My favourite Photograph.

I'm no photographer. Despite spending a not insubstantial amount on a decent DSLR Camera last year, I'm not especially creative with it. I bought it to catalogue the next few years worth of memories of my child, and hopefully children. I haven't even attempted a sunset yet.

My favourite photograph is not a photograph I have taken myself. It was taken by my Mother in law who does know her way around a Camera. She specialises in Still Life mostly, but this photograph is just lovely and I have featured it in a previous post. I love it for sentimental reasons. It's my soppy Ginger Dog being introduced to my newborn son for the first time when he was a day old. Luckily, she was there to capture it.

This post is for week 31 of The Gallery. The prompt is My Favourite Photograph. I love it, look at his wrinkles.

Here come the Girls.

The theme for last weeks Gallery, yes I did say last weeks, was Here come the Girls. I was going to give it a miss because I have no Daughters and my usual crisis of confidence when it comes to photos that feature little old me. Add to that the fact that most photographs of my friends and I, past and present normally involve copious amounts of alcohol and I'm either gurning or sporting those rather lovely Red Wine Teeth.

Anyhoo. I managed to unearth some half decent photos of my Hen weekend in Edinburgh. Unlike most Hen weekends, it was a fairly civilised affair. Yes, there was drinking and dancing involved, but I refused point blank to wear a veil adorned with rubber penises and L plates. It was just a really lovely weekend away with eight of my favourite friends.

I'd have liked to share a group photo of us all, but sadly I no longer see a couple of them.

See, civilised. Posh hotels and Champagne. Not a stripper dressed as a Policeman in sight. Actually, I wouldn't have objected to that.........................

The thin Blue (well, Pink actually) line.

So. I'm Pregnant. There I said it (typed it). It's been ten weeks since I saw the second Pink line on the wee wee stick. Ten weeks since my boobs suddenly developed a life of their own and balooned two whole cup sizes. Ten weeks since I could open the Fridge door, or dispose of the contents of the Little Princes potty without barfing.

I'm pleased as punch and shitting myself at the same time. I found out my last pregnancy had ended at my twelve week scan, so as you can imagine, I felt a mix of excitement and trepidation as the date for my Nuchal scan approached this time. To make matters worse, the 'early' scan my GP promised me didn't actually happen and my Nuchal scan was booked for my thirteenth week, thus prolonging the agony.

Anyway. I'm fourteen weeks today. I've had my scan and my due date has been confirmed as the Second of April 2011. Exactly six months from today. Even better, I saw a little person with all of its important bits intact. I swear she/he even waved at me at one point.

Do you want to see? Of course you do.

Here She/He is. My little Pixie. Fingers, Toes and Freckles crossed and all being well, I'll get my Spring baby.

A Smile.

I've been going over all of my photographs recently on a nostalgia trip. I still can't believe that my little Prince is three now. It doesn't seem possible. Anyway, I've picked these two photographs to share, to illustrate quite how much he has changed. My boy and two very different smiles.

This was taken not long after he first started smiling. It's one of my absolute favourites. I could just eat him.

This was taken a few weeks ago at his third birthday party. The baby is now a big boy. I could still eat him.

This post was written for week 28 of Tara Cains Gallery. The prompt this week was A Smile. Don't forget to click the link and check out all of the other entries.

A celebration.

The theme for week 27 of Tara Cains Gallery is A Celebration. I like this theme. Mostly because I haven't had to think too hard about it. This theme has endless possibilities. We generally photograph anything that involves a celebration, Weddings; a new baby; Birthdays; Graduations.......

Not terribly original, but I've gone for the former.  It's one of the few occasions in my life where there exist some semi-decent photographs of me (as you would hope from a professional photographer) and well, it was the happiest day of my life eclipsed only by the birth of my Little Prince. I aint sharing photos of that.

I love these photos because they are the best photos I have of me with my lovely Mum and Dad. The first one is of My Dad and I just as we're about to go into the Church. I love the proud look on his face. The second is of my Mum giving me a hug just as we emerged from the Church after the ceremony. Aside from a couple of lovely shots of me and Mr Nudie, these are my favourite photos of that day.

The one about the Peacock........

One of our Dogs has a leaky dinkle, bless him. It's a bit gross (sorry if this is too much information) but he has a milky discharge coming out of it most of the time *gags* and the worst thing is that when he lies on the (leather) sofa, he leaves little white patches. Mr Nudie and I have discussed this on occasion and it's possible that the Little Prince has been within earshot during these discussions. It's also possible he may (read definately did) have heard us describe the poor creatures affliction as a 'leaky cock'. 

Mr Nudie and the boy were in his room earlier talking about the animals on the wall (he has a Noahs Ark mural). LP was cleverly pointing out all the animals and telling Mr Nudie what they were, Tiger, Elephant, Monkeys etc. Mr N points to the most intricate painting on the wall and says 'What's this beautiful Bird called?'  LP looks none the wiser. Mr N continues 'This is a Peacock.......', he's interrupted by a little voice 'No Daddy, that not Hecock. Hecock on sofa'.........................

Ooops.

Back to school.

This post is for week 26 of Tara Cains Gallery. The prompt this week is Back to School. Well, my Little Prince doesn't go to school yet, he's only three. I thought instead I'd treat you to this gem I found in my archives. This is my very first school photograph taken when I was just five. We lived in Gibralter and I had just started in reception at the English School rather originally named St Georges. I have very happy memories of that year. Abba were still big news back then (yes I realise I'm showing my age, shaddup) and my lovely teacher looked like Agnetha (the Blonde one). I loved her.

There you go. Quite cute wasn't I...............

One day in August.

This post is for week 25 of The Gallery. This weeks prompt is One Day in August. The prompt is in honour of three parent bloggers, Josie, Sian and Eva who are flying out to Bangladesh to raise awareness of the work Save the Children are doing to improve the lives of millions of children in this poverty-stricken region. They flew to Bangladesh on Sunday 29th August.

For this prompt, we were required to take a photograph on this same day. The photograph can be of anything, it just had to be taken on this day. I imagined photographs of children in the garden, maybe a picnic in the park. Unfortunately, I had to work on Sunday 29th August and I was there from 7.30 in the morning until 20.00 so I had little choice but to take a photograph at work, as it's already dark when I get home.

I don't really discuss what I do for a living on this blog, or on Twitter (no, I'm not an MI5 agent). It's not top-secret, it's just that I don't feel that it's appropriate and I have to be careful what I say so that I don't breach my professional Code of Conduct or confidentiality.

I am a Neonatal Nurse. If you're not familiar with that term, it means that I work on a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit and I look after very sick and/or premature babies. It's a misconception that we only look after premature babies. Term babies get sick too. I would have loved to have taken a photograph of one of our tiniest patients, maybe even just a tiny foot, but I need permission to do that. 

This is a Resusitaire. This is the first piece of life saving equipment a baby who is unwell at birth or preterm will come into contact with. Those of you who have had a hospital birth may recognise it, as one resides in the corner of every delivery room in this country. It serves as a platform for staff (hopefully a Neonatal team) to place a newborn and assess and administer life support (if necessary). In the unit where I work, we also use it to transfer the baby up to the Neonatal Unit.

Sunday 29th August was a busy day. We had two admissions arrive simultaneously. I took this photograph after one of the babies (born at 29 weeks) had been safely settled onto the unit. Believe it or not, the plastic bag is an excellent insulator. These resustitaires cost somewhere in the region of £20,000 pounds each. It's very unlikely that hospitals in Bangladesh have equipment like this, especially not in every delivery room. I very much doubt that babies born at 29 weeks in Bangladesh even survive. 

People complain about the NHS, but we really are very lucky to have access to such a good standard of healthcare in this country.

  

Now we are Three............

My baby is three. I can hardly believe it. Three years since I brought a pink wrinkly baby (with enormous tootsies) home. The first year went quite quickly, the second even quicker and the third...............well. Unbelievable. Here at the Nudie Palace, we had a wee celebration for the Little Prince in a Pirate stylee.

 No, we didn't only buy him a toothbrush for his birthday. But he was super excited about this anyway, after he nagged us every time we went to Waitrose about the 'Letric Spiderman Toothbrush'. The customary response was, 'You can have it when you're three' (because that's what it says on the back of the packet you see). Naturally, it seemed apt to buy him the sodding thing for his third birthday.

 This is his real present. A rather nifty Micro-Scooter. Watch your backs on the seafront, Grannies............

 Setting the scene for the party. Never let it be said that I don't pay attention to detail.

 The Cannon, built by the Talented Mr Nudie. It fired and everything.

 The target, a Galleon of course.

 A little Pirates den at the bottom of the garden.

Treasure chest cake. No, I didn't bake it myself. I'm good, but I'm not that good.

 Digging for treasure, well piratey bubbles if you must know, but the wee shipmates seemed happy enough.

 We be Pirates too 'Aaaargh', erm woof. Whatever....

 One very happy little piratey prince at the end of his party. Happy days. Still can't believe he's Three though.

Memories are made of this.......

This post is for week 23 of Tara Cains Gallery. The prompt this week is Memories. So many images I could have chosen that represent an important memory for me; photographs from my childhood; my time at university; my early adulthood spent living in London. All of these periods in my life have shaped the person I am today, but none as much as becoming a Mother. Every moment spent with my wee Prince is a future memory in the making.

The memories started before he was even born. The first glimpse of him on the scan. The first time I felt him move. All precious and stored away in those memory banks.

The images below are of moments etched firmly in my memories. The first time I realised I might be carrying a boy (we chose not to know the sex of the baby) was during my 20 week scan. A huge foot loomed out of the darkness at the bottom of the screen. 'There's no way that foot belongs to a girl', I had said to Mr Nudie. I was right.

When the Little Prince finally emerged, one of the first things I did (after I'd seen his dangly bits) was look at his feet. As I suspected, they were huge. They still are. This photograph has pride of place in our house because it represents one of my first significant memories of Motherhood.

The Talented Mr Nudie.

This time it's all about Mr Nudie, well all about what a bloody brilliant Dad he is to my Little Prince anyway. Not only does he have seemingly endless patience and the enduring ability to get up with the little darling at five-ish most mornings while I pretend to be asleep I mean, snooze. He is the inventor of all manner of cool stuff and games for little boys. I can't even begin to kid myself that I am as much fun to hang out with. Sorry, Little Prince. 

Mr Nudie is a 'Dangerous Book for Boys' kind of Dad. Always making stuff from bits and pieces he has lying around and foraging for beasties in the garden. All that's missing is a mad inventors moustache.......maybe that would be a step too far, despite his dedication to the cause.

Anyway, I want to share with you Mr Nudies piece de resistance. The Little Princes playhouse. It was borne from a small idea one weekend. The next thing, Mr Nudie's drawing proper fancy-pants plans and everything. It took him, with a little help from the boy just one weekend to build this.

It's the perfect spot to hang out, whilst creating a masterpiece.

Or just to chill and enjoy a little snackette.

This is the Little Princes space, and with it Play time has taken on a whole new meaning.

This post is for week 22 of Tara Cains Gallery. The prompt this week is Playtime. Don't forget to go and look at all the other entries.

Another ten things you didn't know about me....

I have been tagged in another one of those Spanish Inquistion/ Spill your guts type memes. They're a nosey lot the blogging community. Anyway, this time I was tagged by the rather gorgeous Miss Cherry Red. Sorry, Amy for dragging my lazy arse heels about writing this. Here are the ten questions I've been asked this time...

1. Are you a meticulous planner?

In a word, no. I wish I was. I've always been disorganised, lazy even and I leave everything to the last minute. This also means that I'm nearly always late for everything (except work, I seem to manage to be punctual for that). Including my own wedding. I was forty five minutes late. Instead of gazing lovingly down at me and telling me how beautiful I looked, Mr Nudie simply grunted 'You made it then'.

2. Do you wear make up and if so how much and how often?
I wear as little as I can possibly get away with. You've read my answer to the previous question. How much later do you think I would be if I needed to apply layers of war paint every morning? Admittedly, as I'm getting older it's harder to get away with a completely bare face and I wouldn't dream of going to work without Mascara (I get up at 05.15 people, do you want me to scare the children?).

I've just never particularly liked the overly made-up look. I was blessed with a clear complexion and it always seemed a shame to cover it up. These days though, with three years of sleep deprivation and early starts behind me, I think I need to up my game.

3. What, if anything, do you wear in bed?
Hey?! What's my name? I wear nothing in bed. Nada, zilch, zero. Nudie

4. Look over your right shoulder, what do you see?

My garden. The computer is in one of the bedrooms at the back of the house, and the desk is next to the window. I can also see into my next door neighbours garden. Not so nice. He's a right lazy bastard and it's a bit of a mess, quite frankly.

5. If you had to take a random item to an interview to help describe you, what would it be?I have thought long and hard about this and I can't think of a single thing worth writing down. Next!


6. What film would you have liked a starring role in?
Debbie does Dallas? Kidding. Something with a hot male lead in it, so I could do rumpy pumpy with him. Has Rupert Penry Jones been in any films? Whatever that film was then. With lots of extra love scenes please.

7. Jimmy Stewart or Cary Grant?
Hmm. I think Cary Grant was probably the better looking of the two. He had a rather fetching dimple on his chin. I like those. He was however, rumoured to be Bi-sexual.

8. Do you swear in front of children?
Oops. Have you read my post 'Shit my kids says?' I have a potty mouth, I won't deny it but I do try and curb my language in front of the Little Prince. He's a little Parrot at the moment, so I have to be careful. Clearly, one or two swears may have slipped out.........For example, he plays with my iphone a lot and it's not uncommon for him to be navigating his way round it, not find what he wants and exclaim 'Oh, for Foxes sake'.....

9. Do you knit or sew or do any other ‘womanly’ craft?
I bake cakes on occasion, does that count? I only really do that because I LOVE CAKE. Ahem.

10. Twitter or Facebook?

Twitter, without question. I have a Facebook account, but I really only use it to keep in touch with the friends I left behind in London and because I have family in Ireland and Australia that require regular updates on the Little Prince.

I read a tweet last night that is doing the rounds on Twitter at the moment. It went something like this: 'Facebook is for friends who have become strangers. Twitter is for strangers who have become friends'. 

So true.
Alternatively, another way of putting it, I spotted this tweet by the enduringly eloquent @LarneLoudmouth 'Facebook is a quick wank. Twitter is a fucking great blowjob'.

Thats it. Another ten things you didn't know about me before today. In the true spirit of a meme I must tag a couple of other bloggers to answer ten questions of my choice. I tag:

Ria over at Continental Fairy

Jenny over at Mummy Mishaps

Ok Ladies, here are your questions:

1. What is your porn star name?(Name of your first pet & your Mothers maiden name).

2. Your most delectable piece of lingerie?

3. Be a famous person for a day - who and why?

4. Your neighbour's dog chews up your prized, and very expensive, Manolos. What do you do?

5. If you could only eat three things for the rest of your life, what would they be?

6. Caught speeding. How do you get out of it?

7. Secret crush as an adult?

8. Which side of the bed do you sleep on?

9. Snog, Marry, Avoid?

10. Rudest word you have in your (child-free) vocabulary?

 I'm not going to pretend I thought of these myself. Most of these are the questions London City Mum set me the first time I did this meme. I just think they ellicit answers that are way funnier than the ones above. What are you waiting for? Off you go!

Red Dog.

I'm dedicating this post to my beautiful, daft and utterly adorable Ginger Dog. We found him at Battersea Dogs Home four years ago this September. We had been thinking about getting a Dog for ages, and I would personally rather rehome an unwanted or abandoned animal than buy a puppy. I had previously wanted a Rhodesian Ridgeback, handsome, majestic Dogs that they are. Red, with a dark muzzle. Huge. They are also about nine hundred quid to buy as puppies and rarely come up for rescue. Scrap that plan then.

So, we turned up at Battersea one Tuesday morning. I was taking my time, looking at every single Dog and breaking my heart along the way. Mr Nudie excitedly beckoned me over to a kennel on the opposite side of the corridor 'Come here, NOW'. I went over to see what he was so excited about. This is what I saw. A puppy, Red, with a dark muzzle......

This is Ginger Dog. Not his real name of course, but a name we have come to call him on account of his erm, Gingerness. He is a Red Staffordshire Bull Terrier and is quite the daftest, most affectionate creature I have ever come across. He is also the most handsome Dog I have ever seen, and someone didn't want him.

Ginger Dog was found as a stray. We know nothing of his history, but I suspect he skipped through the streets of South London jumping up at random strangers saying 'Love me! Love me!' with his big brown eyes until someone took pity on him and he was taken to a Police station. They took him to Battersea and we found him. The rest is history.

He is a simple creature. His preferences, in no particular order are; eating, sleeping, cuddling, eating, sleeping, woofing at monsters in the garden, eating, sleeping, cuddling. Oh, and boy does this Dog stink. The smells that eminate from his bottom at times are like nothing on this earth. But I love him. He's my beautiful, stinky Red Dog.

This post was written for Tara Cains Gallery. This weeks prompt is A Novel Idea- find a photograph that represents a favourite book and write about it. I am a huge fan of Louis de Bernieres. This book is about a loveable, stray, stinky Red Dog just like mine. I would have photographed the actual book, but he ate it. I shit you not...............

Blog of Substance award.

Very surprised I was to receive this Blog of Substance award from the delectable Mrs LJHall.  Especially given the fact that I have been even more slovenly than usual and have posted absolutely nothing for three weeks, for various reasons *slaps wrist*.

Anyway, here's what I'm supposed to do........

THE RULES:
1) Give groveling gratitude filled thanks to the blogger who awarded you.

2) Share your five word blogging philosophy.
3) Nominate further bloggers of substance.

Blimey. Well, I've never really stopped to think about what my 'blogging philosophy' might be. I only started this blog in May, and I don't take it very seriously really. It's just for fun. That can't be my philosophy though, it's only four words. I would say 'shit my kid says' as that's the main reason I started this blog in the first place, but again, four words. I can't even say 'I tell it like it is', because although I definately do, that is what Lisa herself wrote as her philosophy damn her.

So, I leave you with this,

I write from the heart

I do. There's not a great deal of deep thought that goes into some of the stuff I write in here, no elegant prose. I just write what I feel. Sometimes it will be amusing and sometimes it won't. That's it really. Simple. Much like myself.

Now I need to pass this award on to fellow bloggers that I feel write a blog of substance. Tricky one this, as there are so many great blogs out there. Without further ado, I nominate:

Another Goldfish Very new to blogging, this lady also writes from the heart, so go and show her little blog some love.
Mumrablog Still fairly new to blogging, like me, but she's much better at it. Go and check her out.
Miss Cherry Red Not new to blogging, but Amy writes a great blog and I heart her and her tweets a lot.

That's it!

The Gallery. An Ode to Pip.

The Gallery: Week 17. Emotions

This weeks prompt for the Gallery over at Sticky Fingers is a little different. This week it is a hybrid between Taras Gallery and Josie from Sleep is for the Weak's Writing Workshop. I try and join in on the Gallery every week, but I have to admit I have never been tempted to join the Writing Workshop because I am just not a creative writer. I started this blog a couple of months ago for fun and to catalogue all of the great things my Little Boy does and says. I am also rather prone to forgetting my manners and the odd rude word sneaks into a post (best not look at my most recent one if this is likely to offend).

Anyway, the prompt arrived on Friday as usual and I felt absolutely compelled to join in despite my reticence about 'proper' writing. The date on Friday was June 25th, an important and auspicious date for me. This is why.........

An Ode to Pip.

Friday, June 25th 2010. Today is my wedding anniversary. Five years ago today I married my soulmate. I should be happy. I am happy. There is a cloud. Something else should have been happening today, or near to today. It isn't.

Wednesday, December 9th 2009. I didn't sleep a wink last night. I have no reason to be worried. Yet I feel a strange sense of foreboding I cannot explain. It's just a routine scan. In half an hour it will all be over. We will laugh at my over anxious mind. We will finally be able to share our news. It will be fine.
We have the first appointment of the day. We go straight in to a little room and I lie down on the couch. The sonographer puts warm jelly onto my tummy and looks at the screen. We all look at the screen. There is a tiny head and a little body. Yes, I see arms and legs. I see Pip. Mr gave her that name 'Princess and the pea' - Pip. I smile, it is going to be fine. The sonographer doesn't say anything, her brow is furrowed, concentrating. 'It's sleeping' she says, tentatively. The anxious feeling returns. She presses harder. Pip doesn't move. 'I'm just going to get my colleague to have a look' she says. She leaves the room.

I turn to Mr. He doesn't say anything. He squeezes my hand. 'Pip's not sleeping', I say. 'She's dead'. Even as I say the words. I cannot cry. I feel numb. The two sonographers return. The second one runs the probe over my lower abdomen. 'There's no easy way to say this...........' he begins.

We leave the hospital. I knew it was too good to be true. The due date on our wedding anniversary. What are the odds of that? 'By my calculations, you're due on June 25th' My Doctor had said. I couldn't have been happier. Now it wasn't going to happen at all. Forevermore, this date will mean mixed emotions for me. 

 In years to come, I will not associate this date with any negative emotions. This year it is a little raw for obvious reasons. It is best to remember the reason why this date is usually a happy one for me.

 25th June 2005

Ten things you didn't know about me (until now).

I have been tagged by the lovely and very funny, London City Mum in one of those Spanish Inquistion stylee type tags. This basically means that she gets to ask me and four others ten questions about absolutely whatever takes her fancy. Thankfully, none of them are too rude. I can't promise the same of my answers...........

1. Name of your first pet?

Moby Dick. For real. I should point out that he was a Fish. Would have a been a pretty stupid name for a Spaniel.

2. Your most delectable piece of lingerie?

Wouldn't that be telling? Ah yes, I am required to answer these aren't I. Well, back in the day, Mr Nudie used to buy me the occasional set of lingerie. I say back in the day, not because he no longer buys me gifts- he does, but these days- post episiotomy I am Big Panty Woman. Try making a sexy gift out of those bad boys. Anyway, I digress. Imagine my surprise and delight when one day, I opened a parcel to find the ubiquitous pink and black box synonymous with Agent Provocateur. Mr Nudie, I thought, you have done well. Then I opened the box. Inside, I found a half cup bra and a pair of matching crotchless panties. Delightful. For those unfamiliar with half cup bras, allow me to explain. They do what it says on the tin. There is half a cup, you bend forward only slightly and your tits fall out. I think that's the point of them though. The crotchless panties need no explanation (I hope). His response 'You buy yourself underwear. I buy you funderwear'. Of course. Silly me for even thinking I could work a twelve hour day in a half cup bra...............

3. Be a famous person for a day - who and why?

Ooh. This is a tricky one. I don't care much for celebrities. You'll never find me flicking through OK! or HELLO magazine. I lived in Hampstead for seven years where they are two a penny. I even bumped into (literally) Jude Law once on a zebra crossing. Not bothered. Ok, that was a lie. He was HOT.
 I wouldn't particularly like to be famous, imagine living your life in the public glare? No thanks. However, If I had to choose one famous person to be I would probably go all out and be Madonna. Not because I admire her or even particularly like her, but because she is as famous as it's possible to be. If I'm only doing this for one day, I want it all- the entourage of minions catering to my every whim, billion dollar wardrobe, the lot. Failing that, I think I'd be happy just to be Dervla Kirwan because she gets to shag my answer to  question 7 every night.

4. Your neighbour's dog chews up your prized, and very expensive, Manolos. What do you do?

This is a hypothetical question, as I'm highly unlikely to ever own a pair of Manolos and if I did, my own daft Dog would probably eat them before my neighbour's would. Quite honestly though, those shoes are so damned expensive I'd be tempted to wait for the pieces to come out at the end of their journey and stick them back together. Seriously.

5. If you could only eat three things for the rest of your life, what would they be?

I've often thought about this. Well, I think about food a lot. I wonder what I would choose as my last meal if I knew it was my last day on earth and I could have absolutely anything I wanted. I'll answer this question as if it were a three course meal. To begin, I would have Insalate Caprese. You know the Italian salad of Avocado, Mozzarella and Tomato? I love that, so simple. I could eat it all day and not tire of it. Secondly, I would have Scallops served on a base of Cauliflower puree. Not as icky as it sounds. This is a traditional French way of serving Scallops and I was lucky enough to eat it once at the Plaza Athenee in Paris. Sublime. I would have that for dinner every night if I could. Lastly, my choice of dessert is not especially refined, but I could eat Dime bars until they come out of my ears. Love them. I'm hungry now. 

6. Caught speeding. How do you get out of it?

Another hypothetical one- I can't drive. I would make like a scout and be prepared, of course. It would be a hot policeman and I would be wearing my half cup bra, *leans over the bonnet* 'I'm so sorry officer, was I going too fast?'.......

7. Secret crush as an adult?

No hesitation here. Rupert Penry-Jones (the actor from Spooks). Yum. It's no secret that I have the hots for him, I started a Facebook group a couple of years ago called 'I want to marry Rupert Penry-Jones and have his babies'. I did. Go and look. Subtle eh?

8. Which side of the bed do you sleep on?

The right hand side, nearest the door (good to sneak a Dog in for a cuddle once the Mr is asleep). The ensuite is on this side of the room too. Very handy when pregnant (or drunk) to stagger out in the middle of the night for a pee without bumping into anything.

9. Tom Cruise: kiss, marry or send to live permanently with the Pope?

I do not like short men. Fact. I have never understood Tom Cruises appeal to be quite honest, and the Scientology thing? Wacko. Send him to live with the Pope. I'd love to be a fly on the wall whilst they  debate God versus the Aliens creating the earth.

10. Rudest word you have in your (child-free) vocabulary?

 Had to ask that didn't you.?!.......I have several (anyone reading this follow me on Twitter after the watershed?). I use the C word a lot. A lot of people (women mainly) seem to have a real problem with this word. I don't, it's just a word. I don't use it in a sexual context, I agree that used like that it's pretty vulgar. No, I would say 'what a C***'. Or something. I'm not a trackie bottomed wearing harridian who shouts expletives at her kids in the street. I'm a normal, vaguely middle class-ish professional person with an otherwise good command of the English language. If a few profanities slip into my everyday conversation, so be it. I also love the words Cock, Wank, Minge and Fuck.

Oh, and I have a childish, slightly crass sense of humour. I am as likely to be found reading my (equally childish and crass) husbands copy of Viz as I am the Sunday Times.  

If you want to read the answers that the four other bloggers have left to these questions ( I haven't yet, it would have felt like cheating) they are: Nickie at Typecast, Carly at Mummy's Shoes, Tattooed Mummy and Heather at Notes from Lapland. Enjoy.

The Gallery. Creatures

The Gallery: Week 16.

Rude Monkeys.

The theme for The Gallery over at Sticky Fingers this week is Creatures. I was going to dedicate this post to my two idiot Dogs, but they are such immense characters I think they deserve a post all to themselves at a later date. I was watching a David Attenborough DVD with the Little Prince earlier and he was completely mesmerised by the Monkeys. A light bulb flashed over my little head.

 As a child, I lived for a while in Gibraltar and one of my earliest memories is of the Monkeys that live on the Rock brazenly walking up to people and stealing anything that wasn't nailed down. I learned pretty soon how erm, Monkey babies are made too. Anyway, watching the film reminded me of how brilliant and funny they are. A few years ago, Mr Nudie and I went to Indonesia. We visited the 'Monkey Forest' in Bali and like a pair of kids we went round giggling at our Primate cousins performing every act in the Monkey Kama Sutra and taking pictures  of it all for prosperity.
 Seriously though, I do love Monkeys. They are fascinating creatures.

Snigger

Chortle....

Bit blurry, there was a lot of motion, ahem......

The Gallery. Motherhood.

The Gallery. Week 15: Motherhood.

The theme for The Gallery over at Sticky Fingers this week is Motherhood. Not as easy as it sounds. Trying to define what Motherhood means to me in just one image is difficult as I have so many images of my little boy that make me proud, bring tears to my eyes and all of the other emotions that you can feel in just one day as a Mother.
I chose this one eventually. It's special because there aren't many photographs of us together and because he's still very newborn in it. This means that I was still caught up in the haze of new Motherhood. Remember that? I would spend hours marvelling at the wonder of my own creation and not quite believing it was really happening at all.

I want to share a little story that sums up Motherhood for me right now. My Little Prince is completely obsessed with the film UP at the moment. This evening, I was on my way home from work still pondering what I was going to write for this post. I opened a message from Mr Nudie that made me well up in the same way this photograph does. He was watching UP with the boy after collecting him from nursery and had been trying to explain the bits in the film where the old man looks really happy with his wife in photographs.

Boy: 'I don won wife'

Mr Nudie: 'That's Ok, you don't have to have one'

Boy: 'I just won duddle my Mummy'.

That, my friends, is what Motherhood is all about.

Shit my kid says

Hello little blog. Sorry I have neglected you for a couple of weeks, I had a rubbish essay to write for a day-job related course. Anyway, it's in now so I thought it high time I wrote something of my own choosing and without Harvard referencing...........

NP xx


Shit my kid says..............
Kidisms. Straight out of the mouth of babes. However you prefer to describe the funny shit kids say. It is funny. My little prince will be three in August and over the past year, as his vocabulary has developed from the smattering of words he had at his second birthday to the almost full sentences he has now, he has come out with some absolute gems.


Following a particularly long forage up his nose one morning, he proudly presented me with some treasure,

N: 'Look! Bogie!'
Me: 'That's nice, I'll get you a tissue'
N: 'Mummy, eat!'
Me: 'Erm, no thank you'
N: 'It nice bogie, Mummy'..........
Lovely.

Whilst wiping his bottom,

'Mummy, stop! I gotta poot!'

Nice of him to warn me before he farted on my hand.

I'm trying to get him out of nappies,

Me: 'Would you like to sit on the toilet before you get in the bath?'

N: 'No. I do my wees in the barf'

He loves our Dogs. He often walks up to them to give them a hug. I recently overheard him say,

'You alwight, darlin? You got Eye bogie? I get it for you'.

He knows them well though. I was complaining about something being a bit stinky earlier, his reply?

'Like Dog fart Mummy?'

The other day, I put a dress on. I don't wear them often,

N: 'You wear pretty dress mummy? You gon do some dancin?'

All kids go through a fussy eating stage (don't they?) The boy is no different. He sits and picks at food, so I ask 'Why aren't you eating that?'

N: 'It bit spicy, I not like it'

I have not taught him that word. The food is not spicy, it's Eggs on toast or something. Now, if something is not to his liking, it's 'spicy'.

Staring at my boobs one morning as I'm getting dressed,

N: 'Mummy, I did drink your boobies when I baby?'

Me: 'Erm, Yes'

Thinks about this for a while, then glances over at the Dogs sleeping on the bed,

N: 'You did give your boobies the Dogs when they puppies?'

I didn't answer that one, I was too busy wetting myself laughing.

Probably his piece de resistance. He's playing and he drops something,

N: 'Fox sake'

I ignore it. (Well, that's what the books say to you're supposed to do).

N: 'Oh, FOX sake!' This time it's accompanied by a gesture of exasperation and a roll of the eyes. He means it. Bless him. Clearly, he *may* have overheard Mummy curse once or twice and he doesn't understand the F word. But he knows what a Fox is.............

I would LOVE to hear some of the funniest things your kids have said. The Little Prince has said far more than I have written here, but I can't remember half of it sadly. Its very possible there will be a Shit My Kid Says 2 at some point. I'm sure most parents could write a book on the subject.

The Gallery. Week 13: Friendship

Two Little Boys.

The theme for The Gallery over at Sticky Fingers this week is Friendship.

Mr Nudie is a solitary creature. Like a lot of blokes I know, he believes that the quality of friends is more important than the quantity. He has one really good friend who has been his best buddy for years now. They met through their mutual love of sailing and spent many weekends away sailing for years until I came along and ruined it all.

When Mr Nudie and I got married , I moved from London to where he lives on the South Coast. I didn't know a soul, so his best friends lovely wife took me under her wing. She is now one of my closest friends. A year later I fell pregnant with the Little Prince. Shortly after that our friends announced that they were expecting too. This meant that my friend and I shared our pregnancies and even better, we were on Maternity leave at the same time. The babies were born just five weeks apart, both little boys.

The boys will be three at the end of the summer. Already their friendship shows great promise. I wonder if they'll meet for Sunday night beers to put the world to rights in years to come, just like their daddies.............

The Gallery. Week 12: Self Portrait

This is my entry for week 12 of The Gallery over at Tara Cains lovely blog Sticky Fingers. The prompt this week is 'Self Portrait'. When I saw the prompt my initial thought was to sit this one out. I hate pictures of myself. I think I am spectacularly unphotogenic, to the point where I didn't even think I looked that great in my wedding pictures. I un-tag photos of myself posted by others on Facebook. I've even been through old photographs and destroyed all the 'ugly' ones. I'm not vain, just very self-deprecating.

Then I read a little more about what inspired the prompt in the first place. A touching post on another brilliant blog (you can read it here) about precious photographs of a dearly departed Mum. The essence of the post was that sometimes photographs are all we have left to remind us of someone precious when they are gone. Gulp. Thanks to my penchant for destroying all evidence of me looking like a minger and hiding whenever someone brings a camera out, there are no recent photographs of me. None of me with my beautiful boy. None.

So brings me to my chosen photographs. They are not self portraits in the literal sense, I didn't take them (they would be truly awful if I did). I think they're rather apt though. They go with my nickname as I'm very nearly Nudie in them. I know what you're thinking, here's someone who claims to hate having her photo taken posing half naked on the internet! To be honest I would have treasured these photographs regardless of how I look in them, they were of such a special time. I think these are photographs my son would cherish.

That's him I'm a growing................

Fuck. That's my cover blown then.

Shit my kid ruins.

This post is inspired by a website I stumbled across whilst wasting time on the interweb the other day. It is imaginatively titled 'Shit my kids ruined'. The clue is in the title. Go and check it out, it is VERY funny, whether you have kids or not. In fact, if you don't have kids, you'll probably breathe out a sigh of relief whilst simultaneously glancing smugly at your minimalist living room and your pristine white sofa.
I have a kid who loves to ruin shit. Oh how I empathised with the parents who had submitted those photographs as I scrolled through them, a knowing smile on my face all the while. I wonder if there is a parent out there who hasn't had a treasured item of furniture/carpet/item of clothing (delete as necessary) completely ruined by their little darling(s).

My little prince is three months shy of his third birthday. The past year has been a particularly productive one for ruining stuff. I honestly didn't appreciate quite how destructive toddlers can be until I had one of my own. Sure, we had thought of all the obvious things like moving all glass objects out of his reach for the foreseeable future, and pens below waist height are a no no of course. There are child locks on all of the kitchen doors lest he swallow some sort of toxic substance, but also because I don't want my wedding china smashed to smithereens with a wooden toy Hammer. The poor Dog is daft enough too, he certainly can't afford to lose any Neurones as a result of a bang to the head with a Le Creuset saucepan.
No matter how prepared you think you are for a certain amount of toddler destruction, they are always one step ahead. It would never have occured to me for example, that my child would find an overripe Banana in my bag, clean the window with it and wipe his hands on the curtains. I still well up when I recall the time when I emerged from the shower to discover that he had removed the head from my electric toothbrush and carved a swirly pattern with the sharp metal bit into the headboard of my Three Thousand pound (ouch) Walnut sleigh bed.

Most of the destruction seems to occur when I am in the shower. I often come out to a scene of devastation. What am I supposed to do, not wash? Is this the fate that befalls all parents of toddlers, or is mine particularly destructive? I would also be interested to know if Boys are more destructive than Girls. Answers on a postcard please.........

In the meantime, here are some pictures of the Master at work.

Thankfully he has grown out of it now, but the Little Prince used to crawl into the fireplaces at every opportunity, covering himself and everything in his path in soot.

This was a shower incident. I came out- and there he was daubed in mascara. Funnily enough, the only place he hadn't got it was his eyelashes.

This delightful incident took place last week. It went quiet- a BAD sign. I found the little sod in the back bedroom having unzipped a Pouffe. There were eleventy million polystyrene balls everywhere. Ever try cleaning them up? They stick to bloody EVERYTHING. I kid you not, I was even picking them out from between the child's Butt cheeks. It took Mr Nudie and I two hours and two vacuum cleaners to clear that shit up.

Looks pretty chuffed with himself, doesn't he? I think his exact words were 'Look! I makin Snowman'

Grrrr. That is all.

A week on. I'm still finding those poxy balls everywhere..................