long one! Alternatively, here is a little video of Addy practising her magic tricks.<br />
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<b><u>Tandem Triathlon</u></b><br />
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We had a plan, my husband and I - a plan to find a moment of calm amidst the chaos. A weekend somewhere lovely away from the demands of the family and work - time for us - time to recharge and reconnect.<br />
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It didn't happen.<br />
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We did, however, have a date in the diary to compete in a Tandem Triathlon. For want of a better plan, that was to become<i> the time for us.</i><br />
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We had not trained properly for this event.<br />
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My husband was to do the 1K swim. He is a strong swimmer. This was never going to be a problem.<br />
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He is also a good cyclist but our trips out on the tandem to see what we could do have been few and far between. We hadn't even come close to attempting the 35km demanded by the triathlon and we were slightly concerned by a problem with the gears that may or may not have been sorted by the local bicycle shop.<br />
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The run was my responsiblity. My running training had been virtually non existent but I had completed a 5 mile fun run recently which gave me a bit of confidence. I have NEVER run after a bike ride of any length... let alone a 35km one! I was desperately in need of that confidence having suffered a nasty injury to my right leg in an oversized wellies and slippery deck related incident.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNslK-TlobwDrFgfgfpnSY2jG5crLmPy8cu-pnwtkvwVXqS4yZk5KLuaWl_ZWLXKOBsphbMv7yEOb8SrSCWktwDHcA07OtSG4_c8Qv8SdPjDh7EKhmVwyXsIRHNvTDje3-gk74XMY1MRrn/s1600/12122739_10153677288519948_470413035630910337_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNslK-TlobwDrFgfgfpnSY2jG5crLmPy8cu-pnwtkvwVXqS4yZk5KLuaWl_ZWLXKOBsphbMv7yEOb8SrSCWktwDHcA07OtSG4_c8Qv8SdPjDh7EKhmVwyXsIRHNvTDje3-gk74XMY1MRrn/s320/12122739_10153677288519948_470413035630910337_n.jpg" title="The bruise in its yellow phase!" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bruise in its yellow phase!</td></tr>
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Competitors were encouraged to dress up and decorate their tandems if they desired. We didn't have time to come up with an elaborate plan. I grabbed the artificial flowers that had been used to decorate my car on my wedding day (I could never quite bring myself to bin them) and hastily taped them to the handlebars. Perfect.<br />
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The triathlon took place in picturesque Bishops Castle in South Shropshire - picturesque <i>and </i>hilly. I don't know why but I had the impression that the competitors would be mostly long bearded, dressed in the style of Morris Dancers and possibly smelling slightly of incense. I couldn't have been more wrong. Admittedly there were a few couples who had embraced the dress up element of the competition but there were some serious looking lycra clad athletes too.<br />
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We signed in, wrestled the bike off the roof of the car and tried to organise everything we needed for the various stages of the event. It was warm and sunny so plenty of water and suntan lotion were among the necessities.<br />
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Before long, it was my husband's time in the water. I watched him for a while before going to the transition area to wait with the tandem. It was a very shallow pool. My 6' 4" husband looked quite ridiculous standing in it waiting for the cue to go. His swimming style did not have his usual effortless grace. This may have been attributed to the fact that his arms must have been scraping the bottom of the pool with each stroke!<br />
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It was a beautiful day and it was lovely chatting to the other competitors waiting for their partners to emerge from the pool complex ready for the second discipline. The transition was quite relaxed and then, we were off.<br />
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I love being on the back of the tandem. I can't see a great deal and have to have total trust in my husband but that isn't difficult at all. The countryside was whizzing past me and I was smiling at marshalls and other tandems coming back the other way. It was glorious. We were picking up a good head of speed going down the hills and that gave us enough momentum to climb up the hills without too much of a problem<i>.</i><br />
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Then<i> the </i>hill happened.<br />
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The hill that went on forever.<br />
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The hill that saw our speed drop so slow we were barely moving.<br />
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The hill that required every bit of effort we could muster just to stop ourselves from rolling backwards.<br />
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But we made it. Somehow, we made it.<br />
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The bad news was that we would have to climb that hill again. Not all the way to the top but about three quarters of the way up was the run transition. My leg muscles were screaming. The idea of getting off the bike and running after climbing that hill a second time seemed impossible. On top of that, after the run there would be a further 5km on the tandem to reach the final finish line. I didn't even want to think about it.<br />
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So I didn't.<br />
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We were on our way again in a landscape that rewarded you with some downhill for the uphill exertions. The sun shone, but not too much. It was wonderful. I was loving it again.<br />
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Going up one hill, we were overtaken by a shiny red high performance sports car that made a throaty roar as it accelerated past us. This somehow added to my elation.<br />
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Unfortunately, my elation could not last forever. I had been worried about my injured right leg and had maybe been allowing my left leg to take on more of the strain for that reason. My left leg decided it had had enough. My knee started to hurt. My knee continued to hurt. The hurt intensified. I wanted to cry. Our dodgy gears were behaving fine but my knee was a different story.<br />
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I thought that if I was able to stretch my leg for a while it might ease the pain. I took my foot out of the toe strap, off the pedal and felt wonderful relief as I straightened my sorry limb. We also felt the disconcerting bumping of the toe strap hitting the road with every revolution of the pedals. Vaguely reminiscent of my husbands awkward swimming style in the shallow pool, we were losing our rhythm and at risk of coming off the bike. Lovely as it was to have relief from the pain, my leg had to go back on the pedal.<br />
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I was reassured that the pain had disappeared as soon as I had changed position. It was back now, with a vengeance, but I felt more confident that it was just muscle cramping and I could pedal through it. We free wheeled when we could so I had the chance to stretch it out again and it felt great. Mostly, I put up with the pain and prayed that I wasn't doing any actual damage.<br />
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When we got to the hill for the second time, my emotions were all over the place. I had the pleasure of knowing that this part of the bike ride was nearly over, the excitement of knowing that my leg was soon going to be free from the crippling constraint, fear that we still had to make it up the hill somehow and the absolute leap of faith that I would somehow still be able to run.<br />
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I could only push up the hill with my one good leg. Three legs pedalling failed to do what four legs had only just managed to do the first time. The bike did literally reach the point that the upward forces were less than the downward forces. We stopped. We walked the bike up the hill and I was hugely gratified that I could in fact walk! Maybe I'd be able to run. The gradient of the hill became slightly flatter at the turn off into the forest for the run transition so I bravely suggested getting back on the bike to ride in with dignity.<br />
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I made use of a portaloo. I gagged on a warm, gloopy energy gel. I grabbed a water bottle and I was off. I was running. Slowly, but I <i>was </i>running.<br />
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I knew the run was though forest trails which is my favourite kind of running. What I didn't know was that it was through forest trails up a mountain. (Maybe it wasn't exactly a mountain but it <i>was</i> a very big hill). My leg didn't feel too bad but my heart was pounding and I was so hot. I drank sips of water, ran when I felt able and walked (briskly) when I needed to. This was going to be a slow 10K but at least with all this uphill I was guaranteed some downhill where I could hopefully make up some time.<br />
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My run/brisk walk strategy degenerated into a slow walk/drag strategy. Even the feeding stations with their generous rations of jelly babies, crisps, biscuits and drinks could not energise me. But I was still standing and slowly making forward progress up the incline that just kept inclining!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking rough at the halfway point selfie</td></tr>
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Eventually, and not a moment too soon, the gradient flattened out. I had reached the top and saw before me a plateau. A gently undulating meadow plateau. It was what I had been working for and there it was. My slow walk/drag turned into a shuffling jog. I shuffled and I jogged and my heart sang. A short way further and I could see the inevitable downward gradient. All I had to do was let gravity carry me down the hill to the finish. I might even make up a bit of the time I had lost on my ascent. How could I have known that the pain I had felt climbing the hill would be insignificant compared with the pain of coming down?<br />
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As soon as the downward gradient became noticeable, my left leg seized up completely. Bearing in mind this happened mid stride and was as shocking as it was painful, I did well not to fall over. With a series of comedy hops to keep upright, I managed to slow myself to a stop and then tentatively tried to take my weight on my left leg. It was having none of it. I was quite scared for two reasons: firstly, had I done some real damage here that I might never recover from and secondly HOW THE HELL WAS I GOING TO GET DOWN THIS BLOODY MOUNTAIN?<br />
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The limit to how many swimmers could fit into the pool at any one time meant that the race was organised with staggered start times over a long period of time. There was never much of a sense of competing with anyone other than yourself and the spread of other competitors throughout the entire course meant there was not a great deal of camaraderie or support available. I was pretty much alone up that mountain. Alone and in trouble. All I could do was man up and face the challenge of getting down. I rested. I massaged the offending limb. I eventually braved walking. It was an awkward walk but it sort of worked.<br />
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All the way down the mountain I kept thinking how wonderful it would be to be running but was also grateful that I was at least moving in the right direction. I may have looked like an extra from a zombie apocalypse movie, I may have been grimacing, but I was making progress again. Dragging my bad leg painfully behind me, hop limping... I <i>was making progress.</i><br />
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After a long, torturous time, my spirits lifted when I recognised the terrain that I had run through at the start of the ordeal which meant it was nearly over. My mind was taken off my trials when another struggling runner caught up with me and walked with me for a while. We chatted and commiserated with each other and then the finish line came into view. I encouraged him to go for it and do a good finish. As I watched him muster all his energy to pick up pace I decided to take a chance and do the same. The elation of seeing the finish line combined with the brief respite that the company had given me combined to give me super powers when I needed them most. By 'super powers' I do of course only mean coming back from the Walking Dead to the elevated status of Broken Runner... but I was mrunning. I felt amazing. I felt like that shiny red high performance sports car that had overtaken us on the cycle ride. I let out my own throaty roar and it was over. My husband waiting in the transition area was paying no attention. My triumph was mine alone.<br />
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We still had the 5km bike ride to the Final Finish before this triathlon over. There was no way that my leg was going to be fit to pedal. Using the tape we'd attached our 'fancy dress' flowers with (resourceful!), my husband fixed the toe strap so it would not hit the road with every revolution and I 'one-legged' cycled the final stretch.<br />
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I would love to say that crossing the final finish line was everything I dreamt it would be but I was in far too much pain. We did not stay for the celebrations which included a BBQ and a Ceilidh (which to my shame I had pronounced Sea-Lid anyway). All I wanted was to have a nice hot bath and to rest in the comfort of my own home... which we did.<br />
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This was supposed to be 'time for us', my husband and I... time to recharge and connect. My leg may have let me down badly but honestly, it ticked all the other boxes. Would I do it again? Definitely. But next time, I might just do the swim and let <i>him</i> take on the run!<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-64738746164617580402015-10-14T09:27:00.003-07:002015-10-14T09:27:26.576-07:00Fat Balls and TitsSince moving, I have had very little direct contact with my dad. My mum emails regularly, comments on Facebook statuses and reads this blog. Now I know that my parents share everything and communicating with mum is indirectly communicating with dad, but it can never be the same as direct contact. I will be visiting them shortly which will facilitate the sort of exchange that my dad does best: a hug that might be compared to the embrace of a boa constrictor, a chat about nothing and everything and probably a fiver slipped into my hand. This is how my dad communicates. It does not translate well into the sort of electronic communication that we have to resort to now I live too far away for the weekly visits we used to enjoy. Until I see him again, this post is dedicated to my dad.<br />
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When I first arrived at this house and my father in law came to have a look around, he commented that there were no birds in the garden.<br />
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It was true. For such a quiet, idyllic, woodland location there was a distinct lack of any sort of life in the garden apart from the massively overgrown hedges, shrubs and trees.<br />
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The neighbouring garden was beautifully neat and a bird feeding station was always busy with feathered visitors. Clearly, there were birds around somewhere... just not in <i>my</i> garden. <br />
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I bought a bag of bird nuts and a feeder which I hung in a tree near the kitchen window (after I'd pruned it to manageable proportions in scale with the setting and thus began the pile of trimmings that now occupies a sizeable portion of the bottom of the garden).<br />
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It did not take long for the first adventurers to discover the new food source. It was a delight to see the garden coming to life. What we were lacking in interest from good planting, we were making up for with an enchanting variety of little birds. I bought a second feeder for fat balls. (<i>Fat balls! </i>Really! Couldn't they have been called Energy Rich Bird Cakes or something. <i>Fat balls </i>just brings out the juvenile, too easily amused side of me!)<br />
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I wouldn't want anyone to think that this was becoming an obsession but a third bird feeder was purchased. In my defence, it was a matter of necessity because my father in law brought round a huge bag of bird seed and the feeders I already had were not suitable for seed. The three bird feeders hanging in one small tree were soon rarely free from hungry birds.<br />
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Washing up takes much longer now. My attention is continuously drawn away from the dirty dishes and out of the window to see who is feeding. I have a Garden Bird Identifier book on my windowsill and often I will abandon the soapy suds, dry my hands and frantically search the pages trying to name an unfamiliar species. I am becoming quite the expert!<br />
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The most abundant variety is the dainty, delicately hued Blue Tit with the more thuggish Great Tit a close second. I had heard of Coal Tits but had never really understood the difference between them and the other Tits until my book helped me make a positive identification. How many times can I say 'tits' before the juvenile rears its mindlessly giggling head again? I must say it one more time because today a pair of Marsh Tits came to see what was on offer. (Thanks again trusty book!)<br />
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A Nuthatch generated a bit of excitement. I'd never seen one before and it seemed very exotic to me. It is a greedy feeder, tugging at the nuts to pull them through the mesh. Chaffinches and Goldfinches wait their turn in the branches and a little Wren has not quite plucked up the courage to feed while I've been watching but hops about on the periphery.<br />
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Feeding on the ground below to pick up any dropped scraps are Dunnocks, a Robin and the occasional House Sparrow. Sparrows were always so abundant when I was a child growing up in the seventies. I don't know when or how those squabbling flocks of 'spuggies' disappeared.<br />
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As well as the small birds, I have seen Pigeons (which are somehow hard to get excited about - sorry pigeons), Jackdaws, Jays (love them) and for me, the Holy Grail of birdwatching.. a Woodpecker. This was a Green Woodpecker and I quite literally held my breath when it settled on the trunk of my apple tree. I have only seen it once but I can always hope that it will return.<br />
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I feel slightly guilty that I may have stolen some of the birds away from my neighbours' bird feeding station but the guilt is quickly buried under the glorious feeling of absolute pleasure it gives me every time I look out of the window.<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-23998419976879796922015-10-12T23:42:00.002-07:002015-10-12T23:42:58.561-07:00The BonfireYesterday, I lit a bonfire.<br />
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I'm not sure what the rules and regulations around here are with regards to garden fires but the voice made by the primitive urge in me to be master of the raw power that is fire was considerably louder than the voice of the upstanding citizen wanting to abide by any rules.<br />
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I lit my fire.<br />
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There was plenty of fuel for my fire given the pile I have amassed from my mission to tame my wild garden with hedge trimmer, loppers, saw and secateurs. A few crumpled up A4 sheets drawn on by the kids, a handful of dry dead wood and one match was all it took to get things roaring in the incinerator.<br />
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I fed my fire. I fed my fire with hawthorn, brambles, apple tree and oak to name but a selection of the varied diet available. The fire responded accordingly.<br />
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Some of the trimmings fell into the flames as though returning home, giving themselves readily to be undone by the heat. Some hissed and screamed, resisting their undoing. Some burned with pure ferocity while others failed and billowed stinking clouds of smoke and ash. I think that amongst the assorted offerings dropping into the fiery pit there was a metaphor for every emotion I have been experiencing since my husband's words - <i>I've been offered the job in Sussex - </i>turned my life upside down. Every emotion relived and dealt with.<br />
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I have barely made a dent in the pile of garden waste.<br />
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The lawn is scorched. <br />
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My eyes stung and I smelled of bonfires.<br />
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But my soul is cleansed.<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-14787699279391576262015-10-12T02:12:00.000-07:002015-10-12T02:12:06.335-07:00Welcome to Night ValeI've always loved having a long, relaxing soak in the bath: scented bath products, candle, glass of wine maybe and music. For a long time, my music of choice would be the album Come Away with Me by Norah Jones. For me it was perfect bath music. I listened to it so often that if I ever heard a track outside of my bath time, I would experience an echo of the feeling of nakedness and vulnerability that accompanies one's ablutions and was exploited to the extreme by Hitchcock in the shower scene of the classic movie Psycho.<br />
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I am now smiling as I remember a short video I made a long time ago for a competition to win a Macbook Pro. The brief was to recreate a scene from a movie using potatoes. (The competition must have been sponsored by a 'potato related' company, I can't quite remember). I attempted, with my limited editing skills and equally limited artistic ability, to recreate the famous shower scene. I did not win the Macbook but I did have a such a good time making "Psycho Potato".<br />
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Norah Jones no longer provides the soundtrack to my bath time. Instead, I listen to a podcast entitled Welcome to Night Vale. My daughters introduced me to this little gem. It is in the style of a community radio broadcast set in an unusual town where events such as a portal opening during a PTA meeting to allow flesh eating dinosaurs to pass through and cause bloody mayhem, are not uncommon. It is entertaining but at the same time, gently challenges your belief in self, society and existence. Welcome to Night Vale! The real magic of the show is the combination of clever scripting and the beautiful voice of Cecil Baldwin who narrates it... a voice more mellow even than Norah Jones singing Come Away with Me.<br />
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I used to listen to the podcast in bed but there were two problems with this: my husband hates it and the soothing tone of Cecil Baldwin sent me to sleep almost instantly. Listening in the bath is perfect. I don't generally tend to fall asleep but I can achieve a wonderful level of relaxation and enrichment (especially when the glass of wine option box is ticked). There is a segment during the show called 'The Weather' which consists of a song or instrumental piece (that usually has nothing do with the weather!) It is just the right length of time for me to wash my hair so I don't miss any of the main show. This makes me happy.<br />
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Last night, I couldn't sleep. I put on the podcast hoping that Cecil could work his magic but he couldn't. I don't feel as frazzled as I thought I would this morning but I am weary. We only have this week to get through before our half term break begins. I am very ready for that break.<br />
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I feel that we have achieved a milestone having nearly completed the first half of our Michaelmas term. Now, we need some time to process all the changes that we have been dealing with since we first arrived here at the tail end of August. We need a quick life audit to see where we are and where we want to be. I am hoping for some 'two episode long' bath times.<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-58532867133800858202015-10-10T06:47:00.001-07:002015-10-10T06:47:17.480-07:00End of an EraYesterday, the sale of my house in Shropshire completed.<br />
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On one hand I am really pleased about this. The lawn does not stop growing because we are not there to mow it and who knows what problems we might have suffered if it had remained unoccupied through the cold winter months.<br />
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On the other hand it represents the end of an era and I have to let go of a house I loved.<br />
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It was not a perfect house. The rolling programme of maintenance and repairs took up a lot of our time and energy. The <a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.com/2014/09/jealousy.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">garage door</a> was the bane of my life and pulling in and out of the drive could be tricky at times. It was <i>not </i>perfect but it was such a good home for us: the home that my husband and I made together, the threshold he carried me over after our wedding, every room echoing with wonderful memories.<br />
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We have a new home now. We don't own it but we will be here for the next three years at least so I am happy to invest time and energy to make it the best home it can be for us. It is much smaller than our old house so I was delighted that it managed to accommodate nearly all of the furniture I had collected over the years. Even my very large <a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.com/2013/03/mirror-mirror-on-wall.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">mirrors</a> fit perfectly into their new settings. I had to get rid of two big comfy leather sofas (they were very old and tired anyway), a dining table and chairs (I had two sets and kept my favourite) and our <a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.com/2012/12/eminent-solina-f225.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">Eminent Solina F225</a> (Charis made sure she had a farewell organ session while she still could). A super king sized bed that my husband had made was repurposed as shelving.<br />
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Being surrounded by familiar things is comforting and I am taking ownership of the garden by trimming, pruning and generally hacking at anything that looks even remotely overgrown.We may have downsized but I am determined to make that a positive force in our lives.. a way of living a simpler life free of clutter and confusion. It is <i>almost </i>working!<br />
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One thing I thought I would really miss from my old home was the greenhouse with its grape vine. It had become a bit of a tradition to harvest the grapes and make <a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-fruity-start-to-autumn.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">grape jelly</a> for our Christmas day breakfast. The new house does not have a greenhouse but it <i>does</i> have a grape vine. Today, I made grape jelly.<br />
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I love that I can carry the good things from my old life into the new. I love the challenges that relocating and downsizing have forced us to face. Now that we are settilng into our routines and thinking about the future, I know that I am going to love discovering new traditions and ways of finding fulfilment.<br />
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The sale of my old house represents the end of an era but I am more than ready for the start of a new one.<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-55589650849108088972015-10-09T09:25:00.000-07:002015-10-09T09:28:19.839-07:00A Minor MishapI feel so guilty.<br />
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My wonderful husband didn't bat an eyelid when he came home from work yesterday to find '<a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.com/2015/10/i-might-have-made-little-mess.html?spref=tw" target="_blank">the little mess' </a>I'd made earlier - <i>the little mess</i> that had actually doubled in size during the course of the afternoon after I had posted about it on my blog.<br />
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He set about taking all the hedge clippings, dead wood and other random garden debris through the side gate, up onto the raised deck, down the steps onto the lawn, over the somewhat water logged grass and finally onto an ever growing pile of similar waste waiting to be collected by a man with a trailer (I am hoping a very capacious trailer!)<br />
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The first problem was the 'through the side gate' part.<br />
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I had helpfully placed the pile onto a large tarpaulin thinking that all he would need to do would be to wrap the tarp around and tie it up to create a draggable bundle. This he did. The bundle was indeed draggable (provided you had sufficient body weight and knew how to use it). Unfortunately, the bundle was not 'pass-through-side-gate-<i>able'. </i>A goodly portion of the tangled mass had to be transferred into an oversize bag and taken separately to the intended destination before the remainder could be re-bundled and dragged once more.<br />
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Through the gate, up onto the raised deck and ... oh dear. Disaster struck.<br />
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The deck is in desperate need of a good pressure wash and re-oil. In its current state it can be quite slippery... and when you are not wearing the most appropriate footwear and dragging a bundle that is at least as big as you are, you might expect the possibility of a mishap. Although I did not witness the mishap, from his description of it I can report that it was a dramatic, high speed, uncontrolled backward tumble flat onto his back with resultant bang to backside and head.<br />
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He did eventually succeed in his mission to clear up my mess. He sustained no serious damage but had a tender spot on the back of his skull and the knowledge that he was a clumsy fool.<br />
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He felt tenderness and embarrassment... and I felt guilt.<br />
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My guilt dictated that today I would steer well clear of the garden and my tendency to get carried away with the task at hand.<br />
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I baked instead. I hope that the job of 'clearing up' apple cake and cookies will be more agreeable.<br />
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<span id="goog_1255876373"></span><span id="goog_1255876374"></span><br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-58422334061497660182015-10-08T04:31:00.001-07:002015-10-08T04:31:35.048-07:00I might have made a little messThe moment I saw a photograph of the house that was to be our home in Sussex, I wanted to trim the hedges.<br />
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It was a neat, well proportioned little semi in a beautiful location but the unkempt, overgrown hedge running along the front boundary made it look totally unloved. I was determined to change that.<br />
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Today, the sun was shining in a glorious blue autumn sky and the hedge was calling to me.<br />
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Before we moved in, the house was cleaned, redecorated, new carpets were laid and the front hedge was trimmed in a fashion. It was certainly tidier than it had been but this hedge needed more than tidying. It had been allowed to grow so wide that the front garden was engulfed by it. It was a solid, impenetrable wall of green but I had my trusty hedge trimmer and I was not going to be beaten by it.<br />
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I plugged in my Black and Decker and I attacked.<br />
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I have been doing a lot of cutting back and chopping down in the rear garden over the past weeks. There is much still to be done but I am definitely reclaiming a garden from the jungle. The previous occupant had a dog who was clearly fond of playing with (and hiding) balls. I have found and disposed of over fifty balls - mostly tennis balls, a few cricket balls, the odd golf ball. As my battle against the front hedge continued, I found two more tennis balls and a third more difficult to identify ball to add to my total count.<br />
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Dealing with the front hedge was no like ordinary hedge trimming. I felt more like a brave prince hacking through the dense forest shielding his Sleeping Beauty. Incidentally, I have been watching a lot of the wonderful series Once Upon a Time on Netflix. I thoroughly recommend it, if only for the gorgeous <a href="http://www.colinodonoghue.com/" target="_blank">Colin O'Donoghue</a> as Captain Hook.<br />
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In the contest between hedge and me, I was without doubt the victor but I like to think that the hedge has benefitted enormously. I've taken a lot of the weight away and it now has light and air to work its magic. I hope to see new (manageable) growth before too long. The front garden looks so much bigger and most importantly, cared for.<br />
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The only downside to my morning's activity is that I have created a small mountain of hedge trimmings to dispose of. I have piled them all onto a tarpaulin.<br />
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My husband is used to me getting carried away in the garden. This won't be the first time that he has come home from work and the first thing I say to him is, "Darling, I might have made a little mess".<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-57268388116538764752015-10-07T04:27:00.000-07:002015-10-07T04:28:34.973-07:00Same Desk - Different ViewI had a wonderful life in Shropshire: great house and garden, friends and family, lovely little village school, everything I needed. However, it did not stop me feeling restless every time someone I knew moved house. There was a part of me that envied them. The process of clearing out the clutter, streamlining your way of living and starting over somewhere different is without doubt cathartic and renewing. I did not exactly <i>need </i>renewal but 'that part' of me craved it.<br />
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Then it happened. After half hearted complaining about his dissatisfaction with his career and equally half hearted attempts to remedy this, my husband found the door to a new future that had been eluding him and pretty much kicked it down and walked through in less time, it felt, than it took me to write this sentence.<br />
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We had reached a fork in the road and we were taking the direction signposted '?'.<br />
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I would be giving up a lot to follow my husband down this unknown path but it is testament to my total trust in him that I never doubted (and of course there was <i>'that part' </i>of me that was more than a little satisfied)<br />
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The new job was at an independent school and the deal was that we would be living in school owned accommodation and our two young children would be educated there. A huge focus of our life would be within the little bubble that is the school. I am the first to admit that this particular bubble is a very inspiring and exciting one but it would take a leap of faith to embrace it and make it work for all of us as a family.<br />
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My husband is totally committed to the school, its ethos, the people and the difference he feels he can make there. The children only really needed to put on their school uniforms to feel their sense of belonging and that sense has grown with each passing day as they make friends and achieve milestones in their education and development. I have been made welcome by the community and although I have yet to find a purpose for myself beyond supporting my husband and children (and that is a full time job as any mum knows!) I am happy here. We are making a life... and a good one.<br />
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I am sitting at the same desk I always sat at to compose my blog posts. I am surrounded by familiar things but in new orientations and settings. The shape of my day is not as it was. I gaze out of a window that did not exist in my old office and I see a different view. Have<i> I</i> stayed the same or am I different?<br />
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I have shed so many layers: possessions, habits (good and bad), comfortable routines. I do feel lighter. This is a wonderful opportunity to live life the way we want to, to let the new layers settle with mindfulness and knowledge of past experience... to learn from old mistakes.<br />
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There was once a time, many years ago, when I thought all that was left for my future was to watch my little chicks fly away and wait patiently for death. How wrong I was.<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-87530794087468208792015-10-06T05:34:00.000-07:002015-10-06T05:34:52.318-07:00MovingThe day I moved from my much loved home in Shropshire to start a new life in Sussex, it rained. Not just drizzle, or showers.... torrential rain. Knowing that there was a deadline by which we had to return our rented removal vehicle, we did not have the luxury of waiting for the storm to pass. We battled on. Makeshift covered walkways fashioned from tarpaulins did not stop my new front garden turning into a quagmire and did little to actually shelter anything or anyone. They did serve to emphasise how ferocious the gusts of wind were at times as flapping, billowing sheets of plastic threw collected rainwater in random directions by the bucket load. Miraculously (and by 'miracle' I really mean foresight, care and diligence), my brand new carpets survived completely unscathed and bar a few knocks and bangs and complete exhaustion, so did we.<br />
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We have been settling into our new life now for the past month and a half. We have come a long way in that time. Much has happened and the speed at which changes are occurring and days are being ticked off on the calendar show no sign of slowing down.<br />
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Yesterday, I drove my daughter and a car load of possessions including a bicycle and a life sized human skeleton to Oxford. Oxford University terms start later than most others so we have only just joined that group of parents who have packed up their children and deposited them in various locations to begin exciting new academic adventures.<br />
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We arrived at the college in good time despite having to negotiate the M25 at rush hour. I drank much appreciated coffee as my daughter registered before being shown to the room she will call home (during term time at least!). The room was bare but lovely. I didn't have time to help her settle in and add some home comforts because I needed to get back to Sussex for the school pick up, but I did help transport her possessions up the inevitable flights of stairs ready to be unpacked. And... it rained.<br />
This rain could not compete with the rain I had contended with during my own move but it was not rain that could be easily ignored. In the short walk (or run where we could manage it) from car park to hall of residence, plastic storage crate lids filled with water like little swimming pools. My hair was plastered to my face and dripping wet. I was soaked through.<br />
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I had a two hour drive home to dry off, grateful that the car heating system worked well.<br />
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So, I have one daughter at University about to embark on the challenge of becoming a medic. Another daughter, having graduated from her University in Warwick is working in London on a graduate training scheme. My other two grown up daughters still live and work in Shropshire and one of them is now engaged to be married. The family dynamic has changed dramatically and it is taking a bit of getting used to.<br />
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As I look out of my window today, I can see the leaves beginning to show their autumnal hues and some are floating gently earthwards . I have loved the long summer days and the unexpected late sunshine that has held the promise of winter at bay but autumn has most definitely arrived and it is beautiful. Change is good.<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-72982108838889909362015-07-11T11:15:00.001-07:002015-07-11T11:15:50.687-07:00The Croissant ChartI was about to throw away this scrap of well scribbled on A4 paper when I realised that I had never blogged about my little boy Dylan's birthday and felt a compulsion to do so.<br />
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Dylan's birthday could have easily passed by relatively unnoticed this year... lost in the chaos that is my life since it was confirmed that we would be moving away from the home I've loved for ten wonderful years to pastures new. His birthday <i>could have</i> passed by relatively unnoticed were it not for the fact that he had been excitedly counting down the days for a whole month prior to the event.<br />
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He made a chart - a birthday countdown chart. He religiously crossed the days off and proudly announced how many more sleeps there were until he was five years old. He called it his 'cross off' chart and on more than one occasion I misheard him and wondered what on earth was the <i>Croissant Chart</i> he was searching for.<br />
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It would have been impossible not to treat his birthday with the same excitement he had for it.<br />
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Dylan's birthday fell on a Sunday and it just happened to coincide with a date that features in our running diary - <a href="http://qwertymum.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/fun-run.html" target="_blank">a local fun run</a>. The five mile route through beautiful Shropshire countryside can be tackled on foot or by bike and we had plans to take part as a family. My eldest daughter was going to run with me while three of my other daughters took to their wheels with the birthday boy riding 'tag-along' on the back of dad's bike. For my youngest daughter, Addy, this was a big challenge. It is a fairly recent development that she's had the confidence to cycle any sort of distance on roads (albeit quiet country ones) but she was very determined to meet the challenge with the ring of her bell, a favourite teddy in her front basket and a big smile.<br />
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I absolutely loved every one of the five miles running (and strategic walking!) with my daughter. It was lovely when the cyclists, who start at the back of the pack behind elite runners and fun runners, overtook us and offered encouragement. I could see that my little family team were all having a good time. I was especially delighted as I approached the finish line (which due to a route change was now a painful uphill slog) to see my triumphant little girl, wearing her finishers medal, running towards me to run the last few metres with me.<br />
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Dylan was in a fever pitch of excitement. Both he and Addy jumped on me as I lay on the ground to recover from my exertions. I didn't mind at all! Dylan declared that he was having the <i>Best Birthday in the Universe!</i><br />
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Back home, family and friends celebrated with cake as Dylan ran around the garden in a knight's costume getting up to no good with a giant water soaker gun - both well appreciated birthday presents.<br />
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The only one of my offspring not to have taken part in the birthday fun run was 18year old Charis. She had celebrated her last day at boarding school the previous day and my husband and I were there with her to witness her collecting the academic prizes she had been awarded, to enjoy a picnic lunch and see her taking part in a fencing demonstration. I don't know much about fencing but I think she may have just won a well timed point as I took the following snap!</div>
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Her evening ended with a lavish Leavers Ball. As much as I would have loved to have seen her swanning around like a princess in the gown and sparkly heels that I had the privilege of buying for her, we left her to it hoping for a glimpse into her world with whatever photographs might appear on social media. </div>
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We collected her in the early hours of the morning when the champagne had all been drunk and promises to stay in touch with friends had been made. Pitifully inadequate hours of sleep later, she was off on a training course for a summer holiday job to fund driving lessons and travel plans.</div>
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Although much has happened in the two years that Charis has been away at boarding school, the time has passed frighteningly quickly. As I reflect on the crossed off days of Dylan's <i>Croissant Chart</i> I am reminded of this passage of time. No one knows how many blank days lie ahead for them waiting to be filled and crossed off but we do know with certainty that the number is decreasing steadily and unstoppably. It's often not easy but I always want to try to embrace each new day and fill it with good things as best I can because one day, inevitably sooner than I'd like, the Croissant Chart of my life will be nothing more than a well scribbled on scrap of A4 paper that needs to be thrown away.</div>
<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-39893420736055128562015-06-26T03:31:00.000-07:002015-06-26T03:31:34.121-07:00A Good DayYesterday was a good day.<br />
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I drove my daughter, Taylor, back to her student house to empty it of the last of her belongings and give it a good clean before handing the keys back. The journey was easy, her things fitted effortlessly into the car and the cleaning satisfied an urge in me that surfaces from time to time to restore pristine cleanliness to where once was clutter and dirt.<br />
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The University uses a credit system whereby students have a card that can be topped up with money and spent in food establishments on campus. Taylor had a few pounds left on her card so she bought a lunch for us both that had become something of a tradition for her on Thursdays when lectures had kept her on campus all day. A freshly baked baguette generously filled with brie and salad eaten in the glorious sunshine on the central piazza was a perfect reward for all the scrubbing and vacuuming.<br />
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Our final job before heading back home was to collect Taylor's results. <br />
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We all knew that a mathematics degree at a prestigious university was never going to be easy and having now experienced it, Taylor would be the first to concur. She found it extremely challenging for all sorts of reasons beyond the simply academic ones, yet she persevered. Her boyfriend did everything he could to support her (including sending her a very prickly cactus that outgrew the box it had been delivered in thus causing a few concerns about how to transport it home!) Big sister Liberty made sure she had colourful post-its and notebooks to help with revision. I did my best to encourage her without putting her under any pressure to live up to my perceived expectations. We all did what we could and so did she... but would it be enough.<br />
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Taylor's first and second year results coupled with how well (or otherwise!) the final exams had gone meant that a first class degree was not going to happen. The dream was to scrape a 2.1 but a 2.2 was a more likely outcome. A 2.2 could still open doors, just not as effectively as a 2.1. Of course, the worry was that after all her trying, all her enormous effort... she wouldn't get a 2.2. I would need all of my consolation techniques ready to deal with that particular outcome.<br />
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We walked to the maths building. We were moments away from knowing. I grabbed a coffee and waited outside as she and her friends went in to face the truth. Students were emerging from the building, mobile phones to their ears, sharing their news with anxious parents. There was jubilation. There were tears. I waited.<br />
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Taylor is a petite little thing. She was wearing dark clothing. As she emerged from the gloomy interior of the building into the bright sunlight, I saw her smile before I actually saw her. A huge, beaming smile.<br />
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A huge beaming smile followed by a thumbs up as she waved her piece of paper at me... the piece of paper with an unfathomable jumble of percentages AND the magic number... the number we had dared to hope for.<br />
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<b>2.1</b><br />
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We<b> </b>drove home letting the good news sink in and sharing it with friends and family by the magic of text and facebook.<br />
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We celebrated with a rather unusual meal created by cooking all the partially defrosted frozen food that had been left in Taylor's uni freezer. Nobody cared how odd the meal was because Liberty arrived with a bottle of bubbly. As I toasted my daughter and sipped my drink, I could rejoice that the stress of 'not knowing' had been replaced with the joy of a fantastic result. I may have it all to go through again with the A level results, but today was most definitely a good day.QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1895007658109088084.post-9680099031514247352015-05-22T04:12:00.002-07:002015-05-22T04:12:41.342-07:00The Gingerbread Man that wasn't a treatI wouldn't normally write a post like this but my mum is keen for me to do so..... mum, this is for you.<br />
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My parents visit once a week. Usually, they alternate between spending one week with my sister and the next with me. When it isn't <i>my</i> week, they pop in for a coffee before going on to my sister's house. As I am going to be moving away this summer, they have broken the long established routine and have decided to make every week a bit special by taking my sister and I both out for lunch.<br />
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This week, we chose a local pub restaurant of the Fayre & Square franchise - The Gingerbread Man, Market Drayton.<br />
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We were quite surprised when we arrived to see that the normal 'order at the bar' service had been replaced by a more formal 'wait to be seated' and waitress service. There was also a brand new menu.<br />
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We perused the menu and my sister and I both decided on the vegetarian sausage and mash option. Dad stayed true to form and ordered his usual - fish and chips. The waitress was friendly and took our orders.<br />
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This is where it started to wrong.<br />
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Dad is firmly stuck in ways (not just in his choice of lunch). He likes his food served at a certain time and gets a bit agitated if he is kept waiting longer than necessary. I'm sure he will deny it when mum reads this post out to him but sorry dad, it <i>is</i> true.<br />
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We were kept waiting.<br />
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Mum made assurances that it was taking as long as it was because they would be cooking it all from fresh. It would be worth waiting for.<br />
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It wasn't.<br />
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The food arrived about half an hour later. It wasn't much of a big deal for me to wait half an hour but dad is in his eighties. If he sits in one place for too long, things start to seize up and that would spoil his enjoyment. We are all very aware of this and can start to feel on edge if we think he is struggling. If he <i>was</i> struggling, his mind was taken off arthritic joints and worn out knees when he laid eyes on his piece of fish. The dish named The Codfather certainly delivered on the size of the battered fillet. It was enormous and dad tucked into it with wide eyes and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, the chip component of the fish and chips was far less satisfactory. The chips were actually cold.<br />
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Dad's cold chips were less of a concern than the plates my sister and I were served. I say 'plate' , they were actually large bowls which did not lend themselves well to good presentation which consisted of a dollop of mash with some peas thrown on, drowning in a sea of watery gravy with three mediocre looking veggie sausages plonked on top.<br />
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We all know that the first bite is with the eye but I have always been more interested in the <i>second</i> bite.<br />
Sadly, things only got worse.<br />
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I am of the firm opinion that if the menu states 'mashed potato' you should be served with <i>potato that is mashed</i>. This may have been a potato once but processing and reconstituting had rendered it quite unrecognisable from the original tuber. Not only that, it had not been reconstituted adequately. I had lumps of almost rubbery goo in my serving that I had to actually spit out for fear of it making me sick. However discreetly I tried to remove the nauseating mass from my mouth, my weak stomached sister did heave and could barely look at her own food, let alone try to extract something vaguely edible from the mess.<br />
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Disappointing for us as it was to be served such rubbish, the worse thing was that my mum felt guilty that our meals were not an acceptable standard and started to apologise to us. Her disappointment and feeling that she had somehow let us down was really heartbreaking. This was probably a good time for the waitress to appear and cheerily ask us if everything was OK with our meals.<br />
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I am not a complainer - I always just try to make the best of any situation - but with my mum blaming herself for the disaster I had to say something. The waitress did offer to replace my dad's chips but whether the attitude deeply ingrained from wartime shortages meant that he could not bring himself to waste even cold chips or whether he just wanted the meal to be over as quick as possible so he could get up from he chair to relieve his pains, he refused. There was not much she could do about our dinners other than apologise. I asked for a reduction in the bill and we were offered a deduction to the value of one of our meals.<br />
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We really should have refused to pay for the two unsatisfactory meals but maybe the fact that we were brought up by someone so apposed to wasting food that he won't even swap his cold chips or maybe just to try and absolve our mum from her misplaced guilt, we had eaten the sausages (which were as mediocre as they first appeared)<br />
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Mum wanted to buy us all dessert to make up for the bad food but I felt disinclined to put any more business their way. We accepted the offer of the deduction and asked for the bill.<br />
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Dad (who was paying) was quite satisfied with the outcome but the free meal wasn't as good a deal as it seemed. Their pricing system has 'meal deals' so you can buy two meals for a tenner offering a reduction on the price of individual meals. Our bill was reduced by the cost of one meal which automatically meant we were charged more for the other. The compensation for two inedible dinners and a ruined lunchtime treat turned out to be about three pounds. Pathetic.<br />
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We have all had bad experiences with retailers and service providers. How those companies choose to deal with the customer can make a huge difference to whether you do business with them again.<br />
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An apology from somebody with more authority than a poorly paid waitress, a complaint taken seriously by the kitchen, a sweetener in the form of free drinks or desserts, a fair reduction in the bill .... any one of those would have satisfied us and we would have returned for future lunches (although possibly always steered clear of the mash).<br />
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It was not an expensive meal even if we were charged more than it was worth. We are not interested in making a fuss even if the whole experience left a bad taste in our mouths both figuratively and literally. I think my mum's keenness for me to write this post is her way of putting it all in order and moving on. (I hope I have done that for you mum).<br />
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My dad is a very generous tipper. I think I mentioned a couple of times in this post that he is a creature of habit. When I thought for one second that he was considering leaving a tip, I told him very firmly to put his money away.<br />
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He did.<br />
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<br />QWERTY Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10554112354381621360noreply@blogger.com3