Friday, 22 June 2007


All i want is a latte. A small, skinny, vanilla bean latte to be exact. It's just gone 7am here in Toronto, and downstairs on the waterfront a 'Second Cup' coffee shop awaits...fakely enthusiastic staff gearing up for a day of brewing and frothing for minimum wage. I want to be down there now, bathing in the glorious early morning sunshine, which is currently beaming through Dad's window-strewn condo. In the old days I would have simply washed my face, grabbed my shades, a journal and a handful of change, and gone downstairs for an hour of furitive journal writing and people watching.
Now however, the presence of a three year old and 7 month old (currently tearing up the living room), mean that I can put paid to that wistful thought. Instead I'm going to have to try and keep Egg from gobbling more muffins (his favourite treat) and Ollie from unplugging all Dad's computer and television connections. Yesterday the internet was down for several hours until Dad realised that Ollie had turned the router off. Likewise the quiet afternoon of no phonecalls was explained by the fact that Egg had unplugged the wires and turned the phone system off.

Now this all may seem pretty tame, but bear in mind we've only been here for 48 hours or so and already there are three stains on the new cream carpet, crumbs down the back of all sofa's, sticky juice spills on kitchen counter tops, and the state of the bedroom which the three of us are sharing doesn't even bear mentioning.

So you see, before I can even contemplate getting outside in the fresh air I have the following tasks to circumnavigate: two nappy changes, two outfits to dress wriggly and opinionated boys in, two meals to be fed, juice to be poured, baby to be breastfed, keys to be found, teeth to be brushed, shoes to be put on, and various other menial duties. Given the average hour-long period necessary for such standard execution, and given that one or both of them will no doubt suddenly made a poo poo in their nappies just as we're about to exit, I may as well be realistic and accept my fate of domestic penury.

I think i'd feel better if i had a little sleep. For the past three nights I've been averaging about five hours of interrupted sleep. Egg AND Ollie insist on sleeping with me in the bed, one shoving and kicking all night, the other stretching out chubby toes on my abdomen and keeping lips resolutely glued onto my breast for a constant stream of sustenance and comfort.

We have a travel cot, but unless the baby is sleeping before you put him in, and you are able to seamlessly lower the child down without so much as a miniscule jarring - then forget it. The wailing and heartbreaking screams emenating from the captive Ollie is enought to make you go crazy and want to pull your hair out. Saying that, the clumps of hair I lose on a daily basis from Ollie's clammy, iron-like fists is disheartening. Not only does it hurt but I fear for my locks if this continues.

Well, enough moaning I suppose. I AM out of London, have a sunny day to look forward to, and best of all, Auntie Ba arrived last night. Weary and jetlagged she still managed to make Egg's day by cuddling him and gifting him with a handful of his beloved 'chocolate coins' which she'd scoured London for. Now that the ratio of children to adults is 3 to 2 we stand a wee chance of surviving the onslought of two energetic, curious little munchkins. Whether Dad's place will remain intact is anyones guess, but if I were a betting woman I'd's not looking so good.

Wednesday, 20 June 2007

"Flight Fantastic"

Dad and I arrived here in Toronto after midnight last night, safe and sound with the following items:

6 heavy suitcases

one (falling apart) carseat

2 pushchairs

five pieces of cabin luggage

one infant

one toddler.

For nearly eight hours we were held aloft in a rickety, ancient, creaking boeing 767, manned by the least attractive, oldest, bitchiest stewardesses known to man. Every last one of them were hovering menacingly around menopause, and had the temperaments to match.

But let's discuss the plane first. It was a shambles…falling apart at the seams. Quite literally. Half an hour into the flight, a whole ceiling panel in first class tore off and had to be hidden surreptiously behind some seats by a strangely nonplussed stewardess – but we had front row seats to this rather alarming display, given that we were sitting in the bulkhead at the front of the plane.

Our unease surfaced when Dad asked a rather severe looking woman with a long ratty ponytail and shifty eyes for a bassinet seat for Noah. She glared daggers at him and snarled "Just listen to the safety announcement!" before flashing a scary fake grimace at me and returning her attention to the rest of the sorry plane. P>Things got even worse when a fellow passenger attempted to use one of the two washrooms available and a steely stewardess past her prime came up and grabbed his arm sharply and hissed, "This bathroom is for first class passengers only! Use the other one." (This despite there being a huge queue for one bathroom being shared by a few hundred passengers and the other one remaining empty for most of the flight as there were only ten or so odd passengers in first class!

The first hint that we'd boarded a 'Twilight Zone' freaky flight should have been the TINY, ripped seats and lack of even basic amenities. The 'on-flight entertainment' was not displayed on either seat back screens or big screens at the front. Rather a crackly, intelligible soundsystem (couldn't even make out what the pilot was saying the few times he tried to communicate to the plane at large) and a dirty white piece of wood nailed haphazardly to the front of the plane had to make do.

The food was beyond disgusting with 'dessert' being a no-name plastic container of something resembling congealed fat, but luckily the constant heaving and creaking of the aircraft was enough to distract all of us from anything as mundane as eating. After being told that Noah was 'too big' for a sky cot (they wouldn't even discuss it) Dad and I surmised that the aircraft either didn't have one, or was unable to utilise one as it looked like the hooks on the wall had busted and wouldn't have supported a coat-hanger.

Fifteen minutes after take-off, a sleepy little Egg suddenly turned to me, croaked "Mama" and promptly vomited four or five times into his lap, onto Dad and onto an unassuming Bacon. Those of you who know me know that I rarely manage to remember to pack extra nappies or wipes when leaving the house – despite having two kiddies untrained as of yet. So if you think that I thought to bring an extra outfit for Egg you are wrong – no such luck. Poor little guy had to survive eight hours of sitting in a vomit-encrusted shirt and wrapped up in blankets and my pashmina just so he wouldn't freeze to death in the arctic-cold air.

Upon leaving the plane there was no love lost between the nasty crew and ourselves. Indeed it was a solemn bunch who exited 'the worst flight ever' quickly and dejectedly. As we all filed by the horrid stewardesses one by one, they didn't even bother to smile and issue the customary departuring inanities of 'see you again' and 'thanks for flying with us'...

It was crystal clear that they hated us and we hated them. The only thing that brought me comfort was imagining one of them coming across the vomit-soaked blanket buried under Egg's seat. Good riddance.

Saturday, 16 June 2007

Chubby Checkers

Dumpie has really come into his own this past week. He's gone from standing up in his cot (bouncing and squealing like an over-enthusiastic bat) to climbing the stairs. Really. He's so far made it up two steps and thinks he is so clever and no matter where you put him down (the front room, the kitchen, the hallway) a matter of moments he'll be up on those stairs, grinning widely and in the process of lifting up another chunky leg to go one more step up.
Today the baby activity centre that I ordered on the internet arrived. As if our house isn't already ENTIRELY over-run with toys, gadgets and musical instruments, i have to go and get ANOTHER loud, plastic, bulky piece of material which will take up even MORE coveted floor space in our already crowded flat...but i just couldn't resist. And for once i was right - ol' Dumpie Dumps LOVES it!

He sits on his little bench and if one were shortsighted it would appear that a middle-aged man is rather seriously hammering out a composition in a giant concert hall. Even his fat little foot gets wagging in time to the music and it really is rather amusing. (Okay, the amused just happen to be 'Mama, Dada, and Auntie'...but I assure you we are being objective :)

It's good to see that even though he's still taking fairly regular 'beatings' in terms of jealous outpourings from older brother Egg (sometimes it's just Egg with his face squished right up to Dumpies', admonishing him about all sorts of infantile behaviour and yelling in his face like a drill sargeant) he is now starting to assert himself a little. It's almost as though he knows how much Egg HATES having his hair pulled - and I swear he is stepping up the incidence on purpose in order to get his own back!

Anyway, am off to bed as a big poker game just ended. It was my dad, jay, Auntie Ba and I. Although I started with good luck and outlasted all but my Dad, my downfall was not paying enough attention to the chips and somehow - even though i won the most rounds - my Dad ended up with the most chips. I blame the wine and the distraction of nibbles at the table. Dad is of course admitting no wrongdoing but he did acquiese rather easily when I made him promise to buy all the rounds of cappucino's for the coming month. The sign of a guilty man to be sure.

Tomorrow is meant to be thundery and wet but Sunday - joint fathers day AND mr. egg's 3rd birthday - is meant to be gorgeous. I love London in the summer.

Wednesday, 13 June 2007

Just Another Cliche...

There really isn't a good time or a good way to ask 'Auntie Ba' whether she can do a double whammy of babysitting the monsters (for the umpteenth time) both tonight while jay and I sneak out for a solo dinner AND tomorrow morning for 3+ hours as i do a voiceover across town. But certainly, having Egg lecturing Auntie to get out of bed and Ollie smacking the sofa inches from her head as she tosses and turns from an unfitful nights sleep on our sofa prooooobably isn't one of them.
She's accusing me from the other room of 'dropping' them on her and running, but truly i'm not. I can't help it if they adore her and want to play with their snoozing Auntie...can i? Egg is once again naked on the bottom signifying another tiny drop of urine which necessitated him changing his own nappy for the fourth time this morning....damn we are going to be bankrupt if this continues much longer! At 30 pence a nappy we're just burning money these days.

It's a lovely summers day from the looks of it, and even though i hear Auntie somewhat crossly muttering under her breath from the next room and preparing to ditch us for the flat next door, I am looking forward to spending the day with my Dad, and am glad for the distraction that having him here affords.

Last night I made a delicious Pumpkin Risotto and Rocket Salad with fresh Strawberries and Pavlova for dessert...but my wayward husband after leaving me a message at 8 saying he was jumping on the tube...simply failed to materialise. When the Risotto began congealing into an unattractive mess, I finally gave up and insisted we eat without him - much to my Dad's chagrin (who is 'old school' and still insists on certain manners...bless him...he should spend more time in this household and that would cure him!).

It's a good thing we DIDN'T wait, as my husband sauntered in some time after 10pm, barely muttering hello and skulking off to the kitchen to heat his dinner up (sigh). Why is it that I'm turning into a 'tv mom' all of the sudden? By that I mean one of those 'hard done by' ladies who simply sigh into their pasta when their husband doesn't come home for dinner, and who quietly do the washing up while maybe a tear escapes and they look longingly out the window over at the loving family next door....

Okay okay i'm getting over-dramatic here. I just mean that I am fearful of turning into a middle-aged cliche. Give me passion! Give me zest for life! At the very least if I'm going to turn into a 'Tv Mom' then I've at least got to have a montage of me sitting alone in front of the telly at night, carton of Haagan-Daz in lap and a big spoon which I'm using to shovel vast amounts of Belgian Chocolate ice-cream into my quivering mouth. Don't you think?

Give me anything but dull silences, dejected poses and weary chit-chat. Seriously.

Tuesday, 12 June 2007


So i realised that i haven't showered in about three months. Okay, okay, so we don't HAVE a shower here in our London flat (sympathy cards may be sent forthwith) but rather a bathtub with a long bendy hose and we sort of make do with that. This was our dream flat you see, and 5 years ago when the estate agent showed us round this property we naively turned a blind eye to the implications of purchasing a showerless, overpriced abhode. In the winter, this isn't such a big problem, for there is nothing so soothing as a decadently-bubbled lavender-scented bath to soak away the harsh British winter chill from ones' bones. However in summer, this isn't such an appealing prospect, and instead a rather awkward posing in a slightly too small bathtub is undertaken with an efficiency that is neither pleasurable nor indeed comfortable.
This brings me to my point that i haven't even BATHED in two days. Given the recent heatwave this realisation both disheartens me and fills me with mild disgust. For someone who loves to soak in fragrant water, slather on creamy divine-smelling lotions, and go to bed smelling like a rose in a flower-patch, my current schedule of cleaning, caring and robotic-like domestic manoevers leave little in the way for self-pampering. I of course still manage to keep up with my daily application of prettily-packaged cosmetics and even manage to run a brush through my hair now and again, but the actual logistics of jumping into a tub on a daily basis still escape me.

For starters the boys are NEVER both asleep at the same time. Given that Egg loves nothing more than 'naming-and-washing' my various body parts when he happens upon me in the bath, my best bet is to wait till his afternoon nap. However given that Noah is now completely mobile and crawls around rooms faster than a slug on speed, I can't very well have a bath with him on the loose...especially given the fact that there are three different sets of stairs in our current dwelling!

For this reason, I have had to let my personal hygiene standards slip a notch or two - and make do with several daily applications of extra-strength anti-perspirant and random sprays of Agent Provocateur when I remember (my signature scent...terribly ironic given my current state of play i realise, but what can you do...).

I wonder if this recent fall from utter cleanliness means that a life of 'Slob-dom' awaits me. Will I be venturing out for my weekly grocery shopping in trackpants next? Will I replace regular toothbrushing for sucking on small sugary mints? Will my vast make-up collection lie undisturbed in the future and be allowed to congeal and go off...until only a multi-coloured glob of overpriced congealants remain??

Not likely. I'll continue to hold on to some semblance of 'glam' for as long as I can, for a lipgloss is not just a sticky substance used to attract admiring glaces from the opposite sex. No, it is much more than that. It is a signifier of a deeper state of being...a pre-childcare, vixen, carefree, 'ME' place. It's MY 'somewhere over the rainbow'. Now I've just got to find those damn ruby slippers....i know I saw them somewhere....

Monday, 11 June 2007

Close But No Cigar!...

My agent rang me in a panic this morning. A few weeks ago I went to an audition to be the voice of an American television channel over here in London. I did it while my in-laws were over and it was mildly inconvenient as it meant I had to write several scripts and then ditch them for an hour in the West End with two babies while I went off for an hour, pretending to be a career girl of old. Truth is, I really enjoyed it. I actually adore auditions in general because of the element of competition. It's refreshing to be taken at face value as a human being with more skills than merely nappy changing with minimum poo fall-out.
At the audition all the attention was on me and it was such a novel feeling and I was in such a great mood that I was most likely glowing, and in retrospect it might have been that which landed me the job! Or maybe it was the fact that I knew I probably couldn't take it even if I got it, so i wasn't too bothered about trying too hard, and thus delivered a nerve-free performance like an old pro (not a desperate mother on lunch-leave).

At any rate, my agent rang this morning to tell me that they loved me and i'm their first choice for the job and oh by the way could I race to their studio right this second across town to work a ten hour day script-writing and then an eight hour day recording tomorrow. Oh yeah - and there is also the small matter that I'll get paid the same amount I usually make in an hour, for a whole days work.

Understandably I had to come clean and mention the existence of a 6 month old baby (i couldn't bring myself to mention my almost 3 year old Egg) of which my agent had no previous knowledge. There is also the small matter of my darling Dad currently in town for his bi-annual London visit, and I treasure the time so much that it would take a hell of a lot more money to get me to even consider it (sorry Dad but if the price was right then I confess I'd be sorely tempted...but we're talking hundreds here ok?!)

You might be horrified that my agent has no previous knowledge of any dependents on my part, but you have to understand the way these things work here. I need to keep up my image as 'cool, sexy, contemporary girl-about-town'. That's what i'm billed as to the clients and it's a long drop from former MTV voiceover artist to current status as flustered South London mother of two. Besides, I knew that if he knew I had kiddies then I wouldn't be the first person he calls for last minute jobs...and I couldn't risk it. I've never yet turned a job down in five years and that is in no small part due to the great and crazy lengths I'll go to in order to secure last-minute babysitting from a sis or two and some ridiculous shimmying around of schedules and transport.

Anyway I digress. Bottom line is that I had to refuse the job and my agent took it as well as can be expected. With an infant who likes to eat every hour on the hour, a still as yet potty-averse toddler and a husband who no doubt feels neglected from time to time, I can't really entertain the fantasy at this moment in time.

Would i like to have colleagues again, and discuss last nights telly (and not baby sleeping schedules)? Absolutely! Would I like to be one of those girls in Haviana's leaning against the outside wall of a pub after work on a summers evening, joking around with mates? For sure! Would I like to wear all my cool clothes and strut about Soho, cappucino in hand and mobile phone pressed urgently to my ear? Without a doubt.

Is it going to happen for me now?

Not a chance in hell. Que sera sera. One day again I'll hopefully again become relevant in a way that has nothing to do with the volume of milk in my breasts or my ability to kiss boo-boo's away. One day I'll figure out how to 'have it all' or at least a way of getting more of what I need to make me happy. But for this girl, on a Monday morning, staring down two dirty nappies, a porridge mess on the kitchen floor, an unmade bed, an empty refridgerator and a busy week ahead, it's all I can do to stay afloat.

(Oh - and I must dash as Dumpie is trying to eat Egg's beloved blue Play-Doh surreptiously underneath the kitchen table and is about to get pounded!!)

Saturday, 9 June 2007


First of all, apologies for not having written much lately. I intend to remedy this, but all week I've been running to stand still...quite literally. It's been a craaaaazy week. One day in particular stands out as being a total and utter shambles. It was Wednesday....
Basically, I had a 1:30 pm appointment at the doctors for wee Olly Dumpie to get his third set of baby injections (he's just turned 6 months). Being a life-long confirmed needle-phobic, to say that i was dreading this would be an understatement. In fact, if I weren't breastfeeding I would have been mightily tempted to pop a little valium (ur...ummm...not that i have any of course or would know where to procure

Anyway, the morning began with its usual dose of chaotic unravelling. Egg did a poo poo on our kitchen chair (apologies in advance to those guests of ours who will in future come and visit us and inadvertantly end up on the now christened 'poo chair') then ran through the flat giggling about his 'poo leg' and smearing it on every available surface (sigh), then Olly Dumpie almost electrocuted himself with the power cord by the telly. Let's just say that I wasn't having the greatest of days.

So when the three of us set off for the doctors in the early afternoon sunshine a little bit later, the last thing on my mind was work. Being a voiceover artist I am very well paid but also very infrequently paid! When my mobile rang and it was my agent asking if i could do a last minute promo for channel five that afternoon, my heart sank. Auntie Ba (who usually bails me out and stands in for emergency babysitting) was still in Ireland and Auntie Mo and Auntie Ba were both at work so I knew I was basically screwed...but yet I couldn't bring myself to turn the job down, and so begged for 15 minutes to get back with an answer.

Frantically I rang AND texted my heavily pregnant Polish cleaning lady Dorothy (who I've mentioned in earlier blogs) in the hopes that she might just happen to be in the neighbourhood and free and amenable to babysitting the two monkeys for a few hours. Nevermind that she barely speaks a word of English and has only her dusting to recommend her. I don't know what I was thinking. Of course she never got back to me and so I rang Jay as I walked into the doctors surgury and explained the situation in the off-chance that his high-powered job might merely be a farce and he might actually be lazing about at his desk playing Pacman and therefor able to take the kiddies off me for a few hours. No such luck. He had a meeting booked at four, his office was frantic with the launch of a new website and he barely had time to tell me no.

By this time we were in the doctors waiting room, I'd spotted the huge sign saying 'NO MOBILES' and it had been almost half an hour since I had gotten the call from my agent and I STILL hadn't rung him back with my answer. Stressed out, we were just then called in, and the nurse who first pronounced me pregnant with Egg (when I had thought I might have a brain tumour and not simply rapidly dividing pre-Egg cells) and also unfortunately happened to be the worst administrator of needles in the whole world - no skill whatsoever - ushered us in. Egg insisted on watching the whole proceedings up close in horror whilst Noah was jabbed brutally three times in both legs and began screaming his head off, and my phone started vibrating and we scurried out of there with Egg munching two biscuits the nurse had given him in pity, chewing slowly with a shell-shocked expression as Noah carried on sobbing dejectedly.

Outside in the hot sun I reluctantly rang my agent back and somehow what with the distressed Dumpie, a careening white van, low blood sugar and the effects of no food and a hot sun, a miscommunication occured. Basically I meant to convey the fact that I sadly had to turn the job down because I couldn't get a babysitter and my husband couldn't get off work early. My agent took this to mean that if the job was moved an hour later than I COULD do it. So upon arriving home I recieved a gleeful voicemail from my agent saying that channel five really wanted me and would happily move the job to 5:30 so that my husband could watch the kids...and the job was confirmed and good luck.

It was with severe trepidation that I texted Jay (the better with which not to be screamed at) and hesitantly put forward my dilemma. Immediately he rang me and although flustered and annoyed, agreed to bail me out this one time if - and only if - i could bring the kiddies to his office at the last possible moment. Well wouldn't you mom rang a little while before we were to leave and of course i lost track of the time and suddenly it was time to go and I had two dirty nappies to change, a sleeping toddler to wake up, and hadn't even washed my face or brushed my teeth! (Yes, yes, i realise I had gone to the doctors like that earlier, but if you saw the sight of the average patient at that place you'd realise that I looked perfectly presentable compared to some of them.)

By the time I was running for the bus, Noah bouncing up and down in the 'Baby Bjorn' which I was waering, and Egg passed out comatose in the reclining pushchair, I was sweating like a maniac. It wasn't till the doors shut that I looked down in horror to see that Egg was still in his sock feet and so was Noah! I had totally forgotten to put their shoes on!

On the bus ride into town I had to give Noah an emergency arrowroot biscuit which immediately morphed into cement-like mush, turning his angelic little face into a paper-mache mask and ruining my top. I consoled myself with the fact that even though the children were filthy and looked like street urchins, it didn't matter too much as Jay was simply going to climb back on the number 12 bus and come straight back home anyway. I'm not even sure I had extra nappies come to think of it.

After jumping off the bus at Piccadilly Circus and racing up Piccadilly Street on foot to meet Jay I was panicking as I knew I'd almost certainly be late for my job. The streets were crowded and I was ducking and diving with the pushchair, stubbing strangers ankles and careening across streets through red lights like a crazed lunatic and pouring with perspiration. I realised I was in danger of having a heart attack, so i finally ground to a halt outside the Pret sandwich shop and unstrapped Dumpie - ready to make the switch with Jay amidst the heaving crowds as soon as i caught sight of him. And then he appeared. My knight in pinstriped armour. He stopped cold and looked disgustedly down at the children.

"Nis, what's going on? Egg's not wearing shoes...(slight pause)....And neither is Dumpie" (Jay looked over at me with both a distressed and confused expression....)

This was indeed true. What could I say?

"And Nis, look how grubby they look! I can't take them into the office like this!"

Um office? "What do you mean office?", I asked Jay.

"I thought you were going to take them home now?" I said while handing Dumpie over and checking my watch furatively.

Jay uttered an expletive-heavy explanation about servers and office chaos and an interrupted meeting - none of which I really heard because I was already backing away and apologising as I ran off, planning my return trip back the way I came and into definately late for my session.

As It turns out the job was a breeze, and they loved me. As I headed out in the crowded post-work streets of Soho half an hour later I was smiling and pleased that i'd managed to pull it off - even if I had been a bit late. I briefly thought of Jay and gave him a quick ring to see what he was up to.

I was curtly told to come and pick up the children. Immediately. It wasn't until that evening when Jay came home that I heard the full story. Apparently Jay had been forced to attend an emergency meeting with four other people in a boardroom with Dumpie strapped facing outwards from his chest in the Baby Bjorn - darting his attentive infant head back and forth, following conversation and staring interestedly at the various speakers...quite taken with proceedings. Meanwhile, shoe-less Egg had entertained himself (and a few others I reckon) by quietly singing to himself in a chair in the corner of the room, drawing not a little attention as Jay was trying rather hard to conduct his rather important meeting.

Once he had gotten over the embarrassment of presenting his beloved little darlings (in their grubby states) to his relatively new work colleagues, it had been a case of his crowded office turning into a creche (nursery) and all manner of chaos ensuing. I don't have to tell you that I was simultaneously horrified, amused and utterly indebted.

Later that night as we watched a dvd in bed, I expressed my gratitude by giving Jay a massage throughout almost the whole two hour movie. I was THAT grateful.

Who says a woman can't have it all?

Monday, 4 June 2007

Um....Yeah...How Do I Do This Again?

I am sitting here typing on my laptop at our dining room table, aware of Egg trailblazing through the flat wielding one of his precious plugs aloft (my phone charger i believe - given the quick glance i got as it swung precariously past my forehead seconds ago) but sufficiently tired enough not to be doing something about it. Just looked down and Dumpie is standing up by my knees, holding onto the dining room chair...must have pulled himself up!

Today is the day when things get back to normal following a 10-day whirlwind visit from my in-laws. I say whirlwind because between trips to Paris, picnics in the park, shopping excursions all over town and various dining experiences, we sure managed to fit a lot into a mere week and a half. So much so that I now have to start from scratch mentally again and resign myself to solo childcare and domestic servitude once again. Ho hum :)

Auntie Ba is in Ireland this week and with everyone at their respective jobs it's just me, Egg and Ollie...the unholy trinity. Dumps has now started eating with a vengeance, and that means it's back to concocting big batches of organic foodstuffs, freezing them and dishing them out three times a day. Personally, i'm just amazed on those days when i remember to feed, change and bathe my darling chubby chicken.

So weary am I today that i'm signing off with this rather short missive...will cut short the bemoaning, complaining and general grumbling on this occasion. For those of you who care, today, June 4th, was the day on which Dumps finally pulled himself up by the rails of his crib and stood grinning and laughing with accomplishment. If only my personal goals were as feasible (and rewarding!)