Real horror

One of my favourite films ever is The Nightmare Before Christmas.
It's a stop-animation tale of Jack Skeleton the Pumpkin King who presides over Halloween Town but dreams of something different and exciting and so plots to hijack Christmas and present it in his own horrifyingly spectacular style.
It's dark, slightly scary but with a fabulously childish sense of adventure. And 15 years after its original release, it's still one of the best films out there.

And that's the sort of Halloween I love. Not too saccharine sweet, scary but not so I can't sleep at night and a great event to enjoy with the children.
Tonight my two little monsters will be dressing up as a Little Devil and a Skeleton, they'll be apple bobbing, feeling through the entrails (cold spaghetti) to find the hidden treats and eating black and orange (homemade) spider web cupcakes.

All of which is a world away from the roller coaster ride I found myself on during a recent trip to PortAventura in Spain where I was invited, along with a bunch of other bloggers, to see and experience the family friendly resort.

We were there for Halloween, and believe you me, once evening falls this was no cutesy celebration - their end of day parade features the undead. Beetlejuice rubs shoulders with the Devil, Death rides at the head of the procession on horseback and all manner of witches, creatures and contraptions file past by the light of the moon and various flaming torches.

The colour is black, the soundtrack is various horror film tracks.

Kind of surreal, but just brilliant.

The following day we decided to 'brave' one of the larger rides. It's marked down as 3 pumpkins (a measure of how scary various attractions are) but it's daylight. I mean what can happen to scare you in the day?

We also choose to ignore the lovely PR man Oriol who said it was "12 pumpkins". Silly man we were thinking.

So the ride. The ride called El Diablo, a name we just brushed off as theme park fun.

I've been on many many theme park rides in my time. I even went on Terror Tower in Florida when it first opened and I foolishly didn't realise what it was.

This one is a runaway train type of roller coaster, a rickety old silver mine that has been closed down since a group of miners disappeared in it.

Lame right?

I'm at the front of the queue with Laura and Erica and we have been divided off from the main group so there is about 15 of us.

A devilish creature comes screaming out from nowhere (the make up is phenomenal). He has flaming red pupils and a horn sticking out one side of his head. It looks convincing, but we all know it's some man dressed up.
He is talking quite aggressively in Spanish and my companions and I are utterly relieved we can't understand a word he's saying.

He leads us around a corner and there are giant crates with a mahoosive dead rat thing sprawled across the top of them with bits of it's insides cascading down the bloodied wood of the crates.

The girls and I just look at each other. We're nervously laughing but our eyes are saying "what the?"

We are led into an antechamber. It's small, dark and gloomy and as we crowd in I notice it's strung with old netting and cobwebs. To be honest, I'm so busy burying my face in Laura's top I don't notice much else.

The devilish creature is back. He is shouting now. SHOUTING. In Spanish. I have no idea what the hell he's saying but I know it's not good. Everyone around me is giggling but they look very slightly worried.

A ghoul pulls back a rag of a curtain and leads us on. He doesn't crack his face, his white eyes stare at us; no emotion, no flicker of the man behind there. Just the staring.

What follows was a line of 15 terrified people, shuffling single file through various cramped, pitch dark passageways where creatures whisper in your ears, blow in your face, jump out, shout, moan, cackle.

I felt like I'd stumbled into one of those horror films I've spent my whole adult life avoiding.

At one point I think one of the unimaginable things is tearing into my arm but realise it's Erica holding onto me for dear life. Behind her a 20something Spanish lad is clutching onto her rucksack in terror.

Dear reader, I know you are probably reading this and chuckling away. Yes, we all knew it wasn't real and the actors were very very good and the 'set' was swathed in dry ice and plants hanging from shelves to unnerve us at every turn. We knew this was just a theme park ride with a scary addition tacked on for Halloween.

We all knew it.

But let me tell you, my heart was racing, my face drained of blood and I had been terrified.

Worse than that though, as we walked (actually we were tripping over ourselves) out and exited the ride, we passed those queueing up to get on board - oblivious as to what was awaiting them.

And there were CHILDREN in that queue. The minimum age was 5.

Obviously, Spanish youngsters are made of sterner stuff than me.

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Do you fight in front of your children?

Ooo, it's a hot potato this one isn't it?

Last night hubby and I had a spat. Over who should phone up and cancel the insurance on the dishwasher or something equally inane.
He said he was too busy, I said so was I, he said well you're at home anyway, I said well he's got a phone at the office what difference does that make?

Then we squabbled about who does what jobs around the house and had he forgotten that I ironed all his work shirts for him while he went out for a boys day out at some rugby match last month.
Yeah, it was that petty.

But all of this was conducted within earshot of our two children.
The minute hubby stalked off to pretend he had something really really important to do, I saw their little faces and my heart sank.
Bad Mummy.

I'd really like to tell you that this was a one off but that would be a Big Fat Lie.
We shout in this house. Not at the children, just at each other. Not all the time - in fact, quite rarely - but the truth of the matter is that voices get raised.
It's not something I'm particularly proud of.

I remember reading somewhere that American psychologist and TV personality Dr Phil said that fighting in front of your kids is nothing short of child abuse.
Really?
Should children grow up thinking that life is all smooth sailing and everyone is lovely to each other and no one will ever argue over whose turn it is to bath the dog?
Isn't that a rather distorted view of life and marriage?
Should we all go and have our rows in the garage so the children never hear it?
I guess it depends on what you are arguing about.
As I think more about it, as long as your children get to see that the argument is resolved and everyone is friends afterwards, well, isn't that a good life lesson?

I'm not talking about violent behaviour or extreme bad language. But if children don't get to see how rows start and how they are resolved, how will they deal with it when they are older?

What do you think? Is arguing in front of your children a big no-no?

(NOTE: I have a really great photo of hubby shouting with his hands thrown in the air after he dropped something really really heavy on his foot ages ago. He wouldn't let me use it on this post. Sorry.)

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When mummy bloggers meet

I made 4 new really good friends this weekend in the bizarrest of circumstances.

A small group of British mummy bloggers were shipped off to the Spanish resort of PortAventura to 'experience' their Halloween festivities.

As we danced along with Beetlejuice, cringed in fear at the Devil and ran screaming from Frankenstein's monster himself, I found myself laughing until I was wiping tears from the corners of my eyes with a group of women I hardly knew.

We laughed, we cried, we screamed, we opened our hearts.

And it has only confirmed to me why being part of this blogging community is such an amazing thing.

I do often wonder why we're all here writing about our families, our heartaches, our funny moments, our dreams.

Is it for fame and fortune? Is it to feel part of something? Is it for friendship, or understanding, or a platform to shout from?

I didn't start writing mine to make new friends, but after meeting Laura (Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy?), Erica (Little Mummy), Alice (Dulwich Divorcee) and Jo (Jo Beaufoix) that's exactly what I found.

All amazing women with amazing stories and whose personalities shine through their blogs.

And now I've got all the niceties out of the way I may soon tell you all about:

• The time Jo put her hand on a strange man's thigh and then elbowed a small child out of the way so she could have her photo taken with Bert and Ernie.
• Erica set off a full-scale alert at Brussells airport.
• Alice's talk about 'big Charlie's Angels boobs'.
• The time Laura upset the barman at our hotel. And the cleaner. And the waitress at the tapas bar where she ordered "dos bread, please". I kid you not.
• And if you're really really good, I'll tell you about the time 5 grown women hid behind a farmer's wooden cart outside a hotel at 1am, giggling like schoolgirls.

NOTE: In the photo is (from left) Jo, Erica, Alice, me, Laura. We were all supposed to be grimacing and looking mean - Alice just isn't capable and Laura looks like she has a dirty little secret. And Erica? Her expression became known as The Look. One of the most frightening things I saw that Halloween weekend ...

All of which was a rather long-winded way of me asking you, what do you get out of blogging?

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This girl has the makings of a politician

Mia: "Can I have a yoghurt?"
Me: "No, you haven't eaten all your dinner."

All shocked and indignant: "Yes I have"
"Err, no you haven't"
"I have."
The pitch is getting higher and higher.

"Mia, you have not eaten all of your dinner."
"YES. I. HAVE."
We are having this conversation at the kitchen table where half of her dinner is there, right in front of us, almost shouting up at us 'hello, here I am, uneaten dinner. Helloooo.'

The thing is, she says it with such utter conviction and with such a look of 'what's wrong with you woman? The food is no longer there. Are you mad or something?' that I actually almost, almost believe her.

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British Mummy Bloggers hit Spain

If you, dear internet, could hear the chatter going on behind the scenes of my impending Very Important Business Trip to Spain, I fear you would blush.

Even Single Parent Dad who's heard it all before, and suffered the indignity of being called a 'token man' in a sea of gorgeous, expert women during a recent blogger event to announce the launch of new women's website Super Savvy Me.
But I digress.

I have been invited, along with an 'influential' bunch of mummy bloggers to experience the delights of Port Aventura, an 'experience' resort in northern Spain.
I fear the Spanish are in for rather a shock.
Joining me are: Laura from Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy , Jo of Jo Beaufoix fame, Dulwich Divorcee and Little Mummy Erica.

I logged into my email in box this afternoon to see if anyone was getting excited about the trip and let me tell you I was shocked. Shocked.
So I want to share a few snippets with you (and I can assure you every one of those ladies is now staring open mouthed at the screen thinking 'she wouldn't?' Well, she would).
Bear in mind that some of these bloggers have been away together before.
I will not name names, to spare their blushes.

. . . Am sniggering at my desk about J's (roller) coaster companion.
Bless him and his long, fat .... I think you should share that picture with us again sometime soon ... for old times sake and so I can quite literally wet myself.

. . . J was weeping with fear inches away from his tongue. Think I'll leave it at that! As I say, them lot are such a bad influence on me.

. . . You get the picture. Oh and if you lot don't have a drunken 'who can say 'insert very rude word' the fastest' competition, I will feel very let down.

. . . I was the innocent little mummy before all of you warped me.

. . . the first thing I thought when I saw my inbox was - 'that's a whole lot of bo****ks!'
(that will be because every one of the 20 or so wall of emails that greeted me had that word, capped up, as the title).

Dear reader, it's a good job there is one grown up on this trip.

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It's all party party party over here

Anyone who follows me on Twitter will know that this weekend I am away on an Important Business Trip.
And by business trip I mean a weekend with a bunch of influential writers who have been asked to review a European family holiday destination.
And by that I mean, me and a bunch of bloggers are going on a girlie weekend where gross over indulgence will probably take place.

I have no idea why they invited me, but I figure if I keep my head down no one will question it.

So, as I've obviously been so busy packing and organising the children and ironing my passport, I will leave you with a post that I originally wrote back in May 2008 because a. it's really cute and b. nobody commented on it. Harrumph.
On Saturday I'll post one from my equally quotable daughter.

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Hubby and I are invited to a proper grown-up party.
No. Children. Allowed.

Dan: "What sort of party bags will you have?"
Me: "There won't be party bags. Party bags are for children" (why is that exactly? Really, why can't we have a bag stuffed with cupcakes, smellies and chocolate? Or vodka miniatures).
Dan (wrinkling up his nose like he's just been forced to eat a lemon): "That is so boring!"
Pause.
"But how will you carry the cake home?"
"I don't think there will be a cake either."

Dan stares at me long and hard and horrified like I've just told him the world's run out of chocolate or the Tooth Fairy's purse is empty.

"I don't EVER want a party like that mummy. Promise me you will never let me have a party like that."

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The winner takes it all

Well actually, the winner takes a pair of Kickers, but that didn't really scan in a headline.

The winner was chosen via a complex mathematical sum: Mia picked a number of of a hat (or a Next carrier bag) between 1 and 28, Dan did the same and then we subtracted one from the other and voila.

See? Learning as well as assisting mummy on her blog.

(I won't tell you about the two-day squabble we had over who would pick the first number and who had actually decided who the winner was. Also the fact that when I told them who their winner was they both said "What kind of a name is that?" And yet they think being called Sticky Fingers is OK! Go figure.)

Anyway, many congratulations to ThatGirl39 from 40 Not Out. A pair of funky Kickers - I said K I C K E R S (and how many times did I have to explain that on Twitter?) - are winging their way to you and young fashionista.

I do admit to feeling a slight pang of guilt as the woman is obsessed with shoes enough as it is, without me helping her daughter down that path.

I hope you both enjoy them. x

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Wordless Wednesday: Halloween here we come . . .

My Little Devil and Gruesome Skeleton.

Grrrrr. Scary aren't they?

I should point out both little monsters requested vests because 'this costume is a little scratchy mummy'.

Tut. Lightweights!

See more of my Wordless Wednesdays or visit 5 Minutes for Mum for entries from around the world.

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Damn you Santa

My 6 year old son is desperate for a PlayStation for Christmas.
Hubby and I have talked about it and, as he's only 6 and we bought a Wii last year and mummy wants to have some money left over to, you know, eat, we decided to buy a PlayStation 2 second hand.

But then I got talking to a friend whose son has a PlayStation 3 and she said not to bother as you'll end up buying the PlayStation 3 anyway and then you'll want to upgrade all the games and it will end up costing you more in the long run etc etc etc blah blah blah.

And so, because I'm easily led and a bit of a coward, I figure I should let Dan make the decision.

Me: "If you prefer Dan, daddy and I could buy you a PlayStation 3 for Christmas but it would have to be your birthday AND your Christmas present together because it's rather expensive."

He looks at me thoroughly confused then says:
"What are you talking about? Santa makes all the Christmas presents, so it's not going to cost you anything."

Bugger.

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Things I say ALL THE TIME - #2

Sometimes I get bored of the sound of my own voice, I really do.
I'm sure I wrote something along these lines not so very long ago ...

• Daniel, stop doing wrestling moves on your little sister.
  
• Leave that poor cat alone.
  
• No you can't wear your pyjamas to pre-school.
  
• Stop brushing your doll's teeth and brush your own.
  
• Don't put the grapes up your nose.
  
• Guys, our bed is not an indoor trampoline.
  
• Yes, Santa can see you if you're naughty under the bed.
  
• No you can't have an iPhone.
  
• Mia, for the love of all things holy, will you PLEASE wipe your bottom when you go to the toilet.

Lessons learned:
Pets + young children is a Bad Idea. For the pets mainly.
Anything that is supposed to go in a child's mouth will usually have been somewhere less savoury beforehand.
I am still turning into my mother!

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10 things that really irritate me about my husband

1. Putting a new kitchen roll on the holder the wrong way so the words written on the sheets are upside down.
2. Putting used mugs on the counter above the dishwasher instead of just opening the door and putting them inside the dishwasher.
3. Scooping the children up and smothering them in kisses before me when he gets in from work.
4. Being right 17.25% of the time.
5. Thinking it's really funny to put his cold feet on me when we're in bed.
6. Falling asleep half way through anything he's insisted we watch on TV so I'm left watching it on my own. Then waking up at the credits and wanting to know what happened.
7. Insisting on having anchovies on his pizza.
8. Making me a cup of tea in the wrong mug.
9. Giving me a chocolate biscuit with said cup of tea when he knows I'm trying to avoid them.
10. Telling me how to drive.

My husband and I have been together for nearly 18 years now, married for 8 - I think I'm really rather lucky.
I just hope he never decides to make a similar list to this because I'll be in big big trouble . . .

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I want toddler logic to be my logic

Nana: "Do you like your new ballerina outfit? You look really pretty in it. Is that what you'd like to be when you grow up, a ballerina?"
Mia: "No. When I grow up I want to be a monster."

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Me: "Wear your blue dress with the white spots on."
Mia: "NO! I look disgusting in that dress."
Me: "You look like a lovely little girl in that dress."
Mia: "Exactly!"

Don't forget you can enter my prize draw to win a funky pair of Kickers for your children. Just leave a comment on the post where I come out and admit I have serious fashion problems and voila.
Entries close next Tuesday (October 20th).

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Review: Kickers are feeding my addiction (plus your chance to win a pair)

I bought my daughter a new dress yesterday.
Obviously she doesn't need it, but being a clothes addict my world would not be complete unless she had it.
Of course, everything would also break down if she didn't have the rest of the outfit so she was perfectly coordinated.
Right shoes, right, jacket, right pants.

Yes. I. Am. That. Bad.

And all of this despite the fact that she's not that bothered about clothes and would quite happily wear her pyjamas all day with a pair of boots. Or yesterday's grubby jeans and a T-shirt with toothpaste smeared across the shoulder.
Mummy quite clearly has a sickness.

I'm not fussy where I shop, the requirement is it has to look funky/cute/different.
I love Boden and Zara, H&M and Vertbaudet, Matalan and Tesco.
When I say 'I', that obviously means 'we'. Oh OK then, it doesn't. She'll basically shop wherever I drag her.

So when a PR firm contacted me and asked if I would like to review a pair of Kicker shoes I nearly fell over myself trying to hit the return on my 'hell yes' message.
Free shoes? Are you kidding me?

And here they are. Gorgeous pink boots that she adores and everywhere we go she gets a 'wow, love the boots, Mia'.
Truth be told, I would probably never had bought her a pair ordinarily.
They always struck me as just a bit too expensive for a pair of 'fashion' boots (they retail at about £50) and the minute she scuffed them or drew on them or fed them to next doors dog I would have mild heart failure.

But she has pretty much worn them since the day they came in the post. She has worn them with her dressing gown, with a party dress, with jeans, with clam digger shorts. I did stop her short of wearing them with her swimming costume (oh, yes, she tried) because she looked just wrong.

She's worn them to pre-school, out walking in the local forest when we couldn't find her wellies, she's climbed in them, played in them, helped daddy mow the lawn in them.
Believe you me, we have tested them thoroughly. I'm pretty sure we've had our money's worth out of them.

And it has to be said, they have stood the test. They still look great and a quick swipe of a wipe across them (whatever did we do before wipes?) leaves them good as new.

I should also mention that another mum, I can't for the life of me remember who, Tweeted that she had bought a silver pair for her daughter and found the colour came off the toe.
Luckily that hasn't happened to ours, but it's worth bearing in mind.

You still reading? Well here's the best bit.

If you've got this far I am about to reward you for your efforts: How about winning a pair of Kickers for your own fashionista? Or . . . errm, whatever the male version is!
I rarely do giveaways on this blog but am more than happy to do so with these shoes because I think everyone should own a pair.

(Really sorry, but it's open to the UK only).
So, I am offering you the chance to get your hands on a pair - if you win you can choose from the pink pair we have or a buff pair. Tell me the size you require and voila, they'll be winging their way to your little munchkin.

To enter? Post a pint of your child's blood to .. (kidding kidding).

To enter the prize draw just leave a comment here. The winner gets to chose from the pink pair or this buff pair and needs to let me know the size required.

And then a brand new spanking pair of Kickers will be yours!

The winner will be chosen at random by my lovely assistants (my kids) a week today: October 20 from the UK comments.

Err, that's it.

Good luck. x

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The Man

Don't pretend you don't know who I'm talking about.

Every single parent with a toddler or pre-schooler knows about The Man. Or The Lady.

They follow you everywhere. Every restaurant you visit, every public place you attempt, every supermarket you dare to take your children.

And on our recent holiday to America, The Man was a constant companion.

"If you keep climbing up that trellis Mia, The Man will come and ask you to leave."

"If you don't get off the table Mia, The Man will throw you out of the restaurant."

"The Man will be over if you continue to throw your cutlery on the floor, Mia."

Honestly, it felt like we took an extra travelling companion with us for the whole three weeks we were there.
I have no idea why it was usually The Man. Maybe because most of The Ladies there were either teenagers or so darn nice. Or maybe because I was actually scared of a couple of them myself if truth be told.

But it must be said, the threat of The Man usually worked.

Except at one venue.

We are at Disneyland and it's unbearably hot and Mia and I are in a queue for the Flying Dumbos (stop laughing).

We have a spray cooler (basically a plant sprayer with a mini fan attached that they stamped a Disney logo on and thought it acceptable to charge nearly £10 for).

But I digress. We have this spray cooler filled with ice water and Mia is spraying it at mummy and then herself and then mummy and then the lady in the queue behind us.

GAH!

I look behind me horrified and she's giving me an 'it's ok' face but her grimace is saying otherwise.

Perfect Mum has got two 8ish year old boys and they are behaving impeccably and when she gives me that look all I can think is 'what the hell are two boys of that age queueing to get on a dumb Dumbo ride for anyway?'

I smile weakly and turn back to Mia who is now climbing the barrier and aiming her spray gun at the little girl the other side of it who looks like she would wilt if a drop of water touched her.

I grab the gun and say:

"Mia, The Man will come over here and tell you to leave the queue and you will not be allowed on the ride if you keep doing that."

The Man actually looks about 18 if he's a day and looks permanently on edge. But she hasn't noticed so I'm confident my threat will work.

She laughs that confident little chuckle that says she knows she's caught me out and says:

"Mummy, everyone knows that Mickey Mouse is in charge here and he's too busy getting ready for the parade to bother about what I'm doing over here."

I feel Perfect Mum's wry smile bore into the back of my head and thank everything that is holy that it's our turn next.

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Mummy bloggers have the answers to everything (the dad's aren't too shabby either)

Just lately work has exploded and I haven't had as much time to spend 'blogging'.
I still read quite a few posts, but I find the time I have to stop and comment has been eroded away.
So I wanted to share a handful of posts that really made me stop and laugh/cry/take stock these past couple of weeks because they deserve something more than a passing glance.
Something for the weekend, so to speak!

Sleep is for the Weak
An achingly beautiful post from Josie, about when motherhood isn't quite what you thought it would be. Really raw and honest and if you don't feel the urge to go hug your kids afterwards then you've a cold cold heart!
And doesn't her son look all kinds of gorgeous in that monster outfit?

MomGrind
Vered is an American blogger who always provokes a great response in her comments whenever she highlights a topic.
And here she's as mad as we in the UK were over a report which said in a roundabout way that working mums are bad mums.

Noble Savage
When you have a toddler who regularly makes you sit in a corner with your head in your hands wondering where the hell you've gone wrong, you could almost cry when you read a post like this.
It's called Light at the End of the Toddler and boy did I relate to it!
If you recognise any of these sentiments here is proof that there is hope.

Troutie
This is a new blog for me and I instantly added her to my blogroll after reading her one post called String Vests.
Her profile begins: "I'm a 32 year old woman living with a Jamaican of the same age. Our relationship works because we don't understand one another" - and this post is about him wearing said string vest.
I defy you not to instantly like her and her "dark sense of humour".

TheMadHouse
What sacrifices do you make in your family life? How do you cope when the going gets tough?
Much of this online community is about support and understanding and reaching out to put a gentle hand on the shoulder.
Read this post and then do that.

Dad Who Writes
Sometimes you read a post and despite the frivolous title, it reveals a great deal about the writer and you really get a sense of looking through a window into their life.
Go take a peek. Just remember to wipe your feet and don't make too much noise.

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A meme for youyou

Yesterday I published a pictured that my 4 year old drew of me.
I won't lie to you, it wasn't the most flattering of portraits.
I didn't have any arms for a start. And she decided that I was roughly the shape of a balloon.
But those things aside, it was really nice to be presented with a lovingly drawn picture and told: "this is you mummy".

I come in for a lot of flack from some comments over my portrait. One of the worst offenders, you won't be surprised to hear, was Single Parent Dad.
So I set him down a challenge to have his son Max draw a picture of him and see what that produced.
But it seems Single Parent Dad has come over all vain since having a photo session with his son and posting a new profile picture everywhere anyone will look. Tut. He failed miserably.

Anyway (for there is a point to all this) I thought I would create a whole new meme.
One that's really easy and (I hope) you'll all enjoy.

Ask your child - their age doesn't matter - to draw a picture of you.
Post it on your blog.
Let's call it the Picture Perfect Meme
Err, that's it.
Pass it on to your friends/enemies if you want to.
(If like me you don't have a fancy pants scanner, take a photo of it and post it that way!)

So to kick this off I am passing the baton on to 10 bloggers: Some old friends, some new, some I just want to have a good laugh at the results when they come out:

JoBo
How I Like My Coffee
Babyrambles
Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy
Rainy Day
Dad Who Writes
Insomniac Mummy
Butterflies in My Hand
Lawyer Mom
You've Got Your Hands Full

Oh, and I lied, one more: Blogger Dad because he is an artist and never posts new pictures of himself, so maybe his son can do him justice . . .

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Wordless Wednesday: Me

A portrait of me by my 4 year old daughter.

I should point out that my hair is a lot longer now.

And I do have arms.

See more of my Wordless Wednesdays or visit 5 Minutes for Mum.

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Why I love being a mum (because, you know, sometimes it's easy to forget)

It's the bedtime routine Daniel and Mia are bathed and dried and ready to have their hair dried.

Tonight they want to 'do' mummy's hair so they sit me in their 'salon' and brush and style and rebrush and detangle my long locks.

Little fingers all over my head, stroking, rubbing, tugging.

They're giggling and lightheaded and I can 'feel' their newly washed scent all around me.

I think to myself 'life just doesn't get better than this', then Daniel says "teach me how to do an Indian head massage mummy, because I want to do it for you."

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Since having children I have changed.

I am a LOT more tolerant of people.

It's not like before I had children I flew off the handle or was a particularly roll my eyes and huff at everything and everyone kind of person.

But I became a lot more forgiving. I found the good in people where others didn't care to look. I gave second, third, fourth chances and dug that little bit deeper to find the good in people.

I want to be the sort of person my children can look up to and be proud of and I want to be a great role model for them.
As a consequence, I actually started to like myself a whole lot more.

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This weekend we were invited to a friend's 50th birthday party which she held at her home.
My son is really quite shy and finds this sort of adult-oriented party a real effort.
When we arrive we are late and there are quite a few people already there, so several come up to us and greet us.
To every person who said hello, Daniel held his hand out, said 'hello, I'm Daniel' and gave them a warm smile.
His mum's heart skipped a beat and pounded with pride.

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Mia never stops. Her internal combustion engine keeps on running at full speed until she's so tired that she literally stops and conks out.

There is no winding down with this girl.

There is no time for hugs or for sitting and chatting.

While on holiday, we are out one night at a restaurant. It's not that late but we've had a really busy day jumping over waves, burying ourselves in the sand and chasing birds down the beach.

She's taken a few bites out of her meal but then she looks up at me with these huge, expressive brown eyes, crawls onto my lap, puts her head on my chest and her arms wrap tightly around my waist.

She looks up at me, utterly beat, reaches her fingers to my cheek then curls up once more and falls asleep.

It's only because I am in company that I fight a tear sliding down my face because right here right now I feel that emotional punch that is parenthood.

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5 things they don't tell you about having a boy

1. Your toilet will always and forever carry the faint whiff of wee.

Clean it all you like. Buy as many freshener blocks as you can. You will never quite reach that one crevice where your little man has managed to deposit the tiniest droplets of wee.

Because that's all it takes.

2. You will spend a small fortune on shoes and school trousers.

Thank heavens for supermarkets selling school trouser for £4.

Tonight Daniel has come home with yet another pair with half the knees missing. If it's not the knees it's the cuff where it drags under his heel because he hasn't hitched his trousers up around his waist properly.

He has come home from school looking like I sent him via a rugby pitch.

And don't even get me started on shoes. I've become such a regular at our local shoe shop, the assistant knows us by first names and has even started giving me a 'oh you poor love, not again' look as we walk in the door.

3. You will fight a losing battle with dirt.

The only time Daniel's fingernails are clean is the first 10 minutes after stepping out of the bath.

Every night I find smears of dirt behind his ears and across his neck, and big inky patches on the sides of his hands.
Before now, Daniel has been swimming and come home with dirty fingernails. How is this possible?

4. Willy willy willy willy willy

I've talked about the willy phenomenon before, but it only intensifies with age.

"Mummy, mummy, look look there's a bone in my willy!"

"Why does my willy go all funny when I'm watching the telly sometimes?"

"When I grow up will I get a willy like daddy's?"

The willy talk is endless. It is, however, a walk in the park when compared with all the willy playing.

5. Boys offer total and unconditional love

Girls don't seem to be born with the sensitivity chip that boys have.

Sure they love you, they love you lots, but they want to put their beloved Baby to bed first and then watch Dora and then put Baby in the dolls bath that's stored on top of the wardrobe.
Then, maybe, she'll give you a hug.

Boys are wired differently.

It's not that girls don't love you, but boys are just more loving.
I can feel the love radiating from my son. He looks at me and smiles and love shines from his every pore.

He is the first to offer me comfort, the first to kiss me every morning and the first to tell me 'mummy you are so beautiful' when I feel like crap.

I never quite understood all the talk of that 'special' mother/son bond.

Now I do.

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Reinventing Halloween

"What do you want to dress up as for Halloween this year Mia?"

(We love Halloween in this house).

"Peter Pan."

She dresses up as Peter Pan for everything where a fancy dress costume is specified on the invitation. Even some places where it's not.
I had the mother of all battles on the first day of pre-school when she wanted to wear said costume to show her new friends.

I should also point out that this outfit doesn't actually fit her.

It's her older brother's hand-me-down and the minute he decided he was too grown up to be a flying boy (there is some irony there!) she swooped in and claimed it as her own.

She doesn't care one jot that it swamps her and mummy had to cut the 'feet' off so she could actually walk in it.

What she does care about is that it has a little foam dagger which slips into a sling on the belt and a hat she wears at a jaunty angle.

And she crows; 'ah ha' at lot while wearing it.

Me: "Peter Pan isn't very scary for a Halloween costume."

Mia: "Tut. Peter Pan with an axe then."

(She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world and gee mummy, you really do need to keep up).

So are we the only ones draping cotton wool from the ceilings and whooping up a storm over the apple bobbing?
What are your Halloween plans?

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