The Daphne Tree

A few years ago my husband and I (because apparently I'm the Queen) decided to become "weekday vegetarians" and only treat ourselves to carcasses at the weekend. This decision came from various discussions and also reading and watching some things. I'm not pushy about it to other people at all, but I also try not to engage in arguments unless they have seen: Forks Over Knives Vegucated What the Health Or read: How Not To Die- Dr Michael Greger Eating Animals- Johnathan Safran Foer At the time of watching all these things I was fascinated and borderline obsessed with these things I, a fully grown adult woman (some might say overgrown) had no idea about. Such as, how do cows make so much milk? What happens to male baby chicks? Why don't we eat dog? When I wasn't pondering naive questions out loud, I was googling the answers, and finding a lot of information which was not pretty. This is another one of these "conventional" things we...

I don't know if I'm officially "mid life" (OK well I totally am, considering 74 would be really good going considering my love of cheese and wine), and it's not really a "crisis" as such, more a dull wondering of what the F do I do now, and that kind of stuff. I'm not a "millenial" technically, but I am a slow learner and matured late, if at all, so I think I have some "millenial" tendencies. And one tendency right here is thinking "Oh gosh, oh poor me, I don't really know what I'm doing with my life, and all I really want to do is run away and live in a hut on a beach and look good in a bikini and for my life to have meaning..." So I am very aware of that, just so ya know. It's a bit of a First World Problem (wow I use a lot of stupid phrases) to need meaning to your life and want more. Just bloody keep your family alive and get on with it already. BUT... I'm getting a definite sense of... is it all...

I have finally given in. Long have I loved the security of the massive pant, all that bum coverage and high enough tummy protection. I do remember a "brief" period (mwah ha) of adventurously buying brightly coloured, bow- ridden thongy things, I think it was in the first years at uni, when boyfriends were new and alcohol was still in my system on the next morning's shopping trip. Using public launderettes also helped I guess, wanting to look "shexy" plus being the better side of a size 12. I still thought though, years later, that I could mask the full granny pants effect, a lovely lacey waistband, plain black, no one need even know that I am getting older... and wider... M&S ran out of my favourite knickers though, and as I had typically left it until the very last, draughty, threadbare, elastic-pinging moment to get new undies, in desperation I grabbed these beauties. Just look at them. I keep thinking someone has put their ancient relative...

I have no excuses, my blogging has totally dried up. I kept thinking of LOADS of ideas for blog posts, but didn't want to write because either nobody would read them, or because there are already a ton of "mummy bloggers" already doing it. Well, SCREW that. I love writing and talking shit, so I need to get it out, regardless! SO... Time has gone by and this little dumpling: has grown sooooooo much into this rather smart schoolgirl: And I'm sure I'm the same as every mother in that looking at those two photos makes me want to cry! She is a completely different person! Oh how I miss those chubby little cheeks and huge eyes! It seems like a world away, and also only yesterday. School has brought with it a whole new set of worries, achievements and well, confusion. I thought I'd know it all as a teacher, but nothing prepares you for THE OTHER SIDE.  When I was teaching and parents dropped their kids off at school and insi...

You've all heard it! Here is why it is not the same. Feel free to add some! 1. You can give them away. 2. It is acceptable to lock them in a cage. 3. You can leave them outside the supermarket. 4. Convention says you chuck them in the boot of the car. 5. You feed them by putting a bowl of mush on the floor when you feel like it. 6. Their teeth shouldn't go anywhere near your nipples. Ideally. 7. They don't ask why. 8. You take them to the vet once a year if you're lucky (rather than the doctor every week). 9. When they wake you up at the crack of dawn you can throw them a bone and shout at them to shut up. 10. They don't have to go to god damn awful birthday parties.

I went for a drive today, for about 40 minutes, through gorgeous countryside and some scenic little villages. As I approached a village I saw a cluster of beautifully kept thatched cottages, then a quaint little village shop, a tea shop and then more thatched cottages. It was all surrounded by lush trees and fields and to be honest, was something straight out of my dreams. Very English, old fashioned. As I bumbled along trying to observe the 20mph speed limit, I imagined selling our house and somehow finding a tiny yet amazing cottage of our own to move to, and how somehow I would work from home, keep chickens and look out at the view all the time. I rounded a corner and there was a house with a St George's cross flag proudly flapping in the garden. A couple of doors down there was a Union Jack (on proper flag poles of course, this is no lower class village!) and then I noticed a few posters for a certain political party dotted around. I was so disappointed! I don't want...

OMG the kid is so into her clothes right now. I'm afraid she may be following in her mum's quirky (read: odd) style footsteps. Ever since dressing in yellow leggings and a yellow t-shirt and declaring "I'm a banana", that has been the go-to outfit for Daphne Duck. If there is green in the equation it's obviously "some apple". However, somewhat encouraged by her mother, Daph has also adopted stripes as her uniform whole-heartedly. Most of the time I am really happy for her to, erm, express herself with colourful outfits, and you may have even caught me googling "yellow shoes" last week, just so she could complete the banana look, BUT... there are times when I have to suggest she has a word with FiFi. You see, FiFi loves her rainbow leggings, and she loves her rainbow top. She loves her rainbow socks, and she loves all rainbow things generally. BUT, there comes a time, early in the morning, when FiFi has had a bit of special blueberry jui...

Hey, long time no write! I have been quite busy lately, and it has led me to make a few decisions... My small Daphne duck is 3 now, and goes to nursery a few days a week. We need a new fence, and an MOT for the car, and I'm getting fed up of socks and pants with holes in (definitely not the kinky kind). I need to go back to "real" work. With real money, which can actually pay for stuff. I'm teaching again now, and it's fine, but it takes up a lot of time. And I'm knackered. I also happened to get a lot of orders this month, GREAT! My effort and marketing is finally paying off! However, completing these orders has been tricky. Stressful. I've even let a couple of people down, and I am not a fan of that at all. And if it isn't fun, I don't want to do it. Poor old Daph is having to cope with a lot of changes at the moment, two different nurseries, no mum at her beck and call every minute (phew!) and her sleeping pattern is all over the plac...

Well! You probably haven't noticed I've been busy, but if you have, I love you! We've been moving into our new house, only two hours, and yet what feels like a world away, from our "home".  I've got to admit, I really wanted to live in the proper countryside, out in the sticks, and we viewed some amazing places, but realistically we wanted to be in a town and able to walk to places.  Now we are here, I am not disappointed. We have the best of both worlds. And I feel a bit like I'm tempting fate saying that when we're only a few weeks in, but I'm truly chuffed. We are a stones throw from shops and parks and playgroups (oh and pubs) and yet tractors regularly bustle down the road and a five minute car journey will always involve field views and lots of sky! Is that weird? I notice the sky more...  I swear to god the people here are calmer, friendlier, and so damn nice. And I lived in a lovely place before, so here just seems crazy nice. But that coul...

At some point, roughly 20 minutes into hairdrying FiFi the soft doll (who had earlier been puked on) I laughed. This is just not something I realised I would be doing with my life. Especially more than once.And all of a sudden it was hilarious. Fifi is the perfect size to fit into the crook of a toddler arm, and therefore she NEVER leaves the toddler arm. Sometimes she is briefly forgotten, but then she is remembered in a wave of panic and yelling. WE NEED FIFI. FiFi is the 4th person at dinner. She tests most experiences for the child. FiFi go down slide! FiFi go on swing! Ahh swing safe. FiFi must be in crook of arm while we are reading books. FiFi sits on the edge of the table "watching" while we are cooking. She always wants one of whatever we make. FiFi sure is fucking annoying sometimes. She sneaks into all photos of my cute cherub and has taken over the role of the dummy in photos, you know, that embarassing thing that shows up in photos and proves what a shit pa...

It's no use, I'm going to have to admit that I love food and it is an emotional crutch for me. (That and wine) I'm sad, I eat. I'm happy, I eat.  Eat to celebrate, eat to commiserate. I eat when I'm stressed, and over stretched, and I eat when I'm bored or lonely.  I like to eat with friends, and insist on a meal out with the hubby once in a while. Love a BBQ.  I like eating out in restaurants and pubs, I like eating in the open air... I like takeaways...  I really like cooking (with a glass of wine) and being creative with ingredients. I LOVE trying new recipes and new dishes from foreign countries.  When I go into a supermarket abroad I just wander down the aisles fascinated by the different food and smells and awkward sounding names.  I worry that it's an actual hobby, an interest. I'm usually waiting for the next meal.  I'm the opposite of that Sam I Am character.  Yes I'll eat them on a house, yes I'll eat them on a mouse.  I WILL eat th...

It has started. Not the "Why?" yet, but the "What's that?" and "Who's that?" And I know she isn't the only one, as lots of her peers' parents look just as exasperated as I am. Every single book we read at the moment (we have to have three before bed, then have two "made up" stories, always!) ANYWAY, Every single book we read involves the Daph pointing at each character or thing and asking "Whoo dat?" Even when we have read this book FIVE MILLION TIMES and she KNOWS everything about ALL of it. I've taken to giving silly answers, just to prove to her that she knows, e.g. "Who Dat?" "It's a spotty unicorn with a swimming costume on" "No, mummy, it's a lion." "Oh yeh." "Who dat?" "It's your Dad" "Ha. No Mummy, it's a hairy monkey" "titter" So, I do that naughty thing of using sarcasm with my child, which ...

Don't have a kid if you object to the following: Severe insomnia (a given) Sharp-plastic toy-in-foot syndrome Deafness interspersed with supersonic hearing Continual diet and "support-wear" addiction Other addictions include caffiene (purely cold) and alcohol (purely warm) Bank account haemorrage Obsessive lego picking, and occasional fuzzy felt peelage Haggard appearance May become blind to most types of mess Constant elbow-in-boob-itis Heightened sense of smell Lop-sided hips/ arms/ back from child-wearing Incurable baby voice May develop ability to see 2 seconds into the future but be powerless regarding what happens Ability to go from fully reclined to completely upright while still unconscious Loss of memory (except when it comes to remembering to feed the family three times a day for the rest of your life, of course) Loud shouting when near a road Facial expressions which belie actual emotion (You really are very angry that Little Fred has put hi...

Pah. This isn't a negative post, more a resigned one.  It's been a weird old couple of weeks, not sure if I'm here or there. Had a job, tried my best, bent over backwards, go taken advantage of, left. Seems to be a pattern. Happens with people sometimes too. Make a friend, have fun, lend an ear, need an ear, nothing. People might describe me as "not very assertive", but I'd rather call it trusting and quiet.  I do wonder about "growing a pair" and telling people where to go, but if I ever slightly raise my voice they go all mock-shock and act like I'm insane.  And I may very well be, because arguing just ain't my bag, baby. I'd far rather bitch behind your back and not make the effort again, I'm afraid. Even when people are complete A-holes, I still make excuses for them and protect them, "maybe they were bullied", "maybe they are jealous", "maybe they're just not happy", and by always seeing the...

THEY infiltrate every bit of your life. Haha, "life"! I was out. Out out. Out on my own, minus toddler, with adults, in the real world, doing real world stuff. It felt bizarre. Something required me to have a pen. "I have a pen!" I do have a pen in my bag. But when I grope about my bag I pull out 5 crayons, at various stages of being eaten, a pen mysteriously wrapped in a tissue which seems a bit risky, and a water pen for an Aquadraw mat. Which has leaked, obvo. Then when it comes to writing I find myself "sounding out" the words, and discover I can't actually spell, or write anymore. Sigh. OK, screw that, I'm off to the bar. What do I want? Err, that fruity looking thing? HOW MUCH?? Oh god. After a few sips of liquid gold or whatever the fuck it is, and a few rounds of "Is that kid old enough to be in here" I'm off to the loo. Yes it is the fifth time I've gone tonight, problem? Wow, what have they done to the mirro...

Sometimes I forget that Daphne is two, and rhyme and reason do not exist. So when I find myself getting annoyed and flustered, I try to remember that she has been on this earth a mere 30 months, and she thinks her shoes are going to eat her feet. This morning I overheard her dad explaining that "you can't always have everything you want" and laughed, as I have tried to say exactly the same, but all a two year old hears is "No no no! We hate you!" Here are a few more translations, I know they are true because of the reactions I get from her. I say: "Just one cake." She hears: "You can never eat cake again, in fact I'm going to starve you and you will die." I say: "Can you get your coat on please?" She hears: "We're leaving and you will never see any of your toys again." I say: "Bathtime!" She hears: "Time to rub shampoo into your eyes and then drown you, yay!" It's not "we...

Everyone knows they’re part of a gang. But the gangs shift. A LOT. I was in the “loads of friends, pretty, clever, healthy, happy” gang. Then I was in the “alcoholic father” gang. Then the “cheated on” gang. Then the “dead dad” gang. Then the “married” gang, and then the “baby” gang, and I’m now graduating from the “traumatic birth” gang into the “only one child gang”.   Bear with me, I’m not being depressing! I hope… I’m also realising that you’re always in a gang, and it’s a gang of one. There is no way that anyone can be in exactly the same boat as you. No one is better off than you, and no one is worse off. We’re all just us, right? Some things can’t even be directly compared. I have no doubt that for lots of girls in particular, while you’re single it’s an eternal quest for the perfect man, and then you have to get a ring, and then you have to get a baby, then another baby. Then you want a nicer house, a bigger kitchen. A dog? Then you retire. Then…? But it NEVER...

Well, the ballerina trend continues... Crikey, I tried so hard to dress her in everything other than pink, I'm all about equality between boys and girls, I encourage her to play with dinosaurs and lego, and am secretly a bit pleased that she shuns her baby dolls. HOWEVER, she is getting girlier by the day. She may only be two, but she already loves trashy pop songs, twirling around like a ballerina, sparkley things and make up. Nooooooooo! I think parents have little hope really, these are little people with actual opinions! How very dare they?! So ballerinas are IN, and I admit the thought of Daph doing ballet is very cute indeed. But I might make her wear "alternative" tutus. In the name of making and sewing her things to ease my maternal unrelenting and possibly unecessary guilt, I thought I'd get her a tutu. Then I remembered we're on a strict budget at the moment, so what can I make one out of? I found a load of patterned chiffon material in the stash an...

It occurred to me last night, as I turned away to giggle silently, watching Daphne lick her DVDs, that my attitude as a mum has changed significantly. When she was a tiny newborn, my approach was mostly "I'm terrified, how do I keep this alive?". Every little thing was a threat to her little delicate life, and the world entirely revolved around her. Doctor on speed dial. Phrases to describe our life in the first year were: "Better to be safe than sorry" "You can't be too careful" "Why risk anything" "Fear the worst" Into the second year, we chilled out slightly, she could escape the cat (although actively chose to engage in combat) and didn't appear to be allergic to anything. She'd had a few falls, a few illnesses, and bounced back, sometimes literally. Attitudes changed to: "She has to learn for herself" "A bit of dirt won't hurt" " Let's see how she is in the morning...

OFFENSIVE. What is offensive? That which is offensive to you is different to that which is offensive to moi. Or so they might say. They probably wouldn't say that as it sounds weird. I am somewhat confusicated this week. I made a request on a Facebook group page of local people for a hitman. Not a bunk bed, not a local antenatal class, and not a dildo. I can't help but think the dildo would have offended less... Just in case it needs clarifying, it was a comedic, sarcastic, immature joke. I live in a rather well-to-do, slightly racist, middle class town with twenty too many old people's homes and it's the kind of place where the introduction of a new Lidl store causes heart attacks. It's very pleasant here, but locals actually get a kick out of queueing at the post office, it's like a hobby. I'm pretty sure the "tut" originated in this neck of the woods. ANYWAY. My joke "distressed" a lot of people and I was virtually spanked an...