"Bin the Lot"

Today our new cleaner started...(I've lost count of the number). She is rubbish. I not only worked side by side with her for the first two hours, but she had the audacity to leave early and with the house looking pretty much the same as when she arrived (sigh).

Egg was home sick with the flu today. In solidarity, Dumpie refused to get out of his 'jammies' all day as well, and the two of them lay side by side on the sofa watching Star Wars movies. There was a lot of moaning and groaning until Dumpie nearly blinded Egg by whipping a dvd across the room at him. Then it was screams and sobs. Which made for a nice change.

I continued my assault on the boys playthings and my outrageous collection of clothing today. I am getting increasingly more insane (ie. ruthless) and now plotting to rid our home of all of our possessions.

I think we should all have personalised backpacks and be allowed to keep only that which will fit inside.

For Eggie that would be a few pairs of underwear, his Nintendo DS Lite, chopsticks (he prefers them to using a stylus), a wedge of Pokemon cards, 'Bacon' of course, and his 'sums' notebook.

For Dumpie that would be a random assortment of foodstuffs, Auntie Ba's expensive face cream, M&M's and a Go-Go or two.

For the husband - that's easy. His laptop, some boxers, his camera, his ipod and an assortment of stupid headgear.

For me - well...that's even simpler. A black strapless bra, my favourite t-shirt, a ripped denim mini, a good novel, and as much red licorice as I could stuff in the back. And of course my laptop - so I could moan about how horrible it is when you give away all your possessions in the heat of the moment and spend the rest of your life bitterly regretting it...

"The Beginning of the Fall of the Fashionista"

When we first had this idea of going to India I envisioned going with just a pile of books, some mosquito nets and the clothes on my back.

I have always wanted to travel light - only I've never been successful at doing it. I like to be prepared for every fashion eventuality, and as a result I massively overpack.

My fantasy is to go with next to nothing, buy all my clothes from some market stall and wear them till they fall apart (or till I board the plane back to England and bin the whole lot at the airport). How blissful to live that disposably (ahhhhhh...)

Only thing is, I LOVE clothes...I love MY clothes...and I'm not sure I can be parted from my lovely things for so long.

Today I started having a go at sifting and sorting through my gigantic wardrobe and have now, several hours later, ended the whole exercise in defeat.

If my 'sorting' is anything to go by, I will be taking enough clothes to wear a different outfit every day for the next six months (sigh). This will simply not do. Not only have I put aside almost a dozen items of footwear, I have packed such schizophrenic items as my Abercrombie & Fitch denim shorts, a flowing peasant skirt, a bright blue sequin bandeau top and a cheerleading ra-ra skirt.

I'm hopeless. Not only do I end the day having not accomplished a single damn thing...but I appear to have a worrying misconception about how old I am / the current state of my no-longer-17-year-old-body / what activities I intend to undertake whilst I am away.

I suppose the one good thing that might come of all this, is the sense of space and simplicity I'll achieve if I really can rid myself of at least half of my current wardrobe...only keep the things I truly love...

Then I can amuse myself for the duration of our stay in India by watching the various young Karnatakan beach sellers parading up and down the sand wearing various, random items of my wardrobe.

That sequin bandeau will have it's heyday yet...you wait

"Scummy Mummy"

Today I experienced the first inkling of the sheer scope of the work ahead of us (and by us I primarily mean me) if we really intend to mosey off to India in four weeks.

I spent the ENTIRE day (save an imbecilic running session around the Common in the pouring rain late morning) in the bloody kitchen clearing out...(wait for this)....TWO cupboards.

Yes. That's right. Two cupboards.

Now granted, both cupboards were scary zones...with doors we kept closed most of the time because to open them would unleash an avalanche of toys, paper bags, candles, marker pens, play-doh...need I go on?

Having spent my ENTIRE Saturday on such a tiny task has led me to reassess the likelihood that packing our lives up in the next month will leave me with a clean bill of mental health, and ready to embark on our adventurous Indian sabbatical. It will not.

Given that I am the only one who can ascertain what needs to be binned and what needs to be saved, getting any help from the husband or the boys will be an exercise in futility. I realised today that I am one of those poor souls (ie. control freak) who would rather do a perfect job herself than rope in help and compromise on standards.

You know what that means? I am a loser.

The husband couldn't believe his luck today when he peered into the kitchen, found me buried in a mountain of paper, plastic and junk, and yet was ordered by me to take Eggie out for a bike ride.

For once, he didn't waste a moment in getting the heck out of here before his crazy wife changed her mind. Smart boy.

In addition to this mammoth task today, I also somehow managed to whip up a big Indian dinner from scratch, some delicious homemade peanut butter cookies, and do several loads of laundry. It just goes to show you that crazy people often have super-human levels of stamina.

On the minus side, I have spent the day in sweat pants and a big dirty jumper. Not my best look. The husband pointed this out in delight, and rightfully so I suppose, after having suffered abuse for the past few weeks from moi for the abominable biking headwear he's recently purchased and has stubbornly insisted on wearing INDOORS...24/7... for the past few weeks.

I've been trying to explain that even though we've been together since we were teenagers, it's important to try and still look good for each other.

He has declared this a shallow outlook and says he doesn't care if I don't. Urghhh...

But how much credibility do I have after having spent the day resembling 'Waynetta Slob', complete with Nazi-like determination to scour and scrub away anyone or anything in my path? Wouldn't win any 'Yummy-Mummy' awards today, that's for sure...(might have however ranked up there in the 'Scummy-Mummy' Olympics).

At any rate, tonight I go to bed knowing one thing for certain (and no, it's not the fact that Dumpie's current haircut, according to the husband, now resembles that of a middle-aged Michael J. Fox, or a post-Oscar Philip Seymour Hoffman)...

No. Tonight I go to bed knowing the EXACT contents of two of my previously most shambolic cupboards. How's that for job satisfaction?

Might as well just kill myself now. I am BEYOND pathetic.

"Goa Here We Come...Four Weeks and Counting"

So it would appear that in exactly four weeks, three days, and six hours...we four (myself, Egg, Dumpie and the husband of course - can't leave him behind - after all, this adventure is his swan song) shall be strapped aboard an airline named after a beer, and hurtling through the skies at an alarming rate...where (adventure? trials? fun? excitement? (insert your own here) await.

Yes, we're flying on Kingfisher Airlines - named after India's premier (if rather lightweight) alcoholic beverage.

Something inside of me railed against booking this airline. It is a young company, with a fleet of new(ish) jets, so all should bode well...non? Still, there is something disconcerting about a jumbo jet named after a beer. There just is. Though I suppose the husband is rather pleased , as at least it means there's a fairly good chance he'll be able to whet his lips with the stuff throughout the fourteen hour journey.

We have provisionally booked our return tickets for 31st August. Ironically this is our wedding anniversary. It is also the day before school starts for the boys...if indeed we make it back for that. Who knows? We have however had the foresight to pay the higher fare on the tickets just in case we choose to avail ourselves of the 'one free change Madam' option.

So that gives us precisely 6 and a half months to opt out of society, live as beach bums, and try and create between us some sort of artistic work which will merit us yanking out our newly labelled 'gifted' child Egg from the South London Educational System.

When I informed the deputy head of his school this morning of our intentions, she grinned wryly and I suspect that she thinks we're needlessly exposing our offspring to malaria for the sole purpose of wearing tie-dye and exercising our right to throw some fiercesome shapes to bad 'Trance' music.

Egg's teacher also grinned upon hearing the news. However it was one of encouragement and approval. (This could however, be related to her having spent some time India herself and being all of about 24 years old).

As I recall, 24 was round about the age the husband and I traversed the sub-continent on a motorcycle together - so this reunited love affair with our dear India is well overdue.

And I've changed my mind. I'm glad we're flying there in a giant beer bottle.

This Baby Is Brought to You By Starbucks..."

Dumpie was found tonight lying wide awake in his cot, clutching his Auntie's fluffy hot water bottle (hey it's England in winter okay?) and gesturing towards a now empty Starbucks cup on his play table. He has coffee breath, which means that he likely won't be sleeping anytime soon - especially since I know for a fact that said cup previously contained a Grande Triple Shot Skinny Wet Cappuccino.

The boy loves coffee. In the summer he can't be let loose anywhere near an iced latte or it's history. Funnily enough, Dumpie also has a taste for champagne - a fact observed when as a baby he dipped his fingers into a celebratory flute before slurping the liquid gleefully off and toothlessly grinning like a drunk little runt.

Speaking of champagne, last night we hosted a Thai dinner party resplendent with manifold bottles of wine, port and bubbly. Now, twenty-four hours later I am still reeling from the effects of a killer hangover brought on by such decadent midweek frivolity. The party was such a success that one of our guests stayed the night and took it upon himself to try all of the beds until he found one that was 'just right'.

Unfortunately, that one turned out to be Auntie Ba's bed. She was none too amused this morning to have spent the night on the sofa whilst her bed was held hostage by an inebriated, though harmless rogue. (Never mind that said rogue is a very, very funny boy and a dear friend of ours...leaving a relative stranger and uninvited bed buddy snoring like an out of control jet engine in your freshly laundered sheets is perhaps taking our notorious familial hospitality slightly too far non?)

Auntie Ba is a saint...for a bed is a bed after all. Fingers crossed she is at least able to get her beauty sleep tonight. Though what with her hot water bottle having been commandeered by her caffeine-high nephew chatting merrily away next door, it looks like there's fat chance of that happening.

"You Dropped the Bomb on Me Baby...You Dropped the Bomb On Me"

This morning I awoke to two major shocks:

The first was that our neighborhood had transformed into a winter wonderland while we slept...fluffy white snow blanketing the streets and coating the dark black trees like a giant, soft, fluffy, white angora jumper. Due to adverse weather conditions the husband decided to work from home today.

The second was that the husband read out the answer to a cheeky email he'd sent to his boss enquiring whether he might leave his job in two weeks to go to India. His boss says he doesn't have a problem with that.

Queue near-hysteria at the thought of packing, booking flights, vaccinations, visas, renting out our home, and a million other tasks needing to be done before we go...

"But - I thought you said the earliest we'd be going was 1st of March!" I demanded of my flabergasted other half.

"I always told you we might be able to go in February" he replied, somewhat shell-shocked.

Bloody heck. That's a man for you.

"But....but...." I stammered...wondering at the near impossible task that lay ahead.

So now the day has been spent scouring websites, arguing heatedly over spreadsheets (I have to continually remind the husband that I am NOT a 'member of his team' but rather his wife, and hence need to be spoken to in a loving - not businesslike - fashion. He still doesn't get it.

The husband would put our whole family life on a spreadsheet if he could. I bet he'd even work in romantic interludes given half a chance - especially as he proudly showed me earlier how rating things on a scale of 1-3 can give an up-to-date tally of who is currently working harder out of the two of us.

And that of course is the most important factor in this upcoming familial adventure is it not? Who is going to work the bloody hardest launching us out of here and into our dream scenario...

(FYI...so far I'm in the lead points-wise...and we haven't even begun)

Will we really be on a beach in Goa inside of four weeks??? Really???

I don't know what is more frightening...the thought of packing up this house and putting our stuff in storage OR the thought of my body in a bikini 24/7 INSIDE OF FOUR WEEKS...

HEEEEEEEELLLLLLPPPPPPP!!

Forget vaccinations - I need to prioritise. Asap. I'm thinking four-hour-a-day workouts for a start....

Mr. Magic Mathematician

I've renewed my love affair with Red Wine.

(Red Red Wine it makes me feel so fine

Keeps me rockin'...all of the time...)

Lalalalalala.....

Anyway, I deserve it (mental note to self: isn't that the first step toward becoming an alcoholic? Telling yourself you deserve it? Uh oh....). Today was a bit of a killer in emotional extremes.

On the way to pick up Egg from school today I popped a stick of Juicy Fruit into my mouth and choked in horror as a crown came off in my mouth.

Moments later I stood (still flabergasted and distraught) in the school playground, lisping and gulping my way distractedly through a conversation with Egg's pretty young teacher who was trying to tell me that not only had he come first in his class for Math's and been awarded the "Magic Mathematician" award, but he'd today been singled out as being, "Young, Gifted and Talented" in Maths and handed me the certificate to prove it.

Egg meanwhile was involved in a heavy trade of Pokemon cards off to one side, having lost his school bag in the process. No matter, I frantically grabbed his little grey-mittened hand and yanked him out of there in a panic to my local dentist.

Moments later I found myself sprawled back ungracefully in the dentist's chair, mouth gaped open in pain, and Egg chattering happily away in the corner a mile a minute - distracting my already distracted dentist even further.

That might explain why I'm sitting here, hours later, forlorn at the dining room table, slightly anethetised by a few glasses of wine, and nursing a sore mouth wherein a crown has been reinserted incorrectly...rendering each bite excruciatingly tender.

Ah well. I was looking for a good kick start to my New Year. Having temporarily given up running (it's frankly too bloody cold and icy outside - toned arse be damned) I'm sure a diet of soft foods will do wonders for my waistline. Unless of course I get back on the Ben & Jerry's Phish Food (sigh).

Looking Ahead...Beach Bumming Imminent

Well, we (and by that I mean 'our marriage') survived New Year celebrations. The husband DID NOT ditch me this year and even managed to put on a brave face when at one point it looked as though we might be the only party goers in our specially decorated home.

In the end we had not one but TWO get-togethers on the same night, as the first set of friends left around 1:30am and the second set arrived just before 3am. I managed to last until 5am, but then the utter terror of what awaited me in a mere few hours was enough to put the fear of God in me and I fled off to bed - like a petrified Cinderella. However I left the husband and three of his mates to take it in turn to play with his new digital dj mixing desk and see who could outdo the others with absolutely shambolic 'sets'.

So here we sit on the other side of 2009...with very little idea of what our immediate future holds. We do know that in a manner of weeks the husband shall be gainfully UN-employed as he leaves the corporate workplace for stress of another variety. On the beaches of Goa he shall endeavor to write his first novel, whilst keeping his family in 'lungi's' and 'aloo paratha's' (and his two small charges away from waves, snakes, malaria outbreaks, etc.)

I shall of course be attempting to compose musical masterpieces - the likes of which the world has never heard...and suspect, shall be working on something literary myself.

Ah yes...the dream awaits. But will it be a dream or a nightmare? Will we ever come back? Will our children turn into vagabond surfers whilst learning the art of pick-pocketing unsuspecting tourists?

Once escaped from conformity and dreaded mediocrity, will we ever be able to squeeze back into society? Will we even want to?

...Stay tuned my friends...stay tuned...

Dancing Prancing Elves

http://elfyourself.jibjab.com/view/F0CqegqBwRUzOSyBUoX

Christmas season...we have eaten our combined body weight in biscuits, cheese and chocolate. We have imbibed probably a bathtubs worth of fine wines, champagne and spirits. And we still have the New Year's celebration to get through (audible tummy groan).

As far as Christmas presents go, the surprise hit of the season (in addition to the blasted bloody Pokemon cards!) were a couple of giant donkey heads attached to long posts. Press the right ear and the loud galloping song comes on, Egg and Dumpie whooping with delight as they chase each other around the house from room to room (sigh). Given that a giant paper mache donkey head currently shares prime position with our traditional Christmas tree gold star, you could say that it's been a rather donkey-themed affair this year.

We've watched Mary Poppins, The Grinch, Frosty the Snowman, Elf, Bad Santa, Love Actually, Serendipity and Chevy Chase's Christmas Vacation. In short, we've made our way through our the annual Christmas dvd bonanza and now look forward to the onset of the last ever Celebrity Big Brother in January. Yes we're lame-o's...

Christmas this year was made delightfully special by the coercion of the monsters into ridiculous elf costumes for the duration. Eggie looked utterly adorable (as always) but Dumpie looked completely hysterical and caused random compulsive choking fits of giggles whenever he'd walk by. Whereas last year he floated about in the costume, this year it fits his rounded little belly to perfection and the red and white striped tights hugged his little thighs most delightfully...

Very little can rival the hilarity of a 'pissy Christmas elf', and Dumps spent the day throwing up his little arms in frustration (as if knowing how ridiculous he looked) and declaring, "Why me have to wear this ALL DAY?!"

(Umm...well you see Dumpie...all the adults in this house have been tipping back the bottles all day and hence find the sight of you uproarious. One day you'll understand...)

So now New Year's looms. Last year the husband ditched me shortly after midnight (and a hastily gulped bottle of champagne) to go elsewhere with friends (childless ones I might add) and p-a-r-t-y the night away.

This year however he has put plans in motion to host our own New Year's shindig.

Although the thought of our dear home getting a bashing isn't very appealing, no other alternatives have presented themselves.

For you see, if the husband dare pulls another fast one again like last year (...and by again I mean as in EVER...as long as we both shall live)...well...it simply doesn't bear thinking about.

"Twas the Night Before 'Frispmas'...

Twas the night before Frispmas

When all through the house

Two small Rug-Rats were stirring

Probably even a mouse (or two)...

The stockings weren't hung

By the chimney with care

In fact they lay buried

In the bathroom by the 'Nair'...

The presents weren't wrapped

And Daddy was pissed

And now come to think of it

So were Mummy (and guests)...

The children weren't snuggled

All warm in their beds

In fact they were racing

Round the ground floor like Speds...

When out on the street

There arose such a clatter

Too lazy to check

We just glanced out the shutter...

And much to our horror

We discovered the scene

Of several drunk Antipodeans

Yelling 'Gravy Margarine!'...

Then rounding the corner

Five 'Hoodies' in a row

Shouting abuse to our neighbours

In the brown slushy snow...

"Now Wankers just listen

Grab your phones and hand 'em over!

You're busted ALRIGHT...

Do it NOW or we clobber!"

The revellers just looked

Then burst into hysteric giggles

"Oh bugger off you 'ASBO'S'!"

They mocked with drunken wiggles

We left that cozy scene

And turned back to the telly

The kids sugar high

No real food in their bellies...

Just another Frispmas Eve

In our dear London town

Our shambolic household

Just about to bed down...

Will Santa Clause come?

He might...who can say...

But we've lots of champagne

So will be merry and (quite) gay!

Merry 'Frispmas' readers and thanks for being so patient as I took a self-imposed hiatus from blogging...I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK (golly gosh darn it)

"Moaning Mum" xx