New Year Celebrations

The pressure of Christmas

Don't tell my small things but I'm glad Christmas is over. The minute I took down the Christmas decorations on the 2nd January, yes the 2nd, I felt a sense of relief and started to look forward to 2013.

I know it's just one day, I know it's all about the giving and not the receiving but still the pressure of Christmas crept up on me and before I knew it I was stressed about one day of present giving mayhem and a giant roast.

It's the time of the year when the whole focus seems to centre on the family unit. When there is almost a silent competition on who can do it better and who can be the most cheery.

I do emotionally invest in Christmas, I make sure the house is twinkly and me and the small things did some mean Christmas dancing to Last Christmas. The Christmas party was a chaotic success and I have respectfully treated every day like Winesday. 

But I am glad it's over. 

And I'm really looking forward to January.

I have thought about it and I'm thinking it might be because I got a salad spinner for Christmas which didn't invoke the same excitement as my Grifter bike did back in 1983. Or possibly it's Rylan's fault for being on the Xfactor and ruining my countdown to Christmas; which frankly I did not think was sch-mazing.

Or maybe it's because we simply put too much pressure on ourselves to create this perfect picture when frankly the one we paint every day with the small moments, creating the every day memories with normal roasts, giggling with the small things and laughing with friends are the ones that really count.

So next year I plan to do it differently. I''m not cooking. I'm going out. And I am gifting myself many presents. (I know it's not all about the presents *lies*)

In the meantime we have the joy of January to look forward to; which many of you will be dreading because you will all be detoxing, drying out and dieting. 

WRONG. DIDDLY WRONG WRONG.

January is one of the best months of the year; you should all be celebrating for the following reasons:

1. It's my birthday in January
2. It's the start of a new year
3. I'm going skiing
4. I'm going skiing again
5. The pressure of Christmas is over
6. Did I mention it's my birthday?
7. Oh and it's my Uncle John's 65th birthday

The new year is a time to reflect, make new year resolutions, fail dramatically at achieving the new year resolutions, embrace Winesday and celebrate.

I demand you all embrace January with the same vigour you embraced Christmas but without the pressure.

Go on. Hop to it.

Yoga and me

A  yoga move or two...

People do yoga for many reasons. 

Some do it for serenity of the mind. 
Some to destress. 
Some to make sure they are supple. 

My yoga teacher tells me it's all about the breath.

People exercise for many reasons. I run because it gives me sanity. I go to the gym mainly because it provides me with the beautiful sight of the Lancashire County Cricket Club working out before my very eyes.

BUT...

I have started to do yoga for one reason and one reason only.

I intend to win at the Weetabix game.

It started in the summer. Eighteen friends converged at a house in Wales to celebrate a 40th birthday. It was a great weekend in so many ways except one - I failed at the Weetabix game. A game I had rocked in the past.

At some point during the evening, after the small things had gone to bed and before the fancy dress box had been discovered, it was decided we should all play the Weetabix game. (I don't need to point out there was wine involved in this decision making process.)

To the non-initiated amongst you, the premise of the Weetabix game is simple. One box of Weetabix (with the contents removed). Weetabix box placed in the centre of the floor. Players take it in turn to pick up the box with their teeth. Only the feet are allowed to touch the floor. Easy. Until everyone has tried to pick the box up - and then an inch strip is torn from the top making the box shorter and thus harder to pick up. Meaning the more bendy you are, the better you are at the game.

So there we were. A room full of friends. Some limbering up and a gradually reducing box of Weetabix. (To be fair we played with a box of Coco Pops, I think this had something to do with my ruin.)

I was quite successful with the lunge approach and then my legs just wouldn't bend anymore. Leaving in those smug, willowy bendy yoga types...

They flowed to the floor. They reached for the scrap of paper that was the Weetabix/Coco Pop box and then they picked it up. Effortlessly. With not one click of an old bone.

That will be me. Next time. That box is mine.

When I am breathing in on a Thursday night, when I am giving myself calm and serenity through the power of my breath, I am really only thinking one thing.

Next year I am going to rock that Weetabix game*.

*practices yoga moves whilst typing in the downward dog.

Shush! I'm in silence

“Don't you hate that? Uncomfortable silence. Why do we feel it's necessary to talk about bull in order to feel comfortable? That's when you know you've found somebody really special. When you can just shut the hell up for a minute and comfortably share a silence -Pulp Fiction”

I've just realised that while I've been working over the past couple of days, I've been working in silence. Pure noiseless, deafening silence.

Apart from the odd conversation with the puppy (and frankly she is rather disappointing in the old two way banter) there has been no radio, no music and no noise.

I love noise (well apart from the small things shouting me at any time from 9pm - 10 am) and I've always lived in environments where people shout, curse, sing (badly) and where there is a constant humdrum of noise traffic.

For me a happy place is a noisy place.*

I never thought I would be a silence sort of a girl, but here's the thing - I have quite enjoyed it. 

The silence that follows the chaos of the school run, the calm after the storm of the shouting that starts at 7.15am and only stops when we leave the house at 8.36 am (OR WE WILL BE LATE).  

The hours of peace before the cacophony of conversation begins again after a day of school has been well ...really rather nice.

I'm still in silence now. And the only noise I'm really looking forward to is the sounds of my wine glugging cheerfully into my giant wine glass - some might say reminiscent of the sounds of a babbling brook. 

These are acceptable noises.

Now no-one dare disturb the sound of silence...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zLfCnGVeL4

*To clarify, I mean grown up noise. Not play parks, not screaming children, not doctors surgeries and not random conversations with strangers on trains. I mean the sounds of adult life.

A friend for life

Project Dog

As many of you know 'Project Dog' has been gaining momentum in our house for a while now.

There was the school PR campaign that the 10 year old launched last year when her cohorts commenced on 'Campaign Cockerpoo' which essentially involved bucket loads of research and even the class teacher becoming involved in why we should buy a pooch. That girl has a career in spin ahead of her.

There has been the repeated requests. The promises that said dog will be looked after and the ultimate statement - the small things are prepared to pick up poo.

There have been many a friend who have told me what a ridiculous idea it is and many a friend who have frankly encouraged it so they can enjoy dog ownership from afar without the actually nonsense of owning a pet.

I've grown up with dogs. Two labs called Tess and Barney were a big part of my life. I know the joy of having a dog and how tying they can be. Then there is the fact that Tess - family dog of 13 years - bit my beautiful niece when I was looking after her and in one frozen moment turned from pet to animal. One moment that will forever be imprinted in my memory. (Luckily amazing niece is absolutely fine.)

So.... I know that as much as people put their dogs in their handbags and tell me that they are their babies - dogs will always be dogs in my book. A great addition to family life if you get one - but still under it all is the need to train and watch an animal. This is one of the reasons I haven't even considered it until the small things have got a bit older.

And then I found myself considering it, thinking about it, listening to the raging PR campaign fronted by the children. 

Could anything be more powerful - small things pushing cute puppies in front of my face with pleading faces and promises to be good forever.

So I decided a list was in order - the pros and cons of buying a pooch; much like that pros and cons list you write when you are deciding on finishing with your boyf when you are 15...

The pros:

- dog will be cute
- kids will love dog
- I will be best mum ever
- dog can run with me


The cons:

- dog will wreck my house
- dog could eat my shoe collection
- dog needs taking out 
- dog will poop, in my house, in my garden, on a walk
- I will have to pick up said poop
- dog will be tying
- dog requires commitment
- small things may get bored of dog
- dog will smell (even though there is a poodle parlour right on my high street = bonus)
- dog might get ill which will (a) cost and (b) upset small things
- dog will live a long time
- dog will cry when it arrives and possibly crack even my hardened heart
- a small, teensy weensy matter of possible allergies in the house
- much like those small things, I can't send a pup back

Anyway, the pup arrives on Friday.

Meet Bessie. Well, could you have resisted? 

Bring on the fun...(and mum of the year title).

Calm, cooking and roast potatoes

The roast is in...

I am done with summer. I am welcoming autumn with open arms. I have no expectations for autumn. I have purchased my new hunter wellies to walk in the woods, kicking the autumn leaves.

I have bought a new throw for the couch so we can wrap ourselves up as the nights draw in. 

Summer be gone. You disappointed me more than Gary Barlow did when he allowed Robbie Williams back into Take That.

There are a few signs that summer is over in my house. 

The heating has been sneaked on. I have stared longingly at the fire. The chiminea in the garden is already so last season.

Xfactor is back on TV - which only heralds the countdown to Christmas. Of course I only watch it because the small things beg me. I would much rather be watching some intellectual drama with subtitles.

But the ultimate sign; the great big chiming clock of autumn that marks the end of any more (dashed) hopes of crazy days in the garden is the fact the Sunday Roast is back on the menu. Every Sunday.

It's a staple in my house, it ticks my good mum checklist (that along with pillow fights and reading with the kids) and the small things devour it like they have never eaten before. To be fair after last night's picnic tea they could be right.

It reminds me of the good old days when I was growing up, when summers really were summer, where we played out with our mates and when a penny chew was actually a penny. *stares wistfully down a rose-tinted memory lane*

It reminds me of mum mooching (when I say mooching I actually mean cleaning and doing proper mum things) around the house with the radio on and we were playing with our Sindy dolls (Barbie's just didn't cut it in our house - she was too perfect). Mum was usually ironing (something you will NEVER find me doing) and singing (badly) her own made up words to songs. My favourite still is 'The Lift is up when we are down' to this.....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFYtpTot7hQ

The Sunday Roast is a powerful meal - it's the one meal in a week where I sit down with the small things and we chat. The rest of the week is usually a chaotic mess of rushed dinners, dinners without me and a couple of days with their dad.

Today, my sis in law is coming over with her (not so) small things and the roast will be the focal point of activity all afternoon. 

But for now I am mooching* around the kitchen, drinking coffee, roasting potatoes,  whipping up Yorkshire puds, listening to music, singing the wrong words badly while the small things play on the iPad. 

Times not changed too much then.

*mooching I do not mean cleaning or ironing - that would be ridiculous.