Hubby and me are both petrified of spiders. Maybe not in the volcanic sense, but I am often glued to the spot, unable to fight or fly. Obviously, when they are medium-sized or bigger.
So… fast forward to this afternoon. Lazy, post-nap Sunday afternoon. Hubby and small boy playing with giant lego on the floor when I hear the all-too-familiar “eurghhh”. It makes my blood run cold because I know it only means one thing. Luckily, it was medium-sized and slow-moving.
Feeling all brave and practical, I call small boy over, asking him to have a look. He cutely obliges, bending to stare at the brown, eight-legged critter in front of him. I, in the meantime, fetch a glass and coaster – the optimum catching device. Spider just sits there and with small boy’s interest waning fast, I give it a polite flick with the rim of the glass. It scurries a few inches and all of a sudden, small boy turns tail and practically runs to the far side of the room, pressing himself up against the glass.
This reaction surprised both of us to be honest. OK, so we are a little prone to overreacting around spiders but we never have in the presence of the 20mth old. After all, we need someone fearless to catch the blighters for us.
After spider was safely in glass, I showed small boy. He eagerly had a look but then trotted off once more, looking a bit uncertain. Could it be that this irrational fear is inherent?
So, the beauty of having your own blog is to share your views and inane ramblings with anyone who’ll listen. Not so much use if you’re somehow locked out of your own though. Isn’t technology great?
After about 45mins of faffing and effing, my resident IT expert had it sussed, but at an expense. He is now equal admin of MY blog (hmphh). This was my baby, something that was all mine. Or so I thought. ‘Independent Woman’ is NOT a tune currently on my ipod but it might well be… on the day that it seems so. Just for the record, Beyonce is so NOT my cup of tea.
The good news is, I am now free to gabble again. Please stick with me!
It’s ten o’clock at night on the first day of proper snow in the UK and I am already sick of the news reports.
Either the media think the nation is thick OR they’re all a few waves short of a shipwreck.
We can debate ’til we’re blue in the face how the nation is so deeply unprepared for a ‘flurry of snow’ but isn’t it stinkingly obvious why??? The answer lies in the much-repeated fact (you know the one… it’s said with a funny Gromit-esque expression)… this is the worst snowfall in 18 years.
So… how exactly is a nation that gets one heavy snow day every 18 years expected to BE prepared???
The reason so many other countries cope so much better is because their weather is either predictable or consistent! They might have a decent few weeks of snow during their winters, maybe months, which means their economy is better equipped to plough (no pun intended) more funds into the preventative measures. They have the resources to cope with the weather because it’s worth their while to do so.
In Britain, just one decent shovel would go rusty after 18 years of sitting propped up against a shed wall, just waiting for that snowfall to justify its purpose!
In countries that expect a lot of snow each winter, people have learned how to get to work without the need for impractical public transport and/or clothing. Who knows, they might even walk or cycle.
Welcome to Britain – the country with the insanely unpredictable climate. Stop comparing us to your staid, predictable countries – you come here for your shopping trips and holidays because you LOVE that ‘fly by the seat of your pants-ness’.
And I for one am thoroughly enjoying the excuse not to go out – unless it’s to build a snowman!
Ok, so my son’s actually 19mths old now but it’s just one of those facts that suddenly hits you in the face when you least expect it.
I will concur that having a child is probably the most amazing thing you’ll ever experience. But it also makes you more neurotic, hormonal, emotional and intensely worried than ever before. I reckon that even for those devoid of emotion, having a child must remedy all that.
I am really struggling in one area of parenthood (not just one, you understand, but the one being highlighted right now. By me.) and that’s remembering not to swear in front of the baby. My boy doesn’t say anything at the moment, apart from something that sounds like ‘ogre’ – clearly NOT a reference to his mummy – but he IS learning and understanding more by the day. And I find it almost impossible not to say ‘fuck’ when something really annoys me. Or when I stub my toe/arch of my foot on a pointy plastic car. The trouble is, if I don’t curb the cussing NOW, James’ first word could very well end up being ‘fuck’. Ooops.
Being a mummy is also pretty darn scary. You’re so responsible for this little person, 24/7. I’m not certain I was ever even responsible for myself 24/7 if I’m honest. But it’s not any kind of sacrifice. Having an extra household member never felt ‘different’ to either me or my hubby. It just felt right somehow.
In light of poor old Prince Harry getting another slating in the media for a bit of jovial banter, I’ve been feeling a bit of sympathy.
According to a good friend ‘in the know’, this type of banter is commonplace in the military and is all part of the package. Yet, it would seem, there is still always someone willing to shop a Royal on the outside.
Begs the question, how fair is it to be born into a Royal life and have everything mapped out for you? Despite your attempts to lead a life of your choosing, there are always the same restraints to see to it you can’t be ‘normal’.
So what if your Grandmother is a Monarch? Shouldn’t you have the same rights as the rest of us lowly mortals?
Hello and thanks for visiting what is essentially ‘me’.
My name is Sam, I am 35 years old and currently a SAHM to James.
My intentions for this website were initially quite different but for now, I thought I’d channel some of my bursts of energy into doing what I know best. Talking and sitting at the laptop.
Please do join me… I’m sure you’ll have an opinion!