Still life goes on!

Being a mother of 3 children is a full time job in itself. The age variations in my kids demand me to almost split into 3 people. My 13 year old, being a teenager, needs a loving but a bit firmer mom who will be there to help out when puberty takes control and the attitude starts to flow. I swear to God my 4 year old is going through his terrible 2 stage now and then I have my precious little 1 1/2 year old who needs mommy to be there keep him out of the cabinets and electric sockets.

My life is so busy being a stay at home mom. Then on top of it, I work from my home also. I tell you, I really do not know where I find the time to juggle it all! But, somehow I manage even though it always feels like the day as slipped away and I have gotten absolutely nothing done. I guess that is part of the job of being the stay at home, work at home mommy. And that figuring out what my diesel suppliers keep calling me about will just have to wait until tomorrow!

Yes, I ran the marathon recently, and it was quite and experience I can tell you.

Loads of bands, playing all kinds of music from skiffle through big band to death metal, jigging us along on our way, all very pleasent.

The atmosphere of sixty thousand people jogging along in unison is really quite unique, and there is a real air of benevolence, encouraging your fellow runners not to give up, to think about how much better they’ll be feeling once they’ve got to the end, and just to keep on going. These little things as you pad your way around the course are a great help.

The supporters are lovely as well… Well. Most of them. The ones who stand there shouting encouragement, are great- “Come on Tim”, “keep going Batman”, “dig deep Jude”! That kind of thing is great, and as you go past the families smiling, waving and shaking their heads disbelievingly as you wander past at a slightly-faster-than-walking pace.

Its the few, the random and the ignorant ones that annoy you. The ones that stand outside run down pubs in East London, looking like they really need to visit a weight loss clinic, or just run a marathon themselves (I lost more than a kilogram in less than 4 hours!) they stand there and shout- “cmon, its not that far”, “pick your legs up and run” and all kinds of oh-so-unhelpful phrases. If we werent so knackered, we’d take them to task and kick 7 kinds of hell out of them.

However, we are marathon runners, and as such, are nice people, so we run on past, staggering toward the end, drinking lucozade, throwing water over our heads and generally just trying to keep cool.

If youre going to shout at us. Be nice, Be encouraging, and dont belittle the distance. If you think its not that far, you try and run it.

How many times have we heard those words from someone? I hate my job. How many times have we in fact said that ourselves either to a friends, a member of family or even a co-worker. Some of the braver of us find the courage to say it to our boss’s, and a few of those people sometimes even manage to hold onto their jobs afterwards!

It is a well heard phrase, and it is a complaint that is widespread. We spend more time doing our jobs than anything else. It doesn’t matter what that job is, whether you’re a highly paid face lift surgeon at a posh clinic, or you sit in a call centre on the end of telephone selling pet insurance to people. The level of pay generally doesn’t change the fact that we spend most of our time doing our job. So, understanding this, the question you have to ask yourself: is it worth it? If you enjoy your job, you’re laughing! You spend most of your lifetime doing something that you enjoy. You are on to a winner there, and you should make sure that you don’t let go of that. As to the rest of us, is it really worth it? (more…)

Every year that I can remember Easter has had the same format.  There’s Good Friday, then the weekend, and then Easter Monday – a good long break from the usual grind.  School children usually get the entire week after Easter as vacation time. Generally we spend too much money on chocolate eggs, and I know that we do an egg treasure hunt in the garden for the kids. Each year Easter moves slightly forwards or backwards, but the holiday block remains the same.  This year however it’s all changed and I’m not at all sure why!

I’ll admit that Easter is undeniably early.  Instead of being Spring, it still feels as if we’re in the depths of winter; a notion backed up by the weather.  But regardless of what mother nature is up to, Easter is Easter, and if the powers that decide such things have made it this early in the year, why is that for the first time I can remember, there’s some issue about which vacation days we should get? 

OK, so I have no idea why Easter is ever placed on the calendar somewhere between March and April, but I do know that this isn’t just a random act, there is some religious significance to when the date falls.   So I have no problem with the fact that instead of wearing spring clothes to take advantage of the liposuction I had done recently, I’m probably going to be out and about on Easter Sunday wearing my winter coat and boots.  The idea that vacation days should be affected because of the early Easter however is something I don’t get.  I’ve heard about schools rescheduling the “Easter” vacation for a few weeks after Easter so that it will become some kind of spring break.  But what about tradition?  What about families that have organized to spend Easter together either in this country or even booked to go abroad? 

The Government is always making noise about returning to old family values.  Well isn’t spending quality time on public holidays part of good traditional family values?  I remember Easters from my past filled with church parades and spring activities that my family shared together.  It was like Christmas without the presents.  This year however some parents are going to have to work on Easter’s equivalent of Boxing Day – and their kids are supposed to be at school.  Because it’s such a dog’s dinner however some parents will be off, some won’t.  Some kids will be at school.  Some won’t.  Some schools will be closed later in the year when probably the parents don’t have any public holidays to alleviate some of the child care provision required to cover school closure at that time.  What a mess!

Easter is Easter.  Good Friday, Easter Saturday, Easter Sunday and Easter Monday.  If the dates of Easter itself must change, let’s try and ensure that sense prevails in future and the vacation period remains steady and people can plan their lives without the uncertainty of whether their kid’s school and their employer are on the same page – or calendar!

I’ve always hated Cat Bores. You know the kind of people I’m talking about, they lost sight of reality the day they brought Tibbles home and never recovered. Next thing you know it’s framed pictures of their stupid moggie on the wall, mundane anecdotes and interrupted phone conversations so you can hear the stupid thing purring. Cats are driven by instinct. Cat People assign human attributes to this behaviour because it is fun for them. Cat People are wrong.

Or so I thought, until the day I met Claude. I’m still not sure exactly how it happened. Claude is my housemate’s cat, when I moved in Clause was already living here. Claude is a black cat with a squishy tummy and a sarcastic face. But it just snuck up on me somehow. The occasional afternoon playing with a toy mouse, furtive glances in the hallway and then, one day I came home and he was on my bed. He meowed crossly at me and stormed out, as if he was the one paying the rent and I had trampled on his rights, but then he came back the next day. Somehow we just got used to each other and then, joy of joys that first special day when Claude climbed up and sat purring on my lap.

It wasn’t until the day I held the phone up to his little face so he could say hello to my mum that I realised I had gone over to the other side. I was a cat bore in denial. I quickly calculated the number of hours spent talking to or about Claude in the previous week. All my friends knew more about Claude’s life>cat insurance of cat toys. I’m a Claude person. And from the look in his eyes, he knows.

I'm still not entirely sure what a blepharoplasty clinic is, but I know its some

kind of plastic surgery type thing. What's the relevance of this you may ask? Well, our great leader and Company MD has usefully gotten every employee a

discount for it! Myah is thinking about reaching into her pocket for once and trying to make herself more beautiful. Good luck to her.

I’m from a part of the country that thrives on football.  Never mind past-time, it’s the local obsession!  Somehow the football gene missed me out completely however.  As a participatory sport, or a spectator one, it leaves me cold.  There’s something that can’t be denied however and that’s the feeling of pride that surrounds the city when the team is doing well, or even the electricity that seems to hang in the air when there’s an important home game being played at the team’s stadium in the centre of the city. 

It’s that feeling of community pride that was sparked yesterday when I read about Kevin Keegan returning to the area to manage the team.  There are always folk heroes and Keegan is certainly one of those in the history of football in this area.  Both as player and manager this is a man who has managed to create an even greater enthusiasm for the team than usually exists – not an easy task when a football team has as much support from its fan base as this one does.  Despite the fact he didn’t get the team to a major trophy last time he managed it, he’s still fondly remembered as someone who shines in this team’s history and someone who I’m pleased to see return to the area.

Like the game, or loathe it (as I do) it’s hard not to notice when something has a positive influence over a community, and Keegan once again leading Newcastle United is definitely that.  Whether you’re in a bus, or the local grocery store, it’s going to be the talk of the area for a few weeks to come.   Whether or not he manages to pull an a shiny new acquisition into the team’s sadly lacking trophy cabinet out of his sport’s bag is yet to be seen.  Simply the fact that this giant football legend is once more in command  at St. James’ Park is enough to have any talk of possible “unthinkable” relegation replaced with one of hope and renewed enthusiasm amongst the notorious “Toon Army” – even with the footie avoiders like myself!

First of all, one must consider the bread. It must be whole grain, full of flavor but devoid of any “additives”. I suggest a nice sprouted wheat bread: whole grain, no high-fructose corn syrup, lightly seeded crust. The size of the slice should be about the palm of your hand and about the thickness of the first joint of your finger. This is the secret to the perfect ham sandwich.

Secondly, one must think about the ingredients, other than the ham, of course. Cheese, mustard and a bit of lettuce are the perfect combination. Let’s talk cheese. Cheese is wonderful, but you must not use your run-of-the-mill-dairy-aisle cheese in the grocery store. To make the sandwich perfect, go to your local cheese shop. I highly recommend a nice Havarti type cheese: creamy, smooth and aged to perfection. Cheddar isn’t bad either, but Havarti is better. Trust me. Now, let us talk mustard. It is no good using the cheap yellow mustard easily obtained at any fast food restaurant. Go for a deli technique with whole mustard seeds and high-quality ingredients. True mustard is not neon yellow! Lastly, let us speak of lettuce. Romaine is best – approximately two leaves, rinsed and patted dry with a paper towel. The crisper, the better. This is the secret to the perfect ham sandwich.

Thirdly, one must ponder the ham. It is no good getting pre-packaged lunch meat. No, no, no! Go to the deli. Order some freshly sliced lunch meat. Your taste buds will appreciate your thoughtfulness. But, what type of ham? Honey-cured? Only if you enjoy the deviousness of a sweet palate. Do not ruin a masterful ham sandwich with sweetness. Go for the salt-cured. Thinly sliced. Trust me. Your mouth will be much happier with those savory slices than sickly-sweet ham. This is the secret to the perfect ham sandwich.

Finally, one must consider how to layer the sandwich together: bread, two slices of ham, mustard, cheese, mustard, two slices of ham, bread. This is the secret to the perfect ham sandwich.

So last week I was invited to a cookie exchange. That’s where you bring a plate of cookies, everyone drinks lots of egg nog (spiked) and everyone goes home with an assortment of not-eaten-while-drinking-egg-nog-cookies.

I am not the best baker in the world, but I do enjoy messing in the kitchen now and again. I am a HUGE fan of peanut butter–and chocolate–so I purchased some peanut butter chips and semi-sweet chocolate chips to make a not-so-basic chocolate chip cookie. I was totally stoked!

I spent most of Friday evening in my kitchen meticulously measuring out ingredients, hand mixing with the greatest of care–and of course checking to make sure the batter tasted right. By the end of the evening, I had two dozen of the most beautiful chocolate chip and peanut butter chip cookies you had ever seen. I lovingly placed each one in a special cookie tin and went to bed with an immense sense of accomplishment.

When I got up the next morning, I noticed the tin had moved several feet from the kitchen table to the kitchen counter. “That’s odd,” I thought. I went to the tin and opened it up–only to find about 8 cookies left!!!! My BLOODY ROOMMATE decided to take it upon himself to sample my baked goods! HOW DARE HE?!?! I had less than 2 hours until the cookie exchange and I had 8?! 8???! 8!!! cookies left! I frantically started baking oatmeal raisin cookies. I had no chips left! I was SO mad at him. I couldn’t believe it. (And this was less than a week after he drank myt bottle of wine that was meant to be a present to my partner’s parents!)

So yesterday I found out he was baking for his office party today. He makes decent cookies. They were lovingly arranged in a special cookie tin. BUT, like a good roommate, I did not sample any because he usually leaves a few behind for me. But did he this time? NO! What a jerk! I really wish that I hid his tin of cookies!

At the end of the day, I suppose I can feel like a better person. I didn’t seek revenge–and my waistline will stay slim–

But they were chocolate chip!

I harbour a guilty secret.  Something which I am ashamed to admit to.  And I know better, I should never partake in it.  But I cannot resist.  The cravings overcome me and no matter how much I try to think of other things, I am drawn to that neon lit sign.  The smell that wafts through the air hits my nostrils and sets my mouth salivating, brings evocative images to mind and feelings of joy to my own being.

Do you feel the same way too?  Can you resist its allure or do you give in and find yourself inundated with pangs of hunger whenever you pass-by.  And it does not occur everyday, but once in a while, you feel it.  The feeling of resistance is one of futility.  No matter how much you try, that craving suddenly hits, and no amount of distractions or anything else can stop you from entering the fluorescent lit store and ordering - junk food.

For me, the cravings were particularly bad when I used to work the night shifts.  Suddenly and without warning I would pass a burger king and just salivate over the thought of a Melted Double Cheeseburger.  Or who can resist the Hot Wings from Dixie Fried Chicken.  And there is nothing like the taste of a greasy Donner Kebab gently sinking down to the bottom of my stomach, lubricated with masses of chilli sauce.  Being an ex-employee of McDonalds, I am more immune to the offerings of that particular chain.  And this is not an everyday thing I am talking about, but once in a while, I am just carried away by the need for something bad.

And now, as a self-employed man?  Well, my working patterns are now mainly in the early hours of the morning and so I can no longer be enticed by the wafting smell of late night chicken bars.  Instead, I now have a new craving.  The fry-up!

Today’s been a bit of an adventure.  A tourist adventure really.  We currently have house guest from the US staying with us.  He’s a very quiet guest; well he would be considering he’s a paper doll!  You see he’s part of a school project that the son of a friend mine is taking part in.  The paper doll is known as a “flat Stanley” and he is sent out on his travels to stay with people who have agreed to host him.  The idea is that the hosts take him around their city or local area and take photos of him near touristy kinds of attractions, buildings, statues etc.  Then they send the photos along with some souvenirs back to the person who sent him, and send “flat Stanley” onto the next host for a new adventure.  Eventually Stanley will return home and his owner will make a presentation of his travels in > 

It’s been an interesting day.  We’ve covered more ground than we’d of usually covered on a Saturday.  We’ve been to the lake, to the river, we’ve ate hot dogs – and fresh doughnuts, looked at old buildings, museums, a local marina, and even an ancient monument.  Plus we went into tourist places to buy postcards and souvenirs of course!  All of which have been photographed with “Stanley” as part of the picture.  

What’s been the most interesting part of the day is that although we’re all completely shattered now (barring “Stanley” who looks as fresh as he did this morning!) we had a great family day!  We were taking photos of a paper doll for a child we didn’t know, from a city we couldn’t point to on a map without guidance, in a country we’d never been to – and we were having a ball!  OK so taking a photo of someone holding a hot dog out to a paper doll may have attracted some strange looks, but who cares, we had a lovely family day out, and helped someone with their project at the same time!