'Glastonsquit'

There is a lot I could say, posting here from Glastonbury with les monsters adorable. 

But a) I'm trying to type on an iPhone  b) the pics say it better :)

"What To Do When Your Egg Just Keeps Ageing"

Egg's last day of being an 8 yr old...

 Yeah you heard right.  This is a belated birthday post dedicated to the newly minted nine year old, my firstborn son Egg, and NOT a moan about an ageing womb.

I simply can't believe this nine year old boy is mine.  He is getting so tall and broad shouldered (and so handsome!) that I sometimes have to stop and stare at this marvellous creature that somehow sprung from such two well-meaning but terribly flawed specimens :)

Having put on an Olympics-themed extravaganza for his 8th birthday party, we weren't sure how we could possibly outdo that this year.  Thankfully Egg was very forthcoming and begged for a sleepover. For nine boys.  In our three bed flat.  Night(bloody)mare.  But after much coercion we were able to whittle that list down to a more manageable five (plus Dumpie, made seven).

It was hardcore.  But very fun indeed.  Not for us mind, but for the uber-excited, sweet-gorging, pinata-whacking, pizza-chomping, watergun-toting, sundae-making, movie-watching, tennis-playing, pillow-fighting little guys.

At one point around midnight after trying to at least make a dent in the washing/clearing up downstairs, and having delivered great whacking bowls of popcorn upstairs to the boys room (only to be met with the sweetest and most polite smiles when I begged them to keep it down), I closed the door, counted to five and heard the predictable roar of chaos resume.

Upstairs, much to my horror and amusement, I found the husband passed out cold in bed, under the covers and in for the duration.

Uh-uh that was NOT going to happen.  So after a concerted effort of combined pleas, whimpering and shakage, he awoke with a start and stomped downstairs.  Apparently he didn't have much better luck calming things down as he returned a few minutes later for a brief respite - freaked out that a few of the boys appeared to be twitching spasmodically and mumbling incoherently due to excessive sugar intake (this apparently down to me and my over-the-top provisions).

I was too tired to argue, and as he stormed back downstairs a few minutes later, all I remember is climbing groggily into bed and...well, apparently passing out for the night.  Oops.

Anyway, alls well that ends well, and they eventually fell asleep (so I heard) sometime around 3am!  In what has now become a time honoured birthday party tradition, we rewarded ourselves for a job well done, with a lovely stroll and a restorative tipple at a lovely local pub at noon the next day - trying to ignore a miserable Egg who had yet to receive his big birthday present from us and was gutted to hear that it definitely WASN'T an ipod touch.  (FYI it was better.  So there Egg.)

Bless him, he awoke on his (real) birthday morning a few days ago, begging to unlock the terrace and run outside and see if his 'magic plant' had grown a treat for him.  (Every year since he was little i'd bury a treat in one of the giant plant pots and he'd honestly believe that it had magically grown (a la jack on the beanstalk) for him especially.

I suddenly realised that I had TOTALLY forgotten to do it this year, and made some stupid excuse about not being able to find the keys to let him out and he looked at me, with that sweet smile of his, totally sussed the situation and somewhat wistfully enquired whether I had forgotten.

I did what any parent would do it this situation.  I lied.  Badly.

And later that day after school he went outside and found his box of chocolates and I overheard him telling his friend, "My mum pretends that there is a magic tree but she almost forgot this year."

Any day now he's going to put Bacon the bear on a shelf for good and stop sleeping with him and taking him around the house.  Any day now.

...and I shall weep.

:)

Last sleep as an 8 yr old...

Presents rock (thanks Aunties/Uncles!)

Sharing 'Birthday Weekend' with Dada on 'Father's Day' 

"Manic & Messy: Living The Anti-Rock n' Roll Lifestyle"

A favourite pastime:  removing and playing with dangerous cleaning chemicals

When I was young I imagined my future punctuated by all manner of exciting and adventurous episodes:  I saw myself touring with a band, being a travel writer, going on book tours promoting my latest best seller, attending glamourous parties with my equally glamourous partner, stroking the heads of my darling children as they gathered around me for a bedtime story, living in a big and beautiful house with even bigger beautiful grounds, acting in several cool, under-the-radar Indie films...you get the picture.

Instead, yesterday I found myself in a kiddie playground surrounded by a gaggle of annoying little children (and believe me they were annoying) buzzing around my ankles, and hoping desperately that I would wake up and it would all be a dream.

Maybe it was because I was on a fast and had low blood sugar.  Or maybe I was just desperately bored.

Whatever the case, I'm finding life particularly tiresome these days.  Ironically the baby (aka 'Squit') has recently started sleeping through the nights...IN HIS OWN BED...so that's not the problem.  And the older two, Egg and Dumpie, though messy, loud and strong-willed, are basically normal little boys who are no better or no worse than any other 6 and 8 year old boys.  I think.

No, whatever malaise haunts my soul these days has to do with me, and only me.  When one's favourite hobbies are wine drinking and sleeping, it is cause for thought non?

Still, life is not without its little joys.  The baby has turned into a right little snogger, and getting random heartfelt little kisses at unexpected moments can make even my stone heart turn mushy for a moment :)
(And it makes it easier to forgive the little rug rat when moments later he whacks me hard across the head with a drumstick or abandoned tennis racket.)

Perhaps I'm stressed and just not admitting it to myself.  For example, in just three weeks the husband and I will be carting our progeny to the worlds largest music festival for 3-4 days:  the mighty 'Glastonbury'.

At one time the thought would have filled me with glee and sent me scouring through ebay for the cutest wellies I could find.  Not this time however.  I basically stopped going to 'Glasto' several years ago after Egg was born.  Hedonism and dirty nappies aren't the most natural of bedfellows - just like hangovers and childcare.  See where I'm going with this?

The husband is of course gleefully contemplating time off work and excited about sitting in a field with his mates being stupid and silly. Bless him...he is woefully disillusioned about what the reality of a 'family Glastonbury' is going to mean.

But let him have his happy thoughts.  I love him and he deserves to be happy.  If even for a short time.  (Which is how long it will be until it dawns on him - probably about the time the tent is set up - what a big, big, ever-so-big mistake he has made.)