Archives for posts with tag: blogging

What started as a wholesome family activity one sunny Saturday afternoon* with an enthusiastically proposed¬†‘Let’s make some jam tarts!’

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Turned into something rather less ‘enjoyable hour of family fun’ and more ‘gigantic sticky pain in the ass’.

Being an overdramatic, pre-menstrual witch on said sunny Saturday** probably didn’t stand me in good stead; when after carefully guiding Miss E’s gloriously chubby digits, and the spoonfuls of delightfully sugery fruit preserve*** into the precisely rolled and lovingly cut cases of pastry; mummy managed to fling the entire tray full onto the kitchen floor, just inches away from their preheated destiny.

Despite the red mist, photographic evidence was of course required, so photo moment there was.

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Days later when Miss E pipes up ‘What mummy do?’

I looked at her with a furrowed brow ‘when sweetheart, what do you mean?’

‘On the kitchen floor’ she replies

‘Oh’ said mummy ‘mummy dropped the jam tarts on the floor didn’t I!’

Cue Miss E’s confused face ‘no, after that’

‘I don’t know what you mean darling’

‘Why you take a picture?’

Mummy laughs ‘Oh! Because it was funny****’

Miss E’s wise response … ‘Thats just weird’ {toddles off confounded}

*an hours worth of something, anything, to distract the tiring two year old from her 3pm breakdown
**said with a big cheesy smile and a glint in my eye
***after she’d tried to shove her fingers in and scoop handfuls of the irresistable sticky stuff to thrust into her tiny chops at the speed of light
****for three seconds

Eeek, this is my first linky uppy with a blog hopping type thing a majig… Fingers crossed it works.

Right, I’m off to check out this weeks other funee’s, you coming?!

Wot So Funee?
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A Blog Is Born

Having never really written before, it feels odd… This compulsion to get things down on paper {or ponsey iPad if we’re being pedantic}.

I have always been aware of this barrier I have that makes it really difficult to actually verbalise how I’m feeling/what I’m thinking/what I want/need. Imagine taking a mouthful of water, clenching your teeth together then trying to squeeze it out through the gaps. Only part of it actually escapes and that which does manage to make a break for it, has no real angle. It goes in precisely the opposite direction to which you would have guessed, probably dribbles down your chin and is also quite likely to squirt some unsuspecting passer by in the eye. So you think to yourself ‘better to just swallow and avoid any embarrassment’ {and you can remove that disgusting image straight from your minds you filthy buggers*} than to risk things coming out all wrong and, well, hurting someone … Or their eye?!

So there we have it, it seems I am as about as capable of explaining myself on paper** as I am vocally.

So, when discussing on new years eve over copious amounts of alcohol*** with my Mr, what we would like to ‘do more of’ in 2013 {resolutions are an invitation for failure in our experience}, we had filled in our family wants, his personal wants … So then he turns to me and asks ‘so what about you, what do you want?’ My reaction was to crumble into a tear stained ball of snot. You can see why he married me.

I think this was the catapult… That made me face up to the fact that I’m a slight emotional retard so this could perhaps be something I could work on in 2013. And perhaps seeing as I am a regular sufferer of verbal constipation followed by regular bouts of diarrhoea {also of the verbal nature} I could explore my thoughts and feelings in this new fangled format of blogging****.

Who knows what direction this blog may take, it may even crash and burn with this lowly post the only evidence of its fatal inception. Nevertheless, I am biting the bullet, sticking my neck out and approaching it with both smiley eyes {they hide a multitude of sins} and an open heart.

*she types whilst sniggering at the mental image
**ponsey iPad
*** two glasses of fizz, but could well have been 1litre of meths for the effect it had on me – an incredibly sporadic drinker
**** I know, I know. Don’t say it.