Demons

Sometimes you have to live with your demons.

Sometimes you have to give them the cold shoulder and pretend they don't exist.

Sometimes you have to give them a good kick in the backside.

Living with my demons isn't an option, and trying to deny their existence hasn't been working out that well for me. So, I'm going all Buffy on them. Metaphorically speaking. Although actually kicking them in the backside could be fun. I'd like to think I look pretty cool doing it, like some superhero with my pants outside my trousers and a funky costume. It is much more likely that I would look a complete tool. I don't think "underwear over outerwear" is this season's new look. I'm not sure what this season's 'look' is to be honest. I think it has something to do with neon colours, judging by the number of people wandering around in poorly matched neon clothing. I don't think I could pull that off. I don't have the right skin tone. 

Anyhow, I have it on good authority that setting fire to the face of your demons is not socially acceptable, especially if your demons include people and places of local interest, and, you know, yourself. Setting fire to yourself is definitely frowned upon. I'm not sure if it's more or less acceptable to set fire to other people and places of local interest. I don't think trying it would be the best way to find out. 

I've decided to take up running. Yes, that's right, I plan to outrun my demons. Stop laughing. I'm being serious. I've been running one and a half times. Go me! 

The first time went well. I went to a place of local interest that harbours some of my demons and I sprinted round it. Turns out that sprinting around something that size does stave of the feelings of sickness and weird flashbacks. It leaves you with a felling of achieving something. It also makes your lungs feel like they want to explode and results in aching muscles. For three whole days. No, I'm not even kidding. It hurt to breathe. Who knew that my ribcage had so many muscles? 

The second time went less well. That's why it only counts for half a time. I set off running. My legs began to complain. I told them to get a grip. Out loud. Whilst I was running. It turns out they were just the start of my bodily complaints. After a very grand five minutes of running, I was treated to a pain across my section scar which I can only describe as a combination of ripping and shooting pains. Fortunately, my scar is still in tact. Unfortunately, 24 hours later, it feels like it did when I first came out of hospital: I am constantly expecting to stand up and see my insides fall out of me. This is probably not good. So, I hobbled home, had a nice hot shower and sat myself on the sofa with my knitting, a mug of tea, a bar of Galaxy and another episode of Buffy, who was actually kicking her demons. Literally. 

But, it's totally the thought that counts, isn't it?

Conversations With Mr B: Weighing Me Down

Scene: Bedtime. Mr B is snoring away to himself. I am reading. Mr B suddenly sits up and yelps.

Me: What's wrong?

Mr B: Why?

Me: You don't seem very happy

Mr B: It's my bright.

Me: Your what?

Mr B: I'm too bright

* Mr B flops dramatically onto his pillow*

Mr B: It's weighing me down.

Me: Weighing you down how?

Mr B: I'm too bright and it's heavy and it's weighing me down.

Me: Where?

Mr B: Where I am.

Me: So your brightness is weighing you down to the bed them.

Mr B: Yes

Me: Ooooookaaaaaay

Mr B: No comment. No comment.

Me: Huh?

Mr B: You have the right to shut up and be silent.

Me: Why?

Mr B: I said shhhhhhhhh. No comments.

Conversations With Mr B: The Penguins

Scene: Late at night, reading in bed. I have started a new book, and been struggling to sleep the last few nights.

Mr B: Don't read all that book in one go, because if you do, you'll be up until it's light again.

Me: Okay.

Mr B: And then what will happen to the penguins?

Me: What penguins?

Mr B: Shhhhhh.

We still have no idea about the penguins, but I did finish the book. Hopefully no penguins were harmed by my doing so.

How To Celebrate Your Hubby's Birthday On A Budget...

If you're tuning into this blog post expecting to read about some kinky shenanigans, then you may as well leave now. That whole 50 shades craze is passing me by. Thankfully.

Our little boy was born four days before Mr B's birthday, which has been rather inconvenient to be honest. Last year, it meant I was in hospital, smacked off my face on medication (of the very legal kind), whilst our boy was nursing a sore head and poor Mr B was celebrating by going to work, running around shopping for my whims (which I seem to recall were a nightie, a notepad and a pen), finding the cards I had bought him before the whole giving birth thing kicked off and had hidden in an unspecified 'safe place', driving to the hospital to watch me sobbing uncontrollably because my 'baby blues' had kicked in, then visiting a sleeping Sam on special care whilst I sobbed uncontrollably to a visiting friend, before heading home for a chinese takeaway for one. That is totally the birthday that dreams are made of, isnt it? I know. I know. I am, frankly, the most awesome wife that ever lived.

This year, I thought I would try to top the previous year's effort (without the whole giving birth part, as I'm not particularly keen on repeating that). This was not going to be an easy task. Once again, our little B eclipsed Mr B's birthday celebrations by turning one and, let's be honest, being one is far more important than being twenty eight (not to mention little B has more friends than his daddy). We decided to celebrate S's birthday in style, ignoring the fact that Mr B's birthday was a mere four days later. Conveniently, pay day arrived after Mr B's birthday, meaning we could not do anything else extravagant, having used all our extravagance on the boy's birthday. So, in vintage Mrs B style, I set out to make a birthday out of virtually nothing. Here's how it went:

1. Turn the Baby Wall of Fame into a Husband Wall of Fame

Take down all photos of the small child, except the ones which feature the small child and the big child together. These can be left because they are sentimental or something, and they fill space.

Realise that two photos is not enough to make a wall of fame.

Search the house for photo albums with easily removable photos (note, stopping to look at your wedding album and marvel at how much more like a blimp you look these days is not conducive to getting things done). Find a box of old photos. Do not get distracted with irrelevant pictures.

Realise that you do not have a huge selection of photos of your husband considering you have spent ten years of your life with him. Try not to wonder whether this demonstrates that something is lacking in your relationship. That is not important.

Pin the small child into a highchair with snacks whilst you scramble over the table and attach the photos to the wall.

Your wall of fame is complete. Don't stop to admire it. We do not have time for that.

2. Recycle the Decorations

You have recently held a party for a small child, which presumably involved decorations. If there were no decorations, we need to discuss your party planning skills, or lack thereof. If you have tidied them away, then this is the point at which to chastise yourself. Slatterns rejoice! Your time has come and your workload has been significantly reduced.

Do bear in mind the age discrepancy between your husband and child. Hide anything that indicates the "1st birthday" aspect of the first party. For balloons, this means turn them around so the writing becomes invisible. Banners will have to be taken down, folded over to cover the "1st" leaving only the "Happy" and "Birthday" visible. You don't need to move the decorations from their current places. It will be fine.

3. Find Willing Friends With No Social Plans

If you have left it too late and all your friends have social plans, then you need to rethink your friend list. Seriously. Having a life is soooooo last year. Invite your friends round for a surprise birthday tea. They will think you are awesome for saving them from an evening in front of the TV, and your husband will think you have planned a thoughtful meal. Or, if like mine, he actually knows you, he will just think you're winging it - this is nothing to be ashamed of. It is the Mrs B way of life. Follow me and I shall teach you more...


4. Raid the Freezer

Your freezer is your friend. There is bound to be something in there you froze some time ago and forgot to eat. In my case it was pork chops. It could easily have been wellington boot, with my freezer it's hard to tell.

Try to find something you can slow cook. Virtually anything can be cooked slowly. This instantly conveys the impression of fanciness.

5. Raid the Fridge

Discover cider. Cider and pork work well together. Cider also works well with chicken. Less so with beef or lamb. This is my wisdom, what you choose to do with it is your own business.

6. Raid the Veg Rack

If you discover potatoes, you are saved. If you don't, you're going to struggle. Also, why don't you have potatoes? Everyone has potatoes. What is wrong with you?

5. Raid the Baking Cupboard

Rustle up the ingredients for a cake. If you don't have the exact things, make them up. You can substitute a small amount of self-raising flour with cornflour, which will have the advantage of making your sponge lighter and fluffier. Don't overdo it though. You aren't trying to make a sauce.

Don't forget to check the corners of your baking cupboard for hidden decorating gems, such as icing pens and hundreds and thousands. Every little helps.


6. Frisk Your Sofa

There is bound to be some loose change, or if you're lucky a hidden note down there. This should be used sparingly, and to buy small things with a big impact. For what it's worth, my fiver (yes, I was lucky) went on a camembert for a starter (baked with things to dip in, always a winner), veg for the main course and birthday candles. I am the last of the big spenders.


7. Enlist the Help of a Small Child

Find a huge piece of paper and some art supplies. Let them loose. Their wacky creations are endearing.

8. Tidy Up

For those of you prone to spending hours cleaning, you need to find your inner slattern. Hide things in things, under things or in the spare room. Polishing is all well and good, but if you're pressed for time, waft a cloth over things. Always squirt some polish in the air by the front door to convey the impression you have been cleaning for hours. Bleach down the toilet is a must.

You have my wisdom. Go forth and party plan.

Conversations With Baby B

Scene: At home. Watching TV. Baby B is crawling around the living room.

Mr B: Hello

Baby B: Ehhhhhhh

Mr B: How are you?

Baby B: Brrrrrrrrr

Mr B: Why are you chewing a peg?

This is not how I thought my life was going to turn out.

Dear Muppet

Dear The Muppet Who Left Her Pyjama Pants On The Cycle Path,

Please explain to me, in detail, precisely how one goes about misplacing one's pyjama bottoms on a cycle path.

They have been there for a few days now. I have thus far deduced that they belong to a woman (they are pink) and that they are no longer attached to her person (there is no body in close proximity to the offending article).

I can just about fathom how you might lose a cardigan, or a baby's sock, but your pyjamas, really??

I do hope nothing awful occurred to facilitate the loss of your pyjamas, but given the volume of pizza boxes and beer cans in the general area, I have concluded that a good time was probably had by all. I do hope you haven't been doing unprotected shenanigans and forgotten to dress yourself afterwards. That would be most unfortunate. It would likely mean you have been indulging in reading Fifty Shades Of Shite, and that would be terrible indeed.

This being the case, please do retrieve your trousers (and your common sense) and locate some decent literature.

Kindest Regards,

Mrs B x

All Grown Up

My baby boy is all grown up. He turned one on Saturday. It would not be unreasonable to say I am distraught. Even if the fact that he has woken up the last few nights wanting a bottle and a bottom change proves he hasn't grown up that much (or perhaps I am wrong and he will still want a bottle and a bum change in his teens). Sigh. What do I know?

Here's how we celebrated:

1. By embarrassing the boy by putting pictures of him all over the dining room, including photos we have affectionately titled 'Colonel Gaddaffi Baby' and 'Baby Burrito'

2. With a cake made by yours truly (I am available for children's parties, and any event where the actual state of the cake isn't overly important).

3. With a proper cake made by Gareth James Chocolatier. It did not disappoint. I did not (*did) hide a huge slab of it in my fridge for future consumption.

4. With a bouncy castle. For the children. I tried to bounce on it, but it was not happy with me. I sank into a big heap in the middle whilst small children laughed at me and my "friends" took photos!

5. By letting our small child eat the stones. Clearly, we were not providing food at this BBQ.

6. By proving my inadequacy as a parent for not being able to remove jelly from jelly moulds. This was meant to be a jelly ring. There was meant to be a car, a bunny and a random wobbly shape. The car disintegrated. The bunny melted. The wobbly shape landed in a washing up bowl of dishes. 

I know. I'm setting the bar sooooo high for future birthday parties.