Bedlam

Places Monkey has chosen to sleep at bedtime over the past two weeks:
• In the car
• On the floor in the guest room, beside the spare bed
• In the spare bed
• Under the spare bed
• On the rocking chair in the nursery
• At the end of his brother's bed
• On the floor beside his brother’s bed
• In Mummy and Daddy’s bed (numerous times)
• On the big couch in the living room
• On the small couch in the living room
• On the floor in the living room
• On the couch in the playroom
• Under the Thomas train table in the playroom

Places Monkey has refused to go to sleep:
• His own bloody new big boy bed!

No nights lounging in front of the TV soaking up all the fab new fall shows for me. Oh no. Every night I’ve been playing a new game with my second born: musical beds. And so far I’m totally losing. Or should that be, I'm a total loser?

Give me strength for the week ahead....

You've Got Mail

Opening up my email inbox today, I was excited to see 13 new messages. “Ohhh what gossip from friends?” I thought as I clicked on mousey.
Nada. None. Nope. Not one. Nothing. Not ONE email was from a living, breathing friend. It was all junk mail landing with a big fat ‘splat!’ in my inbox.

How did these companies get my email address? Isn’t it enough that I’m plagued by advertising interrupting my TV shows every five minutes with their in-yer-face commercials? (Thank the lordy for DVR) My mailbox over-flows daily with flyers for this grocer and pamphlets for that car dealer and coupons for goodness knows what. (Tsk, think of the paper wastage advertisers!) I can’t even enjoy the radio in the car without some booming voice yelling at me to ‘buy’ 'buy’ 'buy'! (Plug in the ipod.)

And now this. Despite me setting my junk mail filters, somehow these advertisers have broken in and are ready to pounce. These guys either have mummy-cams set up in my home and think they know me well, or they randomly hacked into my life anyway. Whatever, I’ve got some stuff to say back to my intruders….


· From: Tri Slim
Subject: Lose up to 30 pounds in 30 days
Have you been spying on me and my late night snacking?

· From: Acai Cleanse
Subject: Oprah’s Superfood of the year
Ever since the James Frey book debacle, like I’m going to ever trust what Oprah rates!

· From: Tesco.com
Subject: Spend Less with New Discount brand Products
Will you deliver to the USA? Didn’t think so.

· From: High Success
Subject: Quit your boring job and become a google millionaire!
Don’t think HD and boys would accept my resignation if I tried to quit. And it’s not boring. Well, not much. Though the housework part, I’d happily swap for googling any day.

· From: Michael Vincent
Subject: I found you a new job
Err, stop stalking me Michael. You infiltrate my inbox every day. Get a new job yourself!

· From: Finally Here
Subject: Better for weight loss than any other anti-oxidant! How the French eat lots of fat, but stay skinny and live longer than anyone!
Finally here? Like I’ve been waiting for this email ALL MY LIFE! Based on what research is this statement about the French true I ask? Maybe blogger friends, Petite Anglaise and Tarte Tartan can shed some light on this for me?

· From: HealthcareBilling
Subject: A brighter future starts with a Medical Billing Degree!
Excuse me? Are you seriously implying you have to get a DEGREE to send out bills for doctor visits??? Is this an April fool?

· From: Acai Free Trial Kit
Subject: Lose 20lbs instantly the Brangelina Way!
Is this a free pair of fingers for sticking down my throat then?

· From: Saks Fifth Avenue
Subject: Louboutin: More Fall Styles
Oh sigh. In another life, with another budget, I’d love to be sashaying about in my new fall Louboutins. Sorry Saks, think you’ll find you have more success targeting this customer with Uggs.

· From: Quality Kitchen Remodeling
Subject: Transform Your Kitchen with Sears
Ok, so this one caught me eye, as we are planning a new kitchen. But, right now, my kitchen would be transformed with a mop, bucket and some bleach. Oh and a spare pair of hands to pick up all the cheerios and rice krispies that have become embedded between the tiles.

· From: Janie and Jack
Subject: Up to 50% off! An autumn sale Not to be missed!
Ahh, now I love this children’s clothes store. But even at 50% off, they’ll still have me paying $30 for a sweater. Email me again after payday…

· From: VistaBusi8nessCards
Subject: 250 Full Color Business cards
Hmm. Lack of actual business ownership is a problem here. Though I could get a card for my line of work.
It might read, “SUPERMUM/MOM FOR HIRE” Available 24/7. Great rates! Specialises in: Thomas the Tank Engine, Cadbury’s, Greys Anatomy, GeoTrax, Fireman Sam, Jay Jay the Jet Plane, getting boys to aim in the bowl, wiping bottoms, chopping melon, cooking pasta, playing hide and seek and floor wrestling. (Note: the last one I charge extra for)

· From: First National
Subject: Your spending power has been increased!
Oh great. But, more importantly, what about my net worth?

Camel Toe Ted

It’s only 40 days to go until THE BIG event: Halloween. The children have been buzzing about what costume they will wear since, err, August (!) and some of my neighbourhood Moms have been talking about what their kids will be wearing since, err, August. Not this Mum though. I was still looking at swim shorts.

However, as all the shops have been full of all things Halloween since, err, August, recently it has been hard to avoid the impending dive into costume choices and sweet treats. So, this weekend, I caved in. Leaving it until the last minute (as some Moms round here would believe) we took Cheeky and Monkey off to Target (sort of a cross between Woolies and BHS) to purchase their ghoulish threads before they all sold out.

Cheeky had his eye on a Storm Trooper costume. He’s been carrying round a costume catalogue since, err, August (he’s gotten sooo American – it’s all about which ‘holiday’ we’ll be celebrating next.) Anyway, the Trooper costume he picked out was $50. Fifty bucks? I don’t think so. And as I skipped the sewing gene, we looked for a cheaper alternative to buy.

The Trooper costume in Target was $19.99. Still plenty, but I wouldn’t mind as much if he only wore it once, or worse still and more likely, refuses to wear it at all on the BIG night.

With younger son, Monkey, the costume thing is more of an issue. Last year he was still so little we could put him in anything and he wouldn’t complain. (He was a very cute Tigger.) This year, at two, he has an opinion and can say the word, ‘No!’ Ironically, or aptly, he chose a monkey costume. And after some wrangling, I got him in it and he looked so sweet I couldn’t stop kissing him.

Halloween is one of the holidays here that I really enjoy. (Nothing to do with the fact it means a stash more chocolate in the house, honest.) I love it because it’s just so American and it makes me so happy to be in America on that night. They really go for it, so much more than I ever experienced living in England.

Last year, Halloween on our street was just like that scene in ET where he’s dressed up as a ghost and all the costumed kids are running up and down driveways, shouting ‘Trick or Treat?’ Except, as far as I was aware, we had no extra terrestrials or cameramen floating about.

My point is, it was so magical I felt like I was in a movie. House after house had carved lit pumpkins glowing on their porches, some pumped out ghostly tunes. Houses were decorated with spider webs, (I actually didn’t have to buy any fake ones, seeings as we have a pesky arachnid who weaves enormous webs over my front windows.) Some put fake grave stones on their front grass; others string little pumpkin shaped lights over their garages. There were purple path lights, fake spiders on the brickwork and plastic skeletons hanging out from upstairs windows.

It looked like a film set. It looked brilliant.

But most of all, Trick or Treat Night brings a smile to my face because of one Mom who, I shall forever refer to as Camel Toe. She’s an All American Mom of four and she takes this costume business very seriously. She joins in too. Her disguise of choice? A teddy bear. A very authentic teddy bear. She has brown paws, a soft and fluffy belly and a shiny black nose.

So authentic, there must be a tiny, naked, shivering teddy bear somewhere in her house, crying for his lost fur. Because her costume is about 10 sizes too small for her. Worse still, it rides up in that place where, lady or man, you just don’t want your clothes drawing attention.

'Camel toe' or 'camel balls', you've heard of it, right? Some people call it 'moose knuckle', other synonyms are 'cats paw' or 'deer hoof'. (US TV host Conan O'Brien even has a character called 'Cameltoe Annie' on his show.) Whatever you call it, one thing is for certain: it's not a good look!

I find it hard to maintain eye contact with Camel Toe Ted on Halloween. The urge to stare in horror right at her squashed lady pocket is overwhelming. Never mind the ghouls and gravestones, she's definitely the scariest thing on the street. Am hoping 2008 will be the year that she treats herself to a bigger costume. Or buys herself a mirror. I’ll be sure keep you posted…



Photo credit: Travisleebutton, FreakingNews.com

Is it Me?

Or do I have,'LOONS ARE WELCOME HERE' tattooed upon my forehead? I've been staring in the mirror, exfoliating vigorously (I even dared to get really close. With my contacts in.) But I just can't see the words that surely must be etched above my brows, else why would another one have popped by to ruin my day? (Note to self: Book a brow wax. Urgently.)

I find it disconcerting that I seem to have more loons (lunatics) in my life of late than I have diamonds. Recently, I have blogged how these very special people have taken centre stage in my life during, Act One: Scene Five:
Lovin' The Loons and Act Three: Scene Two: God's Good Work?

To me, the lights were down, the applause long gone and the theatre had been shut up for the night. Silly me for trying to leave the show early. The Loons did an encore. Today. At the school drop-off.

Naturally, the car park (parking lot) is always busy at drop-off and pick-up. Cars line up with Moms/Mums looking left and right for their chance to pounce upon a space. I joined the line of shiny automobiles and waited my turn.

I noticed a car ahead of me pulled in to the side. The driver was gazing away from the parking spaces and looking towards the school doors. She didn't have her warning lights on. She wasn't indicating for the space about to become available to us, either. She looked 'parked.' I pulled past her and swung in.

"Ohh, we're nice and close to my classroom this time Mummy. Are we in those yellow lines?" Cheeky asks from his position as Backseat Driver. (Clearly, he'd been paying attention when, on his first day last week, the teacher had given us a mini lecture entitled, How To Park Safely at School'.)

How stupid can parents be?

Very, apparently. Because, as I'm getting Cheeky and Monkey out of the car, the Mom unloading her offspring next to me says," I hate to comment," 'But you're clearly going to aren't you?' I think. "But did you not see me sitting there waiting for that space?" She asks. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were," I said, all smiles. I'm thinking, 'Why is she bothering to voice this? She got another space, right next to me!'

But she wasn't going to let this go. Oh no. Of course she wasn't. She was another fully paid-up member of the chorus line of Loons that seem to be attracted to me, like a toddler to tantrums.

"But I was right there!" She is now gesticulating furiously at the place where I had passed her. "I was clearly waiting for this spot. I mean, come on!"

Cheeky and Monkey are looking up at us, confused as to what is going on. I wanted to kneel down with them, become pint-sized and say with inappropriate toddler honesty, 'Why are you shouting at me? And why do you have a big fat black hair coming out of that BIG ROUND HORRIBLE black spot on your face?'

But instead, I said, "Well I'm really sorry. You weren't indicating for the space. I didn't know you were waiting." "I was right there!" she continues to unlease her tirade upon me, enjoying her moment in the limelight. "It's just not necessary to do that to me," she says, shuffling her children towards the school.

I hang back, not wanting the other Moms to think I am a fully-paid up member of The Loon Association of Dramatics. But she's not going to give up, this one.

"You really are out of line!" She is shouting over her shoulder at me now. Someone pass the straight jacket.

Not wanting to cause anymore of a scene (a British philosophy I've noticed many Americans don't seem to share) I apologise AGAIN and repeat the fact that I didn't realise that she was waiting, "You got a good space after all, no big deal."

She stops in her tracks and swivels round in her Crocs," No big deal to you but, THAT WAS MY SPACE!" (Am guessing by this outburst, she won't be inviting me to join her Knit Night anytime soon.)

I have lost the will to live, so I don't bother to answer back. Instead, I march Cheeky to his classroom, kiss him goodbye and get the hell out of Loonsville (carefully avoiding not to ram her car in anger as I reverse.)

When I get back home, there is a message on the answerphone telling me we've won a free home security system. Am all smiles again. We never win anything! Can't wait to get it installed, then I can lock myself inside, safe in the knowledge that if any more Loons come knocking, the alarm bells will definitely ring.


Photo Credit: Fototsearch.com

God's Good Work?

Sunday was Him Downstairs’ birthday. An event Cheeky and Monkey have been looking forward to since the last family birthday was over back in June. For the obvious reason that the chance to eat birthday cake again couldn't come to soon.

HD had requested his first birthday present take up at least three hours of his morning (a lie in). So when the sound of little feet stampeding towards our bedroom came at the ungodly hour of 6.26am, he took a dive under the duvet and yours truly stumbled around in the dark.

6.34am: “Can we give daddy his cake now?” “No darling," Yawn. "Let Daddy sleep for a bit longer.”

7.00am: “I want to give Daddy his present now! And can we have the cake yet?”
7.15am: “I don’t want bran flakes. I want cake!”

And so it went on, me on clock watch, them on cake watch. At 10 to 10 I thought, ‘Sod this.’ We lit the candles, grabbed the presents and filled a breakfast tray full of tea and Frosties (HD’s favourite). He was woken by a rousting chorus of ‘Happy Birthday!’ and two small background singers chanting; “Cake! Cake!"

I tell you, the man had it made. The boys clamored onto the bed, thrusting their cards and gifts under his nose and Cheeky proceeded to feed Daddy his cereal and plaster him with kisses. He’s smart that boy. I had him sussed: 1) Feed Daddy the sugar-laden cereal and I’ll be able to sneak in a few spoonfuls for myself and 2) He’ll be so chuffed with kisses and gifts he’ll let me eat cake!

It was a sweet morning (except for the bags under my eyes and the yawning threatening to make appear bored with the whole event). The boys had made Daddy his very own tea cup to take to work and covered it with their handprints and messages of love. (Ok, I ‘fess up: I did the writing bit). Daddy was thrilled and sufficiently elated to let us all eat cake in bed.

The second birthday request was to go out for brunch. It was here we ran into Sin City.

Happily seated in our little booth enjoying eggs (mine poached, the boys' scrambled and HD’s absent: he doesn’t do eggs) we noticed a cute elderly couple sat opposite, smiling and nodding at the boys as they threw crayons round the table and bacon off the table. (The boys, not the seniors.) We were not-so happily engaged in the business of eating out with toddlers that later, I didn’t notice the blue-haired lady approach my side.

“Excuse me," she said grabbing my elbow as my eggs were midway into my mouth. “ Let me give you this.” She thrust a piece of paper under my nose and on top of my plate. Caught too off-balance to take in all the words printed on her paper, I merely noticed the Ariel rounded MT bold ones at the top that read, ‘Lord hear Our Prayer’.

Oh no.

There was I foolishly thinking she’d come over to pay me a compliment on my parenting skills.

"Will you join us?” she asked, a little too close for my comfort.

My brain, as scrambled as the children’s eggs, spontaneously combusted and I plumped for the first Get Out Of Jail card I could muster. “I’m sorry," I said. "We don’t believe in God."

Strictly speaking, this isn’t true. I do believe. In something. My firstborn was christened in a lovely Oxfordshire church in England. HD and I sang ‘Lord of All Hopefulness’ under God’s gaze on our wedding day. But since we moved Stateside, I have struggled to find the right place for us to worship Him Above. Catholic, Baptist, Lutheran, Episcopal, Christian, Methodist, Pentecost there are so very many churches in our city, I am totally confused as to which one is closest to The Church of England that I know and err, (sorry Mum, sorry God) tolerate.

So, I’ve gone and avoided the issue. The lack of religious education in the local state school system does bother me, but mainly because I miss not going to the school Nativity play at Christmas. And Christmas? That really bothers me. Do the children round here realise 25th December represents more than mountains of plastic tat? I just can’t get into the swing of being politically correct and saying, ‘Happy Holidays’. It’s still, ‘Merry Christmas,’ that spills from my lips as the snow falls. Michiganders forgive me because to them I’m just ‘the crazy English woman with her funny ways.’

Anyway, Granny is truly shocked at my response. I’m hoping it hasn’t sent her pacemaker into overdrive (if she has one). She leans right into our booth and very loudly proclaims, “You’ll be very sorry!” And with that she’s already got God on the Cell Phone and telling him to refuse my family entrance at the Pearly Gates.

HD is baffled, but not defenseless. "Our religious choices are our business!” he calls after Granny. “Tsk,” he tuts. “Talk about trying to ruin a nice birthday breakfast!"

And with that we finish up our eggs and walk straight out into Sin City.




Photo Credit: Fotosearch.com

Lovin' The Loons!

I wasn't planning on this being the next subject for a post, (you'll be pleased to hear btw, that HD has finally taken of his Daddy Day Care Crown to mop his poor exhausted brow.) However, yesterday I got an email from one of my fellow Brit Sunday Brunch Gang (SBG) friends that made me laugh so much I almost had to reach for a Maxima Underpad.

The subject line read: Craigslist Looney!

This was going to be good.

You see, this friend and I have spent much of our Mid-West summer selling anything that's not nailed down in our homes on Craigslist. Tired of being Desperate-For-Our-Own-Cash-Housewives, we wanted to make a little financial contribution to our households, plus buy ourselves some bloody nice shoes!

So, we rooted round our respective homes grabbing any old junk we hadn't used in five minutes, photographed it, uploaded it onto the 'For Sale' classifieds on Craigslist and a few emails and knocks on the door later, there we were, dollars in our hands.

"Boys! You haven't played with that tractor since yesterday. Can Mummy sell it?"

I'm telling you, it was addictive. HD feared he'd come home to an empty house, literally, I was so into the swing of clearing-out-the clutter. People will buy any old crap. But they were buying our old crap!

Obviously buying and selling this way means you might encounter the odd loon (lunatic) ringing your doorbell. But we took precautions. Both my girlfriend and I were careful never to be home alone if it was a man coming to pick up the item. We both used to tell each other if we had a 'Craigslister' on the way over, and we called a little later to make sure we had not been murdered or our homes ransacked. (Not that either of us had much left in our houses now to be honest!)

Anyway, my favourite Craigslist Loons as I have dubbed them, were:

1) The 50-something lady that drove 15 miles to come look at my living room ceramic-based, cream-shaded lamps (which had photos and measurements on the advert) only to declare, "I was really after smaller pink bedroom ones in a Regency style." She then went on to ask my advice on a range of topics, including posting personal ads."I put an advert in my local paper asking for an exercise buddy," she said. "But all I got was calls from strange men. Do you think I should try the personals in Craigslist?" "Errr no!" I replied, wanting to add, 'Do I look like someone who has expertise in the field of pimping?

2) The 30-something man that wanted my $4 'coffee-for-one' Cafetiere so much that he was prepared to pay $10 for because I couldn't find any change. He beamed: "Am just so pleased to find one this small! Clearly, he needs to get himself some friends.

3) The heavily pregnant and tattooed 20-something who hoisted my old solid wood coffee table onto the back of her pick-up truck, point blank refusing my help. I wasn't going to argue. She may have been eight months pregnant, but she was six feet tall and as we say in England, 'built like a brick shithouse'.

However, my trysts with Craigslist Loons paled into insignificance when I read my girlfriend's email. Here it is for you all to enjoy:

"OK - I've had my first craigslist nutter! I had a few emails from a lady wanting to buy my cat carrier box. She seemed very reasonable. Within seconds of sending her my phone number for directions she was on the phone - half an hour later I managed to get rid of her. Needless to say I arranged to be out when she was coming to look at the carrier, but left it on the porch for her. Yes, I was willing to risk her running off with the carrier without paying - she was that bad.
This is the email she sent after she had been and found (no doubt to her huge disappointment) that I was not here. She did actually buy the carrier so I guess there was a silver lining."

Sent: Wednesday, September 10, 2008 3:27 PM
Subject: Re: Airline Approved Pet Carrier


HI,

I LEFT THE MONEY UNDER YOUR SNAIL ON THE PORCH. CUTE LITTLE SNAIL.

I left you some websites for the pandemic that is looming. Those are government websites of disaster planners. They are talking worldwide in different languages on one of the sites. The websites inform military families how to ready themselves for the disaster. Even some disaster planners from the UK are discussing their plans. I thought you might find it interesting and helpful.

The government has warned about 4 million people in the USA to get ready for the 18 month disaster, but they have no intention of letting the general public know when it will start, not in the USA or the UK. And there is a media blackout.

The USA expects to lose 25% of the population, and the UK 30%, Russia and Norway expect 50% losses. It is so sad.

I like the cat carrier. It is just the right size for my medium sized cat. I have 3 cats. One small, one medium and 1 very large. They are fun. My 2 children are grown now, so I have time again for kitties.

Have a great fall season!


You see, even in our sleepy little suburban corner of the USA there's a Loon just waiting to make you wet your pants! I think we should invite her to join our Sunday Brunch Gang. She sounds like a right laugh.

Go on - share your Garage Sale/ Classified Ads/ Car Boot Sale loon stories. You know you want to...

Tagged!

Today I've been tagged by A Confused Take That Fan. So I have to answer these 7 questions then pass the taggie on to someone else. Not wanting to be a spoil sport, here goes..

1. Where were you ten years ago?
Living in Norf Laandon (Willesden Green) with ex-boyfriend and working on a teen mag. It was a big year for me as I got made redundant and dumped on the same day. Nice! But on the up-side, it was the year I got to be a VIP at Glastonbury and report from backstage. Having a bacon butty (bacon sandwich Brit-style) with my crush at the time, Pulp's Jarvis Cocker, is forever etched on my heart.

2. What's on your To-Do list today?
Forgetful mummy that I am, I actually really did make a 'To-do' list this morning. It reads:
* Book Cheeky's storytime class at the library. (Check, I achieved this by 9.30am. Get me.)
* Email / call Mum (Will do that after I've done this.)
* Buy Him Downstairs' birthday present (Almost done this one. Have been to the clay & paint studio where the boys made a special treat for Daddy.)
* Wash kitchen floor. (Didn't really need to write this one down as our feet are sticking to it, so the sound is constant reminder.)
* Do my blog. (Check. Well done me.)
* Defrost sausages. (I just got them out of the freezer. So that's an almost done.)
* Something yellow for pre-school. (Mustn't let Cheeky be the only child without a yellow object at school tomorrow. I'll grab a bag-tie later.)
* Cookies. (Ah, this one is a whole other blog. Suffice to say, I have my Bookclub meeting tonight and I have to bake something fresh to take along. Boxed cookies will get me thrown out. Seriously.)
Clearly if I am going to cross more off this list I need to move away from the computer!

3. What if you were a Billionaire?
Gosh I just can't imagine never having to worry about money. I do wonder though if we were billionaires, would me and Him Downstairs cease arguing? Or would we just row about who left the biggest pile of cash lying about? The sensible side of me says that if I became that rich I would obviously pay off all our debts and mortgage debts of our families and loved ones. The shopaholic side of me says we would go on several wonderful family holidays, employ a cleaner and part-time nanny and me and HD would go for some decadent weekends away, full of designer shopping and 5* food! Oh and I'd buy a nice country house in England for us to stay in when we visit, so we don't have to squash all four of us into my in laws house.

4. Five places you have lived?
UK: Norfolk, South London, North London, Henley-On-Thames. USA: South West Michigan.

5. Three bad habits?
Only three?!
* A bit too potty-mouthed at times. It's been tough giving up that kind of vocabulary in front of the little people.
* Late night snacking. This has got to stop because my Muffin Top is more like a Gateaux Gut right now.
* Too stubborn. It would take a personality bypass to sort that one out.

6. Snacks you like?
Oh go on, pass me the Cadbury's. If you must...

7. Who will you tag?
I will tag two of my favourite fellow Expat bloggers, A Brit Different (because she makes me laugh and very generously bestowed another award on me today) and Expat Mum because she's as harried as the rest of us and hopefully this will be little light relief for her.