For some reason I believed my 5 year old even though she was giving shifty sideways glances.

When we got to the school playground I was given all their belongings (Sherpa stylee)  so they could go and play before the bell.  Cue strange beeping noises again.  This time I knew I’d heard it.

I looked in the 4 year old’s lunch bag – nothing. Both children’s coat pockets – nope. The 5 year old’s book bag? … BINGO.

My darling daughter was trying to smuggle a Go-Go Hamster into school.

I called her over and asked her what was in her book bag.  To my amazement she looked me in the eye and told me it was ‘Bring a Pet to School Day’.

I asked her if her teacher would verify this tall tale.

No, it appears not … which is why I spent most of the day telling my colleagues that I was sorry about the beeping, whistling and other noises coming from the hamster in my handbag.

Turns out it was ‘Bring a pet to work day’.

The 5 year old was beyond excited at the prospect of actually sitting with Mummy and Daddy in the school hall. A little too excited.  The invite went out over a month ago and during those five weeks the 5 year old’s excitement didn’t abate.

I am a big believer in school dinners. The 5 year old has always been a good eater and I’d rather she had something different every day rather than my lunchbox offerings.

I’m a bad pack- luncher-maker. The 4 year old who goes to morning nursery takes a packed lunch which he eats at the OAP Childminders.

I’m totally uninspired when it comes to packed lunches although I try to rotate my lack of inspiration. Rotating cucumber slices for carrot sticks and on occasion sticking in a box of raisins … wooohooo.

When we went into school last week we had roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, carrots, broccoli and gravy.

I watched as the children came in and made their own choices and then decided where to sit. They all seemed so grown up and independent … which I suppose they are!  It was a lovely insight into what the 5 year old gets up to during her school day.

Beforehand I’d had thoughts of slop and chips. But I was pleasantly surprised. The vegetables actually had a bit of bite to them, not the expected mush.  The chocolate pudding and chocolate custard were just like when I was at school, but then I always liked school puddings … I’ve never been able to find a decent jam and cornflake pudding or pink custard since leaving primary school.

I’m looking forward to September when the 4 year old starts reception and has school dinners. We’ll be invited in again to sample the offerings.

I hope it’s a chocolate pudding day again.

Teacher Friend Mother of 3, who may now be renamed ‘Bargain Hunter of the Century’ managed to get an Alien dressing up outfit for a fabulous £2 … yes that’s right, 2 golden coins. 

It also comes with some gloves but as we were getting ready to leave the house the 5 year old took them off. She also had a pair of underpants to go over her leggings, but they are in a bag ready for school.

I present to you an Alien not wearing her underpants and Batman …

World Book Day is this Thursday.  Every year the school gives the kids a theme for fancy dress, the parents are told not obsess over it and not to spend any money.  This is fine if you are all creative and able to sew … and have lots of fabric hanging about … and clothes in every colour of the rainbow … and have a wealth of accessories from nursery rhymes to woodland creatures and back over the hill to TV characters from the 80’s.

I have none of these things.

Our fancy dress comprises a donkey (aged 2-3), Rudolf (aged 2-3), a Cinderella dress (aged 4-5) and let’s not forget the strap-on Baloo head from the Jungle Book (one size fits all).

I am stuffed.

Yesterday morning in the playground I heard a vicious rumour that the theme was ‘hedgehogs’. I had panicked thoughts at work all day of making a hedgehog outfit.  Then I realised it was easy, the 5 year old could wear brown, which is fine if you have any brown clothing, and then I would stuff several brown socks with I don’t know what and sew them onto the back of her top to make spikes.

But, then I realised that my daughter would look less hedgehog and more like Mummy Poo giving her baby poos a piggy back to school.

The vicious rumour turned out to be true, but for Year 2 pupils.  My daughter is in Year 1 *insert raucous cackle*.

So last night a letter arrived home saying they had finally decided on the theme and it would be … Aliens in Underpants.  So now I am looking for head boppers and some large y-fronts.

The only good thing I can think about that theme is that at least it isn’t hedgehogs. That could scar a child for life. Having said that, I can’t wait to see all the Year 2 Mummy poos giving their babies a piggy back to school.

Abandoning the car I deposited the children at school and walked to work in a mock skiing style.  I arrived at work still clutching the 3 year old’s Ben 10 lunchbox. 

Tuesday - After spending an awful lot of time over the weekend fiddling in his ears, the 3 year old proudly told me “It’s OK Mummy, the little balls have fallen out of my ears”. In blind panic I booked a Dr’s appointment. It seems that one of his grommets has fallen out into his ear canal and he has an ear infection.  So, what are they going to do?  No worries, says the Dr, he has his 9 month check-up in March at the hospital, they’ll assess him then.  Marvellous, I’m so looking forward to spending the next 8 weeks with a partially deaf boy … whilst thinking about the possibility of having to go through this again.

Last night I spent 2 hours sewing badges onto the 5 year old’s Rainbows t-shirt for tonight.  2 bloody hours.  I don’t do sewing.  My sister sensing that my sewing skills were not up to scratch bought me a sewing kit for Christmas.  I felt I ought to try, and I proudly showed the results to the husband who looked unimpressed. He was thinking he could have done better. He could.

Wednesday -This morning we were all ready about to go out of the door (dressed in the current trend of ’Yeti’) when I got a call saying that school was shut due to the ice.  The 3 year old was devastated and wept uncontrollably.  He wanted to go to school, he loves school.  The 5 year old on the other hand had an air of cool relief about her as she mentally planned how long she would be able to play on her DS today. 

Teacher Friend Mother of 3 rang up and ranted about bloody teachers not going to work because of the ice.  The husband then ranted about writing a bloody long letter to the local council regarding their gritters … or lack of.

So, the husband, who works from home drove me to work over slippy slidy roads whilst attempting handbrake turns.  Please tell me it isn’t just my husband that does this at every opportunity. 

He is once again burdened with the children during work hours.  Just before lunch I had the following message … “The 5 year old is watching TV whilst playing on her DS [note multi-tasking] whilst the 3 year old is playing on CBeebies on the computer. I am having trouble concentrating”

It’s only bloody Wednesday.

… and the 2 hours I spent last night swearing sewing whilst piercing my hands with needles and concentrating far too hard were wasted.  Due to the ice, Rainbows is off.

Chunter f*cking chunter.

We’ve opened presents, eaten all the Quality Street, celebrated the New Year, had a few hangovers, eaten lots of sprouts, I’ve *shock horror* nearly finished reading my book, watched LOADS of films … and now it’s time to go back to reality.

School and work are looming large on the horizon, tomorrow in fact. The children who have had more late nights than I care to mention have been reacquainted with their early bedtime in the hope that it will ease them back into the school routine smoothly. Who am I kidding? As with every other ‘back to school’ week after a holiday my children will be little demons after school this week and I will tear my hair out. But today, which is Sunday, I am optimistically ironing uniform, packing the 3 year old’s lunch, writing cheques for the 5 year old’s school dinners and trying to remember where I put the 5 year old’s PE pumps two weeks ago.

It feels like longer than two weeks. I am actually sad that we won’t be spending all our time together, that I will be handing them over, once again, to teachers and childminders. As a working mother I feel guilt that I spend less time with the 3 year old than I did with his sister. I feel annoyed that during the working week I get the after school versions of my children which sees me sorting out reading, homework, tea and bedtime with often reluctant participants

Still, on the upside I won’t have to repeat myself over and over again at work. Choice phrases from this holiday have been … “You are too close to the TV”, “How long have you been playing on your DS for?”, “The dog has done a poo where!?”, “No, you have eaten all the chocolate coins”, “No, there are no more presents, this is it now”.

Only another 323 days till the next Christmas holiday

Now, where did I put those pumps?

5 year old - But I want one of those

Me - They were given out to the nursery children, you can’t have one

5 year old - But it’s not fair. I want one.

3 year old - (stroking his new reflector and reveling in his sister’s jealousy) Would you like to look at it? … You are not allowed to touch it though.

5 year old - It’s not fair. He has 158 toys and I have (cue puppy dog eyes and dramatic sigh) only … 2 toys.

Once home the crying subsided, he ate some chocolate and went off to play on the trampoline.   This confirmed that he hadn’t broken anything and I didn’t have to spend 4 hours waiting in A&E whilst he jumped off the furniture.

Later he wanted to watch TV and got snuggled up on the sofa with Lulu. 

I sat next to him and he put his feet on my lap.  I gave his feet a tickle and he said …

“Hit my feet like Grandpa does”

So I patted his feet gently.

“NO!  Harder like Grandpa does and on the bottom” he demanded.

So I slapped the soles of his feet as he relaxed and watched Mister Maker.

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?