Fightclub...quite literally

It was a few weeks ago that my daughter (3 and a half) was being bullied at pre-school. By a 3 year old. Her face was bitten, she was poked in the eye and pushed over. Obviously, I was furious initially and could have cheerfully strung the little culprit up by her ears. But then I got to thinking that it's quite sad that that is how she expresses her feelings, when my daughter has ALWAYS got the words to tell you how she feels or what she wants - and I mean always! We popped over to an elderly neighbours house a few days ago for a cuppa and a chat, and The Daughter sat quite nicely for a few minutes listening to us. Until it all became too boring for her, and she leant forwards, flung her arms up in a flamboyant manner and asked "Isn't anybody talking to me?!" Needless to say we were in stitches, resulting in a furrowed brow from The Daughter.
She loves pre-school, and is (usually) full of the joys when I collect her. But if anyone else tries to ask her what she's done during her day, it's like trying to crack a thoroughly trained secret agent. She rolls her eyes and announces "I don't want to talk about it anymore!" A bit like Fight Club - what happens at pre-school, stays at pre-school...

What goes around, comes around

Last week was the harvest festival at Biggest Little One's school (or 'harbest bestibal' as she called it). So began the annual clearing out of the cupboards for our donations. Some lucky pensioner was feasting on lobster bisque and tomato soup, wild mushroom couscous, and on-it's-date low fat rice pudding (only the best in this house!) And as a bonus, my cupboards are now looking respectable again.
Only this morning - when The Mother In Law dropped the Smallest Small One back home, she was brandishing a carrier bag. "Nan got this lot from a harvest festival" she said "and she thought you might like it". Oh good. Let's just hope the shelf life on it is long enough for me to give it away next year!!

Guy-gantor

This week I am feeding my neighbours cats. It always seems to coincide with The Husband being away or when I'm already snowed under, and to be honest - with already having to look after my own 3 feline beasts, I do feel like the Spondon Cat Lady. So off I pootle twice daily, with the Skids in tow ready to wreak some havoc in new territory. The Cats - Tom, Guy, and J - usually like to leave me small gifts when they know I'm on duty. Sometimes a headless and skinned mouse, sometimes a bird with it's guts on show. Yesterday, however, I was greeted by about 15 piles of sick. It looked like they'd either a) all decided to synchronise gut flu, or b) one of them had developed cat bulimia. Judging by the size of all of them, it is entirely possible that one has simply become too ashamed of their colossal frames and decided enough is enough. This is Guy - the biggest.

Guy has tried and failed many diets, and I'm sure will now spend the rest of his days looking like an overstuffed beanbag on legs. Considering he is so massive, he is suprisingly sprightly and comes flying across the garden and through the catflap (yes, he can get through) at breakneck speed when he hears movement in the kitchen.
It is with some shame that I admit one of our cats is getting to be a fair old size. His idea of exercise is yawning and venturing 3 steps outside to take a crap. Rather than being put-out when the new kitten arrived home, he was merely delighted at the thought of an extra trough to feed from.  As much as we do try to move the little zeppelin out the way while the other cats eat, he continues to get bigger. I'm beginning to think he must be microwaving himself meals in the middle of the night..

Shouldn't laugh...but I will

There is a girl I used to go to school, and then college wiith. To say she is accident prone is probably the understatement of the century. At college we used to sit and watch her (with our sausage rolls or cakes in hand, like we were at the cinema), waiting for her to walk into a table, or a concrete pillar, as she so often did. To protect her dignity (what's left of it anyway, after all the catastrophe's!), I shall refer to her as Calamity K. Anyhoo, I see Calamity K around and about our village, and she used to work in the McDonalds in our local Asda. It was here that I witnessed what I assume (and hope, for her sake) to be her biggest calamity yet. As I was loading the shopping into the car, I saw her get into her crapmobile (I couldn't tell what make it was for all the dings and scrapes on it). I stood there, open-mouthed, as she reversed - straight into the side of a BMW waiting and indicating to get into a parking space. Eek. So you can imagine my horror when I saw her pull up next to me at the petrol station this morning - in a brand new Ford S-Max! I give it a week before she's parked it in the middle of a lake.

Pffft.

Took the biggest of the small ones to softplay this morning. Can't say we had much fun, as she was like a miniature Sgt Major ordering me around and telling me off every 5 minutes. As we were crawling through a too-small plastic tunnel, a young dad said to his baby girl "Look, a big girl's crawling through - you'll be a big girl one day!".  My attempt at humour led to "Do you mean me? haha". To which he looked at me like I was a total 'tard and simply said "No".

"Go Team!"

Little bit gutted as tonights Spin&Circuit has been cancelled. The instructor has an injury apparently. If it's the same instructor who covered last weeks class her injury was from banging her head climbing inside the fridge to get at some cake. There were only 4 of us there, and her 'motivational' cries of "Go team!" every few minutes had us cackling behind our hands like kids. It's probably a good thing though; I'm making curry for tea, and would be sweating pure spice!

Mr Skinny Legs

We know what Monday night is - Spin class night! I'm not sure if enough calories have managed to find their way in past the swollen tongue, so I hope I don't collapse halfway through. Monday's class is taken by the lovely Errol - body of a thoroughbred BeefBus resting on the legs of a sparrow. It's a total mystery how his little spindleshanks carry the weight of his torso. He's a real slave driver as well - week after week I watch newbies come, be scared half to death by this so called 'beginners class', never ever to return. It's a good job I like the punishment!

Holes and Christmas

Well, I guess the big news here is the big chunk of metal through my tongue! Day 3, and most of the swelling has gone down. I am eagerly awaiting the bar-change; this one is so enormous it's like having a teaspoon in my mouth. Also hoping the smaller bar will help with my talking - at the moment I'm scared of being mistaken for being deaf!
Started Christmas shopping this morning..and by that I mean I had a look in Boots at the 3for2 things, and then went to Topshop and bought myself a jumper. Everything that JC wants is small, plastic and costs a fortune. Sylvanian Families are everything that is wrong with society today if you ask me. And everything we buy BoyWonder will be hijacked by his sister or eaten, so the only safe items left for him are clothes. The Husband will be getting his annual change of clothes. MIL will be getting a voucher for removal of the wart on her nose (see what I did there? No mention of broomsticks!), and my mum will get more stuff for her to shove in a cupboard and never see again.
And what has Bob's asked santa for this year? I'm hoping for some serious cosmetic surgery - eyebag removal, threadvein reduction, laser liposuction, a course of sunbeds - and the hope that I get to see the New Year in looking like Jessica Alba!