Operation Ouch

I'm not gonna deny it, I thought by the time I hit middle-age I'd be reaping the financial benefits of landing a highly trained professional as a husband.

But alas, life had a more frugal existance in store for me. My naive young-self eventually gave way to my more mature responsible-self and has since embraced a life of bargain hunting and money saving. Every opportunity to make/save a few quid is celebrated. Sometimes such opportunities present us with a bit of a quandary;

Do we spend more and invest in something that will last us longer?

Would we prefer to save time over money and pay someone to do it?

And our most recent dilemma; Would we rather risk life and limb or get the professionals in?

A continual scratching sound in the ceiling of our bathroom had alerted us to the presence of something that was living in in the cavity betweeen our ceiling and roof. Further investigations (AC looked outside) revealed we had a wasps nest. AC formulated a plan to rid us of our lodgers. The plan involved climbing onto our roof through the skylight, shimmying one's way upto the outer edges of the roof and then fumigating them with ant powder.

The only problem with AC's plan was his extreme fear of wasps. And heights.

Unable to come up with any alternative solution (see video below), I put Operation Ouch into motion.

Donned in my PPE, I revelled in the opportunity to out do my husband my role as Family Fummigator.

"Your PPE isn't going to protect you if you
if you fall off the roof" Grandma

Grandma was right, although eager to get one up on my oldest dependant, I was very mindful of my other four. I used the utmost caution as I made my way towards the entrance of the wasps nest, my leg hooked inside as I made my way from bathroom to roof, and kept an arms length away form the roof's edge. AC's contributions were limited to shouting instructions from the ground.

Sam, Sam, The Funny Old Man

My Grandad's legendary status is perpetuated further still by the fact that he achieved it whilst still alive. As a youngster I knew that Grandad could not be equalled in knowledge, strength, or ability. My childhood was jammed packed with proof of just how awesome this man was.

An engineer by profession, Grandad was a man of sagacity, and he was always on standby when we had a problem. He helped us to find answers and reach conclusions under the vigor of our own mind. He understood the worth of self sufficiency and wanted to equip us with life-skills.

Having a healthy body was up there on Grandads list of important attributes. Upon every visit to Gran & Grandad's, Grandad would present himself for a punching. We children lined up awaiting our turn to thrust our fists into his stomach as hard as we could, all the while Grandad goading us to try harder.
And, if ever something needed fixing, making, or pealing, he was onto it. With the aid of his trusted penknife no diy task was beyond his reach.

However, it didn't suffice for Grandad to display such prodigious traits alone, he wanted to instill such important qualities within his grandchildren. Having attained such stature himself, the rest of his life was dedicated to helping us reach such heights too.

It's only as an adult, with the experience of time, that I can recognise and fully appreciate the love and dedication that Grandad gave us. I now know that he cannot be surpassed in devotion, fervency or love.

Grandad Sam
1920 - 2013

Roma

2014 saw the celebration of our 10 year wedding anniversary. The day itself was overshadowed by the general hubbub of our busy life together.

The only way to escape the bustle of our daily lives and give the occasion its due glorification was to take an extended child-free weekend away, or so AC said.

A child-free weekend for us meant a child-full weekend for Team Gran & Poppy. Confident in their child-minding capabilities they readily accepted the challenge of 4 kids for 4 days, allowing us to make definitive plans in preparation for our 10 year celebratory tour of ROME! 

The nearer the occasion drew the more excited we grew. Like the A-Bomb counting down the days till his next birthday, we began the countdown to our highly anticipated time away.

"This time next month we'll be eating ice-cream for breakfast"

"This time next week we'll be sightseeing by chariot"
"This time tomorrow we'll be shaking hands with the Pope"

That time at the airport just before we boarded the plane with our neighbours.

Looking to the heavens to be saved from my husbands fastidious examination of
every ecclesiastical artifact in Rome.

That time Aaron had a run in with the local law enforcement.

That time we visited the Trevi Fountain and it was hidden by scaffolding.

Aaron checked it out on Rightmove. It wasn't To Let.

That time at the Colosseum when local criminals provided the entertainment. 

That time on the Spanish steps.

That time AC caused a scene with his exhibitionist tendencies.

As opulent and breathtaking as the city was, nothing is as attractive or as awe inspiring as the creations we made ourselves.  Dearly missing our 4 little darlings (and concerned for the toll we knew they would be taking on Team GP) we were just as excited for our departure home as we were for our arrival in Rome.

Long Time, No Blog.

Both AC and I are from large families which was probably a contributing factor in our desire to have a large family ourselves. Offspring - I wanted at least six. Whilst AC never committed to a figure he seemed comfortable enough with statements such as 'Imagine having to buy a mini bus to fit all our children in'.

All these much thought and talked about plans (mostly by myself) lasted only until we became pregnant for the first time. Nothing could have prepared us for the horrendousness that lay ahead. The physical and emotional turmoil that persisted for those long 9 months made life almost unbearable.  Rendered completely useless by the parasite growing within, I would vow to never put myself through this again.

However! The only emotions that could ever overpower my distaste for pregnancy would be my fervent desire to have a family and be a Mother. And with the arrival of each of our 4 babies, what seemed to have been the greatest of sacrifices seemed then to become the greatest of privileges.

The H-Bomb, born 18 April 2013, weighing 7lb 2oz.

The H-Bomb aged 4 months.

Dribbly Blood

Last week whilst training for the Olympics (doing laps around the dinning room table) The A-Bombs head finally met it's match. The radiator was able to do what concrete slabs, an enforced glass window-screen, and Shemily's aggressive tendencies could not.

The A-Bomb fell head first into the radiator and cut his head open: blood was gushing, tears were streaming, and he was screaming. This distressed Missy greatly. It pained her to see her brother in such a state. All our attempts to soothe him were in vain. So it was with great sincerity and compassion, with tears of her own, that Missy declared 'I would take this pain and have it for you if I could'. And she meant it.
The sentiment was lost on the A-Bomb who understandably couldn't think about much more than the pain he was in. But to her mother, in those tense moments, it melted my heart.

More recently Missy has been the one suffering (with illness). There she was, sitting on the sofa, exhausted by her troubles, and crying with pain. I extended the same words with the same sincerity that she had offered The A-Bomb only a few days prior 'Darling, I would take your pain for myself if I could'. And I meant it.

Missy looked me straight in the eye and with such fortitude, defiantly replied 'I would definitely not let you'. Then I was crying too.

An Unusual and Very Special Family Event

Each year since we've been married, motivated by the happy memories we'd be creating, AC and I make plans for our annual family camping trip. This year we were planning to exceed and better all previous endeavours, we would do more than plan and talk about it, we were actually going to do it!

Before other events could interfere with our long overdue camping expedition, we booted up the computer and created a New Event in our Google calendar. All that was left to do now was book AC some time off work and Missy some time off school.

...admittedly a little last minute

K-Camp 2012 also happened to coincide with the wettest July in (my) living memory. Not once in any of our 'planning sessions' did this trip involve us getting wet. We abandoned our good intentions and postponed KC 2012. However we didn't want to waste the day AC already had booked off work. We put our planning hats back on and opted for a day trip to the lake district.

Our children are explorers. Whilst most of their exploring is about exploring the limits of parental emotions and physical capacity, a large portion is left for the world around them. Wanderers through the ages have claimed lands, raised flags, and left their mark on the territories they stood. It seems our children have followed this noble tradition in a less dignified but nonetheless enthused way. Keswick was claimed and conquered by the unified efforts of all three of them. However the frequent urinating in no way detracted from the fun we had in Keswick.

Climbing mountains

Pulling faces

Failing to take a decent family photo

Fishing

The cabin cruise was the highlight of the day. Just ourselves and the A-Bomb's full bladder for company. As extravagant as a cabin cruise sounds the only luxurious thing on board was Shemily's flowing hair. There were no on-board facilities available, so when The A-Bomb said he needed the toilet in the middle of the lake.... it was with great enthusiasm that he added a small portion of his water to the vast supply on which we floated.

AC struggled to relinquish control

Another unsuccessful family photo

The British weather was reliably unreliable. We'd counted on it being wet and miserable and instead it was dry and glorious. Our only regret of the trip was that we didn't take our tent with us.

Self-Sufficiency

The kids, who between them spend every minute of every day wearing us out, were finally in their beds and AC and I could finally take a breath and relax.  I chose to unwind by having a practice on the piano (glorified Keyboard).  I quickly became absorbed in the music before me, and then just as quickly became distracted from it; not by Missy singing her sister to sleep, or Shemily's screams in response, neither was it the A-Bomb's request for a large dollop of cucumber.  It was the nagging of the other dependant; AC.

Earlier that Day the postman had delivered AC's most recent ebay purchase - a catapult.

It wasn't enough for him to be down in the garden all by himself - he needed someone to whom he could show off.
Within minutes he was back upstairs pleading for me to go down and play aswell.
I politely declined his invitation... about 20 times!
He changed his strategy.  
He came and stood over me and watched me.  A simple act of defiance which I find unbearable.
A risky strategy as he could have just as easily enraged me as persuaded me. In this instance I was persuaded to join him in the garden for some target practice.

As soon as I picked up the catapult, I felt like someone else.  Like I was...Katniss Everdeen.  As the weapon came into my grasp it was like a new skill descended upon me. Everything slowed down, the wind dropped and everything was still.  With absolute focus I drew back the elastic.  In my mind I projected the image of the targeted (Plastic) watering-can exploding with the devastation of my skill.  The pleasure of this projection could only be matched by the thought of AC's face when he realised the universal awesomeness of me.

It took a few more shots than I'd planned to hit the target.  Nonetheless I felt I'd demonstrated some degree of awesomeness and smugly handed the weapon back to Peeta... I mean AC.  With his first shot he sent the watering can flying.  Then to prove it was not a fluke, did it again!

Ironically I found this display of dominance to be of comfort.
As deadly as any of the career tributes, AC could take down any threat or intruder by way of catapult and stone alone.
Now, instead of popping to the supermarket when short of food, I can just send AC out into the wilderness to hunt down a meal for us.
The catapult will now make up a very important part of our (non-existent) survival pack.

Shemily and Lucy
entering the wilderness behind our housing estate

Skills

Last month I recieved what has to be the best birthday present AC has ever splurged out on. It exceeded every expectation his previous gifts had roused within me; carnations, a plastic giraffe, bollywood style earrings, turkish delight.
I thought last years surprise was just a blip in his track record.
I was wrong.
This year I unwrapped this beauty...

Phwooooar!

It wasn't completely unprompted though. My recent introduction to pinterest opened my eyes to a world of craft beyond scrap-booking, cross stitch, and vinyl letters. My eyes were able to behold the glories that could be created with a sewing machine; bags, skirts and dresses! This prompted the occasional semi-serious request to AC for a sewing machine of my very own, which he very swiftly dismissed. Little did I know he was secretly storing my request away for my upcoming birthday.

The Saturday following my birthday AC made sure I had some time to try out my Singer 2250. I don't recall having ever used a sewing machine before. After 2.5 hours I had yet to successfully thread the machine up. AC came to the rescue with the aid of his Yr 8 home economics skills. I know I should have been grateful, but his excessive gloating (which continues even now) turned any appreciation I had into annoyance.

Since those initial teething problems it's been full speed ahead. I've left AC and his rudimentary abilities for dust (though he still continues to offer his assistance!). Admittedly my skills aren't quite up to speed with my enthusiasm... yet!

A recent late night sewing binge produced my greatest creation to date...

The Junebug dress, as widely pinned on pinterest.

The ever-willing model

She'd wear it all day every day, if I let her.

Being able to produce something that is both functional and beautiful leaves me feeling ever-so accomplished and oh-so grown up.

Down at the Farm

Fluffy Bunnies, Baby Chicks and Spring Lambs. Eager to witness the miracles of spring we readied ourselves for a morning at the farm. With our groupon voucher to the ready we took our marks and departed. Considering this was our first trip to the farm of the year, the kids were rather sedate... which was fine by me. I would rather they conserve their energy for when we arrived rather than bickering over who's touching who in the back.

The best thing about this farm was that it was only a 10 minute drive away. Knowing that if The A-Bomb had one of his emotional melt downs we were only 10 minutes away from home was an added comfort.

On arrival, before we'd even paid for admission, the kids had launched themselves into the play area. Not even the baby sheep with their overprotective 'come near my baby and I'll take you down' mothers were enough of a distraction to coax the kids from the standard, nothing they've never seen before, playground.

In the end we had to physically drag them to see the animals. But the animals were protected by a barrage of plastic ride on tractors, an impenetrable barrier that the kids could not resist. The next 20 minutes at least were spent riding around the courtyard whilst I apologised to parents for The A-Bombs lack of spatial awareness. No one was safe from the torpedo like activity of our over-excited 4 year old.

We never really got to spend time doting over the bunnies, chicks, or lambs; the animals almost seemed like a side-line to what else was on offer. However our time there was still fun filled with a plenitude of exciting activities. There was so much more to this farm than animals, very little of which incurred any extra cost. Hurrah.

An oversized Hamster Run for Children

A Giant inflatable slide

Milking the plastic cow

Barrel ride

The photo's fails to capture the frightening speeds at which
these kids were travelling!

Morning Angst

Whether we're up late because our 'alarm clocks' slept in, or are awake early because one of them chose an unusually early hour to arise, there is more often than not a degree of stress involved in our morning routine.

Whether we're rushing around trying to make up for lost time, or have time to spare and have to convince Shemily to keep her clothes on for an extended period of time, we're for the most part able to keep the kids in high spirits.

Whether we have to decide between the moral musings of Twilight Sparkle in 'My Little Pony' or the more intense antics of Steve Irwin in 'The Crocodile Hunter', we're pretty good at avoiding any contentious squabbles.

Whether they have to eat weetabix or on special occassions coco pops, we're able to convince them of the goodness in both.

However, when it comes to the receptacle from which they are to eat their breakfast, there can be only one...

The White Bowl

To our kids, eating their breakfast from the sterile porcelain of 'the white bowl' is like supping from dynasty china.  Its like being 'star of the week' or attending a members-only club.  It is exclusive and much of its value is derived out of the want from other people.  It means you have made it and you are at the top of the food chain, or in our case the 'breakfast chain'.  It is, the One Bowl to Rule them All.

We have tried buying bowls carefully marketed for our childrens demographics...buzz lightyear, sleeping beauty, dinosaurs.  I may as well have presented them a 'Gordon Brown' bowl for all the excitement it produced.

Super Gran

I'm 6 years old. It's the weekend, and I'm excited. Not because there's no school for two days or because Going Live is on television in the morning. It's because I'm staying at Granny & Grandad's house. Dad drives me over and my excitement doubles with each minute that passes. No sleepover has ever matched the excitement or come close to the feeling of pleasure than those I spent with Granny Grace and Grandad Sam. And it's not because our time together was jammed packed with trips to the swimming pool, skate park, and bus station (occasionally, they were).  Rather it was filled with everyday tasks that were done with the love and warmth of doting grandparents.

Granny was always happy to see me, whether she was brushing my teeth or refusing my requests for more Jaffa Cakes, it was always with a smile.  Her inherent good humour was infectious and it was nigh on impossible to be sad in her presence (even in my teenage years!). A sleepover at Granny's was a luxurious experience. She was an accomplished hostess, not least because of her bed making skills. The electric blanket, copious layers of bedding, freshly fluffed pillows, and a large stuffed toy made bedtime all the more appealing. I would willingly retire to the warmth of the spare room to be tucked in, then lulled into a state verging on slumber as she sang me a lullaby before finishing the day by saying my prayers with me (for me).

Inevitably the end always came to each sleepover we had. It was always with a pang of sadness and a longing for the next that I said goodbye. I feel that same pang now but it's kept in check by the excitement bubbling within me as I look forward to the next time we're together.

Granny Grace
1924 - 2012

The Ugly Duckling

In the early hours on the 24th of July 2009 the stars aligned and things were set in motion that signified our 3rd child was readying herself to make her way into the world. We knew it was a girl. I wanted a girl. The A-Bomb was all the boy we could handle. Our only concern with having a girl was if she looked like the A-Bomb... he wouldn't make a very pretty girl.

Around lunch time Shemily graced us with her presence. She was beautiful.

However, over the next few weeks, as the hormones began to subside, the similarities between her and her brother became that much more perceptible to me. By the time she was a couple of weeks old she had fully transformed into the female version of our son! We consoled ourself with the belief that she would grow out of her changing looks and lean more towards her sister in the facial department.*

* Shemily, if you should read this in those awful years of adolescence, know this: we are exaggerating.  You are beautiful no matter what we say, words can't bring you down. So don't you bring yourself down.... today.

Shemily's weight gain was a cause of  concern
to the health professionals.

Although not conventionally beautiful, she was still able to
woo many  a passer-by based on personality and cheerful smile alone.

It was around 12 months old that things began to change for the better.
The doctors were right: by exercising her new found ability to walk the fat dissipated.
Once the cheeks subsided we were able to see her real face.
The black mohican she once sported in confidence was swept away as her locks turned to gold.
The fountain of nasal exudate which seemed to be her life companion ceased to flow.
By 18 months the transformation was complete.

Shemily Age 2:
A delight in every conceivable way, the way she has always been.

Ditched!

Last weekend my husband ditched me for some verifiable hours of CPD down in Bristol.
Thankfully we had some replacements.....

Introducing Auntie Claire and Big Joe

Claire and Joe are the perfect Aunt and Uncle combo. Auntie Claire is as merry as Santa Claus and has as much energy as a nuclear explosion, whilst Big Joe is robust enough to endure the continuous lashings of the Octonauts. Unfortunately they live in the darkest depths of Essex so we don't get to see them as often as we'd like. By Friday evening the kids were at bursting point with anticipation. The eventual ringing of the doorbell pressed a psychological trigger. The Octonauts exploded with glee and immediately launched an all-out offensive on Big Joe that lasted most of the weekend.

In between the wrestling of Big Joe and the idolizing of St.Auntie Claire we had time to to sample some of the best attractions that Durham has to offer.

Teacups in Market Square

Thanks to Joe and Claire's 'accommodating' nature it wasn't untill Saturday evening that the kids realised their Dad was missing . Sunday afternoon they started the five hour journey home to Essex. Due to the damage sustained over the weekend, Joe's body would never be the same again.

Reality Check

For as long as I've known AC he's dreamed of celebrating his 30th birthday by chartering a boat in the Maldives for a once in a life time surfing session. His usual surfing haunt of the North Sea involves riding brown heavy slab-like waves in freezing conditions. Every piece of his exposed skin must be covered with unusually thick layers of neoprene to prevent death. In 'The Maldives Dream' he would be in shorts only, the suns rays warming his back, the cool water washing over his feet, gliding along hundreds of glassy blue waves with chattering dolphins as his guide.

Sennen 2008 - the nearest AC got to his dream

Everyone likes a dream. This dream conceived by a niave young man of 22 may be acceptable enough, but by thirty this man should know that our finances are destined for other things... like petrol, nappies, and transformers. However, being the perpetual optimist that he is he clung on to this dream like a child to it's blanket. It was time for a reality check.

Reality has its own natural way of asserting itself, like it did for AC that Thursday morning he turned 30. Instead of waking up to blissful sunshine and the sound of the gentle waves lapping on the hull of the yacht - he was greeted by the unearthly howls of a shrieking A-bomb on a dark morning in County Durham. The dream was shattered like a wave upon the sand.

The same face his dad pulled on waking up

Despite my lack of Maldive bound plane tickets I tried to put on as good a show as possible. I purchased the obligatory coco pops for breakfast. And because it's an extra special birthday I bought some all butter coissonts as well. Although I couldn't put alot of money into his gift I could still put alot of thought into it; memory foam pillows- two of them. To help bring added comfort to his ageing body (and stop his incessant complaining at the current quality of pillows on our bed).

His ride that morning wasn't a short-board on a blue barrelling wave, it was his '53 reg VW polo. As he departed for work I sensed his meloncholy, the pillows didn't go down as well as I'd hoped. I knew I'd have to do better so I spent the day wearing the kids out to ensure a smooth bedtime routine on the evening. There would be no jumping on the bed,  hiding under the bed, or sneaking out of bed. And no crying, screaming, or laughing at their dad.

AC returned that evening to a calm and serene home. The kids were sleeping soundly and I was slaving away over his birthday meal. Whilst I laboured away AC recounted his day to me. 'Work' it seemed had been rather generous in their gift giving... a little too generous. Whilst I was trying in my own loving way to show my appreciation for AC on his birthday, not to mention producing this...

For someone of my culinary skills this took an exceptional amount
of time and concentration.

'Work' had rallied together to present him with this...

A blummin Helicopter Ride

Outdone by 'Work'. Great.

The Family Dentist

I note some discolouration of Missy's front tooth. The headache begins, the dizziness follows, and I have to steady myself.

What is that spot on Shemily's left incisor? My breathing quickens, I feel faint, and I have to sit down.

The A-Bomb claims his teeth hurt! The palpitations start, a sweaty episode is upon me, and I have to lie down.

This is my biggest fear. DECAY.
AC is a dentist - his kids can't have rotten teeth!
Their dad had booked them in for a check-up. As the appointment drew near my anxieties worsened. I began to regret every sneaky treat and sugary bribe that had ever passed the children's lips. The time eventually came for me to face the consequences of the sucrose behavioural therapy I had employed with such frequency. It was a grey and miserable day that we made the journey to AC's place of work. I was anxious and the kids were hyper (with excitement... not sugar). Not many people like going to the dentist and the sight of AC in his dental tunic armed with motorized instruments was deeply uncomfortable for me.

First in the chair was Missy. Understandably a little apprehensive after her last visit to the dentist, she took all of 30 seconds to succumb to her dads charm. She loved having her teeth tickled and was rewarded with not one, but two princess stickers.

Up next was the A-Bomb. Eager would be an understatement. He launched himself into the chair and prepared for blast-off. With his space goggles on he was ready for the mission to commence. Laying perfectly still he giggled the whole way through his check.

I don't know who was enjoying themselves more.

Shemily wouldn't even sit on the chair, or look at her dad, but was happy to take the stickers on offer and run. The little tinker.

My fears were washed away like mouthwash down the spitoon. AC gave us a clean bill of oral health and we were all caries free, at least until April 2012.  

AC felt it necessary given the nature of this post to include some basic dental advice, but I said no. Seeing his disappointment I buoyed his spirits by agreeing that if anyone should ask any dental related questions in the comments section, he can answer them. Geek.

In Vogue

The moment breakfast was finished Missy disappeared up to her bedroom and into her 'changing room'. She reappeared a few minutes later adorned in this seasons most sought after outfit - The School Uniform. To Missy's dismay the school dress code prohibits the wearing of jewellery, but being the trend setter that she is (to her sister), Missy accessorised her latest ensemble with the help of a permanent marker. She 'tatooed' her freshly bathed body with thick black markings. Thankfully most were hidden by her cardigan because not even wet wipes could remove her rebellious scribblings... so it was with high spirits she finished readying herself for her first day of school.

The walk to school was a pleasure. Despite being along a main road, the only collision was between the scooter borne A-Bomb and the pavement.

Once in the school playground it was as though I had released a captured guinea pig. Missy vented her excitement by scurrying around the playground at high speed. You would have thought she'd be hard to keep an eye on in a playground full of children dressed exactly the same, but her high pitched squeals made her easier to track.
The school bell rang.

It was with a twinkle in her eye and a tear in mine that we parted. Missy is not naturally confident in new situations and seeing my little girl so full excitement in spite of her apprehensions left me bursting with pride.