mixed messages

At the beginning of the school year, parents are asked to attend a parent / teacher conference. Here you sit down with your child, discuss progress and agree a set of goals for the year.

As my little darlings are perfectly behaved geniuses this is a cake walk for us. It is very weird though, how they both clam up and get all akward because their two worlds are meeting at a tiny table (teachers never think to bring in big chairs in this situation) and all eyes are on them. This week I was left feeling all antsy though. Twinkle's new teacher is pretty straightforward and a nice lady. And she seems to be actually teaching math which is a BIG deal in this household which is scarred by last years long division fiasco, But she kept slipping into that baby talk thing that people sometimes do. It drives Twinkle NUTS and I've been constantly telling her off for being disrespectful when she imitates it. I'm telling you, after twenty minutes of it, I bonded very deeply with my child. The woman actually said 'lickety split' for gods sake!

THEN in the boy's session his teacher, who is lovely, set him a goal of 'being willing to make mistakes'. I know where she's coming from on the confidence thang but she actually said 'its ok to get it wrong'. Excuse me but he's six how the hell is he supposed to interpret that? So when he gets 2 out of 5 in a test she's gonna say, yeah its ok to get it wrong? I doubt it.

snack attack

The lovely office manager/company grown up, was going to Safeway last week. 'I'll stock up on snacks' she says. 'What do you all want?' In typical Northern Californian style the list went like this...
trail mix, dried fruit, some green apples (not red, they use too many pesticides), and nuts.

Now, in Scotland the list would go like this ...
hobnobs, kitkats, mcvities rich tea, cheese n onion crisps, something healthy - oh bananas, and diet coke.

So I was terribly impressed with them all and feeling a wee bit smug with myself, and my new healthy environment. Until today that is, when i had a stinking hangover and all there was to eat was freekin trail mix and nuts!

Luckily I expanded my emergency handbag kit after the last earthquake and I found a mini snickers and a tetley teabag in my handbag. Man it was goood!

Of course!

Son still wanders into our bed many nights despite being six. Breaking the habit would involve one of us getting up and walking him back to his own bed. Since my husband with the overly acute hearing sleeps with earplugs and pretends to be dead at the slightest hint of tiny footsteps, that would mean I have to get up and walk him back to bed. ( I save my spousal sleep punches for very special occassions). So the boy will probably still be clambering into the middle of the bed when he's 23.

The upside is, we have an enormous 'Cal King' bed. Which 42 little boys could climb into and you wouldn't really notice. So most nights I dont even notice. Last night however, he had a bit of a cough, so I stirred just as he was clambering onto the bed. In the half darkness I could see this swollen and mis-shapen blob lumbering towards me. I sat bolt upright thinking the annoying cough was in fact a symptom of the leprosy or elephantitis he'd contracted sometime since 8pm that evening. On closer inspection the lumps reveal themselves to be a selection of toy bears, pokemon, mice and dragons. All stuffed into the waistband and pockets of his PJ,s. He rolls over and goes to sleep.

This evening I'm watching him ritually gather and stuff the menagerie into his troos again. I'm getting worried. Is this going to turn into some weird lifelong fetish? So casually I ask him why he's stuffing his stuffed animals into his trousers. He stops. Looks at me like I've grown another head and replies 'To keep them safe of course! '.

lord help us

At the weekend I ran in a charity 10K/Half marathon event. I did the 10k obviously as I run very slowly and dont have the patience for a half marathon. I say that like I COULD run a half marathon. God, I'm funny!

Anyway. I run the 10k. Do quite respectably. Don't die in the process. Which is always a distinct possibility. I'm feeling quite good about myself.

Two days later the charity who organise the event publish the results. They publish them on the internet, email all participants with the list, post it in the local paper. I'm check my results. Hey, 28th in the woman's 10k. Sweet. (sweeping past the fact that there were only 40 something 10k runners) - it's the first time I've gone down from a 3 figure position, so I'm good with that.

Hmm what's that number on the right? MY AGE!!!?!!! They published my age!!!!?! What the hell!?!!! Palpitations. Cold sweats. Light head. Trauma. Nausea. Oh, there are a few 20-somethings who finished after me? Sweeeeeeet.

mouths of babes

My son has embarked on a whole new life mission. His sole purpose these days is to horrify his unsuspecting parents in public places, bu uttering non-pc statements in the loudest voice he can muster. In Scotland we could get away with this. People would look on, smile whimsically and utter, 'och , he's only a bairn'. But this Northern California people. Any vaguely non-uber-sensitive statement draws the eyes of all around. You can feel them breathing the suspicion 'well you know where he must have heard that'. Mostly I'm immune to this. The 'shag now shag later' incident I passed off with a laugh.

The second in this unfortunate series of events I've only very recently recovered from. Almost. We were at the fairy tale/superhero dress up party of the newly 6 year old Princess Maya Indigo. Kids parties, in my experience all have the potential for disaster. But this one had gone well. The family live in a lighthouse, so the little darlings had frolicked happily in the garden, parents had mingled in the beautiful setting, the cake - a lilac and pink cool-whip marvel was transported safely to table and no-one had thrown up yet. So it was time to leave. My little charmer and I are climbing the hill to the gate at the same time as some of his buddies and his parents. All is mellow and the Walton mountain-esque goodbye series begins. All at a lilac cool-whip and sugar charged pitch. 'bye Ryan' 'bye Gus' 'bye Erik' 'bye Gus' 'bye Mya' 'bye Gus' 'bye little chinese boy' SILENCE

This evening he excelled. Cub Scouts sign-up night. He's blatantly only interested because they've used alluring words like camping, and submarine, and crossbow and BB gun. (American cub scouts obviously). Dad is chatting to some people who have brand new twins. Boy looks into pushchair and goes ' oooh dad, look pixies'. Nervous laugh from dad. 'No they are new little babies.' Top of voice. 'No they are pixies -look they have pointy ears.!'

All very cute unless you are the one looking at the pointy eared mother with nothing to say.

I know, I know, he's just a bairn.

Parental debate

Two CONSTANT sources of heated debate in our house.

1. Childhood nutrition
2. Appropriate viewing material


1. Debate will rage for the next 20 years - I accept that
2. Kids have been blessed with Austin Powers 2 on TIVO. Further debate ensues. Father thinks it's fine (this is the man who gave them Dodgeball and Zoolander). I'm reluctantly persuaded (read ridiculed) that the humor and smut are way over their heads.

Friends arrive next day for playdate. My 6-year old quips to the mom, ' hi - would you like to shag now - or shag later'?

Yep, WAY over their heads.

and I rest my case.

bad thing happen in threes

It's true.

1. Bug breaks down (I know thats old now)
2. apple reduce price of fancy schmancy iphone by 30%. 2 months after we pay full price for one. (I know, I get no sympathy for that)
3. Puncture on Kansas bicycle (I know - I didn't think I went fast enough either)


I've written off the apple experience.
But I need a reliable vehicle.
Seriously considering buying a pick up.
Will SOO p**s off the hippie community at the school gates.
But worth it just for the attention!