I’m afraid you’ll have to wait … I’m still recovering from it all.

Still, all of the above pales into insignificance when you remember that today a group of people are setting off to walk the length of Hadrian’s Wall … a  whopping 84 miles for charity.  Think of the blisters!  This is all for The Joseph Salmon Trust, a charity that gives financial support to bereaved parents.

Bloggers taking part are All That Comes With It, Insomniac Mummy, Jo Beaufoix, Single Parent Dad & Dad Who Writes.  Give them all a cheer!

There’s a blog, a raffle … and if you wish to donate, get yourself along here.

Good luck to all taking part in Hadrian’s Walk.  BIG respect.

My Uncle bought him a new touch screen phone which means it’s even easier for him to ring me from his pocket on car journeys. Let’s hope he doesn’t ring me accidentally from the motorway services toilet like he did once before, luckily it was only a wee, but a loud one all the same.

He is looking after the kids for a day during half term and is taking them swimming. He was excited when he realised that due to his new OAP status he can swim for free. Then there are all those pensioner special pub lunches, reduced train travel and a bus pass. The world is his OAP oyster.

The cake was made by Teacher Friend Mother of 3. She is a superstar. We collected it the day before the party and it sat overnight in our dining room. How the 4 year old held himself back from turning ‘Stealth Boy’ and raiding those sweets I’ll never know. There was a moment shortly before the party when he disappeared and was found staring longingly at the cake, but who could blame him?

My sister bought two huge helium balloons which were, apparently, f*cking expensive rather more expensive than she’d thought they’d be. It turns out that the ‘6′ balloon has a tag at the top end so that it can be flipped and used as a’9′.

The consensus amongst the Scottish attendees was that the helium should be drained and the balloons kept in a safe place until my Dad’s 90th.

Being half Scottish I kind of agree, although not until we’ve used it for the 5 year old’s next birthday …

I’ve had 6 hours sleep in 48 hours. I must have had a temperature because when I did sleep I dreamt I was sat in a hospital waiting room with the dog for company waiting for someone to come and tell me that my legs weren’t going to drop off.

I have lots of posts lined up in my head, but they need someone with a brain to get them ready to post. Today I am not that person. Today I am Working Zombie Lady with a hint of chocolate biscuit.

Excuses over.  I bring you a post from last year … which, yes, is cheating … I like to call it recycling. Enjoy.

The virtual burglar pays a visit … in my head

Occasionally I have irrational thoughts. For instance;

What if a burglar were to break into the house in the middle of the night?

Last week I gave it too much thought, it went a little something like this;

So, the burglar breaks in. I don’t know how, he just does OK?

The dog who is having one of those dreams where she’s running in the park stirs. She doesn’t bark. Instead she vomits on the burglar’s shoes and proceeds to wag her tail and lick him. She welcomes him into our home. Not only has she been sick but earlier in the evening she was cleaning her arse with that tongue.

He fumbles to switch on his torch and surveys the kitchen for car keys to the shiny motor on the drive. Plates are piled high on the work surface. Don’t these people have a dishwasher? No, not unless you count me and the husband.

His torch light falls upon a picture on a pinboard of a gay couple. One of them is dressed as Adam Ant, the other is dressed as himself and has a fetching moustache. This picture is me (Magnum PI) and the husband (Adam Ant) at my sisters 40th birthday party. Note the chest hair (For the record and those of you who were wondering … this is not my own chest hair).

There’s no hope of finding keys amongst the clutter. He locates a handbag on the worktop and opens it. He takes out the contents looking for a purse; a box of raisins, a soggy tissue, a broken Cinderella necklace, a sock, a notebook with extensive Disney notes … a purse with a faulty zip, several receipts for the Co-op and just three ten pence pieces.

He finds a mobile phone right at the bottom of the handbag, hiding. Not the latest model but worth a bob or two. The screen flashes bright. A picture of two small children wearing underpants on their heads greets him. Oh my god, what kinds of people are parenting these children? I believe in nature over nurture … my children are truly bonkers, is that really my fault? … Ahem.

He decides to venture into the living room to check out the electrical goods. Suddenly there is a piercing shriek. He stops dead in his tracks, terrified that there is a beast upstairs. The 4 year old is having night terrors again.

In his panic to leave the house he goes into the downstairs toilet and is met a child’s floater bobbing alone. “Of course I flushed the toilet Mummy”

Recoiling in horror and running back towards the door he stands on a toy fire engine and falls to the floor crashing into the intricate marble run of the previous day.

As he crawls to his knees he kneels on a piece of Lego. OH THE PAIN! For those of you not accustomed to the pain a piece of Lego can cause when kneeled upon, I have confirmed, after a lengthy conversation with the husband, that is equal to standing on an upturned plug.

Clutching his knee he notices some car keys hanging out of a coat pocket in the hall. Bingo!

Relieved to be leaving the house of horrors he realises that the keys are not for the shiny motor, they are indeed for the rusty, dusty old motor parked beside it.

He sits in the car, the first thing to hit him is the lingering smell of wet dog. He puts the key in the ignition. The car stereo signals its awakening with a loud rasping farting noise and The Wind in The Willows blares out of the speakers. The faulty hand brake alarm starts and the petrol gauge is glowing on empty.

What burglar, in his right mind would pick on us?!

He went to an awful lot of trouble, even getting a butter knife from the drawer to get to the goods quicker. He proudly went upstairs to show The Husband his new toy saxaphone and got a telling off.

When I returned home, after our secret birthday present shopping mission, it dawned on him that I was also displeased and that he would have one less present to open this morning. He sobbed for a while.

Later when he was getting ready for bed he may have unexpectedly ventured into my bedroom where he may have seen another present, this time unwrapped.  A Toy Story lunch bag, to replace the torn and battered Ben 10 one. A practical addition for his birthday.

As I was saying goodnight to him last night he said “Why did you buy me a Toy Story lunchbag?” in a disappointed tone. I said in an upbeat tra la la voice with a beaming smile that he would have to wait and see what his birthday would bring, whilst thinking “Oh shit”.  Poor disappointed 3 year old.

Anyway, that’s behind him now because today is his birthday and he’s 4.  Who cares that he knows he has a toy saxophone which will be utilised as a gun or a method of torturing his parents and sister with?  Who cares his mother bought him a boring old Toy Story lunch bag? I for one love Buzz and Woody and in the cold light of day he was actually quite pleased with it. Now, he also has a new scooter, to replace the rusty old one … and this one has lights that flash along the footplate a bit like the ones that some chavs attach to the underside of their car.

I sit here shell shocked wondering where the last four years have gone.  I’m sure The Husband is equally confused, for it is his birthday too. 41 today. I’m sure he is wondering where the last 40 years have gone. Ahem.

This weekend we have a birthday party for the 4 year old with some of his friends from nursery.  Later the husband and I will go out  and meet our friends in the village. We may even drink a beverage or twenty two.  I’m sure there will be lots of laughter … and cake.

To infinity and beyond ….

See you on the other side.

If I ask him what he wants for his birthday I get a surly “I don’t know”. Of course he doesn’t know, he is the proud recent owner of a Hot Wheels track, remote control dinosaur, a rather irritating noisy ray gun (Thanks Auntie K) and several other new toys from Father Christmas.

My boy is so active. He gets the most pleasure from using our house as an assault course. Using the sofas to bounce on, bum skidding down the stairs, sliding on his knees in the bathroom, using bubble wrap as a swimming pool or using the dog as a hurdle just to name a few favourite activities.

I came across these picture a few weeks ago and thought that maybe I should just get him something else, non-toy related. He has enough toys. Maybe something to aid his expulsion of energy. Something to add to his assault course. I have no idea what that is yet.

What non toy related things/household objects do your children get the most pleasure from?

I had another birthday last month, I am now 31 years old. Of course with this quiet passing of birthdays I discovered that I like Emma Bridgewater mugs and that I have bingo wings. The latter was more of a shock than the former. When I pointed out my wingage to the husband he said that it may be more the shoveling of excess food into my mouth than my turning another year older. I can hear you all saying ‘HE SAID WHAT?’ and limbering up for some man bashing, but actually he’s right.

Whilst I work out how best to tackle my shovelling problem without having my jaw wired I have decided to wrap my bingo wings in cling film at night. This will surely reduce them if it is tight enough and the heating is cranked up

With my birthday came the dawn of the pyjama. I haven’t worn pyjamas since I left home at 18, opting for nakedness and then when I had children just plain old big pants. I am now going for comfort. I perused Marks and Spencer online and clicked the wrong button because I was confronted with one of my worst fears … ‘older’ ladies wearing quilted bed jackets. Recoiling in horror I decided that it would be best to go to a real shop where I could avoid such atrocities.

I had some time off last week to bridge the gaping childcare hole. It was lovely to spend some quality time with …

The 5 year old, who was suffering SHF (Summer Holiday Fatigue). Being passed from one form of childcare to the next all Summer has not done her any favours. She has loved the school holiday club which was a relief. She did have to be peeled off me each morning, but then each evening I had to drag her screaming to the car because she didn’t want to leave.

She has more imaginary animals. We have the two dogs, Molly and Sarah who walk with us every night with our REAL dog and then there are some unnamed cats. She still wants a real guinea pig and I am still refusing. When I suggested she get herself an imaginary guinea pig she looked at me as if I were mad. Other than that she is continuing to stalk the neighbours ten year old daughter daily and is now getting the …

… the 3 year old involved in peering in their front windows too. There will be a restraining order arriving shortly.

He has acquired a new noise, a cross between a guinea pig squeal and the screeching metal brakes on the 08:45 Northern Rail to Leeds. This noise is fairly random and I’m not sure if I should worry. He starts nursery at the 5 year old’s school next week which couldn’t come fast enough because he wails each morning as we pull up outside the OAP childminders and can’t understand why he can’t go to ”big boy school’.

We discovered that he had been weeing in the bidet a few weeks ago. After much berating he has ceased this activity and now favours cleaning the bidet with the 5 year old’s flannel instead. Apart from that he is obsessed with Mario Kart on the Wii and has probably said the phrase “can I play on the car game” 40 times a day for the last six weeks. This isn’t the only time he repeats himself either “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride” gets a bit tiresome too. In fact if he wants something and gets the answer ‘no’ he will attempt to wear me down with asking the same thing over and over to the point that …

… the husband is now worried that the 3 year old is actually part goldfish.

The husband has taken to swearing excessively recently, but understandable seeing as he managed to kill his computer last week, which as a graphic designer is integral to his work.

The TV is currently tuned to ‘cricket’ and only ‘cricket’ which the children find disgusting especially as it clashes with Mister Maker. He’s going to the One Day International at Durham next week to meet up with ‘Glaswegian Jim’. We met Glaswegian Jim and his lovely family when we went camping in August. Their friendship formed over their love to drink alcohol and talk b*llocks into the early hours of the morning. One of our neighbouring campers got quite razzed by the early morning discussions. She came out of her tent and shouted angrily at Glaswegian Jim “I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR YOUR SCOTTISH VOICE AGAIN TONIGHT” . Over the last few weeks by medium of text and email the husband has taught Jim everything there is to know about cricket.

He mentioned the word ‘vasectomy’ in my presence last week. I laughed it off nervously. I am of course still holding out for him having an accidental head trauma and subsequently the revelation that he would in fact like more children. This isn’t going to happen, but a vasectomy? It seems so final. Usually it is the woman pushing for the man to have the vasectomy, surely not the man openly willing to have his bits hacked at with a machete snipped. To be honest I think if he could do it himself with a pair of garden shears he would.

The dog… is mostly moulting. She is looking a bit thin, which for a Labrador is unheard of, I’ll have to start supplementing her diet with her favourite past worktop steals … pomegranates …. candles … frozen mince … whole loaves of bread … tubs of margarine. Maybe she’s dog-a-rexic?

4 year old - 1st birthday = toddler slide, 2nd birthday = toddler trampoline, 3rd birthday = big slide, 4th birthday = 2 seated swing.

This birthday we are thinking a big trampoline. We were thinking guinea pig but how much fun can you have with a guinea pig compared to a trampoline … and why do I keep wanting to type trumpoline and snigger like a 4 year old?

Luckily, whatever the 4 year old gets for her birthday is bought with the two of them using it together in mind.

How bad is ’second child with Winter birthday syndrome’ in this house?

Well, let me tell you, my poor poor boy …

3 year old - 1st birthday = can’t remember, 2nd birthday = nope, it escapes me, 3rd birthday = Sportacus dressing up outfit … which I kept back from Christmas.

The 3 year old’s birthday is just over a month after Christmas. It’s around the time we remove batteries from irritating Christmas presents (usually bought by someone with no children) and pretend they don’t work anymore … It’s around the time we stuff things in charity bags to make room for the excess Christmas presents … It’s shared with the husband.

He really doesn’t seem to notice though. He had a party this year and last (see, not such a bad mother) … with cake (not homemade … did you see the muffins?).  But, I do think in a year or two we really need to address the second child winter birthday issue.

Until then he can share in his sister’s ‘first born summer birthday lucky bugger syndrome’.

Thank god we’re not having any more children … what on earth would ‘third child, can’t remember your name let alone your birthday’ get?