Peanuts

My 5 year old girl told me today that the boys at school had been talking about boobies and the "effort" word. I think she meant 'F' word. She said she didn't know what they meant but she thought it was rude. She then asked if tea was ready. So no harm done. Phew. Only a matter of time though, I'm sure.
When telling a friend this, she said her daughter, of the same age had got very cross with her and said she was going to kick her in the peanuts. I think she meant penis. Just to be clear. I said penis for the first time on my blog. Just there. How funny. Sorry, how old am I? Right now, approximately 7.
Another friend said when her boy, same age, was playing on the Wii and getting annoyed he cried out, 'Oh Ship!'

So shipping hell, it's late, I think I need to effort off to bed and show some love to my husbands peanuts.

Lessons In Great Parenting #237 and #238

Don't make your children help you carry the cakes for the summer fair to school and then tell your 2 year old she isn't allowed to eat one despite the fact she has it right under her nose. You will arrive at school with two children sobbing/screaming. Other parents will look at you accusingly. They won't know that you have not allowed them buns for breakfast, they will just think you are a bad parent. This is because you not only have two crying children, but you are also late and sporting wet hair. You look a shambles and so people will think you most probably are a shambles. And all because you wanted to bring buns in for the school fair. It's just not worth it.
Lesson #240
Don't then try and pass off said buns as your own by buying plain fairy cakes from Tesco and just icing them yourself, sprinkling them with silver balls. A good 'friend' will out you on Facebook, thereby making you look very lame. Either just buy nice cakes from Waitrose still in their wrappers that people will actually want to buy or get up off your lazy bum and make them from fresh. There is no such thing as half measures when it comes to bun making for the summer fair. Deal with it.

I Kissed A Boy And I Liked It...(in my dreams)

I don't know what's wrong with me at the moment but I keep having sneaky little naughty dreams.
And not about my husband.

*Shock horror. Sharp intake of breath. She actually admits dreaming about people OTHER than her husband?!*

I dreamt I kissed his best friend from University, in the lift of my old workplace.
Whilst wearing a bikini and a sarong.
I don't even own a sarong. I wouldn't ever wear a bikini to work, and I have never even fancied the bloke, so it's all wrong.
In every way.
But the thing that went on and on in this dream was my desperation to be kissed by him. I mean, that's how tame it was, there was no full blown sex or anything, just my longing for him to kiss me.
And then I woke up.
I told my husband.
He raised his eyebrows.
Two nights later and I dreamt about a boy from my old school.
Again, I was desperate to kiss him.
This is a guy who I never even slept with despite dating on and off from the age of 15 until University.
In my dream he was the 20 something boy, not the 30+ corduroy wearing man he is now. I didn't tell my husband about this dream.
Not sure he'd really appreciate me constantly dreaming about kissing other men.
So, tell me. What does it all mean?
Is it normal?
Will I be dreaming of kissing other men tonight I wonder?
I hope not.
It's all quite exhausting.

School Run Mum

So, lessons in parenting #236. Don't go out for the first time on a night out with Reception mums and get exceedingly drunk. You will only be an embarrassment to both yourself and your 5 year old daughter.

I didn't even really want to go out, but I'd missed the first mums 'do' at the beginning of term. Now it's the end of term and I'm the class rep so I thought I should show my face on the organised drinkages. The plan was to only go for a couple of hours, show my face, then come home where all the neighbours were having a BBQ on a lovely sunny evening.
I did inform all the mums to get to the bar before 8, as it was 2 for 1 on cocktails showing that a) I'm cheap, b)I've been to this bar a fair few times before and c) I may enjoy an odd tipple here and there...
Obligingly they all turn up at 7,45pm, I encourage them to all get two drinks each rather than share the offer. Two Cosmopolitans slip down easily (yes, I still dream of being Carrie from Sex and The City. I need to get over it. So 1999). Waitress service to the table is dangerous. Half way through the second drink she asks so sweetly, 'Can I get you another drink?'...So in goes the order for a vodka and tonic, and another, and another.
I then have a 'Guess the age of the DJ' competition. Some start off at age 10, others, aim for 13, some say he's around 15, I am thinking a more respectable 22. I stumble over and ask him. He says, whilst guarding his equipment (no, not that equipment filthy, his DJ equipment), which he thinks I am going to pour my drink all over, 'How old do you want me to be?' Like he is some gigolo offering his services to a bored housewife. Which, to be fair sometimes I am. But I'm definitely not looking for a service. I just want to win a bet. He's 19. I scream. God, I am really getting old. He looks at me with pity in his big puppy dog eyes. I dance drunkenly. I make the mums form a dancing circle. No, not for handbags, but I drag dodgy looking blokes into the circle and ask them to perform their best moves. I whoop, I generally make an absolute idiot of myself and I don't leave until the ugly lights come on. I stagger home, missing the BBQ completely and end up hugging the big white telephone, talking to God at 5am.
To sum up. This is how to make an absolutely terrible impression with the school run mums. I shan't be running for class rep in year 1, funnily enough, and for the remaining three weeks I will be wearing my thankfully large sunglasses and avoiding all eye contact with the mums. As I said, I'm an embarrassment. To myself and my daughter. Oh, the shame of it all...

The Holiday Argument

Is it just us or do all couples have a holiday argument? I ask this because I am just back from a two week jollie avec famille dans la Riviera.
It usually happens on around day 3 but this year the argument came about day 5, which is a bit late for us.
Basically, as you and husband are not used to being around each other 24/7, you end up rubbing each other up the wrong way. And not in a teenage sexual experimentation kind of way. (If only!)
You've gone through the traumas of packing, bundling kids in car, the airport and flight or, in our case, a pretty tiresome 12 hour car journey. You really need to shout at someone and off load a bit of tension. But you are on holiday and you are trying really hard to be, well,...nice! Projecting an image of the perfect family.
By day five I had read two chick lit books. Which had pumped my brain with visions of perfect men, romance and love.
Here we were walking around in ill fitting swimwear with too much body hair on display, barely grunting at each other on a night due to exhaustion from dealing with over tired, over heated and over hungry children.
There's me secretly longing for my husband to be a leading man from one of my trashy novels who would make me go weak at the knees. Damn those chick lit books. They always make me feel like I've picked the wrong fella for 24 hours after I have read the last page.

Our holiday row began with an accusation that I was allowing the children too many treats, and then it moved on to his work, money stress, me getting a job, him being moody to perhaps we were not suited after all, should we be heading for the divorce courts? We bicker like Peter and Katie. We'll end up hating each other, and perhaps we would be happier going it alone? It moved on to him promising to not be moody, try harder, love me more, me promising to be kinder, to understand his work pressures, saying he's not so bad after all and actually telling him he's a top daddy.
So, an hour of tears, shouting and getting the last 6 months of everything that had bugged us out in the open. There was a huge sense of relief. Let the holiday commence!
For the second week, we were like honeymooners and all was right in the world. Birds were cheeping around us and hearts were flying in the air above us.
The holiday is now over, and I'm sure this feeling will probably last ooh...as long as the tan...?

Celeb Marriage Woes

What on earth is going on with these 'slebs'? Katie and Peter heading straight to the divorce court before even cashing in on a few reconciliation magazine deals. Dane Bowers getting back in there while Pete's side of the bed is still warm. Ange and Brad reportedly at each others throats due to him being found 'comforting' the nanny and watching a dvd instead of minding the children (what husband hasn't done that?), Charlotte Church and Gav in Hello denying all rumours of a marriage rift (bet you a quid it'll be over within a year), Madonna flaunting her new Jesus around as if, 'Guy Who'?
I mean, if Katie and Peter are splitting up, what chance have the rest of us got? Eh?
What is weird is the general hunger for it, the fact that Katie and Peter have been in the papers DAILY since announcing the split - look there's Peter feeding ducks, oooh, there he is again outside a large house. We seem to need every detail, perhaps because they have married in front of us all, lived in front of us all (have you been watching Stateside? How moody is Katie??), now it's almost like we need to see the meltdown too.
Same with Brad and Ange, they got together on film (Mr & Mrs Smith), we felt Jen's pain when she was dumped, they shared photos of Ange breastfeeding, and now we feel we have a right to know the TRUTH. Are they just pretending? Brad, are you a compulsive shagger? Ange, are you completely and utterly barmy?
What is most sad in all of these cases are that there are children involved. And quite a lot of them in Brad and Angelina's case.
No doubt, in ten years we'll be reading their blogs/biogs/OK magazine deals about what it was like growing up the son of Katie Price/ daughter of Brad and Ange/ Adopted son of Madonna.
Divorce is never nice.
No matter if you are Joe Public or Peter Andre.
So, good luck to 'em.
May they all find a bit of peace and happiness...