Buy one get three free

Weeks pass by without pen to paper, either because I'm too busy (even to do a wee sometimes) or I am tired, uninspired and have a touch of the old writer's block. Then I get a hundred ideas of what I want to rant about, share or express. This blog is about what is going on in my head right now.

3 YEAR OLD BULLIES:

There are two "dominant" characters that I aware of at Charlotte's nursery. One of her little boyfriends is getting pushed around by another boy. His mother tells her son to push the boy back, I can see her point. Boys need to be tough and to be able to fight their own battles. We tell Charlotte never to hit or push anyone. She is upset as says that another girl hits her and pushes her. This could be an attention seeking tale. The nursery workers say there is a little girl that is a bit bossy towards the other children. I never thought that it would upset me so much. Ben told me off for teaching Charlotte to be a bitch as I tell her to say "whatever" or "talk to the hand" but mostly I say to walk away from it and play with other friends; to concentrate on the nice children. It is a shock that bullying starts at such a young age. Though if I analyse this it is human nature. Wild animals kill each other. At 3 do kids know right from wrong? Probably not but the parents and grown ups do. Now is the time to teach our children to be kind and giving little beings.

MENOPAUSE STUFF

Two of my friends are getting night sweats and their periods have stopped. Starting the flipping things at age 11 was crappy but exciting too. I became a woman. When the time comes for me for them to stop, I will feel sad. It will mark the end of an era.

MOBILE MADNESS

This is something that I come up against working in recruitment. HR Managers complain about it fashionably. Why do young people of today have a crazy obsession with their phones? Many are glued to the bloody things. When I started work and to this very day,  I arrive at my desk miles before 9am, take a sort lunch break and rarely take a personal telephone call. That was so taboo. I know and love dearly a young person who checks her phone during zumba and even doing 90  in the fast lane of the M25!!

DEATH BECOMES HER

At 3, I have already had conversations with Charlotte about the birds and the bees. She knows that once upon a time she was a twinkle in my eye, then a bump in my belly and that she was made because Mummy and Daddy love each other. Well, she does ask where she comes from.  I was thrown when she asked if we will die, what happens when we die and then told me that she died when she used to be a big girl and then acted it out (she dropped her head and pretended to be asleep). Eek!! I thought she was an old soul and had been here before, but that kind of freaked me out.

Miscarriage

Christmas Eve 2005. I was sitting in the Family Church Service feeling extremely emotional. This time next year I would be a Mummy. Every time I hear the Christmas Song, "Little Donkey" I get the urge to burst into tears. I have no idea why. This Christmas was no different. My hormones were completely up the spout. I was so happy and so proud and feeling fantastic. Only this feeling didn't last for long as a little over a month later the baby was gone. No more. Over.

"It wasn't meant to be". "There must have been something wrong with it". People mean well but the comments didn't help.

Each time I lost a baby, and I know thousands of women feel the same, I wanted a reason. "Why me?". It just wasn't fair. Life isn't fair.

I think about my babies more and more as I reach the end of my fertile years. Their Birthdays are written in my little book. Are they Charlotte's guardian angels? Will they be watching over her? Were they boys or girls? I know the answer to that. Let's call it a Mother's intuition. Would they have been ginger too? I could have them playing the Weasleys in a future Harry Potter film.

A woman becomes a Mother the moment she sees that blue line (or little pink dot if you go to the Pound Shop). Once we know there is a new beginning inside of us, we nurture that growing being and love he or she unconditionally. Miscarriage is unbearable and anyone that has experienced such a loss knows how intolerable the pain is.

This Christmas I will be praying for women that have suffered this terrible thing. Hang in there. The future is bright and there is so much help out their to guide you through the grief and give you hope.  That is why I am chuffed to bits that Ben and Rash are running the London Marathon 2013 for the Miscarriage Association.

I will never ever forget my babies that are not on this earth. All four of them.

Confessions of a Twentys Rep and a Club Rep out in London..

Many years ago, when I was a girl-around-town I had a night out in London with a group of friends.  We met a group of boys and sat huddled around a table in a trendy bar having fun and fighting each other for the attention of the gorgeous one. It was an outrageous night and as we got drunker, we were doing the best we could to get a date with Mr Gorgeous. My mate, the Club 18-30 rep succeeded in swopping numbers with Mr Gorgeous and boy, did she gloat. Good for her though, the best girl on the night won the prize.  The rest of us were a tiny bit jealous but had such a wicked night it didn’t matter.

The date was actually a disaster!  Club Rep met Mr Gorgeous the following week in a bar and immediately noticed something about him that none of us had noticed on a drunk dark night in the West End of London. She excused herself to go to the ladies to powder her nose, then swiftly ran away never to see Mr Gorgeous again! Ok it may not be politically correct, but there is a lot of pressure on young single women to look good, feel good and quite simply vanity and expectations get in the way of kindness and sincerity. The nicer things in life are more important to us as we get older. 

I told this story to the girls in the office this week to see what they would have done when they noticed that Mr Gorgeous was not as perfect as we had first thought. We had honest bitch that would have said, “sorry but this is just not going to work”. We had Coward Bitch that would have also made a very quick exit and me, who would probably have married the guy, loved him forever and had 2.4 children.

The moral of the story is: Do not judge a book by its cover.

The Girl is back in town.....

I want the life of Mrs Jones, my Friday night dream. She has got rid of her lazy arse husband, snogs her son’s oh-so-gorgeous mate (Billy’s eyes are to die for) and even has one of the Dads from the school gates going gaga over her. Okay, so the Dad is a total bell-end but he’s handsome and he fancies Mrs Jones.  She’s skinny, youthful and attractive and she’s 41. I would love to get some male attention, preferably from my husband, but if not him, anyone!  As long as it’s a red blooded male and at least a little bit hot that’s all that matters. I am craving romance.

Maybe botox and liposuction will help. Blue skies and sunshine would be nice. SAD syndrome is not attractive. Gloomy and dull is not sexy and my mood is matching the weather.

I have fun at the Emirates Stadium watching the Arsenal. How I used to crave a kid to take during my baron years as a goner.  I was a lone Arsenal fan during the nineties and noughties. I would stand next to a random child and sing football songs hoping nobody would notice that I was a dribbly-billy-no-mates.  All fellow Gooner buddies had long since grown up and found other interests. Yet my passion for red and white from my childhood days just never went way. That was until my own red haired beauty, Charlotte arrived in the world.

Well, my passion for Arsenal is back and I even found it touching that the result on Saturday was 1 nil to the Arsenal.

Arsenal Arsenal Arsenal

Help. I have SAD Syndrome!! Fifty Shades of Grey - I wish! There is just one shade of grey for the sky at the moment. Its damp, it’s miserable and I have not seen blue sky and sunshine for over a week. Is it the end of the world?

I have just about recovered from giving a speech at my sister’s wedding and making the big KT Cunstall Gaff. Sorry lass – you are great but I got my K’s in a twist as well as my knickers. Little Charlotte tried hard to steal the show at such a beautiful event; she flirted with all of the boys especially the photographer, she pulled off the buds of her flowers after about five seconds, got grass stains all over her pretty tights and dress and rugby tackled the beautiful bride and managed to get her to fall on her bum in her finery.

Jimmy Saville has managed to monopolize the news for the last month. What an absolute disgrace that was. I wrote to Dear Jim’ll when I was 10 with my best friend Sally. We wanted to host a chimpanzee tea party.  Thank goodness our request was declined. What I don’t understand is why these people did not come forward when he was alive! I can understand the vulnerable girls not speaking out, but what about all the people in authority? BBC Chiefs, medical professionals, charity chiefs, managers of schools – shame on you!!

I am still stressing about Charlotte going to school next year.  What on earth am I going to re work? How I long to be at the school gates to pick up my little terror.  Its life now I suppose so I shall just have to suck it and see.

I am watching the Arsenal tomorrow with my little nephew Luca; my first game in four years. I was up the duff last time I cheered on the Gunners.  My love of Arsenal (Ben aside) was the absolute passion of my life!  Liam Brady, Frank Stapleton, Charlie Nicholas and later on Bergkamp, Ian Wright and Thierry Henry. I probably can’t name more than three players now – little Luca will have to educate me.

My love affair with Arsenal began around 1979. I fell in love with Highbury, the long walk from Highbury Corner to the ground and the old men selling hot nuts.  My Pop Pops used to drive up there with half the kids in the street. I think it cost £3 to get into the North Bank.  I can still hear the noise now the moment I stepped out overlooking the pitch.  Those were happy days. Charlotte says she supports Arsenal – even though the kit will clash with her red hair. I hope I get the opportunity to take her to some games when she is a little bit older. For tomorrow, I will enjoy shouting from the terraces with Luca – lets just hope it’s a goal fest! I am so excited.

The Teacher and The Pupil

I don’t get time to watch the news but I am hearing whispers about the Maths teacher and the pupil running off to France together. It is an absolute disgrace. It is wrong. A grown man or woman should not have a relationship of that nature with a child. If you are under 16 you are a child, yet you can actually get married at sixteen, pass your driving test at seventeen and let alcohol pass your lips legally at eighteen. Is any of that in the right order?

When I was growing up, I remember a true love story that was exciting, glamorous and romantic. Bill Wyman, a Rolling Stone, fell in love with Mandy Smith who was just thirteen when they started dating. He was an ageing but awesome rock star, she was a beautiful chick. I was of similar age to her at the time and wanted to be her more than anything in the world. At sixteen, she married her lover. It transpired years later that they had slept together when she was fourteen. As if we didn’t know that anyway. It was a hot story back in the 80’s. The two of them were on the Terry Wogan show, the Russell Grant show, radio stations, all over the newspapers and though people were shocked, it was accepted. The girl’s Mother encouraged it; I believe she even set the two of them up. 

A few years later one of my Arsenal heroes, Graham Rix, fell in love with a fifteen year old girl. The relationship ended, the girl got angry and bitter as dumped women do and he ended up in prison, was put on the sex offenders list and labeled a peodo.  His football career was ruined. Yes, what he did was wrong, totally wrong, but why did this happen to Graham Rix and Bill Wyman was considered a hero. Was it acceptable for Bill, just because he is a Rolling Stone? 

In other races and religions, children get married at 13 and are become mothers well before their 16^th birthday. What is right and who are we to judge?  At seventeen, I dated a 26 year old.  I was still a child myself.  What man can resist a young woman in her prime? There is such a fine line here. I believe that the men that get in trouble are the ones that break the hearts. Revenge is bitter! I think I am ashamed to say that I feel a little bit sorry for Graham Rix.  Well, he did get his comeuppance.  Really, guys, you need to stick with someone your own age!!!

I love my toy boy Benny, but I certainly would not have been attracted to him when I was twenty and he was fifteen. 

Curiosity killed the....Hysteria

It has become a reality and scares the living daylights out of me, in addition to my fear of spiders; Charlotte is going to school! Not until September 2013, but ther forms have arrived, tours of the lcoal schools have been booked and the politics and hissy fits have begun - and that's just me.  I swore I wouldn't turn into an obsessive Mum but our nearest school has a bit of a rubbish reputation and I don't work five days a week for my only child to have a crappy education. So, I will try hard and do whatever it takes to get Charlotte into a decent school. There is actually nothing I can do. I have no idea how we have avoided bankruptcy with the cost of nursery so private school is out of the question. Maybe the good schools need a token ginger kid. All I can do is hope or win the lottery. I must buy a ticket!

Education and the growing knowledge of children fascinates me. I recently repeated a story to Ben in front of Charlotte about little "Billy". Billy's parents were watching a Piers Morgan interview with Roger Moore. Roger was asked if he slept with his leading ladies. He answered that he loved the blow jobs!  Billy's Mum and Dad won't tell him what a blow job is which is the right thing to do. At nine he is too young but he is asking Grandma, the neighbours and anyone that will listen to tell him. I just hope that Charlotte does not go to nursery with the same question. 

I recently learned a new thing myself.  The definition of the word Hysteria.  It is the name of a medical condition from the 19th Century. This "illness" affected many women. These days it would called PMT or sexual frustration.  The Doctors would cure the ladies by giving them a hand job until orgasm was achieved.  Wow, I would have been a willing patient to Dr Tappin who was my yummy GP when I was in my twenties.  Well, in the eighteen hundreds the Doctors did not get aroused by this. In fact, they got bored and developed tennis elbow, until the invention of the first Vibrator. To think that dildos were an electoral feather duster that  had gone wrong. I look forward to watching the film, Hysteria with the Inventor of the first sexual toy played by the very lovely and dapper, Rupert Everett. Ladies, it's one to watch.

Get me to the Church on time...

I had a truly fabulous time at a glorious Essex Wedding. I just can't stay out of the county at the moment and I still haven't bumped into Mark Wright.  The September sunshine allowed the ceremony to take place in a beautiful English garden of a classy Country Manor.  The guests looked stunning, the fascintors were colourful and I couldn't help noting a few pairs of Leboutons. I felt like I was witnessing Brad and Angie getting hitched and was looking out for the helicopters above but they were obviously out trying to get a glimpse of Kate M iddleton's boobies (disgraceful!). I needed a pee so badly throughout, thank god the pelvic floors have improved a bit since I have been bouncing  on my trampette.

The Canopes were pretty special as the bride and groom had their pics taken in the beautiful setting that is Braxted Park. I should have eaten more but was too busy to speaking to my new best friends!  I did however manage to fit in quite a lot of champagne that was flowing and flowing and flowing. The eight of us that formed a little group of loud and gobby recruitment consultants were getting pretty pissed. We desperately needed some food to soak up the alcohol that we were consuming quite rapidly. 

Our table, named Leeds Castle (nice touch Dave, after my wedding venue!!) forgot all about etiquette and wolfed down the bread rolls long before the delicious chicken and ham terrine arrived. The beautiful centre pieces of the tables were delightful and thank goodness included some grapes and apples as we were more than a little bit peckish before dinner. We weren't sure if we were meant to look at the fruit or eat it, but it was very yummy.

The food was amazing and very pretty - noveau cuisine  - is it still called that?  Gordon Ramsay would have been ;proud. The wine and champagne continued to flow. I have never been to a wedding with such generous portions of booze. 

Dave the groom looked nervous but dapper.  The Bride looked truly stunning, young, fresh faced, happy and in love. I think all women should be over 30 when they marry. It should be the law.  Rebbecca looked around eighteen in her bridal gown.

The Father of the bride said some nice words. I must learn from this as am doing the "Father of the Bride" speech at my Sister's wedding in two weeks time. OMG. I have to write a speech, rehearse it and lose around half a stone in a fortnight. EEEEKKK.

Dave showed off his true talents and sense of humour in top form.  Dave is a cross between Frank Spencer and Frank Skinner and I would pay to see him to Stand Up Comedy.  the Best Man's speech was not the worst in the world and Dave was a hard act to follow and I was truly interested in how long the emails were during the on-line courtship of David and Rebecca. He did very well.  Anyway it was time to dance!

Ben and I cadged a lift back to our hotel from my boss and his wife, who happen to be good and longstanding friends. Our five minute journey took more than half an hour.  Oh Satnav, why do we rely on you so much?  All we had to do was turn right and left and we would have been there not driving around some little dark Essex village and around and around then getting directions from the hotel porter and still got dropped off the wrong side of the A12. It was past midnight and there I am climbing over the central reservation with my dress hoisted up over my knickers.

We had a great time and David and Rebecca will have a wonderful future together that will last forever. I did ask Dave the next day if he had done "it" and he neither denied or confirmed. I am intrigued by the question of how many people shag on their wedding night. Apparently its only 17% according to my Battle of the Sexes Sex Quiz that I used to host when I was a Twentys Rep. I am ;proud to say that I am part of that 17% - shame I don't see much action these days, I better get that quiz out again from the loft.

Night night, time to start thinking about that speech...

Confessions of a Holiday Rep/Recruitment Consultant/Frumpy Mum....

Okay, so the week started out on a bad footing. Sunday Evening and Charlotte was settled nicely at Grandma’s. Ben and I had a peaceful and pleasant time watching the Paralympics Closing Ceremony. We were in bed around 11.30pm, pretty late for us. Half an hour later, Ben sat on the loo with liquid squirting out of both ends. I was livid at first thinking it was the result of one too many Fosters in the sun, then panicked in case it was from the BBQ at Grandma’s (god knows what she used to light the goddamn thing)! We would all be poisoned!! Actually, poor Ben was in a bad way and definitely had some kind of horrible bug. As he settled back to bed, our new neighbours, students from Betty Laine’s Dance school came back from the pub with about 100 of their friends. This quiet residential family street in Epsom had turned into Magaluf and even worse, these students are all so beautiful, its hard to hate them.  I did go downstairs in my sad pyjamas feeling older, fatter and frumpier than I ever have in my life, to have a word. Other neighbours took it a step further as the police turned up around 2.30am. Not a great start for them and very disrespectful behaviour on a school night – there I am being a frump again, but these days I seriously would rather just sleep!  

It has been a tough week at work and I am fed up with people having a pop at Recruitment Consultants. It is my chosen profession and not all of us are full of complete bullshit.  It is not my fault that if one of my clients is seeking a qualified financial adviser that I can’t help you get an interview because you are a waitress/hairdresser/police officer or school teacher even if you are good at adding up! 

Sometimes in my job every phone call turns to gold. In April I was the number 1 consultant in the company. At this moment in time our office is seriously jinxed. I can’t say that I’m dealing with idiots as that would not be fair. Maybe I am the idiot for wanting to be a Recruitment Consultant in the first place. Oh, if I could turn the clock back to 1995. Maybe I should have been a holiday rep for ever and stayed in Ibiza with Shaggy and Stevie Sideburns. 

Once again, my life is like Ground Hog day and I have never seen the film. After work its get home, make dinner, bath Charlotte, wash up, put Charlotte to bed. I am well trained. I even take the rubbish out and change light bulbs. Okay, I do the spotlights very badly and in places we have pieces of ceiling hanging out, but I do try. I am very trying according to my Benny Boy who is in the middle of writing a Best Man Speech for my sister’s wedding. He gets lots of ammunition for me. 

My best ranting is done when I am pre-menstrual.

Charlotte is enjoying pre-school and she is now in her second week of the Early Learning Centre at her nursery.  The first week there were tears every day when I dropped her off as she clung to my big fat juicy thigh. On Friday however, she cried when I picked her up as she was going to miss her friends over the weekend. I just can’t win.

Please show me the money god and let me place some candidates next week. Let the drought end so that I can shop in the new H&M in Epsom. That is all I ask of you. Amen.

Growing Up....

When I was young, people asked me, "do you have a boyfriend?"
When I had a boyfriend, people asked me "When are you getting married?"
When I got married, people asked me "When are you having a baby?"
When I had a baby, people asked me, "When are you having number two"

The answer should be "None of your bloody business!". Why should we conform?  I was perfectly happy single. Okay I was desperate for a child and if I had not have been blessed, I would have changed my life in some other way. You may have found me selling watermelons on a beach in Thailand. And for the record, again, I am not having a brother or Sister for Charlotte. I am 43 and skint. For goodness sake.

My sister is getting married. Oh dear, I ask the same questions! Woops. Well good luck to them. I look forward to being Matron of Honour. I wanted to be a Maid but it's Matron because I am over the hill, full of wrinkles and have a husband. The hen night was fabulous. A great and proper girls night out - lovely Italian meal, lots of wine, laughter and chatter followed by some Karaoke tunes. All lovely and pleasant. I would hate to be a Stag.. although my future bro-in-law did come home with his eyebrows intact and he was not tied naked to a lamppost.

I was a blubbering mess last week when my little girl left her room at Nursery, "Little Learner Shakers" to start next door the following week at the Early Learning Centre in the same nursery! What am I going to be like next year when she goes to "big school"? Watching my child grow up is so emotional.  It is for all Mums of course and Aunties/God Mother's etc, but wonderful fun at the same time. 

Friendships never end

I was dreading going out on a date with my Benny Boy for my birthday. Since Charlotte was born just over three years ago, we are rarely alone and if we are we always end up talking/disagreeing/rucking about the ginger one. But we had a lovely date at one of the posh curry houses locally. Thank you lovely husband for a great night!

My blog this week is about friendships.  What does it mean when somebody deletes you from Facebook? To be honest, I don't really care. The number of "friends" I have on there changes on a daily basis and I don't really give a toss. I love FB for several reasons. Firstly, I have met some great people in my life that I have failed to keep in touch with because of a number of reasons such as logistics and busy lives. I love that I can keep in touch with old school friends, holiday rep mates and ex work colleagues. I even communicate with some of my best buddies through it and its a great way of networking and building new relationships with some of the Mums that I have met. To be honest, it is my social life as long gone are the days when I was out most evenings. I feel sad about that, but I chose to be a Mother and it has been life changing but well worth it as the love I have for my daughter is the most important thing that as ever happened to me.

Recently someone I care about and grew up with deleted me from FB and it hurt like hell. My own stupid fault. I had a falling out with a close friend a few years ago over a man! Not as you imagine, but this friend was going out with a guy she met through me who I did not realise at the time had psychopathic tendencies. To cut a long story short he ended up moving in with me and Benny Boy and played a manipulative game. He had some mental health issues and I find things hard to handle at a difficult time in my life (miscarriages, fertility issues etc). I told the pair of them to get lost always believing that my friend and I would pick up further along the line. Eventually we spoke again and even had a coffee but our friendship would never be the same again, mostly due to circumstances and the directions our lives had taken.

This girl was one of the nicest people I had ever met and took me under her wing when at 13 I found myself alone.  She is kind, sincere and considerate.  We helped each other with our homework, I stayed at her house and her Mum dealt with my Dad who was very strict and would not let me go to the discos.I was her Dad's girlfriend.  I visited her when she lived in Scotland, fixed her up with loads of guys (okay so they were all rubbish and not suitable), was her sole support at police graduation. We were pulling partners, she was my closest confidante. We went on our first holidays together with Club 18-30, backpacked Europe together. She came to see me in Ibiza and I miss her terribly. Why was I so crap?  Since Charlotte, my communication with her (and lots of friends) has become "We must get together" or "I will email you some dates". I see most of my good friends no more than four times a year. I feel so sad.  I must have really pissed her off as we have about 26 mutual friends on FB including my neigbours, people from school that neither of us have seen for years and years, ex partners of old friends and probably the postman!  Do you get my point here?  Oh well, one day I will send her this just to get off my chest how bad I feel about all this and wish that I could turn back time.

The Future is Orange

It’s my Birthday, I’ll moan if I want to!  Ben has taught Charlotte to say, “Don’t moan Mummy”. Well, I wouldn’t have anything to whinge about if you picked up your dirty pants, wet towels and washed up occasionally!!

Charlotte has been trying to guess my age. She has said, “You are not 2, you are not 3 and you are not 21”. Thanks Princess.

Thinking back to my 21^st Birthday, I remember a band called the OJs serenaded me with “You’ve lost that loving feeling”.  What fun, carefree days and then rushing off to Ibiza to work as a rep.

I actually went out on Saturday night! Yes, what fun it was.  I felt excited and liberated getting ready and on route saw the girls in their high heels and the boys in their stripy shirts and jeans. Nothing changes. So, my night out was a 50^th Wedding Anniversary but it still counts as I had a great boogie in between watching Tom Daley win a fabulous bronze medal. 

So, as my birthday treat, I want to treat myself to some Botox but will have to wait until Charlotte goes to school next year and we no longer have to pay twice our mortgage in nursery fees.

I can’t complete my blog without a rant. This time it is about old people. Well not all old people as most of them are cute, but this one lady really pissed me off. It was in the Slug and Lettuce on the day of my birthday lunch when this lady commented about Charlotte’s hair when we were in the ladies loo!  She then proceeded to say that she had ginger hair the same colour before she had gone grey and how much she hated it. “It was horrible” she said over and over again. Poor little Charlotte just looked sad and confused as normally people compliment her on her ginger locks. I asked this lady if she had dyed it. She said she hadn’t but longed for mousey brown hair. No offence to anyone with mousey brown hair, but that says it all. Gingers rule!!!!

Moan Moan Moan....

Why am I soooo moody?  It could be that I am soon to reach 21 x 2 + 1. Now that is depressing.  Or that I need to loose 2 stone and have no willpower.  I am sad and gutted that my poor Mum is so sick and I feel utterly helpless. My life is lacking romance. I am always knackered, stressed and skint. Working full time, being Mum, Wife, Cleaner, Cook and Gardener (well I lied about the last one as I don't have green fingers), is a little bit tricky.

Are all men useless and compete with their children for your love and attention?  Message to my husband: Charlotte is 3! I have to reach up for her hidden jaffa cakes, warm her milk, give her a bath etc because she cannot do that stuff. You on the other hand are perfectly capable of getting a beer from the fridge and ironing your own shirt. GGRRRR. 

We have been enjoying the Olympics and hurray for Girl Power. We have done so well as a Nation and its brilliant to see the ladies of Britain dominating that medal table.

As a country, has our love affair with football gone sour? I am extremely passionate about football. Arsenal is one of my great loves! When I was at school, I was the only girl in my class that went to football matches.  Happy memories of Frank Stapleton, Liam Brady, Willie Young and co circa 1978.  Team GB were knocked out of the Olympics on penalties, but did anyone really care?  Not really. Why should we when so many of our athletes are doing amazingly well. These athletes are not being paid £100,000 per week. They are doing it because of pride, passion and being proud to be British.  I hate football, well until August 18th anyway.....

A twinkle in my eye

When I drove through Molesey recently, my home town, I took a detour as I always do down Faraday Road to take a look at number 33, where I grew up from 1976 to 1989.  Charlotte was with me so I showed her the house from the car.  "Was I there Mummy?" When I said no: "Was I in your belly?". I  explained that she was a twinkle in my eye. Later on in the day she told me in a very grown up way that she used to live in my eye. She has made that statement a few times and it cracks me up.

I had a Bridget Jones moment this week. I enjoy the soft play centres and Charlotte was at yet another party on Saturday. I am always wary of being dragged around these crazy climbing areas in case I get stuck or freaked out. On Saturday I found myself crawling along a big tube high in the sky to rescue Charlotte who was having a meltdown. My arse must have been on display to all but I am so thankful that the goddamn thing took my weight and didn't come crashing down on the birthday child's dad's head. My rubbish trampolining skills have improved a tad and I don't wet myself like many women do when their pelvic floor muscles have given up on them.  I just can't stay on my feet but I love it!

We got to see a glimpse of the Olympics this weekend up near Box Hill for the Ladies Cycling event. It twas so exciting and a "once in a lifetime" moment. The highlight for me wasn't the woman in Lycra (who were amazing) but the crazy Police Officer on a motorbike given out generous portions of high fives to the spectators and doing mad pornographic poses on his big machine.  Thank you PC Non Ploddy whoever you are for making my day.

Blog Medley

One hundred years ago girls started their periods at 18, got up the duff at 19 and went on to have lots of babies, miscarriages and stillborns.  The life expectancy of the woman was forty three and she often died due to illnesses related to giving birth. How times have changed. We start our periods at twelve. Apparently because we get such good nutrition (I think it is the hormones that end up in the milk we drink).  The average age for a first child is close to thirty. Many of us are having babies over thirty five, which, according to the interview I watched, is not natural and that we should be embracing motherhood in our early twenties.  In an ideal world, that sounds great and I could now be enjoying my career without juggling it around childcare.  I was just petrified of settling down. I was not the person at nineteen or twenty, than I was at thirty four when I married my Benny Boy. Two of my closest friends got married at nineteen and were both divorced with seven years. At nineteen you are still a child. Have you watched Big Fat Gypsy Wedding?  It’s frightening.  I always wanted to leave it until over thirty, but I must admit that a few weeks shy of my 40^th Birthday was leaving it just a tad late and certainly closed the door, along with other reasons, on going for number two!

Well, it has been a crazy few weeks!  Charlotte turned three and we had back to back parties and celebrations including soft play, princesses & pirates, trips to the farm and a lovely party at a very nice gym where Ben and I had passes to use the facilities and made the most of the outside swimming pool in the sunshine.  We also attended the beautiful wedding of Lisa and Jason who are now hitched. Congratulations to Mr and Mrs Hogg.

I have had PMT from hell this week and am very tired and grumpy. I don’t think it’s just down to my hormones.  The temperature has reached 31 degrees and we are in an office above Dry Cleaners with suicide windows and no air con! Yes, we had a twirly wirly fan but I felt like throwing the friggn thing out of the window, only I couldn’t because the window only opens about 2 millimetres. GRRR. I don’t mind working late either when I get the chance as the longer hours you work in recruitment, the more money you will make, however yesterday I stayed late as the IT guy was still here and  has no key. I couldn’t do any work as he was on my PC!  By this time it was like the hottest sauna in here in the history of saunas.  Nice guy our IT guy but then he wanted to have a conversation about trains whilst all I wanted to do was get home and have a cold shower and a magnum.

The Mother-In-Law has not been too bad, good as gold really. However, she does act a bit strange sometimes. Yes, I have a ginger haired kid but am I a really bad Mum for using a sun hat and factor 50 all over when it is hot?  Well, apparently that’s not good enough and the MIL dressed Charlotte in her cousin’s long sleeved top (he is six), so she looked like a freak!  “Can you buy linen trousers and a long sleeve shirt for next week?” Yes, because I am made of money, there is no Primark in Epsom and she has tons of lovely cotton dresses, skirts, tops, leggings and shorts.

I had another dream last night about kissing an ex boyfriend. This time I dreamt of Andrew Trace… just that I bumped into him and we decided to have a snog. The only person I want to snog is my Benny Boy but that rarely happens with a three year old running around our feet!  The highlight of my week was that a man in white van, not only smiled at me but just to prove a point he then gave me a big wink… maybe my skirt was tucked in my knickers, I had a bogey hanging out of my nose or a big lump of carrot between my teeth.

Fifty Shades of Grey

"Mummy Porn" first time novelist E James is earning a tasty £862,000 a week, is liaising with Hollywood producers and has netted a cool £3.2 million in film rights. Wow and good for her. at 48, this Mum of two has managed to re-live her sexual fantasies and experiences and has made herself a fat load of cash.  Now, why didn't I think of that?

The Epsom Cougars of my office (sorry Ashleigh, though 25 and hot, you are still one of us), had a great time out in Southend-On-sea courtesy of our bosses. Uniformed in H&M Blazers, skinny jeans and killer heels we showed Essex that The Only Way is Surrey.  The guys over there were pretty scared of us to be honest - what a disappointment as it took me over an hour to get ready. So many wrinkles. Thank goodness for YSL touche elat.

One of the most interesting things of the night was meeting our cabby Gordon. After all, I did spend nearly four hours in his company, so we got to know each other intimately. he has eight kids!  His wife who is as old as me and on the cusp of the menopause has recently given birth to triplets.  It serves her right for wanting one more child and getting the shock of her life at an early scan.   In my drunken state, I did ask if the pregnancy was natural and Gordon said that it was! Silly Gordon, did you not see your wife popping the fertility pills or is that just me being a cynic again?

Gordon if you are reading this thank you for making the journey on the M25 and Darford tunnel so entertaining.

Mum's the Word

I need to clarify the record re the mother-in-law.  She is kind, generous, sincere, good with the grand kids and is brilliant in a crisis but has zero communication skills and at times can be a frigging nightmare! Bossy, condescending and confrontational, wants to pick a fight and to be quite honest, had she been a child today would be labelled with Aspergers or severe behavioural issues.

My two week holiday in her company was made pretty hellish at a difficult time in my life but saved my getting to spend precious time with my amazing daughter and wonderful husband Ben who manages his mother brilliantly. I feel sorry that I created this bridge for him.

I feel emotionally drained from everything that has happened during the last few weeks. The jubilee weekend was a time to celebrate but we were sad after my Mum suffered a heart attack, a stroke and pneumonia. We were given the news over the Bank Holiday that she probably would not survive 48 hours and if she did that we were to arrange palliative care. Palliative is a new word for me. It makes things so final but in a strange way gives the deceased-to-be some dignity in ensuring their final days are comfortable.

We were given a miracle. My lovely Mum defied the odds and is thriving with an extremely weak heart. She is still in hospital and it looks likely that she will be back in her own home by the end of next week. My Dad is a Saint. He looks after Mum with tenderness and love that I can only dream of (Ben if you are reading this, please love me like that when I am approaching the sunset of my life). 

It is a fact that the husband usually would be the first to pass away. Why is that?  Who cares (hee hee).. pictures of me in years to come flirting with some old codgers at Bingo...

Questions....

Nothing about the menopause. Just questions.  Both were recently asked to my candidates at interviews.

Question 1: Who was the last person you upset and why?
Question 2: What would be the News Headline of your life?

The first question is easy. Charlotte. I always upset Charlotte. I don't mean too, but I do occasionally turn down her request for chocolate and she gets the right hump if I stop her trying to climb on top of the wardrobe.  I tell her that I make her cry sometimes because I love her so much.

The second question is a difficult one. Its not often that I can't think on my feet. Here are a few answers I can think of:-

• Menopausal kills husband by chopping his balls off
• Epsom mum fights right for ginger people
• Morbidly obese Epsom woman weighs 66 stone and has to be lifted out of bed with a crane (well, that could happen one day if I don't stick to the Slimming World diet)
• Epsom Mum Karen Halliday beds Mark Wright (Oh, I wish, but then I would to let Ben have a go with Danni Minogue)
• JK Rowling gets knocked off the number 1 spot by new author Karen Halliday

This makes me realize that my life is actually a little bit dull. I need to pull my finger out! 

Menopause Madness

I don't need my womb anymore. There will be no more babies for me. why on earth do I need my ovaries and the risk of ovarian cancer, the silent killer?  Why wait for the menopause?  Why can't these unwanted accessories be taken away?  Bring it on!  Maybe in fifty years time performing these ops will be as routine as a tonsillectomy or self extracting with a home kit might be the norm.  Then it will all be done and dusted rather than waiting for the friggin menopause and having to deal with all the symptoms and suffering. 

I am forty two. Fertility is deemed by many to be over by the age of forty five, though of course you  can still get pregnant naturally right up to the menopause. Contraception. I am not even gonna go there, but you know what I mean. Who wants to be fiddling around with the pill, condoms or even worse and grossest of all, the coil,especially at this age. I would rather eat dog poo than have the coil fitted.

On top of that, those around me will suffer with my mood swings and my moaning and complaining about how rough I feel as well as have to deal with the tantrums and mood swings.  It would be great if the medics could "just do it" for me and while they are at it, please throw in a bit of botox and liposuction so I look hot for my Benny Boy. Thank you.

The Best Things in Life Are Free

A difficult thing for me about being in my 40s is the lack of excitement in my life. My life is great and I am very blessed with what I have but it's pretty depressing that there's no new experiences that give me a natural high.

In my teens and twenties life was full of new and amazing things that thrilled me:- first kiss, falling in love, backpacking Europe, going to Bermuda, seeing some of the wonders of the world, hash with Heineken in Amsterdam, the Ibiza life as a rep to name but a few.  Career goals have been achieved, I married the love of my life and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. 

Life excitements are now channelled through my daughter Charlotte and life is amazing again. I have so much to look forward to with Charlotte and Ben. Even work is great as I compete to be the Number 1 consultant in the company.

The Bank Holiday weekend was stunning.  We walked behind a waterfall, descended 600 steps and climbed back up again and hid in sand dunes. Charlotte ate fish and chips for the first time and helped build her first bonfire as the sun went down, toasting marsh mellows and enjoying that melt in the mouth feeling.

I am so lucky.

Does Your Mother Know?

 It has been over a week since mad Lisa’s hen weekend and its taken that long to recover! What a laugh we had. Friday night in DYMK – Does Your Mother Know – a great bar in Bournemouth was eye opening. The DJ was a crass but likeable Drag Queen, the place was full of nice boys, transvestites and lipstick lesbians.  I had fun trying to work out if the transvestites were pre or post op and being jealous of their long slim legs. 

Saturday was shopping day – and oh what fun I had without my two year old clinging on to my ankles or asking for a wee wee or a Mackie Dee.  It was such a relaxing day and gave us time to recover from all of the shots and vodkas from the night before. I felt like a “lady that lunches” sitting in the Dorset sun.

Saturday night was a little bit mad and Lisa was on great form and a stunning hen!  The rest of us went out in bunny ears and dicky bow ties, which was quite tame compared to other “henettes” that we crossed paths with during the night including school girls and burlesque babes.

The Adonis show was a typical cheap and cheerful cabaret. It was a little bit tacky, but did we give a toss? No, but the nudey wudey men did give a toss or two to give their floppy member a helping hand. It was quite erotic actually and left me feeling a bit hot under the collar. The strippers were pretty damn foxy and the place was loud with large groups of cackling women wanting to see the full monty. I didn’t realise that full monty meant EVERYTHING.  I have never seen anything like it. Oh, what fun and most importantly Mad Lisa loved it!

The club afterwards was exactly what I imagined – it stunk of wet dogs and the girls that had exited the Adonis show were joined by some horny men that had spent the evening at the comedy club next door. Music was cheesier than my favourite macaroni dish and very loud – oh, god I am getting old.  We had so much fun though and fellas still tried to pull us – even though our gang are mostly over 40 or pretty close to it.  One of the girls got pretty offended because a guy outside smoking had guessed her to be a year older than what she is, then dug the whole deeper by saying she looks a spitting image of Kim Cattrell – who is at least ten years older. To put the final nail in the coffin, he put his hand to her knickers to “twang” what he thought would be a thong, but in fact was a nice big pair of Bridget Jones specials! 

We have vowed to have a weekend away more often, that would be fun if I can handle the pace.

No likey no lighty

Young Ashleigh at work thought it would be fun if I made friends on Facebook with a young hot model called David that appeared recently on Paddy's dating show.  David had already accepted Ashleigh as a friend, but she is young and gorgeous so why would he accept my friend request when I am a middle aged not very yummy mummy? Well, he did! Wahoo!! Even though he has about two thousand and seven hundred friends including other desperate housewives, I am still chuffed to pieces. I am feeling full of life and raring to be let loose in Bournemouth for Mad Lisa's hen weekend which starts today.

Outfits, perfumes and lots of lip gloss packed. Legs shaved. Nails done. Toes painted... I am now raring to go. I have kissed Ben and little Charlotte goodbye. Farewell until Sunday and am now Karen, not Mum or Wifey, actually I am not even Karen, I will be known by my alias of Foxy this weekend!  Wow, it has been a long time since I have felt Foxy!! Ha Ha! Lock up your sons, or Dads or Grandads!!  Only joking Darling Husband if you are reading this.

I am doubly excited, as my lovely friend was 8cm dilated at 10am this morning and I can't wait for those little twins to arrive! 

Have a good weekend everyone and I will be back soon when my hangover has passed!!

WTF

I saw a boy I once knew at the local carvery restaurant at the weekend as I was ordering an extra large plate of meat and sausages, piled high with 2 Yorkshire puddings and loads of spuds and veg. I have not seen this guy since the mid 90s. He looks absolutely fab and the years have been very kind to him. Me, on the other hand has jelly belly wobbles, a big spot on my face and I was about to gorge myself in a mountain of food fit for King Henry 8th.  He didn't see that I gave away the yorkshires (yuk) and that left a hefty pile of food on my plate. Yes, my eyes were bigger than my very large belly. This has kick started my diet once gain so if I bump into Mr Dove again, I will not look like such a middle aged Hefferlump.

The countdown is on now for Mad Lisa's hen night but I have only four days left to look slim and foxy. I had better get to M&S for a panty girdle.  I am now very much looking forward to going away and I think Ben and Charlotte will be just fine without me.

I have had a fun week. I've been ranting on Facebook about "Dad's Only" mornings at one of the playgroups in Epsom.  I would have loved to watched Charlotte at football training, but felt sorry that some of the kiddies couldn't play fooite that day due to absent Fathers,. That makes me feel sad. When I asked the Centre if little Albie and Little Zaki could attend the football with their Mums, I was told to find a Grandad or Uncle. GGGRRRR.

Work was brilliant.  I am flying high in the competition to be taken to the Grand Prix, but there's still another month or so to go, so time for it all to fall part for me and its pretty tight. We work hard in the office and have little banter as the priority is to make placements but we did reminisce about my colleague Jackie's appearance on Crack-O-Jack in 1977. Young Ashleigh had not even heard of it, well she has a good excuse as was not born until '88. "Its Friday, its five past five.....". Number 1 at the time was Boogie Nights by Heatwave. God that makes me feel old (sorry God). Especially as Englebert Humperdink or whatever the old codger is called was also in the charts.  Enough said.

Jim'll Fixit

So, when Tom Jones turns around on The Voice and sees a menopausal woman, how disappointed is he? Or can he tell before pressing the buzzer that he's not going to be dealing with a young hot chick? In some cases Tom doesn't even know if he will be facing a guy or a doll?  But does he honestly want to choose facial hair, hot flushes and mood swings?

I say the facial hair as I have notices more since I've become a Mum and as a blond, I thought I could get away with it. Is it there because I've become a Mum or is it just that I am over forty/passed it/over the hill?  Charlotte just says it how it is.  "Mummy. Beard."  Nothing gets away from my daughter's beady eyes. The other day in the bathroom she asked, "Mummy, what colour is your minny moo moo?"

I have been having more strange dreams. Is that due to raging hormones?  I dreamt that I had snogged Jimmy Saville. Sir Jim, you were and are a legend and no offence meant, but in my dream it was a past even so thank goodness there was no lip smacking/tongue sandwich action. That would be just gross.

Total Eclipse of the News

Total Eclipse of the News - that's what Ben shouted out as I bent down to pick up some toys in front of the telly as he watched the News at Ten. Flipping cheek. He thinks he is so funny. Ha Ha. Revenge was very sweet.

That night I dreamt that I was snogging the face of an ex-boyfriend, Giles. I haven't seen him for more than ten years. He was the only guy I dated that was pretty loaded.  Nights out included black cabs and swanky restaurants in Chelsea. He had properties dripping out of his ears and as a Financial Consultant he advised me to purchase a second property.  Well, I took that advice, made a tidy sum which paid for my beautiful fairytale wedding at Leeds Castle to the love of my life, my Benny Boy. So, Giles take that and stick it where the sun don't shine and though it was nice, please don't turn up and snog me again in my dreams.

Mummies and Babies.....

Last week, Mother's day started out on a good note, I had a bit extra in bed and both Charlotte and Ben were on good form.  I then then got my period, managed to piss off some random person on a Facebook thread and then rush around like a loon visiting my Mum and the Mother-In-Law. 

The Mother's day Church Service was lovely . It made me realise how lucky I am to still have my Mum even though she has been away with the fairies for the last eighteen years. 

We all have had a Mum of course, we were all born and what the priest/vicar or whatever she is called addressed well was that some of us have Mums, some of us have never really known a Mum, others have been adopted so have been given a new Mum and there are people out there that have never had a good relationship with their Mother. Life can be very sad and cruel. I feel very blessed with what I have.

I looked after Baby Felix for half an hour. He is such a cute bundle of joy at just under three months old.  For the first fifteen minutes we had a little chat and Felix stared at me in wonder trying to work out who the crazy lady is.  For the next fifteen minutes he screamed and hollered in search of his Mummy's booby and no, he was not hungry he rejected the bottle of yummy formula.  The highlight though was when Charlotte came out of the pool and said, "Mummy you have had a baby."

Dad

Benny Boy has taken a bit of a battering in my blogs but this week I am writing about how important he is in our lives. He is our rock, the hub within our "unit".

I just finished reading "A Tiny Bit Marvellous", Dawn French's debut novel. As I turned the last page, I was heartbroken. Not because I didn't like the ending but because it did end.  I think it is the first novel I have managed to complete since Charlotte was born. A page turner of easy reading has been what I've needed and this wonderful story gave me just that.  The Mother, Mo and her two teenage kids, Dora and Oscar write their diary entries/blogs. Dad is just Dad. The reader does not get to know his name; he is Dad.  But Dad holds the family together just like my Benny Boy does. Dad is the unsung hero. My own Dad too is the heart of the Head family. Bless him.l

Slagging off Ben was the only way I could get him to read my blog so this week he gets praise, so hopefully he will read it.

Baby Baby

I recently told my Benny Boy that two years ago when Charlotte was around seven moths old I was seriously considering leaving him. He had been such a sod!  His response was that he should have worked harder at being annoying.  For that comment he will get the much deserved clip around the ear. I was driving at the time. I must remember the song from the early stages of our relationship. "I'm sticking with you, 'cos I'm made of glue". Well, nobody said it was superglue!

It was hard as new parents.  Ben was great for the first six months and is a wonderful father, but he did go through a childish stage.; I think the two of them, Ben and Charlotte were battling it out for my love and affection.  I wish I realised how easy it was in the early days with a new born baby.  Things got tough when Charlotte could move around. With her bright red hair it was inevitable that Charlotte would have a temper that Queen Elizabeth 1 would be jealous of. From the moment I gave birth and Charlotte's piercing blue eyes locked into mine, I knew there would be trouble ahead.  I could see that we would clash like the Titans, and we do.  We are so incredibly close, but we have our moments and I am dreading her teenage years.  These pre-school days of cuteness are truly amazing.

I have been asked by one of the Mums at Waterbabies if  I could "babysit" her three month old, Felix next week for the half an hour she will be in the pool with her toddler, Hugh as her husband will be away on a stag weekend.  Yay, baby cuddles. Eeek, puke and poo. The most worrying thing of all is that Felix, like Charlotte is a red head!

That'll Be The Day

My friend and I did find it hilarious when we went to see "That'll Be The Day" at The Epsom Playhouse and the entire audience was over seventy five apart from us two.  I had bought Wendy the ticket for her 50th Birthday Treat. Wendy is young and funky and looks like a teenager. We did have a great night though and the show was upbeat, funny with amazing singing.  I did get a bit nervous when "Tom Jones" came on in case any of the Old Dears got a bit excited and threw their knickers onto the stage. Wendy and I did think that the cast would be disappointed to be performing to the Blue Rinse Brigade audience, but they did liven up after a while. I think Surrey people in general are a bit pompous and reserved.  Well, I won't be like that in decades to come.  Me and Wendy would be out dancing in the aisles from the first song. 

I attended a funeral this week. A close friend's lovely father passed away after years of heart problems.  This wonderful man had enjoyed life to the full, was a great cook and loved a glass or two of vino. He wasn't afraid of dying and his attitude was to make room for the young.  The service, though of course heart breaking sad was lovely and I and learnt and listened that it's better to be happy and honoured to have known such a person rather than be sad. The deceased has not gone away, he is just invisible.  I hope these words offer comfort to the family that have been left behind.

What have these topics got to to with the menopause?  The menopause to me represents getting older.  I don't want to get old but there's nothing I can do about it, so I've got to embrace it and crack on.  I reckon I will menopause at fifty and I would like to be a hot, foxy babe like Queen Madge (Madonna) or Sharon Stone, but I will more likely be a bit nuts and rotund like a middle-aged Bridget Jones.  I wonder what Bridget is up to these days?  Very happy if she's still having rumpy pumpy with Mr Darcy!!!!

Sole Survivor

I am not the only person writing about the perimenopause of course. Some high profile celebs have stolen my ideas and are putting pen to paper. Dawn French's novel, A Tiny Bit Marvellous is a lot of fun. The Mother character, Mo is in the middle of a pink cloudy fog. Lisa Maxwell wrote a moving article in one of the Tabs. Her husband had forced her to go to the doctor because she was flying off the handle at the slightest thing.  I do fly off the handle too but only for a reason.  I flipped my lid the other night as am pretty sick of always being left the washing up and "Benny Half Job" (love him) can be so irritating with his lazy ways.   I stormed out of the house on Monday close to midnight because I want some "me" time. 

Benny Boy was in bed, our short-term lodger that is still here after six months (my 44 year old brother) was still up. I couldn't watch TV, I couldn't read my book because I couldn't find it so I went out for a drive to chill out and unwind after a long hard day.  I went up to Epsom downs, renowned for "Dogging" dressed in pink pyjamas and leopard print pumps. The drive was blissful and gave me 20 minutes of peace and quiet. I was too scared to stop in the the car park in case I was arrested for looking a bit suspicious, but nevertheless I returned home happy and content before all the madness started again the next day.

Maggie T

I had a date with my husband this week, wahoo!  I even shaved my legs for the occasion but he was more interested in the popcorn.  We had a nice night at the Epsom Odeon and the film, The Iron Lady was excellent. Meryl Streep as Maggie was pure class and Broadbent, was Broadbent at his best and made a great Dennis. 

There had been great outcry that an American played Lady Thatcher but Meryl is probably the greatest character actress of the time and it's all about the acting. I still get annoyed that Rupert Everett never got to be James Bond because he kisses boys instead of girls.

It was great to see a film about a powerful woman.  Maggie is such and inspiration and when she was in power I strove to be successful because of her.  Though I am not truly blue I like to conserve what I have, build upon it and have goals of wealth as well as happiness.  If Maggie was PM today she would be sorting out the terrorists and tackling the hooligans that are wrecking our towns.

My Mum

They say that your menopause experience will be similar to that of your own Mother.  I have a vague recollection of hot flushes, mood swings and talk of "the change".  I think I was around fifteen at the time which would have made my Mum 48.  She says she was about forty but lost in her dementia bubble, I'm not sure how much of her memory is correct. Her life was so plagued by illness that it's all a bit of a haze for me too.

Somebody asked me recently to sum up my childhood years in one word. I instantly came up with "happy" and that is so true. It wasn't easy as Mum was often ill and Dad worked so hard but my memories are full of love, laughter and feeling safe and secure. 

Thinking of my childhood and it being so lovely has made me question if Charlotte will be happy as an only child. But what can I do FFS? I am forty three, probably with rotten eggs, skint, moody and knackered.  It crosses my mind with sadness if I was to get sick physically or mentally or even worse if anything happened to Ben and I at the same time, how would Charlotte deal alone with life.  What will life throw at her?  Well, she will never be alone. I will make sure of that. Her life is going to be surrounded by family and friends; love, laughter and feeling safe and secure.

I must end today's blog on a high. Congratulations to my lovely cousin who at 42 has just given birth to her third child, a baby boy. This will give hope to older Mums - see not everyone over forty has useless eggs!  You can still get pregnant naturally right up until the menopause.

Serious Time

Half a poxy hour a week is all I get to myself these days! I wouldn't have it any other way but being banned from Charlotte's swimming lesson does have some benefits. My sweet little ginger princess causes anarchy amongst the toddlers when I cheer her on from the sidelines. So how do I spend this blissful thirty minutes each week? A quick check of Facebook then I write this blog. It's more than just a diary. This soap box means I can share my pre-menopausal experience with other women (and men too). Hopefully I can highlight some good causes along the way.

During sad times in my life, I got so much out of hearing similar stories. My miscarriage and later fertility problems were easier to deal with knowing I was not alone. I would love to raise awareness of other female health and emotional things that pop up along my journey. Take breast cancer. If a friend of mine had not gone to the doctor immediately on finding a lump, would she be here today? Possibly not. It is a cancer that has a fantastic success rate when found early and diagnosed in a person that has no other symptoms apart from the tell-tale lump. A healthy person will most likely make a full recovery. The key being in finding the lump before the cancer makes you unwell. So ladies, go check your boobs!

This blog is about the lighter side of the menopause, so that's enough serious stuff for today.

I am going on a hen weekend! Yay! Mad Lisa is finally being made an honest woman by J the father of three of her kids so we will be partying in Bournemouth for the weekend to celebrate. I was hoping for a spa or cottage break but now I know we are watching the Adonis show, I have got used to the idea. I prefer this to a night out clubbing in places surrounded by beautiful 17 year olds. At the Adonis show, the place is bound to be full of old trollopes like me and I will get to see a few naked men along the way. How lush will that be? I will of course miss my little Charlotte like crazy and I can feel myself pining already. I am sure a glass of wine or two and a few vodkas will numb the pain.

Office Geriatrics

"Mummy, what are you doing?" asked Little Charlotte as I plastered my face with make up at 6.30am.  "Trying to look pretty", I replied.  "Mummy, you're not pretty, you're a big girl". Oh, how I love her logic. Just because I have lines and wrinkles and wiry hair (trying to hide the grey), apparently means to a 2 and a half year old that I cannot be described as pretty. How true that is! In a world obsessed by looks, no wonder little Charlotte feels the way she does when she is barely out of nappies.

Ashleigh in our office says that at 45, you have so past your sell-by-date that you may as well be dead.  Oh well, at least at work, where I spend the majority of my waking hours, I am surrounded by other pre-menopausal has-beens.  Sue and I have both already experienced a does of the menopause. Me, when I had IVF (I am still recovering from the shock of injecting myself with old womens' pee) and Sue when she had treatment for breast cancer.

We are all hormonal mistresses usually with our cycles in-sync.  What joy!  An office full of raging oestrogen or whatever one it is at that time of the month! 

Young Ashleigh is in her prime, Sarah has baby making plans and Sue, Jackie and I are forty something and waiting for the hot flushes.l Jackie, as the oldest is already getting a bit scatty, searching for her glasses on her head or her phone when it is in her hand. Oh, how we need some testosterone at Nelson House but the poor man would run a mile.

Va Va Voom

The fire is back in my belly!  After seeing Thierry Henry work his magic from the sofa on Monday night, my passion for Arsenal has returned. I've not been to game since I was up-the-duff and to be honest, I have far more important things in my life since Charlotte entered my world but I loved watching this game. Something strange happened though: Thierry Henry looks old!  Yes, he still has that Oo La La Foxiness but he has aged.  I used to hate it when Police Officers, School Teachers and Footballers looked like they needed help tying their shoe laces, but seeing one of my heroes (who is a good few years younger than me) looking a bit wrinkly is worrying.   
I had more Va Va Voom action this week. I got chatted up by a French man in the coffee shop. His voice was like Thierry Henry but sadly  he looked more like Arsen Wenger. I worked out that he was 51.  I have been hit upon by a proper middle-aged fella - eeek! What the hell, it was flattering and I could have listened to his voice all night long. 

I had a dose this week of what lies ahead when Charlotte flees the nest and Ben divorces me. Loneliness.  Charlotte was at Grandma's house and Ben was on a fishing trip. I should have been ecstatic at being able to choose my own crap TV and generally doing my own thing. The house was quiet and I hated it!

Losing My Marbles

I went into the Dry Cleaners to pick up some trousers. The staff were hunting high and low as I had lost my ticket. Then I remembered that I hadn't actually yet taken the trousers in to be cleaned - doh!  Is this early Alzheimer's, Mummy brain, sleep deprivation, too many mince pies over the festive break or part of the menopause countdown?  Will I ever know?

All good back at work just knackered. Charlotte is finally sleeping all night in her own room but wakes up several times wanting a Mummy cuddle.  I am too old for this and definitely could not manage with a new born. So what if my eggs are running out?  One is plenty for us. 

Happy 2012 everybody!!

I have had the best Christmas of my whole life. Spending so much time with my gorgeous little ginger princess has been amazing. She is the child I thought I would never have. Thank you medical science. Ten years previously and I might not have ever been a Mum as my thick blood condition has only recently been discovered. An aspirin a day and injecting myself with blood thinners throughout my pregnancy kept Charlotte alive. I pray for my three babies in heaven and feel truly blessed and grateful for what I have.

This year I have made some resolutions. I will return to Slimming world, I will stop swearing, I will refrain from taking the Lord's name in vain, I will moan less at Ben and I will not laugh at fatties, thickies, spurs fans, people from Wales and Thornton Heath. I laugh at myself for being a chubster and I am not the sharpest tool in the box, but I must be patient with people and not get annoyed quickly by bad drivers etc!  That is difficult when I drive through Purley Cross at least once a week, but I will try my best. 

How funny that I start the new year with a period. They are still like clockwork, every four weeks but I tend to ache a lot more and the mood swings are pretty bad! PMT at its best!  I already experienced a dose of the menopause when I had IVF. I wonder if that will bring forward the real thing as I used quite a lot of my eggs!  Mmmm, I will have to research that one! 

My friend Mandy when out on New Years Eve with her 18 year old daughter. When Charlotte is 18, I will be pushing 60 and be a complete embarrassment. I would like to be a bit like Mrs Doubtfire, a sweet little old granny, but I will probably be a less foxy and fatty version of Maddona, still strutting my stuff! That is of course if we get that far, because of course the world is due to end in December 2012, it even said so in the Sun so it must be true. 

Well, Happy New Year everyone. Happy Menopause if your time has come.  My last resolution is to share my blog and write it on a more regular basis! 

The Morning After The Night Before (Christmas 2011)

Work Christmas Party last night. Ouch.  Dancing to Old Skool muic was fun. I danced so much that my knees hurt this morning. Is this the start of things to come? Aches and pains and no stamina?  Ten years ago I was still doing this on a Thursay, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and a Monday too. Twenty years ago I was living the wild life in Ibiza. Back then four hours sleep was just the way it was.  Now it is utter madness. I rolled into bed at 2.30am. the alarm went off at 6.30am "Mummy I need the toilet". Oh bless her!

I Believe In Santa (Christmas 2011)

Having a 2 and a half year old at Christmas is helping me to face to bleakness of being middle aged. Charlotte is so excited about Father Christmas that I am finding myself hoping Santa thinks I have been a good girl so I can gt lots of presents.  I feel like a child again, it is wonderful. Thank you God for giving me the chance to re-live the wonders of Christmas all over again through Charlotte. I hope and pray that everyone gets to spend time this Christmas with a child.