Mud & Mischief

No, not thingymas that we’re not allowed to mention until after Hallowe’en.

It’s Nanowrimo time! On the 1st of Nov, zillions of mad manic scribblers around the globe will be doing their thing to add to the burgeoning quantity of questionable literature that proliferates every November.

And seeing as how this is my fourth year of doing it, I need your help. I want to get out of my usual rut of writing, and try something new. To that end, I need a few ideas throwing into the mortar, to pound with the pestle of my imagination.

Throw me some ideas. Some character names, plot bunnies, stray things you think I need to include in my NanoNovel. Genres, settings, character flaws, inanimate objects. Be creative. Be silly. Be innovative.

But most of all, have some fun.

After two hospitals in under twelve hours, the beads are now out.

Got to DRI at 9am this morning. Lovely doctor peered into each ear and announced that he wasn’t going to do it, as one was quite far in, and would prefer it if the senior registrar stepped in. Registrar chap would be in at 9.30 and would see me after he’d done the rounds of the Head and Neck unit, which wouldn’t take long.

We went for a wander, charmed a few folks, ran up and down endless corridors,and returned to the ward to wait a while longer. RJ decided that taking a chair for a walk was hugely entertaining, and he amused a couple of eldery gentlemen in the beds next to where we were waiting. Finally, at 10.45 we were seen. Bear in mind that neither of us had had any breakfast, or even a drink!

It wasn’t pleasant. After explaining that he really didn’t want to give RJ a general anaesthetic, and it would be a week or so before it happened anyway, he got the matron to wrap RJ in a blanket and hold him fast. Shortly after, the lovely doctor had to hold his ankles. Then I had to hold his forehead. And then the registrar could finally insert the speculum and use a long thin bit of metal with a tiny loop not much bigger than an O to hook the bead out. A green one and a blue one.

He’s got to have some ear drops in for three days, to stop the bleeding forming a clot that will need removing and he’s a bit sore around the edges. But he devoured the toast the nice nurse gave him, and drank my tea in favour of the nasty orange chemical squash stuff they offered him. He’s had a snooze, his ear drops (that was a lark) and some tomato soup and suddenly, he’s as bright as a button again. Thank goodness.

First, a big apology to Jax. I was so, so looking forward to sitting down and having a good natter. And we got what, ten minutes? *sigh*

You see, we’d just cleared the table of dinner, sat down with drinks and had begun to discuss the joys of having small boys, when Myf went into meltdown in the playroom. It took a few moments for me to realise exactly what she was on about, but apparently RJ had stuffed a bead in his ear.

This came as no surprise, as he keeps trying to stick things in his ears. No idea why, but small children do things that defy explanation, so I’m not even going to try.

Anyhow, whilst Myf is having a complete diva drama episode, I scoop up the boy and peer in to his left ear. Hmm, looks like there might be something in there. He’s crying now, a) because of the noise Myf is making, b) because he doesn’t want me poking in his ear, and c) he’d much rather be doing something else than being held in a headlock whilst I request the torch that sits on the counter.

Sure enough, as I shine the torch in his ear, there’s a wee gleam of something that doesn’t look like ear wax.

Hug Jax. Send girls upstairs. Kiss James. Pick up RJ, bag of nappies, book, water bottle and spare change. RJ complains - I stuff him in the car.

Get to Bassetlaw hospital in Worksop at 20:10.

RJ isn’t crying. He’s smiling. And running amok. And charming everyone. Standing at the window, oooh’ing and ahhh’ing over the ambulances that are coming in, regular as buses, and waving cutely at the numerous police cars who arrive with bloodied handcuffed occupants. Ahh, the joys of A&E on a Saturday night.

We finally get seen at 22.45. *sigh*

We get sent home at 23.10, with instructions to present ourselves at Doncaster Royal Infirmary, in the ENT ward at 9am tomorrow morning.

Brought RJ home. He fell asleep in the car. I carried him upstairs asleep, removed his shoes and dropped him gently into his cot. He’s snoring.

Am now contemplating a large Black Russian…

Some days, I’m doing so many things that I forget which way I’m supposed to be facing and find myself sat in a corner, quietly flicking my bottom lip down with one finger going ‘buhbuhbuhbuhbuh’…

There’s been lots of Ecoknits stuff going on the last week or so, meetings with North Doncaster Development Trust, and the Chamber of Commerce, and meetings booked with CIDA and courses with the Inland Revenue and Chamber pencilled in on the calendar. I’ve applied for a startup grant, to go towards postage supplies, business cards, storage boxes for yarn and such like. I’ve written a business plan, filled in an application for a business bank account (24 page print out!), helped James photograph some gorgeous stuff from the Natural Dye Studio and Artist’s Palette Yarns (so there’ll be new pictures up there in a few days), edited a couple of pages on the website and started a claim for the first missing parcel.

The kids are back at school, bleargh, so there’s school run every morning, lunches to make (although I’m getting better at those and doing the sandwiches the night before when I can), clothes to wash/dry/wrestle small children into, hair to brush and de-bug (already!!!), swimming kit to find, homework to marshal…

And food. The bane of my life. I used to so love cooking. Nowadays, it’s in danger of turning into a slog, as anything decent I cook gets frowned at and “I don’t like this, Mommy”. However, I’ve made out a couple of weeks worth of menus, I’ve managed to shop to those menus, and any faces pulled at dinner are smartly reminded that whilst it may not be their favourite dinner, it’s mine/Daddy’s/Myf’s and we’ll be eating something you like tomorrow that Piglet might not like but will eat because her favourite is being served on Sat. That, and there’s nothing else bar a piece of fruit if you don’t eat it. And apple pie and custard for those who do eat their veg. So, lately I’ve made corned beef & potato pies (froze one as an experiment) a chicken & veg pie (from Sunday dinner leftovers), I have approx 36 Bramley apples to peel, dice, cook down and freeze for pie fillings & apple sauce, we’ve had real food that the kids have actually eaten and I feel so much better about this whole cooking lark. I may even dig out a couple of cookbooks and try some new things on the guinea pigs, uh, family.

What was the purpose of this blog?

Ah, yes. Too much to do.

So, I’m sat here, tapping away and thinking about all the things I want/need to do with these few precious hours of calm (ish - there is a labrador pup in the house after all) and so far this evening, I want to:

There are probably more, but we bought some Spendrups Swedish beer from Ikea yesterday and I kind of forgot what it was that I wanted to do. But I reckon the above is enough of a list to keep me going.

more animals

I often wonder at the mechanics and such behind these daft things, but there are definitely some truisms in this Edited to say that after playing with it a while, it’s nothing more esoteric than ascribing a virtue for each letter of your name.

What Kristy Means

You are a seeker of knowledge, and you have learned many things in your life. You are also a keeper of knowledge - meaning you don’t spill secrets or spread gossip. People sometimes think you’re snobby or aloof, but you’re just too deep in thought to pay attention to them. You are wild, crazy, and a huge rebel. You’re always up to something. You have a ton of energy, and most people can’t handle you. You’re very intense. You definitely are a handful, and you’re likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun. You tend to be pretty tightly wound. It’s easy to get you excited… which can be a good or bad thing. You have a lot of enthusiasm, but it fades rather quickly. You don’t stick with any one thing for very long. You have the drive to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Your biggest problem is making sure you finish the projects you start. You are the total package - suave, sexy, smart, and strong. You have the whole world under your spell, and you can influence almost everyone you know. You don’t always resist your urges to crush the weak. Just remember, they don’t have as much going for them as you do. You are a seeker. You often find yourself restless - and you have a lot of questions about life. You tend to travel often, to fairly random locations. You’re most comfortable when you’re far away from home. You are quite passionate and easily tempted. Your impulses sometimes get you into trouble. You are a free spirit, and you resent anyone who tries to fence you in. You are unpredictable, adventurous, and always a little surprising. You may miss out by not settling down, but you’re too busy having fun to care.

Decided I should blog some photos, seeing as how I’ve not put anything up on here in ages.

Best thing about today was the shirt. I’ve been meaning to make RJ a little shirt out of one of James’ old ones, so I borrowed a pattern from Nikki and set to. The shirt lay in several pieces for over a week until I finally gave myself a kick up the butt, put the book down and found the sewing machine.

And this is what it looks like:

My sewing machine is ace - it does buttonholes automatically! Lots of fun, and RJ loved his shirt. Might dig through the charity bag before taking it to Cancer Research and see what else I can find to chop up to make into kids’ clothes.

And a snap from a few days ago - went and dug up the last of the spuds from the lottie and had bangers and mash. Except it was mash with a difference. The kids were a little surprised to see me chopping up these.

And once they’d boiled and been mashed, this is what they looked like.

Next time I’ll just use either Highland Burgundy (the red ones) or Shetland Black, for red or purple mash. In the pan there are about 6 Burgundy, 2 Black and three regular white spuds, so we got a bizarre lilac mash. Excellent flavour though. Shall blog red and purple roasties next week…

That’s Wife in the North finished. What a bloody good book. Not bad for the collected ramblings of this mad Wifey’s blog. It made me laugh aloud frequently. And it also made me drip tears all over it, most unexpectedly giving me a completely different view point on a number of her less orthodox ramblings. Well worth a read.

Onto The End of Mr Y next.

As they say, “Now for something completely different.”

Sat eating soup for dinner (long story, but hey, it’s homemade, and so is the bread) Tea says “This is yummy mommy.” Except that these days Mommy is more like Mummy. So they began calling me a yummy mummy (I’m not!).

“What about Daddy?” says Piglet

“He can be a Delicious Daddy.”

Therefore, the Word according to Tea is that there are Yummy Mummies and Delicious Daddies.

I quite like that

I don’t read enough.

I used to read voraciously - anything and everything that came within reach. Books, newspapers, backs of cereal packets if there was nothing else to hand. I lost days and weeks to David Eddings, Tom Clancy, Joseph Heller, CS Lewis, Jean M Auel, Dick Francis, Raymond E Feist, Robert Adams, countless authors whose names I’ve shamefully forgotten but whose stories live on in my head.

And yet lately, I’ve read nothing. The last book I read was Northern Lights. And that was this time last year. I haven’t read the Harry Potter series. The only things I seem to read lately are cookbooks and websites.

When I read, though, the house could fall down around my ears and the world stop. I’d just flick the dust off the page and keep going. When you have four children, you can’t allow yourself to be so totally consumed by something. I’m sure that’s why I’ve not dared pick up the Philosopher’s Stone. I’ve seen the way those books remove sane thought and behaviour from reasonable folks. My children would starve and the bloke sue for neglect should I delve into the world of Hogwarts. And that box set of seven Chris Ryan? If he’s anything like Tom Clancy in his detail and depth, that would lose me another month or so.

However, I’ve decided that I should be reading. If nothing else, just to set an example to the small people. I can issue The Command and the tv goes off, but how am I going to show them what to do with their time if I’ve just got my head buried in the internet?

So instead of diving into something overly gripping, I went and bought three novels by folks I’ve never read before, at Waterstones. I came home with Wife in the North by Judith O’Reilly, Two Caravans by Marina Lewycka (author of A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian) and The End of Mr Y by Scarlett Thomas.

I just want to get myself back into the habit of reading again. I didn’t honestly choose The End of Mr Y because of the black pages.

I’ve started with Wife in the North because it sounds like an easy, enjoyable read:

350 miles from home, three young children and one very absent husband.
Maybe hormones ate her brain. How else did Judith’s husband persuade her to give up her career and move from her beloved London to Northumberland with two toddlers in tow?
Pregnant with number three, Judith is about to discover that there are one or two things about life in the country that no one told her about: that she’d be making friends with peole who believed in the four horsemen of the apocalypse; that running out of petrol could be a near-death experience; that the closest thing to an ethnic minority would be a redhead.

I’m on page 36, and I’ve laughed out loud three times and wanted to cry once. Not bad, eh?