Getting Lost at Home

Yesterday was the freakiest day ever.  We had planned on going Christmas shopping early with the kids as well as bringing them to see Santy but Mr. Claire changed his mind because the Little Man didn’t have his haircut.  Not that it would make much difference even when the child’s hair is cut it still manages to look moppy.  So at the last minute, he asked his family to babysit while we went out shopping for the kid’s toys and clothes for Christmas.  They agreed (they don’t see the kids often) so we set out on the long drive there.  They live in the next county and it usually takes about an hour and a half or two hours at most to get there.

So, we started driving, I kept saying that I had a baaaad feeling about driving that day.   The car started its new trick of cutting out every time he braked and he soon realised that the traffic was…not good.  So he does what every man I know does.  Finds a different way to go.  Why is that most men can’t sit still in a bit of traffic, they have to keep moving?  No matter how long it takes them, they won’t just sit there and wait for a couple of minutes, they have to try every single alternative option.  As long as they’re moving, they’re happy.  Even if the moving consists of reversing and turning around only to end up in the place with began!  It’s very annoying because without fail, it takes longer than it would have if we had just waited.

So after about 20minutes of ducking and diving around traffic jams, Mr. Claire decides to go a brand new way.  And gets lost.  Can I just say that it is hard to get lost between Dublin and Kildare.  I hate asking for directions but I was willing to stop by some coppers and ask them the way.  “No,” he growled back at me.  Sorrrrreeeeeee!

Eventually (after quite a few false starts) things begin to look familiar to him and we find ourselves on  the right route to Kildare.  Then the heavens decide to open.  The rain lashed down on us.  I have never been scared in a car with Mr. Claire before but I have never experienced anything like yesterday!  The cars in front were unleashing waves of puddles that were lashing against the windscreen.  You should have seen his little face concentrating.   Bless!  Mucky water continuously spraying against the windscreen does not equal safety.  And myself and the Little Man weren’t improving matters by singing, “We better run, run, run, the storm is on it’s way,” over and over and over again.  Mr. Claire retaliated by refusing to play any cd other than Garth Brooks for the whole day.  I learned my lesson…

So at about 5pm we finally got to his mother’s house.  He made us walk through mucky grass to get to her front door.  Toerag.

We dropped the kids off, as usual, the Little Man was ecstatic at getting away from me while the Princess screamed her head off and had to be forcibly removed from my person.  Free at last, Mr. Claire and I frolicked to the car jumping for joy.  We went to Newbridge and bought the most amazing clothes for the Princess.  She’s so freaking cute in them.  Not the point!  A right dozebag pulled out in the middle of the road right in front of ongoing traffic.  I thought Mr. Claire was going to get out and be all bionic man and chase the car down the road in a rage.  He was really pissed because we missed crashing into the back of that eejit’s car by inches.  A chorus of beeping made that car shoot down the road away from everyone.  We went to Naas and bought toys in Smyths.  It was a bit crap.  I’m very disappointed.  I can’t get the stupid boys version of the Little Tykes camera I planned to get him.  Everywhere only stocks poxy pink ones.  Do they think boys don’t like taking photos?  Toerags.

The dinner Mr. Claire had promised me that morning ended up being in a chipper but it was lovely so I’m not going to complain.  Anyway, we set off from Naas to Kildare Town.  From where Mr. Claire used to work to where Mr. Claire used to live.  And he managed to get lost.   Again.

I don’t fecking know how the hell he managed to get lost between Naas and Kildare Town.  I don’t know how many miles apart they are but they are close and it’s like one straight road through!  Even I know my way and I am shit at directions!!  We ended up on this long arse road that went on FOREVER.  In the wrong direction.  I started getting the feeling that we would never see our children again.  He had this horrible look on his face that plainly said, “please don’t start bitching at me right now, please!”

We eventually get ourselves off that road and discover we are miles in the wrong direction but at least we can find our way back.  So we drive through all of these poxy, bendy, twisty lanes with no light whatsoever and what does the fecking car do?  Keep cutting out, leaving us for a couple of seconds each time in the pitch black!  It was scary shit.  Mr. Claire is a great driver and managed to avoid crashing but it was a close call a good few times yesterday!  If I had been in the car with anyone else, I would have gotten out and walked.  I have never been scared in the car with Mr. Claire before but disaster was chasing us yesterday!

 We got back to the kids in one piece.  His family wouldn’t even believe me that he had gotten lost in Naas.  It’s seriously unbelieveable…Then when we had arrived home, his brother rang to see if we were okay because a truck had overturned on the road we had just driven down.  All in all, a creepy day!  All that to get some bloody Christmas shopping done!  We got home at around 11pm, exhausted.   But at least we’ve started getting things in for Christmas.  We got our boxes of biscuits and tins of chocolates as well as our boxes of crisps.  It wouldn’t be Christmas without those! 

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Sins Of Our Fathers – Part One

Nature vs. Nurture.   Nurture vs. Nature. 

I know most of what I write is basically…fluff.  But my interests do lie in other areas too.  I can enjoy cartoons AND reading about genetics whilst maintaining the same I.Q.  But don’t worry; this post is going to be a bit of fluff too, phew!  But as per usual, it’s a long one, run now, while you have a chance!  By the way, I wrote this yesterday as a draft because I thought we were going out but we don’t seem to be – I’ll just use this draft anyway.  The reason it’s called part one is because there are other things I want to get into that are related to this post but it was getting long so I thought I’d do it another day.  Plus, I don’t have the heart to talk about that stuff yet.  Call this a prelude to the real deal.  When I’m ready for that, we’ll talk 😉

 Becoming a mother has made a couple of things come to the fore.  How much of a part does genetics play in the adults our children become?  Personally, I think that both nature and nurture can play a part but in the long run, nurture is what counts.  At least that’s what I hope.  When we were children, one of the biggest threats my mother had was “you’re going to end up exactly like your father’s family.”  My mother loved my paternal grandfather (he died when I was 6months old but before that he looked after us when my father did not.  He had no illusions about the type of children he had raised.) but she wasn’t so keen on the rest of my father’s family and I can’t say I blame her…for a variety of reasons. The neighbours raised eleven children because my paternal grandmother couldn’t get up out of the bed every day.  My mother has no sympathy for this and can’t understand it but I can because if I allowed myself, I would have the exact same tendency to give up and hide under the covers.  I hadn’t seen that woman since I was around four or five yet when I had my own children I felt the urge to react exactly as she did every now and then.  Okay, to a lesser extent but maybe if I had eleven children, the postnatal depression that I went through would have been much more severe.  Is it genetics that made me feel like this or is just “one of those things?” 

As I said, my mother liked to threaten us with the idea of bad blood, how if we weren’t careful, we would become just like the people she despised.  She did her best to raise us so that we wouldn’t, I’m sure she did, but she made a fatal error by implanting it into our heads that no matter what we did, we would end up a certain way.  I have to admit, I was terrified that I would be a crap mother (just like the women before me…) but I felt like I couldn’t do the same things that they did.    I don’t have it in me to be those types of people.  Or do I? Sometimes I hear my mother’s voice when I speak and that scares the crap out of me.  I should have learned from her mistakes, right?  I know I’m not the best mother in the world.  I’m not good with the cleaning and at any given time, at least one of my children is covered in some sort of unidentified gunk but I love them.  I mean really, truly love them, unconditionally.   I don’t love them because they are good, or say cute things, or have blonde hair, or remind me of me, or can be easily persuaded.  Growing up, these were the things that earned love and these were the things that I didn’t have on my side.  When I was a kid, I had to deal with a lot of crap and a lot of fucked up people.  I have their genes so I’m always aware of how fucked up I could be too. 

Basically, my maternal grandmother is pretty much an alcoholic, a nervous wreck and a bit of a spoiled brat to be honest.  I love her but she’s not very good with responsibility and although she’s much better now, when I was a kid, she wasn’t very nice and I didn’t like her at all.  If she wanted to do something that you didn’t, she could get very mean.  She was the youngest child and the one allowed to mess up a lot.  Her mother raised my mother until they fell out, then she worked constantly, leaving my mother at home alone. 

Side Note: I often felt like I was the adult in that house of spoiled brats.  When I was a kid, it was me that my mother told she was having a miscarriage, it was me that was told we had no money to pay the bills so we weren’t going to have heat or light, it was me who had to come up with ideas to fix things, it was me who took care of my younger brother and the two baby cousins my mother was supposed to look after in the mornings, it was me who had to listen to her cry and freak out, it was me who had to take the brunt of everything and it was me who had to make sure that NOBODY found out what our life was like.  Not one person in my life (save my aunt) could take responsibility for themselves or their own actions.  I was a very young, naive little girl and I had a lot of responsibility that I shouldn’t have had.  I make sure my children get to play.  A lot.  Because I feel like I never had a childhood.  Maybe I had children for selfish reasons then…hmm…that made me think.  What gets me now is that everybody pretends that things aren’t as bad as they were.  Or they skim over them by saying it’s in the past.  Yeah it is, but things were worse than what I even make them out to be. 

Her sister looked after her and although I idolize my aunt, I recognize that she could be domineering and bossy at the best of times.  The both of them together were far too controlling on my mother who manages to be responsible and irresponsible at the same time.  She can look after everyone else except herself and her money (and her children to be honest).  She was an only child and she is also a spoiled brat.  She was not a good mother and although she too is better these days, back then, she was going through a certain amount of mental problems that made her incapable of looking after us in a healthy way.  I still can’t believe that she was allowed to look after two children alone but the past is in the past.  She didn’t start to drink until she reached her 30’s but I think she too will end up on the route to alcoholism.  Her husband is extremely unhealthy and as he is the one keeping her together, when he dies in the next couple of years, she will probably fall apart. 

My father’s family is full of problems.  My father himself is more than likely an alcoholic.  The last time I saw him, I was around 16 or so and he definitely had a drinking and drug problem then so I doubt much has changed to be honest.  My younger brother drinks way too much and takes drugs.  He won’t admit either of those but we both know it.  I think he has a death wish (I’ve met more than one person in my life with one) and like both my parents in their 20’s, he has attempted suicide at least once.  When I get a phone call in the middle of the night, my first thought is that something has happened to my brother.  But my point is that most of my close family don’t know when to stop when it comes to alcohol. 

So, I am fully aware that I am predisposed to a drinking problem and I am sure that in the past I have had way too many drinking sessions.  It is a social thing here.  People think it’s weird if somebody doesn’t drink.  I think I’ve met one or two people in my whole life that are teetotal.  Of course, I’ve been caught up in it too.  I drank a lot as a teenager but slowly lost the habit as I got older.  I don’t think I have a drinking problem though.  I had half a glass of wine last night with my dinner but before that I can’t remember the last time I had a drink.  At the moment, it isn’t something that I need to do to enjoy myself, I get up and dance even when I’m stone cold sober so it isn’t necessary for me to enjoy a night out.  In saying that, I fully plan on getting drunk on Christmas evening so maybe that’s a contradiction.  Anyway, the point is, I tend to hold back.  I know my limits.  I don’t like getting completely drunk and not knowing what I’m doing.  That is not my idea of a good time whereas I think with the others; they drink to forget about the bad times.  Whatever it is, I hope that I’m the one to break the cycle.  My partner’s family has some of the same problems so I admit; I fear that my little ones could follow the same path because it’s in their genes. 

I am different to the rest of my family (when I say family I’m talking about the maternal side) in a lot of ways.  My mother always made me different by saying I didn’t look like them, didn’t act like them, wouldn’t turn out like them.  I was often left out of everything, was often left behind, wasn’t included in treats, that sort of thing but looking at us all now, I seem to be the only one that’s happy so maybe nurture does have something to do with it, maybe if I had been included, I would be exactly the same as the rest of them.  I can’t complain about that one 😉 

I’m probably not being very clear or concise here (what a surprise) but I was left to myself a lot as a child.  The only thing my mother really instilled into me was good manners and the fact that we were a respectable family.  Not one person in her whole family touched heroin (which was the drug epidemic in their time) or got locked up or did anything “bad” yet her son, her golden boy, grew up to become a cokehead.  She can’t understand how the bad one (me) could grow up to become first a hard worker who never got fired from a job to secondly a dedicated mother when the good one (my bro) grew up so messed up in the head.  She thinks it should be the other way around.  If he had a different upbringing he might not be so messed up.  He’s so confused right now and he can’t seem to keep himself on the right track for long.  It’s like he’s pressed a self-destruct button and just can’t stop himself.  Instead of getting help, he hears, “I told you, you’d end up like your father!”  That ain’t going to work any better than it did when we were kids. 

I know that a lot of what I saw as a child has rubbed off on me.  I am a spoiled brat.  I know I am.  I don’t really know how to stop being one…and I probably am a bit mental myself, but never to my kids 🙂 My mother always says to me that I have the same expressions as one of my father’s sisters (I don’t remember ever seeing her) so obviously genetics has a part in things.  But I do believe that it’s how we raise our children that counts the most.  We can’t raise mini-me babies but we can do our best to make sure that we don’t pass on our crap for them to handle.  At least, that’s what I’m hoping and maybe by blogging about things, I won’t be carrying that shit around for my kids to pick up on…

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A Broody Little Christmas

I’ve spent the day in a Santy hat…of course it’s only 11am or so, I really shouldn’t be complaining.  We put up the tree last night and now suddenly it’s Christmas.  The word tree can be a bit misleading.  It’s a crappy 3ft piece of plastic pretending to be a tree.  It looks pretty though…if the lights are off.  Not because you can’t see it but because the fibre optics, lights and decorations look really well in the dark.  They do.  *nods sagely*

December is really having a wierd effect on us.  We argued over what tree to get yesterday.  What size, what colour, what price and we weren’t even in the same building.  He kept asking me what I wanted, I kept telling him what I wanted and he kept disagreeing with what I wanted.  “Get whatever the fuck you want then!” I shouted at him before hanging up the phone.  He got the one I wanted.  *looks sheepish*

Is it just me or does December make everything irritating?  I think he’s worried I’m pregnant I’m so hormonal at the moment.  I just want to get a move on with everything and he’s all lacksy daisy about it.  I don’t want to do everything on Christmas Eve this year!!  Speaking of being pregnant, I want to be.  He doesn’t want me to be.  Hmm…that’s never happened before so I’m not quite sure what to do about that. 

This time last year I was around 6/7 months pregnant and I was huge.   Nobody thought I’d make it past Christmas, I was seriously ginormous.  Before I gave birth, my skin was starting to wear very, very thin it was so stretched.  Christmas four years ago, I was going through unbelievably bad morning sickness and I spent Christmas day alone.  I couldn’t keep down water at that stage, it was horrible.  So I’m not really sure why I want to be pregnant again when I think about things like that.  Although I’m very sure when I look at my children play together.  Another one would fit in nicely.  I can see Mr. Claire buying me a puppy instead.  He doesn’t like how I look at babies on the telly.  Not my fault I’m permanently broody.  I actually think there is something wrong with me.  I’ve been broody since I was 12…:)

 With that thought….have a great day 😉  I know, I really have to stop talking about Christmas…and babies…and Christmas.  I keep planning on talking about other things but it always comes back to “see above”.  Okay, I want a baby for Christmas.  A puppy would be nice but a poor second.  What is it you want during the holidays this year??

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Clean Up, Clean Up, Everybody, Everywhere…

Hmph, couldn’t post this morning because Mr. Claire needed the net to download an update for the Xbox.  Yes, I come second to the Xbox 🙂  Now back to today’s announcement… 

Mornings can go a couple of different ways in my house.  The Little Man or The Princess can wake me up.  The Little man does this by jumping on my head or stomach until I need to die or pee.  The Princess does this by screaming her head off as if she is stuck in between the bars of her cot and in excruciating pain.  Sometimes they don’t want to wake me up for various reasons.  The Little Man could be on a rampage and passing biscuits on to his baby sister to keep her quiet about the whole thing.  It’s a team effort. 

On days like this, I get woken up in one of two ways.  One could be the sound of Mr. Claire’s horrified voice shouting saying, “For the love of God, LIAM!!” followed by the sounds of Liam running as fast as he can into the bedroom before jumping into my bed and putting his cold hands and feet all over me in an effort to hide.  This scenario can be built up to by the sound of Mr. Claire’s disgusted voice shouting saying, “Oh, Jesus what’s all over her face?  Isobel!  NO!”  Cue frenzied double-checking that it is in fact chocolate and NOT poo all over her face.  The relief doesn’t last long for poor Mr. Claire, I’m afraid because at some stage he has to look at what damage has been done while we were asleep. 

Alternatively, my beautiful sleep is disturbed by a strange noise.  It could be an odd tap tapping noise, the sound of tearing, a rather loud squeaking or a whole array of other noises.  The Oh, shit, no, sensation starts to kick in relatively quickly.  Half asleep, I KNOW that my son is no longer asleep, I KNOW that I don’t want to look at what he is doing but I KNOW that I have to stop it right now before it gets worse. There are many sights that could await me once I grudgingly pass by Mr. Claire’s pretend snoring body with a deadener to the arm and the sight of my daughter’s four shining white teeth amongst a mouthful of brown drool.  I enter the crime scene kitchen. 

Flour/sugar/pasta/rice/coffee/ripped up tea bags/baby formula could be strewn across the floor in cleverly constructed mounds.  Thomas the Tank Engine’s friends will all be stuck in one of these mounds and poor Thomas will be the scruffy hero attempting a rescue.  Usually a couple of these mounds are mixed with broken eggs and yoke while others are overflowing in about 2litres of milk.  This is so we can’t clean it up as quick.  It is really hard to clean up raw eggs mixed with dried up gunk (or else we’re just not doing it right). Parts of the floor will be pulled up, most of the battery powered toys will have the backs unscrewed and their batteries replaced.  He is quite good with a screwdriver.  Something somewhere will be dented by a hammer of some sort.  Kitchen towel, toilet roll and Kleenex will be floating in the air.  I sort of imagining him running free around the room with a look of glee across his face and pieces of paper in his hands twirling elegantly in the air.  It is art. 

Every single toy will be out of the toy box and covering the doorway for a couple of feet in every direction so that no matter what you do, you have to stand on a toy to clean up.  Sometimes, the tap will be left running and a mini flood will occur – this is probably a river to wash the filthy trains in after they have been rescued.  Things are better since he’s been potty trained though,  he used to take his nappies off too but I won’t finish that story. 

Of course, all this hard work and effort makes a growing boy hungry.  So he will have to feed himself at some stage.  Think of chunks of butter everywhere but the bread.  Jam sliding off the table.  Packets of cheese and ham overturned on the floor.  Twenty pieces of bread on a plate, each with one bite taken out of them.  That’s before he even pours himself a drink.  Anything that was placed so high up that even I can’t reach it, is somehow, magically, on the ground. 

Today wasn’t too bad, maybe he’s taking pity on us at last.  He managed to get behind a huge television stand/cabinet thingy and take out a Transformer we had been saving him for Christmas.  Firstly, I do not know how he found the thing, secondly, I do not know how he managed to get behind the cabinet, and thirdly I do nott know how he managed to get the toy open because I struggle with it.  But he managed all three.  He also managed to get his hands on three board games.  I hate when he does that because you can never find all of the pieces again.  Never.  So, he decided it would be fun to take all of the cards out and throw them up in the air, watch them all fall to the ground and then go make brown sauce sandwiches.   

Brown sauce sandwiches.  What a connoisseur…I can’t go into my kitchen for longer than five minutes today because the smell of brown sauce is sickening me.  I hate brown sauce; it’s a Mr. Claire thing.  Obviously, it’s a little man thing too considering he’s making sandwiches out of the stuff.  Bleurgh!  It tends to be like a treasure hunt in the mornings, trying to figure out exactly what has gone on before I woke up. 

I wonder how he manages to wake up first every single morning no matter what time I get up at.  It’s a talent.  If I died and nobody realized for a couple of weeks, my son would be well able to look after himself and his little sister.  He sometimes makes toast, I’ve caught him trying to make bottles for her before, there is nothing he won’t try.  He even cleans up sometimes 🙂 

Today, he didn’t want to clean up.  Mr. Claire told him to clean up everything and then he was going to go straight to bed.  Little man knows it’s an empty threat and fluthers around the place regardless.  Mr. Claire joined in on the cleaning while I judged the damage on the Princess.  I’m thinking she had a brown sauce sandwich too.  I told my son to either clean up his trains or else throw them in the bin.  He tries to throw them into the bin…Plan b, Mammy, what’s plan b?  I did the countdown.  I say, five, four, three, two…I don’t quite know what happens at one, we’ve yet to get that far.  I have no idea why it works because even I don’t know what happens at one but it does the job so I’m not complaining.  I’m aware that my parenting skills leave a lot to be desired but whatever.  Both kids are happy and healthy…maybe it’s down to the brown sauce sandwiches?

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Depressing News

Monday’s here once again.  I had so many things I wanted to talk about yesterday but I’ve forgotten them all today.  Except, I’m shitting a brick a little bit because I gave my NaNoWriMo novel to somebody to read.  My son deleted a chapter and I needed a bit of help with that and the whole thing to be honest and somebody offered to give me a hand.  I’ve never “given” somebody my stuff to read so I’m feeling more than a little bit sick today.  I feel the need to share my pain. 

But in the grand scale of things, that really isn’t important.  The newspaper made me cry again yesterday.  There was a time when Mr. Claire wouldn’t buy me newspapers or else he w0uld read them first and take out any sad stories.  He was sick of seeing me sob for like an hour if I read something sad.   If anything happens to children or animals, that’s it, I’m horrified and upset for the day.  It’s a bit ridiculous really, you never see somebody reading a newspaper on a bus and bursting into tears.

So, yesterday’s story that made me cry was about a funeral.  A whole family wiped out.  A procession of tiny white coffins.  It really got to me.  Around two or three weeks ago, there was a fire at a house.  A couple and their five children died.  Within a couple of days, it became apparent that it wasn’t an accident.  They say that the father trapped his family into a room and set the house on fire.  The mother was pregnant and two of the children were under the age of two.  The older children were most certainly old enough to know what was happening to them, old enough to know what their daddy was doing to them.

The story at the time got to me, but seeing those little coffins was just horrible.  I can’t even imagine how the rest of their family and friends must be feeling.  This type of story used to be unbelieveable in the past.  But now it’s happening more and more often.  I don’t understand it.  I don’t understand what drives a person to hurt their own families like that.  There are usually two excuses when a parent murders their child and kills themselves too.  One is that the mother was extremely depressed and the other is that the father wanted to hurt the mother or punish her in some way.  I’m not saying that’s exactly the reasons, just that it is what people say to try and understand what has happened.

I can’t relate to it at all.  I’ve been depressed.  I had post natal depression.  But I’ve never once considered hurting my babies and I’ve certainly never thought of hurting them to punish their father.  It scares me how easily it seems to be happening.  Not long ago, this was unheard of, now we’re hearing similar stories a couple of times a year.   I just don’t know how things can get so bad.  Surely, there has to be some sign that there is something wrong, surely there has to be something that somebody could do to stop it from happening.  I hate the thought that there is nothing we can do to stop it.  I hate that this is yet another one of those stories that we seem to be hearing more often.  There is help out there, people need to use that help when life gets hard or when they find it hard to cope with things.  Sorry for the depressing post…I couldn’t get past that story until I talked about it and Mr. Claire wasn’t around to depress so I’m laying it on you lot.  😦

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Topsy Turvy Town

I think that was a Bosco song.  Correct me if I’m wrong.  In case you don’t know Bosco was an obnoxious little puppet that lived in a box and always visited the zoo.  Kids program over here years ago.  I loved it and it came out on dvd last year or the year before.  Class.  He’s (it?) probably the reason I’m the way I am 🙂

 Anyway, I’m over earlier’s little mishap.  Not really but I’m able to write a sentence without swearing so that’s progress mate. 

So, a while ago, I turned on my laptop, ready to face blogland yet again.  It started running fine until it got to the desktop.   Which was upside down.  I sat there for a couple of moments wondering if I was going mad or if somehow my son had manged to twist the screen upside down.  It does twist but not that far.  I restarted the computer.  Same thing again.  Desktop was now upside down land.  W.T.F…?

If Mr. Claire had been here, I would have blamed him in an instant.  Have you ever downloaded those practical joke things that make the mouse go haywire when someone tries to use it and stupid stuff like that?  I used to do that on my old boss.  He thought computers were dangerous as it was without me wrecking his head but it was so funny watching him get freaked out about it.  He could take a joke.  I can’t.  But Mr. Claire was in work so it couldn’t have been down to him. 

I did a system restore thingymabob back to yesterday and everything is okay now, obviously, since I’m writing a post.  But I still don’t know what happened.  Can anyone tell me?  I didn’t even know you could get the desktop to go upside down.  It was so freaky trying to click things off the screen.  Anyway, I want to know how to do it again so I can freak Mr. Claire out next time he uses the laptop.  Things like that baffle him and I don’t really have a whole lot to do since NaNoWriMo ended and my kids went for a nap.  What can I say, I’m easily amused.

Oh, and The Late Late Toy Show is not worth a whole post so I’ll add a little end note here.  The Late Late Show is a longstanding talk show over here that’s on every Friday Night.  It was hosted by Gay Byrne for years and now Pat Kenny has taken over.  Anyway, if you’re a kid it’s the second most boring programme in the universe.  (Live at Three was the worst by far).  But, there is one day every year where they devote the entire show to toys.  Then, it is the best show in the world.  So last Friday was that day (or night). 

The repeat is always on a Sunday afternoon and as I missed the live version, I have the repeat on now.  It’s such a load of crap now.  It’s so….boring.  There’s no atmosphere.  Sure, there’s lots of toys and Christmassy stuff but there’s no happy feeling.  Even my kids got bored and fell asleep rather than watch it.  When I was a kid, it was the best thing in the world.  You’d see all of these lucky kids that were mostly incredibly posh.  There’s always one incredibly common token kid.  They (and sometimes celebrities) would get to test out toys and go on the show and talk about them.  There would be kids dancing and singing and the audience would get lots of free toys.  The catchphrase for the Late Late Show is – “There’s one for everyone in the audience.”  The highlight of this year’s show was a kid saying they didn’t like a boy doll because he had a “you-know-what.”  *Sigh*

The toys are getting better, but it’s still so boring.  I look forward to this every year and I’ll admit, it’s been lacking in the last few years but there’s always some redeeming feature.  Like that little boy who sang “Shout” and was surprised by Girls Aloud behind him.  He was the cutest child.  He made me cry and I still have no idea why.  Can’t find a clip of that unfortunately.  Somethings were as expected.  Pat Kenny wearing a ridiculously ugly jumper.  Toys not working.  Kids getting cheeky.  “You DON’T do it like that!”   Dustin stealing the show…Gerrup outta that!

Maybe I’m just getting too old to enjoy it anymore. 🙂

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F*%king WordPress!

I just wrote out a great big long post, complete with a lot of links.  I pressed publish and it fucking well disappeared.  I hate you WordPress you fecking….Aarrgh!!  This is the second time that’s happened this week!!  Stupid fucking pointless waste of time.  Okay, I’m going to have a bit of a sulk about it now.  Maybe if I’m feeling better, I’ll do a proper post.  AGAIN!!!  I’ve lost way too much stuff this week, I’m getting increasingly cranky with it.

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