Before the summer holidays started, I sat down and had a little talk with Belle about the impending six weeks, and exactly how we were going to manage the whole work, fun, childcare balance. As much as I didn’t want to, I explained to her, I was going to have to do some work, and as useful for me as her week away with Gran was going to be, we needed to come up with something else too.

“Don’t make me go to Clifton College holiday club!” she wailed, a look of panic on her face.

“I won’t make you go there again,” I reassured her, “I promised didn’t I?”

She looked relieved.

“I don’t want to go to the holiday club at school either,” she pleaded, “they just make you decorate keyrings all day.”

“OK,” I said, rapidly running out of options. “How about sports?”

We were quiet for a moment, both thinking about the disaster of the two-day football camp the previous summer. Belle, as you may have worked out, is not a fan of the whole ‘wrap-around-care’ concept. For her, holidays and after school are for watching all the television she has been kept away from during school hours.

“Well then,” I said, laughing hysterically inside at the very idea that she would agree, “the only other option is a residential camp, where you go away for the whole week with lots of people you don’t know.”

“I’ll do that one,” she said, and turned back to MI High, the conversation apparently now over.

Well, that was a shock.

So, tomorrow, she’s off. Monday to Friday, sleeping in yurt dorms, wading through swamps, meeting red squirrels, and tagging crabs. She’s only going to be about an hour away, but I am so proud of her. She’s getting pretty excited about it, and this afternoon has been sorting out what she wants to take, and zealously labelling everything with her rather lovely personalised stickers, provided specially for the occasion by This is Nessie. This is Nessie do a whole range of gorgeous personalised stuff, so if you are a stationery geek like me, they are well worth a look.

"Personalised name labels"

Who do these belong to then?

In the morning, we’ll be up early, and by 9.30am I will be child free for five whole days, as Bee is away next week too, doing some very grown-up work experience.

Five whole days!

I’ve never actually been alone in the house for that long. What will I do? Who will I talk to? Looking at Belle’s programme, I’m quite jealous. I quite fancy a safari scavenger hunt. Bonfires, marshmallows, yes please.

Maybe I’ll book myself in…

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What can you get nowadays for 99p?

You’re probably thinking ‘not much’ – penny sweets are about ten pence each nowadays, and what happened to Mars Bars being 25p eh? When did that stop? When did I become old??

If inflation is making you feel your age, you need a trip to the 99p Stores.*

Now reviewing the shopping experience at 99p Stores may not seem like the most glamorous of assignments, but bloody hell, we certainly got a lot for our money. We were given £50 to spend, but as there were only baskets, not forklift trucks, we quite literally couldn’t spend it all at once. We physically couldn’t carry fifty quid’s worth of cereal.

We did manage to spend £29.70 in our first trip, and this is what we got:

"99p Stores"

Cor blimey, what a lot of shopping.

If you’ve never been to a 99p Stores before, you might be surprised to see that they actually sell a lot of branded items – food in particular. We eat a lot of cereal in our house, but normally I’m too tight to buy brand names, so we stocked up on lots of horribly over sweet breakfast items, at bargain prices. It really is a lot cheaper than you could buy in the supermarket, and the choice is quite amazing. I picked up three totally random things I have been meaning to get for a while – a pair of flip-flops, some more cord for our strimmer, and a book light. And each less than a pound! Bizarre.

I was shopping specifically though with a small picnic in mind, as Belle and I were meeting friends today at the Bristol Balloon Fiesta. I picked up some sandwich spread, which was a bit of a blast from the past, drinks, dip, fruit bars, mini-cookies, and some intriguing looking ‘hummus chips’ – crisps made with chick pea flour. That’s the lovely thing about 99p Stores – yes, they have the brands, but they also have some really unusual things you just wouldn’t see anywhere else in your average UK shopping centre.

"99p stores picnic"

Om nom nom

I worked out that this little feast came to less than four pounds, which was about the price of a Mr Whippy at the fiesta.

The staff were helpful, the choice was great, and we even picked up a One Direction stationery set for Bee.** When I go back to spend the rest of my vouchers, I’ll definitely be taking Boyfriend, so he can stock up on pickles and cleaning products – two of his favourite things. We might just get some more of those hummus chips too…***

*This works quite literally too, as they do a lot of skin care products.

**Don’t tell her. It’s a surprise.

***Brushes crumbs away guiltily.

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Last Wednesday, in the midst of our rather soggy Cornish holiday, Belle and I sheltered from the rain in Boscastle in the Museum of Witchcraft.

Belle likes a bit of mystery and magic, so enjoyed poking around, checking out the various curses she might be able to employ against me should I ask her to do anything hideous like tidy her bedroom. I enjoyed the Hitler pin cushions that were apparently popular during WWII and the wartime ads in the Readers Digest, encouraging us all to make our own Hitler dolls and stick pins in them. Every little helps I suppose.

We also both had a go on the tarot machine:

"tarot machine"

Belle was given the magician:

Pretty positive I thought. A good sign for mine and Bee’s plan to propel Belle into a career in musical theatre.

I put my coin in, crossing my fingers that I wouldn’t end up with something depressing like the death card, and was very pleased to have the arrow land on the sun:

Now obviously I know that it is just a random arrow spinning around. I know that my happiness isn’t necessarily assured just because the Museum of Witchcraft tarot machine says so, but I found it comforting all the same. I guess it’s really just an extension of positive thinking, of adopting a mantra designed to inspire you, and it really did do the trick.

I’m the same with horoscopes. Of course I know that I’m not going to have exactly the same kind of day as one in twelve people in the country, just because we happened to be born around the same time, but it can still feel good sometimes to have a bit of extra direction and motivation can’t it? ‘This week will see a great opportunity present itself, so seize it with both hands’ – a lot of nonsense really, but encouraging nonetheless.

What do you think about fortune-telling? Is there anything in it, or is it just a harmless bit of fun that we can use to promote a bit of positive thinking?

It might have rained for most of our holidays, but with my future happiness assured, the sun is definitely shining on me.

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I’ve been to quite a few festivals in my time, (any excuse not to wash for a few days), but I’ve never seen anything like the fireworks and animation display that celebrated the end of Camp Bestival 2012.

The weekend had been fantastic already, with surprise treats such as Chic – who’d have thought they wrote so many songs?? – and more predictably incredible entertainment in the form of Rolf Harris, but who’d have thought that something so amazing was going to be tucked away last thing on Sunday, long after I’ve normally given up and dragged the kids home?

The afternoon had been warm and relaxed. I’d spent a happy hour lying on the floor of the spoken word tent, thinking about how much more I liked Russell Kane as an author than a comedian, and then I’d teamed up with some strangers for a music quiz. A quick pint of pear cider and a last-minute entry into Ecover’s ‘Feel Good Giveaway’* on my way to meet Boyfriend, and after a special moment sharing our dislike of the Happy Mondays, we were ready for some firework fun.

This video, courtesy of BrightonArt, is about fifteen minutes long, but it is well worth the watch. Set against the already stunning backdrop of Lulworth Castle, the combination of fireworks and animation was just breathtaking and made for a really spectacular end to a wonderful weekend.

 

*I could win £2,000 of family clothes from Boden! Nice. Fingers crossed I get lucky, so I can fit right in with all the yummy mummies at Camp Bestival next year.

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If you follow me on twitter, you may have picked up on the fact that I was at Camp Bestival this weekend, courtesy of the very lovely people at Ecover.

"Ecover at Camp Bestival"

Yay for Ecover!

Despite the BBC predicting heavy rain, the sun shone for the whole weekend, and Boyfriend and I had a really wonderful time. I’ve been to Camp Bestival a few times before, so understood the whole family friendly vibe, but it was interesting to see Boyfriend’s confusion, as he compared it to his only other festival experience at Leeds. ‘When are people going to start pushing over the portaloos?’ he asked at one point, after telling me a rather nasty story about a guy, not wanting to lose his place at the front of a crowd, doing a poo on the floor.

Camp Bestival, needless to say, is not like this.

I shall be doing a proper round-up later in the week, including my personal highlights, but this is just a post to say thank you very much indeed to Ecover, for sending me off on such a fantastic weekend. If it wasn’t for Ecover, I’d never have seen this legend would I?

"Rolf Harris at Camp Bestival"

Can you tell who it is yet??

Thank you Ecover!

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Last week, my talented colleague Bee and I paid a visit to the Argos Christmas gift show.

Well, well, well. What can we say? We were NOT impressed.

Now I totally accept that there may be some inherent differences between boys and girls, with girls often being inclined to enjoy more traditionally ‘girly’ toys, and vice versa. I also know though that there are plenty of girls who like playing with robots, cars, dinosaurs, and other things that aren’t bright pink, so why on earth did Argos feel the need to shove such horrible gender stereotypes down our throats?

See here, we have toys for girls:

And here, the toys that boys are allowed to play with:

It got worse.

On one side of the room, you had a hairdresser, offering women the chance to get their hair curled with the latest appliances, and opposite, you had this, because we all know that only men can play musical instruments:

Women obviously are too busy getting their nails done and arranging their daughters’ toys into different shades of pink.

Come on Argos. We’re in the 21st century now. Pull yourself together.

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Variety is the spice of life, or so they say, but sometimes I worry that I take it too literally.

I was out with some friends a couple of weeks ago that I haven’t seen for a while. I was talking about a new job I’d recently started working on, and saying how nice it was to be doing something that got me out of the house and into an office with other people.

“You’re a bit like that though aren’t you?” one of them said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well you know, a bit fickle,  always wanting to move on to something new.”

It wasn’t meant as an insult, just a fact, but it got me thinking.

It’s true of course that I do like to try new things, and get bored very quickly. It was less than a year ago after all since I was handing in notice my from an office job, and thinking how nice it would be to be able to stay at home and not see other people.

What I can’t quite get my head round though is whether this is a Good or a Bad Thing. Most of the time I try to put a positive spin on it – I like new challenges, it’s good to try new things etc etc – but other times I feel slightly ashamed of myself for not just being able to pick a job or a house or a hobby and stick to it.

I’m totally behind the idea that if you’re not getting what you want, not feeling fulfilled, you often need to just move on, but at what point does that go from being a healthy acceptance of change to something a little more compulsive? Is my apparent inability to commit to something long-term a weakness, or a sign of courage, strength of character, and a desire not to ‘settle’ for what I know isn’t quite right?

It frustrates me – one minute being totally content with a situation, and the next feeling sick of it. How can something make me smile one minute, and yawn the next?

So fickle am I in fact, that I’m bored of writing this already. I think I might go off instead and open a coffee shop or take up fencing or something…

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I don’t.

I feel bad about it, I feel like I should miss them, but no matter how much I try to conjure up fond images of them doing cute things*, I just don’t.

Does this make me a bad mummy?

I don’t think so.

It’s not like I’ve always just gone off, happily doing my own thing, without giving them a second thought. In fact, for about the first two years of Belle’s life I was very rarely even in a different room from her. She was what you would call a ‘highly sensitive’ baby. I didn’t balk (too much) at this, just accepted that she’d let go (literally) when she was ready, and in the meantime I learnt to do a lot of things with just one hand.

Despite becoming a mum at such a young age, I’ve managed to hold on to a very distinct identity for myself, that isn’t just about being a mother. I am not defined by my children, and so when they’re not there, I don’t feel bereft, or like a piece of me is missing. I don’t throw myself on the bed and wail, questioning the meaning of my life without them. I know that whatever they’re doing, they’re probably enjoying themselves/having money spent on them/getting to stay up later than they would at home, so why would I worry?

Sometimes I voice these feelings out loud though, and it doesn’t go down very well.

Last year, I was away in Germany for work for five days. I don’t think I called home the whole time I was gone. One evening, out for dinner with a group of people, while one woman sobbed quietly into her soup, I declared that I didn’t miss my babies At All. “But you can’t mean that?” upset woman cried, a look of horror on her face. Everyone else turned to me, slightly aghast. “It’s just part of your whole slummy mummy act right?”

“Um…” what to say? I didn’t want to become known as the heart-of-stone woman…

“Oh no!” I backtracked, “I miss them of course! I just don’t miss them. You know what I mean.” And I hastily gulped back half a glass of wine.

I lied though. I didn’t miss them at all. Don’t tell anyone.

So what do you think – do I have a heart of stone, or after 17 years of parenting is it alright to enjoy a bit of time to yourself sometimes?

*At this point, I paused and tried to conjure up such an image, so I could give an example, but to be honest I couldn’t even get that far.

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When Boyfriend came back from a three-week trip to China last week, I wanted to impress him with my new-found culinary skills. I’m not normally known for domestic goddessness, but while he was away, to prove I was capable of cooking more than super noodles, I had been practising. A weekly delivery from Hello Fresh helped, but that’s definitely still cooking.

On his first night back, I decided to cook lamb and feta burgers, with oregano potato wedges, courtesy of McCain. Nothing impresses a boy more, so I’m told, than a home-made burger.* If you’d like to woo a boy of your own, here’s what you need:

"potato wedges"For the burgers:

  • 500g lean lamb mince
  • 1 garlic clove, peeled and finely chopped
  • ¼ tsp ground paprika
  • 1 tsp ground allspice
  • ¼ tsp cumin powder
  • 3-4 tbsp flat-leaf parsley, freshly chopped
  • Grated zest of 1 lemon
  • 100g feta cheese, roughly crumbled
  • Salt and pepper to season

To go with your burgers:

  • ¼ cucumber, peeled and sliced
  • 1 small red onion, peeled and finely chopped
  • 6 olives, sliced

For the oregano wedges:

  • 300g McCain Sea Salt & Cracked Black Pepper Wedges
  • ¼ tsp dried oregano

To serve:

  • Four crusty bread rolls, halved
  • Large G&T for the chef to help recover from stress of smoke alarm going off three times

I’m not going to bother with a ‘how to make’ section, as it’s so easy – mix all the burger ingredients together into burger shapes, sprinkle the wedges with oregano and stick in the oven as instructed, and that’s it really. The recipe card suggested the grill or a barbecue for the burgers, and as it was pissing down with rain, I went for the grill. Unfortunately, there seems to be a bit of a design flaw with our grill**, and after about ten minutes, the house was full of quite an acrid black smoke, and flames were flickering out from the oven.

When Boyfriend came down from the shower to ask why the attic floor was full of smoke, I decided to transfer the burgers to a frying pan, to reduce the risk of the fire brigade being called by a helpful neighbour, and that worked very well.

All in all, a very tasty dinner, despite me cooking it, although I’m not sure I made quite the impression I was hoping for, jumping up and down waving a tea towel under the smoke alarm.

*And taking your clothes off obviously. Do that bit later though – you don’t want to get splashed with burger fat.

**Definitely the grill’s fault, and not mine.

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‘You remember how it was sometimes when you were a kid? You got into bed, and then suddenly it was morning, with no interval in between.’

I read this line in a book yesterday and longed for those days. When I was a child I was such a deep sleeper that my mum and sister would sometimes shake me and shout in my face to try to wake me, worrying I had slipped into some sort of coma in the night.

I don’t know whether it is becoming a parent, or simply adulthood, (as they both happened to me at the same time), but it has been about 17 years now since I slept like that. After thinking about it for a bit, and sighing heavily and indulgently to myself, I thought I might write about a typical night for me – I know, you’re yawning just thinking about it, that’s how evocative my writing is…*

And then last night, I had such a terrible night’s sleep, I just had to share. It went something like this:

10.30pm: Come to bed, with warm drink, feeling optimistic. Read for a bit until Boyfriend starts snoring. Turn off light.

11.00pm: Lie in the dark for a while, wondering what the weather will be like tomorrow, deciding what to wear. Try to remember if we have bread. Make mental note to self to change kitchen bin in the morning, and to become thin/fit this week.

Midnight: Wake from dream about Nazi massacre, where I’ve had to step over the body of Hitler, unsure whether he is actually dead or not, and scared he may grab my ankle at any moment. Lie awake for a while recalling all the things I made myself remember an hour ago. Drift back to sleep, waking every ten minutes or so to rearrange duvet, fidget etc.

2.30am: Just entering satisfying period of deep sleep when Boyfriend’s phone rings. Not sure what is happening in sleepy state. Boyfriend goes back to sleep, holding his phone with the screen shining in my face.

2.45am: Phone rings again. Poke boyfriend awake. It is Chinese bed and breakfast owner wondering if he has checked in. Yes he did, he says, two weeks ago. Chinese bed and breakfast owner is not convinced. Boyfriend shouts at Chinese bed and breakfast owner that it is the middle of the night.

3.00am: Boyfriend goes back to sleep instantly, while I lie awake for an hour, thinking about what it would be like to be a Chinese bed and breakfast owner, and trying to work out the time in China. Get up and go to the toilet for a change of scenery.

4.30am: Phone rings again. It is Chinese bed and breakfast owner, calling to apologise for disturbing us earlier. Have dream about ballroom dancing with dead Granddad. Wake up feeling a bit disturbed for a while.

5.30am: Scratch myself awake on spiky duvet. Lie awake for a while regretting choice of jewel encrusted bedding set.

8.15am: Phone rings again. Is Boyfriend’s mother. ‘No,’ says Boyfriend, ‘there is no school today.’ Make Boyfriend make me tea and then complain about it when it arrives.

Spend rest of day moaning about feeling tired.

Really, I am a joy to share a bed with. Is this just me, or just how grown-ups sleep?

*Evocative. Not dull.

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I’m not your traditional sentimental mum.

I’ve never shed a tear at a nativity, and the least impressive pieces of artwork very often accidentally* end up in the recycling.**

However, I am totally smitten with Belle’s performance in her class production of Oliver. She played Nancy, and had several solos to sing. My favourite is Small Pleasures***, and I’ve even watched it twice in bed on my phone and everything. All by myself – not just to try to prove to Belle I am interested.

*on purpose

**I like to imagine that should Belle read this when she’s older, there will be some magical reason that means she can’t see these footnotes

***I remembered after I posted this that the song is actually called ‘It’s A Fine Life’ – it will always be Small Pleasures to me though, as Belle has sung this line about 27,528 times at home, rehearsing for that big moment.

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This week we’ve been eating what my children like to call ‘real meals’, thanks to a new food delivery service from Hello Fresh. If you’re thinking of giving Hello Fresh a go, have a read of my review and you could get £25 off your first order. Do leave your own comments too if you’ve given Hello Fresh a try recently.

Quite frankly, I think my inspired pasta dishes count as ‘real meals’, but apparently just mixing up pasta with whatever you happen to have left in the fridge doesn’t count as cordon bleu. What do they know?

Still, I have to admit that there is something satisfying about using Actual Ingredients, and following a recipe. It’s not my normal style, mainly because recipes are usually so expensive. You may only need a handful of chopped fresh coriander, but you can’t buy it by the handful can you? You end up spending out loads just to get a teaspoon each of five weird herbs you don’t have and will never use again.

This is why Hello Fresh is so good. Not only do they send you the recipes, but they send you all the ingredients you need, in just the right amounts. Costs are kept to a reasonable level, you aren’t left with an almost full bottle of red wine vinegar sitting in the back of your cupboard for the next five years, and you get lots of cute things in mini packets. It’s really very sweet.

"Hello Fresh review"

Om nom nom

This week we ate a yummy fresh prawn linguine, a smoked mackerel, new potato and green bean salad, and a couscous dish with chicken, chorizo, salad leaves and courgettes.

They were all delicious, although the couscous dish did make us a bit farty…

Hello Fresh isn’t not cheap of course, but the quality of the ingredients really was superb – the meatiest, most flavoursome prawns I’ve ever tasted – and with free delivery and no waste I reckon it’s pretty good value for money. So much so, that I’ve actually placed a regular order. Recommendations don’t come better than that.

If you fancy giving it a try, use this link or the code JOMID for £25 off your first order.

Bon appetit!

Have you tried the service? Leave your own Hello Fresh reviews and let everyone know what you think! 

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