Fools rush in.

Little did I realise when I named my first born, ten years ago, that his name when wailed loudly by a four year old would sound so much like "mammy". The number of times I've gone running to be met by an exasperated tweenie sighing with despair "Not YOU, mammy" Still, I guess I get my workouts in most days with all the cardio stairs I do.

Then there is the time when you thought you were doing your children a favour by not dumbing down language into "ickle wickle and cutsie wootsie" and it backfires with your middle child coming out of school remonstrating how his new BFF isn't "ready to come over for a playdate yet because he needs to get a grip on himself, because today he has been a despicable git" (apparently he (the bff) got into trouble at school). I did have to inhale my tonsils at this fishwifery.

Or the time when you realise that speed reading the bedtime story probably isn't the best way forward to encourage your child to learn the words and Hairy McClary from Donaldson's Dairy is "most definitely" Hamey M'laney from Domalson Damey and nothing you can say or do will convince her otherwise.

And finally you realise that it isn't just you, when your nephew, who has had a slightly *emphasis on slightly* wheezy chest over the last couple of days, tells his teacher that "it's me heart, Miss" when his wicked mother sends him into school...

Oh well, when they grow up, they can blame it all on me when it goes full circle mwahahaha!

All Hallow's Eve

Today I've been performing pumpkin surgery art. My kids don't like to do things by half. Asking if they'd like a witch or ghost or something on the pumpkins, they decided that nothing would do but Harry Potter,Hermione Grainger,and Darth Vader!



The camera doesn't actually enhance them well. If a light is shone into them, I have to say they make me proud.

We now have about half a ton of pumpkin flesh and a load of seeds that I've spent a good hour washing and separating. I'll toast these later with some cumin and pepper, they'll make a good Christmas present!!

Num3ers

LMB is getting more and more interested in numbers.

Two and three digits are the current favourite.

Today as we walked to school she announced that Grandma was not so old.

Grandma is only 65 (love that only in there, hope she remembers that adverb when I'm approaching 65)

She knows this because she drew it on the picture of the cake for Grandma's birthday last week.

As we passed a lampost with a number 100 on it, she declared

"This is a deadly number!"

"Why is it deadly?" I ask, curious to find out if what I am thinking is what she is thinking

"Because if Grandma was this number, she'd be dead, so it's a deadly number"

What can I say...?

It's all just utter crap!

A few weeks back, Mr Beehive the younger started a new school. It's been a steady transition with one of us panicking more than the other - I'll leave you to decide who.

However, he is beginning to settle well and has started to make one or two friends. This morning as I dropped him, he ran off with one of them without so much as a goodbye.

Well, that's a good thing, no?

Just as the bell rang I saw him running back towards me.

Ah! He's not forgotten me after all, he's not so big that he doesn't still need his mama's goodbye hug and reassuring words for the day.

"Have you come back to say goodbye?" I say, arms a-spread to catch him, large smile on my face.

"No! I just wanted to tell you that one of the boys in the breakfast club had done a MASSIVE pooh and we were all looking at it!"

Gee! Thanks babe!

I've now just wasted a good half hour cleaning pooh off the smallest rugrat - no, not LMB, but Little Miss DoggyBeehive. I have no idea WHAT she found to roll it, but fragrant it was not.
To show my disgust at her choice of haute couture, I stomped her upstairs to plonk her in the bath - the shower head was my weapon of revenge.

Get the feeling it's a shit day?!

Mrs Potato Head

Master Beehive the elder has gone to the farm again today to help with the potato harvest. He went last week and brought me back 3 or 4lbs of lovely spuds as payment for his help.

I dropped him off this morning with his mate. We usually walk but he'd spent half the morning whinging that it was wet out AND he had to catch the bus to the farm AND walk...ALL...AROUND...THE...FIELDS...ALL...DAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYY! So I caved and drove them there.

"I won't be bringing any potatoes back this time, mum." he announces as he's climbing out of the car.

"Oh? why's that?"

"I'm fed up with the inside of my rucksack being covered with mud"

Right - 'cos I didn't spend ages scrubbing it pristine for him *sigh*

"It's okay!" says I, remembering my Brownie motto, "Be Prepared".

I hand him a considerably fugly, reusable bag, one of many that I have kicking around the car.

"You can put them in here" I add with a sweet mummy smile

The face...was a picture...

Bet he wished he'd walked!!! Mwahahahahahaha!!!

Monach of the Glen

Mr Beehive and I had a fun weekend just gone. My folks came up as we'd bought my mum tickets to go and see Cliff Richard and the Shadows. She's looooooooong been a fan of the wrinkly old sexigenarian and I was dutifully brought up on a diet of Bachelor Boy and We don't talk anymore (and that was before I was the one saying it as a teen lol!), but she'd never actually had the opportunity to scream and wave her smalls at him (although I'm thinking he's not really a knicker kinda guy!)...so, she and dad had a great night out amongst Glasgow's finest Cliff fans on Saturday evening much to her surprise as we'd kept it secret for over 7 months!!

Sunday, I'd bought Mr Beehive a Highland Safari trek as part of his birthday pressie. We went up to Pitlochry to "stalk deer" in the hills. It was a really fun, if not freezing cold day. We were the only ones on the tour, so had the enjoyment of "Golly" and the Bothy picnic all to ourselves. Poor bugger had to sport the uniform of fully scottish dress in temperatures of around 5 or 6 degrees c!! It was incredibly windy too....and yes....he was dressed modestly ;-)
Look hard! There are deer on that hill.


Today my kitchen smells like Christmas. I've started on my mincemeat. It costs more, is more labour intensive, but there's nothing like the smell, likewise, the taste in your own mincepies!

It's a long drawn out process, that involved me standing on the school playground yesterday with a brown bag and a bottle of brandy peeking out - at 3.15pm! Obviously the sun wasn't past the yardarm and the whole bottle ended up in with the fruit...I promise - I hate brandy!

So, if you fancy making my adaptation of mincemeat, here's your recipe:

(Oh and don't expect precision - you know how I cook!)

Around 1lb of dried sultanas and raisins
approx half lb of cranberries
bag of vegetable suet
juice of one lemon
rind of the same lemon and one orange
2 large apples peeled, cored and grated
around 200g dark brown sugar
35cl brandy or rum
3 tbs apple juice
1 tbs dessicated coconut
1/2 tsp mixed spice
1/2 tsp ginger
1/2 tsp clove powder
1 - 2 cinnamon sticks


Put it all into a bowl bar the apple juice and coconut, stir it up and add the alcohol. Cover and leave to stand for a minimum of 12 hours.

Add about 3 tablespoons of applejuice and the coconut. Put on the heat and allow to simmer gently for about an hour.

Bottle into sterile mason jars or smaller jam jars if you're giving it as a gift.

Logorrhea is not a sexually transmitted disease!

Dahhhhhhhhling! It's been so long.......again!

So as a writer - (you see I can actually call myself that officially now as I am published and holding a pay cheque!! See issue number 31 of The Green Parent magazine) I have come to discover that not only can we suffer from the dreaded writer's block, but we can also suffer from the equally as appalling writer's cacoethes loquendi (you'll have to google that one ;-)

So much has happened since I last posted that quite honestly don't know how to put it down on paper, or should that read screen!

I suppose it started about six weeks ago when I last left you. I was awaiting a visit from my best friend where my dust was going to be secretly inspected for quality and quantity!

However, fate took over the week and spoiled it by our poor dog having to be put to sleep. I am not going to go into it all again as it's still raw, suffice to say, we were all devastated.

Oh, then we lost our house sale again...third time!

So, we've been sitting in the doldrums for a few weeks, however, things are picking up now with us having tentatively sold the house...again and we are now the new owners of a wee beauty called Meggie who, although isn't replacing our Red, has a wonderful charm and is helping us all heal (me particularly)
I also got my cheque for my article, have put two books in the post to two different publishers (I expect rejection letters - but hey ho I'm currently under the illusion of that bugger called confidence!) and have taught my first antenatal course in Edinburgh since arriving.

But, all this boring everyday adult stuff aside, life is far more traumatic for a child. The other evening I went upstairs to read LMB her bedtime story only to discover her sat on the floor, buck naked, in tears, head hanging.

"What's up?"

"I.." cue large sniffing session "...look!"

I look to where she is pointing to discover a really, ickle, pickle dot on her lady area...front bottom...foo foo whatever you may desire to name it...

"I..." cue more sniffing and amdram, ".....have a.......... SPOT!" *falls in a complete heap, sobbing*

This morning she has come to terms with her freckle and peace currently reigns.

God help me when she hits puberty!