Mummyfried

It's come around so quickly. The end of yet another year. I have been blogging for nearly a year, averaging on one blog a week. Not bad for a newbie. Sure the content has been snooze-worthy at times (ok most times). On a rare occasion I have managed to crack a smile from some readers, and some comments! This year has been the toughest yet greatest year of my life. My immediate family has bought me joy and laughter. I treasure them each and every second of the day. I wake up each morning and can't wait to see the smile, giggle and scream with laughter. I have been met with challenges I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Challenges that have changed the way I view people and relationships and life in general. I have fought battles I never imagined possible. I haven't won.  I have come out wounded but hopefully wiser. The sort of wars I have had to take part in never result in a winner. I have said goodbye to people, hello to new friends and family and have p

Last week I was at my local supermarket, a well known Greek chain.  I picked up a few items that were discounted if I produced my loyalty card. I had left my card at home. The sales person promptly asked the lady behind me for her card. She used her card to give me the discount, and handed the card back. Other than  'Oh, I don't have my card' I uttered no other words, and the above transaction took place in a matter of moments. Gobsmacked, I turned and thanked the behind me, and also the sales assistant, They both looked at me as though I was thanking them for jumping on my feet. I left feeling as though I lived in a nice area. Mr. Lucky came home yesterday with an extra carton of milk.  He explained that the day before he forget to pack the milk when he picked up an armload of groceries. The sales assistant remembered him, and told him when he was at the checkout.  She left the till, got the carton of milk, and packed it for him explaining why. Today, aft

Last week we flew from Thessaloniki to Athens. It is a one hour flight. We thought it would be a good way to see if Little Miss had overcome her inability to fly with ease. A short trial flight would be ok. Well. We are optimists afterall. It was on hour of hell for all the surrounding passengers. Fortunately it was ten minutes of sheer terror for Little Miss. So, while we didn't win any prizes in the fabulous family stakes, I was somewhat relieved that she freaked out for only ten minutes, rather than the entire flight. Little Miss has largely lost her ' Port a Volcano ' status. It has been replaced with a 'Meltdown on anything that moves' title. We sat her in her own seat near the window. She turned pale and started hyperventilating. We hadn't yet put on our belts so we swapped seats thinking she would be happier between mum and dad. This made it worse. She absolutely freaked out. The air hostess came over to help. I asked if she could sit on my la

Bedtime. We three pile into Little Miss' single bed. I pull out three stories. We argue over which to read first. At the end of story time, it's lights out. No moving The Baby into her cot. No, mama does not give her cherubs a kiss goodnight, and confidently walks out the door. Mama balances on the edge of the single bed until Little Miss and The Baby fall asleep. The trundle is pulled out. There is a good chance Little Miss or The Baby will end up sleeping on it at some point in the night. Little Miss and The Baby insist on sleeping together. They hold hands until they fall asleep.  It's lovely. What isn't lovely is that they want me to lie with them and cuddle both of them equally. If I so much as move, they stir. At any time of the night.   A toilet break is a luxury.  A good night's sleep is a dream. Last night both fell asleep quickly.  I moved The Baby to the trundle successfully and tip toed out. I was so ecstatic that I went to bed, my bed, imm

As a child, I don 't remember being scared of my toys. Except the time my aunt gave me a clown, and my sisters and cousins would dangle it in front of my face when I slept - reenacting a scene from Poltergeist the movie. Their giggling would wake me up and I would scream in terror as the clown grinned at me. It wasn't an evil looking clown. It was kind of cute.  But the movie, and my sisters actions made me hide it in the cupboard and one day, I threw it out. Nobody noticed the clown went missing. As I often lie awake in my daughters' room, I look around and watch as dusk turns to dawn my daughters toys gradually morph in my mind from innocent dolls to a gang of undesirables. There are three dolls I  pay attention to. They are on my watch. They are like the rough kids in the playground.  I stare, I watch, I wait, I observe. I am ready. If they make one wrong move and even hint at hurting my cherubs, like a panther I am ready to attack. One is a Minstrel doll,

The children are playing independently, I have an opportunity to meet my personal deadline for a blog. I am stuck for what to write. The last two weeks I have been lying awake between 1 am and 6 am, my mind swirling with ideas, funny anecdotes, plans for adventures. And today, now that I have time and space to think.. nothing. This state of paralysis has to to with the fact that last night, for the first time in a long time, I fell into such a deep slumber, despite sharing a single bed with Little Miss that the back of my nose and throat are sore after a deep heartfelt and continuous snore. I silently breathe a sigh of relief. I am currently sporting a Madonna 80's hairstyle. The no longer subtle regrowth, hair in desperate need of a cut and treatment, combined with a constant snore can't be attractive. Mr Lucky hasn't noticed (rather commented - that is why he is Mr Lucky).  The sigh has slowly turned from relief to worry. Having had a good night sleep means

I wonder how I would feel having a screen shoved up against my face while the world whirls by backwards? I would probably scream uncontrollably too. And not for fun. No, I am not talking about being on a ride at a show. Last night I saw a woman pushing her Stoke pushchair with determination.  Facing her was her baby, howling at the top of his lungs.  I have been there. I don't own a Stoke, but have had that look of determination on my face. That, please don't approach me or give me a look of pity - I have things that need to get done and baby howling combined with a compassionate face may very much result in me wanting to get into a corner, curl up and cry. But then she did something that threw me.  She stopped, sighed, grabbed something that was hiding the baby's face, touched it a few times.  During this time, the baby had stopped crying. I had a sneaky peak into the pushchair and saw the baby was about 9 months old. He was also very cute. Curious, I continued

Last week Mr Lucky and I celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary. We didn't do anything remarkable to mark the occasion.  We went out to our favorite restaurant for dinner with the kids. It was nice but nothing to rave about. We generally break tradition - rarely giving each other gifts appropriate for the number of years we are married. Thankfully. Buying lace for Mr Lucky would have been interesting. As a side note, I only know we should have exchanged a lace gift - as I researched it for this particular blog. Otherwise I would have remained in the dark. Thirteen years have flown. In those years we have moved three countries, produced two beautiful children, have each fought illnesses we probably both wondered quietly if we would ever get healthy again, So here we are. Certainly not at the end of our separate and combined adventures in life. I can't remember what we did or how we celebrated each and every anniversary. Last year we had both kids so sick - we

I have a serious case of green eyed monster. I can't shake it. It's getting bigger, uglier and hungrier by the second. Try as I might to rationalise, calm it down, and tell it to go away, it won't. Like a raging bull, this monster is out of control. OUT OF CONTROL I say! The Baby has an obvious preference for Mr Lucky.  She falls over, she runs to Mr. Lucky. She wakes up in the middle of night howling, only Mr.Lucky can calm her down. She wants to play, it's Mr Lucky. I know I sound like Jan Brady but I can't help but say  'Mr Lucky, Mr Lucky, Mr Lucky!' The clever little bugger comes to me for feeding, nappy changes, baths and when absolutely desperate for a sleep and Mr Lucky isn't around for wind down. That is it. I feel used, useless and a little embarrassed / ashamed to admit I have been doing Jan Brady for weeks - am mortified (particularly as I would have preferred to be cool, hip, well liked and popular Marcia). Little Miss is slowl

I never thought I would witness my fingers typing this sentence. It's cold and very wet. Each time I go out - I have to try to make myself as waterproof as possible. And I hate it. There, I typed it and it's true. I normally celebrate the cold. It means wearing lovely warm jackets, skivvies, warm socks (no need to paint my toe nails), sleeping with a duvet, drinking port... the list goes on. I used to love the fact I could cover up bumps and lumps for a good season. I didn't mind that my European skin would turn off white (OK, fleuro). Where has this grumpy woman come from? Close to a decade in cold, wet, dark, lovely London and I rarely complained about the weather (well, only London's summers, which I found unbearable). What is this sudden change? Is it age? Is it because of the children? It's not because it gets dark early.  Greece is an 'any time' city.  Children's activities begin at 6 pm. Doctor appointments can be at 8 pm.  Going out a

There are lots of things I love about Greece. One thing is the food. There is only one word to describe it, delicious. Another is how child friendly it is.  Greeks absolutely love children, and children that receive their love and adoration are happy little campers.  My cherubs suck up the attention like a sponge does water. Before moving to Greece, eating out would be a stressful initiative (for me mostly).   Sensing my anxiety, my cherubs would turn ‘Chucky’ throwing food and morphing cutlery, glasses and plates into deadly weapons. In Greece it’s a more relaxed affair.  Staff and patrons are used to children wondering around restaurants and tavernas.  A broken glass is a problem only because staff worry that the bits of glass are dangerous, not because it was broken in the first place. We recently were in Athens and dined at the Hotel Grande Bretagne’s GB Roof Garden Restaurant. My old stress levels returned.  I couldn't shake my old mantra ‘dining out and children d

Little Miss had all her teeth very early on.  She can tolerate pain. I don't ever remember hearing her grizzle or complain. The application of gels and administering pain relief to help her through teething was irregular. So much so that when The Baby gets a new tooth or is in pain, it takes me a while to figure out just what is going on.  Like an crazed dog she hooks on to anything she can sink her teeth or gums into and she does not let go.   We went out for coffee yesterday at a seaside cafe. She refused to get out of the pushchair.  She sat, head down with a scowl for what felt like an hour.  There was quiet. There was solitude. I was able to look out at the sea, breathe and let my shoulders relax for a while.  It was like having a massage without needing to shower to wash off the oil.  Bliss. I drank my coffee in peace. And then, a nagging something started to flush out any feelings of peace and calm.  Was I having a reaction to the coffee? I couldn'

I confess quite easily to having a few phobias.  They're nothing to be proud of, they're things that need to be worked through. I am a germaphobiac.. If I was a more confident person, I would happily wear surgical gloves and masks on public transport, I would have all public toilets cleaned before my use. Anti bacterial hand gel and wipes are in my close circle of friends. I suffer from TOTPAS (you will need to read a previous blog entitled TOTPAS and Balloons   to learn more about this serious ailment). I would prefer to be under anesthetic when visiting the dentist (so much so that I obsessively clean my teeth to avoid ever needing to visit. I hate taking my cherubs to the doctor to be immunised. I find it incredibly stressful so much so that Mr Lucy normally does the honors and I sit in reception my arms open wide waiting to console and cuddle. It was The Baby and Little Miss' immunisation day yesterday.  I was so worked up about this double whammy that Little

Last week was unusual. Filled with genuine highs and laughs and a very big punch in face low. The impact of the low made me feel like a flat tyre rotating on a long steady road. The sound of a dead thump repeating itself over and over again. The extreme high of reconnecting with people, experiences, love and the promise of a new adventure pumped some air into the tyre and the sound of the dead thump wasn't as deafening. A serious ‘one to one prep talk to myself’ combined with a few laughs with my two cherubs and Mr Lucky normally snaps me out of the low but for the first time in a long time, I haven't been able to shake it.   This low has made me want to run it out get my heart pumping, start sweating it out, return home to shower it all away. Of course I visualise the running thing. Being a role model (note, the emphasis on role and not model) to my children, an individual that can deal with anything thrown my way - my comfort eating technique stopped a long time

Mr Lucky and I met and fell in love in Greece nearly nineteen years ago.  We hold a village in Thrace responsible. It is a small friendly village largely untouched by the outside world.  A few nature lovers looking for an eco friendly holiday come here to relax, fall in love with the countryside or take ride bikes, go horse riding or trek. Called Tychero, a direct translation means lucky but mix it up a little as a turn of phrase it also means fate. We returned to Tychero with our two mini me’s (my girls) to find Tychero largely unchanged. Sure, the  financial crisis has hit it hard, empty shops and a few residents appearing a little frazzled. But this current look is reminiscent of any Greek village, town or city. The village and it’s inhabitants continue to retain it’s beauty, warmth, and charm. We decided last minute to drive to Tychero.  We booked the hotel the night before. We hadn't had contact with anyone in the village for close to twenty years. We went to the

I have talked about my uniform fetish in an earlier blogs entitled ‘ A call out ’. I can’t help but raise it again.   I am often fascinated by people in uniform. They are so perfectly groomed. Shoes shiny, shirts tucked in. Hair in place.  In my mind there is an air of mystery around somebody in uniform. You just can’t tell what type of person is under the cloth.  Are they kind, approachable, funny, strict, creative? Are they as clean cut as their uniform suggests? If I visited them at home, would I enter a home so pristine and in such order that even I the germaphobiac would think the sterile environment was a bit suss? I always want to crack and unravel the mystique.  Police officers fascinate me largely because these law enforcers require a combination I think of humor, empathy, strength, bravery and importantly intellectual and emotional maturity.   Requirements that I think are missing from the list of essentials on a police officer’s job description

A friend and I recently exchanged war stories about our families.  We slowly, tentatively revealed our scars.  I think she showed me all of hers. I couldn’t. Mine are far too deep, too many to show all at once. I glossed over some recent incidences, the last ones that prompted me to yell ‘Enough’ for that final time. She didn’t say much. She is a great believer that people come into and out of our lives for a reason.  So too do all experiences, good and bad. Sometimes I think she is an earth angel. Here to bring support, guidance and honesty.  Other times I think she is just a good new friend. Either way, I am happy she is in my life.  ‘You were simply born into the wrong family’ she said. What a revelation. Honestly. I had never thought about it that way. I agreed and realised that is the simplest, nicest and most honest way to describe my relationship with my family. I don’t share their life values. I don’t agree with their rules, judgments and lifestyle. Their behavior,

‘Even after so many years, you’re all loved up’ a friend once yelled at me. Her accusation resonated for some time. Should I feel guilty? Happy? What prompted her to say such a thing with such contempt?  When I asked, she said she could just tell that we got along well and she wanted the same thing.  I didn’t know how to answer that. Mr Lucky and I are loved up. We are very different in many ways, and at the same time quite similar. We still are individuals in our own right.  And yes, of course it’s not always a  given, we work at it. Well, Mr Lucky is truly a patient man.  He often waits for me to remove my foot from my mouth, only to shake his head in disbelief as I replace it with the other.   He is not perfect either. He shakes his head when I swap feet. That is wrong. Because we arrived in Greece as an already made family as opposed to a growing one (which is what we were in the UK), not many ask how long we’ve been together, or where we met etc. Perhaps we’re not that inter

Two things have prevented me from blogging, and importantly blogging about this particular issue… 1 The heat.  Since May,  I have been very very busy taking advantage of the sun and hot weather. So much so that this normally  pasty white legged mother has turned golden brown. I have been hitting the beach hard, and trust me, it hasn’t hurt. 2. I have been in shock, this genuine state of disbelief has prevented me from writing. OK, that is a bit of a stretch. The truth is, I haven’t been at all disciplined with my writing but give me a break – I still haven’t found my waist, time will tell if either discipline or my waistline is found. Regardless, I have a miracle to report – albeit a few months late.  In April, the Baby had her first birthday. We wanted an adult type of party at a child friendly time (by child friendly time I really mean sticking to Baby’s routine).  We couldn’t find a venue that catered to both requirements. We had little choice but have the party at home. T

This is a blog of unconditional love. Even I have to roll my eyes and gag a little. So if you are at all like me, I urge you – stop reading. Help me save the reputation of this blog site and please STOP.   Move   along, nothing to read, nothing to say.. MOVE ALONG I URGE YOU! If you are at all on the soppy, 'water spurting out of your eyes at the drop of a hat' type, then by all means read on.....if I bring a tear to your eye – then I may have just salvaged my reputation and this blog, and blog site. I have been so caught up in the mundane and the day to day that an entire year has gone by since having the Baby and I feel cheated.  Don't get me wrong. I have spent every waking hour and more often than not every half sleeping hour with her. I celebrate her existence with each and every breath – but still, I feel cheated.  She sleeps in her own room. She is almost walking. She has seven teeth. She wants to feed herself. We no longer sterilise or boil water. She d

So yesterday Little Miss decided she wanted to walk home from the park wearing one shoe and despite the elements refused to wear her coat. I transitioned from gentle coach, encouraging coach, firm mummy, scowling mummy to I can’t take the screaming any more, let her win this one mummy. Determined to draw more attention to us, she sang loudly, belting out her show tunes with the determination of a performer auditioning for that one role that was theirs since birth. Ok, she's not belting out her show tunes, they are mine.   The very show tunes that replace frowns, tiredness and scowls with sunshine, smiles, hope and Grease style dancing.   After she worked her way through Hairspray’s soundtrack (at only 3, her version is generally quite short. She doesn’t know all the words) She turned her attention to the Sound of Music. All the while, she carried her pack of cheese sticks in one hand as though they were fragile chicks. Each person we walked by smiled   or patted her head

Ok, who was that soft around the waist and head mummy moron that uploaded a blog of unconditional love and baby blah blah 'she is so cute I just can't get enough of her'? Call the doctor. Really - I don't know that woman. Today I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and aside from the 'softness around the waist' issue - I was terrified. There was nothing soft about the woman staring blankly at me. I will never be able to erase that image from my mind... That woman (yes, in this sleep depraved and deprived state I speak in the third person) has consulted Gina Ford, Tizzie's 'Save our Sleep', and tried controlled (and uncontrolled - oops that is me, back to first person) crying.   I have watched The Nanny. I have consulted the Baby Whisperer. I have read and researched.   I have tried 'The Deep End Approach' (no dirty jokes here please, am too tired to laugh) - all have failed. I now use the 'No Approach.' That cute chubby 

Another early morning blog attributed to my mind racing through a cocktail of issues. The usual obsessions flow through me. Little Miss' tantrums. Am I too soft or too hard? Am I applying appropriate discipline techniques? It's The Baby's first birthday next week - where has the year gone? How has my precious cherub grown so quickly and right under my nose? Why can't I buy a version of WD 40 that will oil and mute my noisy joints? After running my nightly 'are they hot or cold' checks, those silly creaks wake the girls each time I creep out of their bedroom.  I have accepted these issues and many more (mundane to others but critical to me).  A range of new issues however have invaded my thoughts. Where is that Malaysian plane? What are the real implications of the Ukraine crisis? Will I ever stop obsessing about what is going on in the world? What will I watch when my nightly fix of a Turkish TV drama (with Greek subtitles) ends?  This drama has helped me e

I have always considered myself a one man woman. But like a heroine in a romance novel, my world has been turned upside down.  I don't think it's love. I don't think it's lust. It's  an obsession that just wont pass. I know it's not right.  There is not much I can do about it.  Like a smitten boy-crazed school girl, I just cant stop thinking or talking about him. His name is Henry. A nice strong traditional English (I think)  name. A name I wouldnt normally be attracted to - but these things often suprise even the best of heroines. I first noticed him on  a construction site. I couldnt help but be drawn to him. He looked so in control, he knew he had a lot of work to do, he was going to get dirty and didnt care.  He had a focussed determination - a force to be reckoned with. No job was too small or big for this strong but friendly brute. What really won me over was his warm smile. Just when I thought I had my obsession (or fantasy) under control, as luck wou

Break open the bubbly! Today is the last day of the 30 day blog a day challenge. Time to celebrate an achievement. It’s a mixed bag of feelings and awakenings.  I am: Ecstatic that I stuck to it, and got through it. Amazed that I managed to juggle a blog a day with two kids under three and Mr. Lucky. In addition to the mundane, I have spent the last 30 days looking for alternative accommodation in Greece and the UK. We are moving to another short stay apartment – so am packing up to move house. AND we’re looking at apartments to move in to for when we go back to London, am packing up what we currently don’t need to ship that back to London. FUN!! Thrilled that I managed to reconnect with Ms. Lintern. Sad that the challenge is over – I enjoyed dusting off my brain, and giving the fingers a workout. Relieved that it’s come to an end, the pressure is off.  It got tough towards the end. Liberated.  I have managed to expel a range of random thoughts

. I often don’t write about things that make my blood boil or things that upset me. I take all that out on Mr. Lucky, and I pity my keyboard. It has already lost the TAB button and I don’t think I could bear it if I lost any other key. Being in Greece for some time now I have seen shops close, people lose their jobs, and homes. The Greek financial crisis has created a fear that has dented Greece’s normally euphoric,’ live and love life to the fullest ‘state of being. There is a growing divide between those who have, and those who have not. We were in a taverna the other day. A young man came in selling candles. Nobody bought any. He left looking devastated, desperate and lost.  After lunch, we walked to a children’s play cafe to let Little Miss run around. While we sat there, the same young man came in this time without his bag of candles and asked the proprietor for work.  Without even looking at him, the proprietor asked him to leave.  As he escorted him towa

Last night we met up with some new friends. In typical Mr. Lucky and Mummyfried style, we didn't know their names. They must have told us their names the first time we met, but of course it was summer, we had just arrived in Greece and were drunk on sun, good food and tsipouro (a rocket fueled version of ouzo).  To be honest for a while I thought their names were Baby and Sweetie. When they started to call each other ‘Cutie’ or ‘Lovey’ I realised I had missed the initial name exchange. I had a rare moment of genius and asked the husband whether his name was pronounced differently in Portuguese as opposed to Greek. So now we know the man’s name. Mr. Lucky and I have names for each other Mr. Lucky being one, and more descriptive names when we have very very loud conversations.  He also goes by Mr. Cranky, Mr. Messy, Mr. Funny, Mr. I am in so much trouble, but I can’t say he ever goes by Mr. All Loved Up, or Mr. Baby. Do people grow into the names or nicknames t