New levels of sibling rivalry

Just like many other mothers out there, I am aware that there appears to be some kind of divide between my middle boy and my youngest daughter.

I initially thought that divide may just be to do with the 22 months between them. Having sought advice from countless books and online "experts" I concluded that said divide was more to do with middle child envy of a newcomer to the family, and that they will "grow out of it."

Seven years later, after countless ups and downs, I feel I may have to reject my initial hypothesis.

Although my theory was based on a huge body of evidence supporting the proposition, I have finally conceded that this may have been, at the very least, an optimistic viewpoint.

It's funny. How evidence can be staring you right in the face for all that time. Until it does, one day, literally stare you in the face.

Ex Mr G and I were queuing up to say goodbye to middle son's teacher. It was mainly for show, as middle son is moving to a different school, but youngest daughter will still be at the same school. We will still see middle son's teacher. Daily. Bit of a shame as I think he's a prick. But we still queued up anyway to say our thanks and goodbyes.

As I was languorously leaning against the wall outside the classroom (this sounds sexy, but really isn't) waiting for our turn to say heartfelt "goodbyes" to Mr Prick, I noticed the pin board I was propping myself up on. It appealed to me in a Save the Children kind of Comic Relief "charity" way, as the big handwritten bubble font sign said: "The Diary of a Refugee."

I thought I may start to read the different entries. Languorously. To match my pose.

Then I saw the blu-tacked entry, stuck on the wall, written by middle son. I knew immediately it was his work due to:

a) the appalling spelling
b) the terrible grammar
c) the fact he had dogs and a sister called Gracie.
d) his name was at the top of the piece of paper

At that moment, I knew. Those books I read? They know NOTHING. My son just FICTIONED OUT his sister.

We have A LOT of work to do.

election time

You may NOT have heard about it but we here in the UK had an election recently..I know..probably passed you by bit like it did me..
However, I did decide to vote and took the children for a "family outing" to the polling station.
They were dead excited and got dressed in their very smartest clothes. Felt a bit bad building it up to them...when all you actually do is put a cross on a piece of paper and pop it in a box.
So...
on the way I decided to play a game.
Notquitesupermom: "I know kids...when we get to the polling station lets tell everyone we are voting for someone really funny..like the honey monster or Tony the Tiger...you know..lets just say someone really funny who hasent got a hope in hell of winning."
Ryan: "we could say we were voting for Gordon Brown. That would be funny"
Notquitesupermom: *first time in her life....speechless*

When did my 8 yr old become so politically savvy???
I feel old.

The Concept of the Advent Calendar....

Clearly Gracie doesn't fully comprehend the concept...




....and has yet to discover patience.

So..who are you again?

Recently I changed my hair style.

For a while no one even noticed.

Strange as it was quite dramatically different.

Nanny Nutty had babysat when I was at the hairdressers and even her hints to Mr G over the dinner table failed to generate a response.

But.

Yesterday Alfie noticed.

We had this little conversation:

ALfie: "You dont look like my Mommy."
NotQuiteSupermom: "What do you mean sweetie?" (kind of hoping that in his eyes I may have morphed into J-Lo)
Alfie: "Your hair. You dont look like Mommy anymore."
NotQuiteSupermom: "Why is that poppet?"
Alfie: "Your hair Mommy. Its so messy."


Ah. Possibly not the response I was after.


Then Ryan came home with this picture:






On first glance I thought the figure on the far right was one of the dogs.

Sadly NOT.

Its me.

But apart from that this picture is highly inaccurate on soooooooooo many levels.

For a start Gracie can't fly. As it appears she is.

Alfie is not as tall as Ryan and doesn't have big googly eyes.

Ryan doesnt have zombie eyes. Unless he is having a major tantrum.

Mr G is not that thin. And he doesnt have that much hair. AND his body does not resemble a carrot.

My legs are not that short. But I wish they were that thin.

And finally...


MY HAIR IS NOT THAT SODDING MESSY.

thanks kids x

My Mother In Law

Ok.

I am going to blog about my Mother in Law.

Please dont flinch.

But please pray she NEVER EVER reads this.

BEFORE I go into details, however, I would like to make a teeny weeny disclaimer:

Everything I tell you is 100% true. My Mother in Law is 100% A One Off. A Total Rarity. They just don't seem to make them like her anymore (for better or worse..you decide?) However. I have never met anyone before in my life that I have NEVER EVER HEARD say a bad word about anyone or anything that she does. Period. And I definitely know that I wouldn't smile nearly so much if she wasn't in my life. For better or worse having her in my life makes me happy. She is a character. And we all love a good character. Right?

So.

A bit of background history on Mrs G. (Yes. There are actually 3 Mrs G's. Can you imagine!!??)

Mrs G Snr is is also known by The Family as: Nanny Nutty. Nanny Birdies. Nanny Birdies with the funny hat. I will, from hereon in, refer to her as Nanny Nutty. That seems to pretty much summarize how she is... "in a nutshell."

Nanny Nutty has just turned 71 years old. And she drives a Moped. We hear her coming over for tea from 3 blocks away. She also has more of an active social life than I do. Which is not too difficult. But still...

In an average week she does Burlesque dancing on a Monday (..lets move along swiftly before your brain starts to absorb that info.) She does Belly Dancing on Tuesday. (Yet again..moving on...quickly...) She goes dancing with her OTHER MAN on wed, thurs and fri. Nanny Nutty also works. She doesn't have to. But she likes it. She works as the "Old Peoples activity organiser" at a residential home. I have lost count of the number of times I have had to dress up as Tinkerbell or Cinderella for the Christmas Panto. Very. Very. Exceptionally....uncool. Fortunately for me, most of the old dearies were asleep and missed it all anyway.

Nanny Nutty also babysits for us occasionally. And believe me there is nothing worse than coming home at 3am, slightly the worse for wear, to the sound of "Hi Mummy and Daddy!" from the top of the stairs. And: "We tried to tell Nanny it was bedtime. We EVEN showed her the room she was meant to be sleeping in...but we have been camping AND we had a disco!"

Nanny Nutty is asleep on the floor.

Obviously my kids think Nanny Nutty is the greatest grandmother that walked the planet. They even think her job is An Explorer (cue Indiana Jones theme tune) because she goes on holiday so much and then brings back "treasure" for them from around the globe. Clearly what an 8, 3 and 1 year old define as "treasure" is slightly different to my concept of the word. When Mr G and I go away anywhere we SCOUR the tourist shops for hours to find a gift to bring back for her that is even minutely as crap as the stuff she brings back for us.

Which brings me to last nights Proceedings.

Last night we had Christmas Day.(Just a little bit more condensed.)

Yes. I know its only October...but this is Nanny Nutty. Anything can happen....



Nanny Nutty is renouned for her slighly dubious gifts. Last Christmas she gave me a quacking duck alarm clock that cost £1 from the Sue Ryder Charity shop.



I knew exactly where it was from and how much it cost as it still had the label on it. To be fair to her...she probably forgot that I have 3 kids who are the best alarm clock that ever lived.
She has given my 14 year old nephew a carriage clock for Christmas. Not dissimilar to this one:



She gave my 11 year old nephew a packet of Y-Fronts one year:




But last night I won the prize for the worst present ever.

It is no secret that as I've just had a baby I kind of live on a perpetual diet. Nanny Nutty has a particularly bad habit of asking about my diet just as we are sitting down to eat surrounded by loads of people:

Nanny Nutty: "So. Hows the diet?"
NotQuiteSupermom*with mouthful of chocolate cake*:"mumphhh..yep..going really good thanks."
Nanny Nutty: "So what do you weigh now?"
NotQuiteSupermom *having swallowed the cake and now looking guilty* "umm...too much?"

Am sure she is just concerned for my wellbeing. Definitely.

So. My turn for a present.

Everyone watching.

The surprise was slightly ruined for me as the present had a yellow Post It note on it with my name and what was inside the gift wrap.

I open my present.

Wow!

A fabulous tan pair of Control Top Tights.



NotQuiteSupermom: "Gee! That's the best present I ever had!. Thank you so much! These will be really useful."
Nanny Nutty: "Its a pleasure. I thought they might come in handy for you. Read the back of the packet."

Control Top Tights Main Features:

1. Control panty shapes tummy, hips and thighs. Excellent.
2. Wide "non-roll" waistband. Cool.
3. Enhanced toe. Obviously V. Important when selecting control tights
4. Cotton- lined crotch breathes, leaving you cool and dry. FREAKY!

NotQuiteSupermom *nearly pissing herself laughing but holding it in for fear of what she might be given next year..Tenalady anyone?*: "Thank you so much for thinking of me. It really was exceptionally kind of you."

For better or worse. Right?!

How I wish I was passing through security at the airport again....

Walking the Dogs

I walked the dogs at the park today.

I know...well done me!!

And..for my effort I got rewarded with one of the funniest things said to me for ages....

A man came over with his little dog and said:
"I know those dogs..they are mother and son right?"

"Yes" I replied.

"Your Dad normally walks them doesnt he?" said the dog walking man.

"No," I replied.."my husband does. Always."

"Oh," said the dog walking man. "Sorry."

AH HA HA HA HA HA

Poor Mr G.

But Yeaaaay me!!!

Love the ever youthful,

10 reasons I find 7 year old boys annoying

<..and I have one.

1. They think they know everything. If you try to correct them they say "yeah..I know that" or "lets not talk about that anymore"
2. Most of the things they say involve shooting or star wars...ie "Die...Darth Vader...Pheeeenouoww...mmmmmmmm (thats a light sabre)....pssssshhhhhtttttttt..powwwww."
3. Most of these things are accompanied by a fountain of spit. Due to:
4. The fact they have no front teeth. It is so not their fault but nevertheless so not a good look.
5. They like to choose their own clothes. Meaning they choose to wear horrid spiderman tops or checks and stripes together.
6. They like to do their own hair and wont let you restyle it. Even if it looks stupid.
7. When they brush their teeth a fair amount dribbles onto whatever top they are wearing. Not a problem if they are doing the checks/ stripes thing as you get to change them but really a problem if it is the only clean school shirt available.
8. They start to get into really unattractive TV characters. Like Spongebob Square Pants.
9. They beat you at Wii play, Mario Karts and anything on the Playstation. But you still have to play.
10. You have no idea of the things they can fix/ break. They also point out the obvious on a regular basis.

Canine Capers

At some point in your parenting career the children start wanting a pet. You start off small..a hamster, some fish..maybe even a rabbit. Then they ask for a puppy.

In my case it wasn't the little children asking for a puppy. It was my big kid, Mr G, the perpetual Peter Pan. And he didn't just want a puppy. He wanted LOTS of puppies. We already had Maisy Moo and he wanted to breed her. I was 5 months pregnant when she got pregnant, 8 months when the puppies were born.





I know...they are so cute!

This is what happens.

They go from this:



To this:



Then they do this to your parcels....



And this to your windows:



And this to each other...





Start compiling your list of reasons why you can't have a dog. Right now. Then you will never be caught with your guard down and accidentally say yes.

Don't talk to me about Winnie The Pooh

I am taking great comfort in the fact that it isn't just me in this parenting partnership who is falling slightly short of expectations. As a New Years resolution BOTH Mr G and myself have decreed that we will take our children swimming EVERY Sunday to spend some quality time with the little ones. On our first ever "family swim" venture (normally its just me) Mr G declared (rather confidently I thought) that he would take our two boys and get them changed, leaving me with just the baby and the hope of a hairwash afterwards.

As he started opening the door to the changing room, I started issuing instructions: "Ryan needs his goggles in his swim bag and he likes to take his towel with him to the pool.. and Alfie's winnie the pooh swim nappy is in his swim bag."

Mr G gave me a look that was MEANT to tell me he was in full control. I wasn't so confident but I gave him the benefit of the doubt...

Nearly 35 minutes later Mr G and the boys joined me and Gracie in the pool. No kidding..it really was this long. Personally I was all for getting out the pool and having that hairwash I've been dreaming about. But seeing as this was a "family venture" Gracie and I stayed in to play in the water.

It was an amazing success! The boys were having a fantastic time showing Daddy how well they could swim and having rides on his back through the pool. Gracie was trying to drink the water and then getting suprised when it made her cough. Mr G and I even took turns to go in the hot-tub. It was actually going rather well!

Until Alfie got out the pool to jump in.

It was then that I noticed the horrendous error made by Mr G.

Alfie appeared to be struggling somewhat to walk along the side of the pool. Which was not suprising really...seeing as his nappy appeared to have soaked up about half of the pool water and the bottom part seemed to be languishing way beyond his knees and nearly way beyond the bounds of decency for a public pool. The nappy also had a picture of Lightening McQueen from the Disneys Cars film, although he was looking less sporty race car..more stretched limo.

It became painfully obvious that Mr G had got his Disney characters terribly confused.

On a day to day basis Alfie wears pullups featuring the Disney Cars characters.

The swim nappies had Winnie the Pooh on them.

Mr G stated in his defense that he thought I was so well organised (..does the man even know me at all??) that I had ALREADY put Alfies swim nappy on before we left the house. I countered with the fact that due to our recent trip to Disney he should therefore be far more up on his Disney knowledge than the average Joe...and why on earth did he think I mentioned winnie the pooh? Did he think I just go around mentioning winnie the pooh for no apparent reason?

At this point Alfies nappy fell off..with a rather large "pop" and burst a million little bits of sodden crystals (what is that stuff?) all across the poolside.

The moral of the tale?

Ensure that your husband takes regular quizzes on identifying the Disney characters.

Take great lengths to ensure he has no inflated opinion of your organisational powers.

Endeavour to make him think that you aren't such a "mummy" that you drop Winnie the Poohs name into every sentence (ie..."Gracie just loves Winnie the Pooh," or "I saw this really cute Winnie the Pooh toy today," or "the kids watched another episode of Winnie the Pooh this afternoon," or "tonight I read the kids a Winnie the Pooh story.") Otherwise I'm pretty sure he won't be listening when it matters.

Failing that..get the kids ready yourself and wash your hair when you get home.

And the winner is....?

Do you think that for some of us winning just comes easy? Or is it a result of hard work, how we were parented as children or just a combination of good genes, luck and social situation? Or is it to do with how well we manipulate the system?

I'm trying really hard to install in my children the importance of playing fairly and the attitude that "it's not the winning that counts it's the taking part." Although I do sometimes pretend not to see when my children re roll the dice in snakes and ladders because they didnt get a six.

I have heard stories about the behaviour of some "soccer parents" at local junior club matches (and we are talking 5-7 year olds) shouting obscene abuse at their own and other childen during the game which is quite unacceptable. I've always sworn that I would never, ever, ever develop that type of unhealthy competitive streak.

That is until our annual Town in Bloom competition ran a miniature garden contest for 4-7 year olds.

My 6 year old was desperate to enter.

For some reason unbeknown to me...I was desperate for him to win.

I have no explanation of my need to win this competition.

I feel bad about the following story.
Really, I do.
It is not my finest hour.

We called our garden (note: our garden...not his!) Grandad's Garden...mainly because I knew that the competition would be judged by the older generation and this was guaranteed to score some points. After raiding our farm set and a not so cheap trip to the local dolls house emporium we were ready to make the garden. On a beautiful sunny summers day we sat outside clutching our plastic shovels, filling our seed tray with sand and laying our expensive fake turf. It was bliss. My 2 year old was in heaven emptying the sand from the sandpit and putting it all over the patio. The baby was just enjoying the sunshine and the breeze. It was all going well until we reached the garden design stage. Having spent many weeks thinking about the optimal design for the garden I was very taken aback when my eldest son decided to scrap our original plan and go with something "off the cuff."

"But Darling", I said, "Should we not put the water feature next to the patio so that when grandad is relaxing in his (very expensive) deckchair on the ( also very pricey terracotta tiled) patio, he has something interesting to look at?"
"No." said my 6 year old. "I want it to go in the corner over there."

No matter how much I tried to persuade him that the water feature...and the garden bench would look much better elsewhere, it was to no avail. It was at this point that..(CAUTION...shameful moment coming up)...that I threw my plastic shovel on the floor and told him: "Well...just do it your way then if you dont want to win."

I know.
I am so embarrassed.
I don't know what came over me.

When I had calmed down a bit I agreed through gritted teeth that maybe the water feature would look better over in the corner. Hidden by the Acer. Obscured from view. And there it stayed.

Needless to say..we won. My son was overjoyed. I was racked with guilt as it was a bit of a dead cert. I felt bad for all the other children (and really bad for the mums) who had spent hours and hours putting tonnes of glitter on things to make their fairy gardens. My husband laughs every time about how well I (a 30 year old woman) did in the 4-7 miniature garden category. And my son polishes his trophy every night.

I'm not proud of my behaviour. But I am already planning our next years entry.

a cinderella story

By 10am this morning I felt like I was living my very own Cinderella story, sadly minus the handsome prince (he's busy at work), the beautiful dress and shoes (I'm in my tracksuit and trainers) and the fairy godmother (she's on vacation....I have no idea when she will be back.)

All the other important elements were there though: the carriage (my MPV on the school run), the mopping and cleaning caused by the three ugly stepsisters (actually my children who are not technically ugly or sisters...there are 2 boys and a girl.) But there are three of them with very high demands so for the purpose of this blog the analogy will have to do.

And let us not forget the mice.

Thankfully we dont have a mouse infestation..but mice did feature heavily in the weekly Jo Jingles class I dragged my 2 year old and 8 month old to at 9 this morning. As usual it was tipping down with rain as I arrived with no parking space available within a 10 mile radius (well..not quite that far but it felt like it carrying two children with a combined weight of nearly 4 stone.)

We have been attending this "music appreciation" class for a few years now and I have yet to appreciate the music made by 16 under 3's together. Dont get me wrong..I dont have high expectations as far as music goes and my taste in music is questionable at best. But the noise created by allowing all those children access to drums and beaters is enough to make you want to quit parenthood altogether and go work in a library.

About halfway through the class the very enthusiastic teacher declared that we all needed to get up and for the next song we were going to pretend to run quickly like little mice and then slowly like a garden snail. I was up for the slowly part..but running? Like a mouse? At 9am? Really?

I tried to stay sat down.

Unfortunately I was the only one.

To my surprise all the other mums seemed fairly up for it. Some of them even made little squeaky noises. I kept an eye out for the hidden cameras as I was slightly concerned this was some kind of trick and that the footage will appear on YouTube later.

This mouse incident is only the latest in a series of embarressing incidents the teacher has made us do recently. Thankfully the last one happened to my husband the one and only time he has ever attended the class. That time he had to demonstrate Morris Dancing, complete with little bells on his knees and scarves. I got disco dancing and ballet the weeks I went and needless to say my husband was pretty devastated about his lot.

When he came back...in a slight state of shock...he asked if this kind of public humiliation happened to me alot. I wanted to deny that my life was one big humiliation and paint a picture of a glamourous Yummy Mummy effortlessly gliding through the day while looking fantastic in designer outfits. But I just couldn't. My tracksuit still had the remains of the babys lunch on it.