Wednesday, 22 February 2012


Blog 54 a... Getting Started...

I have been thinking about writing a blog for some time now, you see I am at home most days and after years of working [teaching] I find that my mind is always racing ahead with thoughts and self -conversations [my own new words]…perhaps voices would be a better description…dear Lord do not let me be going round the bend perhaps they are voices talking to me from another realm…so after reading other peoples’ blogs[never really sure why it’s called a blog but that’s a whole different story] I have now put pen to paper…finger to keyboard...
When I was working I longed for the lovely lazy days of a housewife; coffee mornings, swimming sessions at the local pool, bus trips to different markets, reading a book in the library, sitting in the window of the best known coffee house in my town and just watch the world go by…’people watching’ over a coffee and iced finger roll. I thought I’d bake bread, make pots of jam, grow vegetables, sew curtains, decorate the house from top to bottom, have a marvellous wardrobe of the latest fashions that were not bought in haste from the supermarket, speaking of which the total luxury of writing a weekly menu and producing an efficient shopping list was my idea of heaven.
How different my life as a housewife really is; kiss everyone goodbye and return to the kitchen which is stacked with breakfast pots, cereal bowls that need to be cleared quickly before the concrete cereal sets against the sides and won’t shift easily, tea bags need removing from the sticky split sugar on the sink side, burnt toast remnants stuck by the marmalade to the breakfast bar, 5 mugs of half- drunk tea left in a variety of places around the kitchen including the window sill; why can no one put the milk back in the fridge or the lid on the butter? Congealed sausage and mash plates and pans from last night’s tea, thick, cold gravy in a cup, a mountain of recycling just piled high on top of an empty wicker basket bought specifically for that purpose. As I look at the devastation that will take me a good half an hour at least to clear I begin to understand the true meaning of an at home mum.
A wonderful old aunt of mine once bought me a set of fridge magnets: both had lovely pictures of sunshine and wild flowers .On one was written:
“There’s no such thing as a non -working mother” and on the other was the saying: “The mother of boys works from son up to son down.”
A wise woman my Aunt: mother of five children and a full time librarian in the convent.

So as a housewife I clean the kitchen, I make the beds, collect the washing, empty the washer, load the drier on rainy days and hang washing out on windy days, pair socks, hang freshly ironed shirts, fold bedding and cram it into the smallest airing cupboard you can imagine [definitely designed by a man] I scrub the bathroom…not pleasant who the hell toilet trained my sons? They pee on the edge of the loo….is it a competition to see who can pee the highest up the tiles behind the loo? As they reached puberty this pee then became decorated with pubic hairs…OMG am I really sharing this with the outside world? My youngest, the 'Cutie- pie' , has been waiting for his pubic hairs, he’s counted them from day one and given us a running commentary; “ Do you know mum I’ve got 8 hairs under my arms…I think I’ll have hairy balls soon…are dad’s hairy?” Adding, when I’ve complained about the hairs on the loo; “It’s not me I haven’t enough yet and I wouldn’t like to lose the ones I’ve got.” Why is there this fascination with pubes and balls when I’ve a kitchen full of visitors eating slices of Victoria sponge [shop bought] and French fancies?
Once I’ve cleaned the bathroom, mopped the bathroom and en suite floors, returned PS3 games to the correct boxes, collected sweetie papers and empty crisps bags that have been shoved in the most unlikely of places [as if they can fool their mother the champion sneaky eater] picked up the headphones and microphones for fear of sucking the blasted things into the hoover: believe me it’s no easy task unravelling the microphone wires from underneath a hoover that never loses suction, [try putting the microphone back onto a computer table with its wires arranged to hide the scuff marks and the missing tiny pieces of black wire that are now forever in the hoover, doesn’t look good and is spotted a mile away; it’s as if they can smell the wires have been chewed the minute they return home!] I proceed to the downstairs; rounding up newspapers, coffee cups, supper pots, find the remote, re- stack the DVDs and put away homework books where they can be found quickly ; I polish, I tidy, I look at the clock and think; “ Where the hell did the day go?” I sit down with a coffee and toast and wonder how the hell did I think I could have the time to plant bloody vegetables?
On a good day [to be discussed at a later date] I then have to set off to pick the 'Cutie- pie' up from school…need to go at least half an hour early as there are some very aggressive younger women in bigger cars than my Kia Picanto…yes the car so small it cannot fit a spare tyre in the boot but they don’t tell you that they let you find out in the dark and pouring rain when you open the boot and think OMG and you crawl under the bumper in the hope that the spare wheel is somehow clamped underneath…take my word for isn’t!!...but yes the war of the parking spot is one I have almost won provided I get there on time I get the coveted spot where there’s a bend in the pavement and I can sit half on and off it without risking the wrath of the school bus drivers who cannot get past without swearing…and swerving. It’s also far enough away from the abuse of the male drivers who think women should park further down the road and not in front of them so that heaven forbid they need to reverse a wee bit before racing off. It’s whilst sitting waiting I realise I have forgotten once again to get the meat out of the freezer; “What’s for tea?” are the first words the 'Cutie- pie' mumbles as he throws his school bag in the back of the car and slams the door before jumping in the front and turns Adele on the CD player, good job I like her. So on the journey home I’m listening to her pouring her heart out in the most magical of songs : making me think of a long lost love [loves actually, but I wasn’t a slapper] and with the other ear I listen to my youngest singing and explaining how he got his jumper ripped, can’t be mad with him, looking at his eyelashes I can forgive him the pee on the loo….and somewhere deep in my brain I’m thinking….mince meat buy one get one free at Tesco…I’ve got a jar of sauce…pick up a garlic bread…there tea’s sorted just as I drive into 'Hubby’s' workshop car spot …another day another dollar..or so the saying goes...

Blog 54b coming week same place...


  1. Excellent. Looks lovely and reads beautifully. Well done. can't wait for next week.

  2. I am soooooooooooooooooooooo proud of you!!!!!!! This was funny , touching, moving, sad and heartfelt.... You are right, the life you think you will have is seldom the reality, but you have so much to be thankful for , hopefully getting better soon and your boys are just amazing, and him indoors is not so bad himself. Ha ha...... Keep going , this is better than Coronation Street!!!!!! xoxoxo