Monday, November 19, 2018

Green Bean Casserole or Brussels Sprouts? Pick your Poison.

Anyone who knows me will know how much I detest dislike the American Thanksgiving staple - the Green Bean Casserole. Words just can't.

So of course I decided to blog about it again for Anglotopia. Only this time there's something almost as revolting on this side of the Pond. Pop over and find out, and add your voice to the bun fight.

Saturday, November 3, 2018

Joining the Bad Mothers Club

Was looking through some of my old posts for something and found this. Seems so long ago - Not even celebrating Thanksgiving this year.


Well, I've sold my soul to the devil; joined the Bad Mothers Club; become a replica of Sue Ellen Ewing (if you're old enough to remember "Dallas".)

The Little Guy was off school last week with a fairly bad cold. I pride myself not on molly-coddling my children but on keeping them home when they are clearly full of snot and germs. It bugs me when other parents send their offspring into school when they are obviously going to spread the cold far and wide. I understand that people have to go to work, but school is not day care, yada, yada, yada.

LG was off with your common-or-garden cold on Thursday, but it seemed to get worse over the course of the next few days. The Ball & Chain and I had an unusual "posh dinner" on Friday night and left the 16 year old in charge. About 9.30pm, (before the main course had arrived) came the first phone call. "Mom, he's thrown up four times, but he's gone back to bed now and is being a champ." Oh. OK, then. Given that we were less than half a mile away, we decided to stay. Then came the second call about 15 minutes later, reporting another up-chuck episode. OK, napkins folded, good-nights all round.

Poor little mite was not at all well when we got home. And what a mess too!

Saturday was not a good day for him, but yesterday he perked up a lot. "Oh good," I thought, "Freedom.  He's missed a lot of school and in 3rd grade (Year 4) it starts to make a difference. Besides, I'm running out of crafting projects. (See previous post)".

He coughed a lot last night, but was fast asleep on the two occasions I dragged my carcass in to check on him. (See, I am a good mother, really. A very tired mother at this point also.) This morning he dressed for school and I made his lunch, helped pack his school bag and generally behaved as if everything was normal. Unfortunately I made "We'll see" sort of noises to the Ball & Chain, and could possibly have muttered that if he was deemed unfit for school I would simply go and pick him up. All of a sudden I swear the Little Guy's colouring went from human to half-dead, and he began suggesting that he might not be well enough to go in. What's that saying "Give 'em an inch and they'll take a mile?"

So I bustled him out the door with his dad, saying "Oh I'm sure you'll feel better when you get there."

I hate mothers like me. Who do I think I am, deliberately sending a germ-ridden child to mingle with his peers? But it's Thanksgiving on Thursday; I have people arriving tomorrow; I haven't been across the doors since Friday night; we have no food in the house; I am going insane.

Yer Honour.

Friday, September 21, 2018

Tempted to Pee in a Bucket, and Other Moments from This Week

Been a bit of a busy time here in Repat world. 

First off - big news. I have a literary agent in the UK and we are pitching a new book! A departure from my usual US/UK stuff, but something that I'm passionate about also. Can't reveal much at the moment other than I have a lot of work to do in the immediate future. 

In other things, my dog-eared blogger blog, Take it From Us,  is going well and we have some excellent writers on board. The latest post, about not caring any more, seems to be striking a chord with a lot of people, so do have a butchers, as they say. (Butcher's hook - look.) It's amazing how many lapsed bloggers are talking about making a return to blogging. If you're someone who loves to write or has kept a diary for years. you can't just stop writing. If you're someone whose blog now doesn't allow for blogging about any old thing, come and guest blog for us. We're just in it for the writing. 

And of course, I still have workmen wandering around my house and garden at regular intervals. If it's not one thing, it's another. Today we have three young blokes chipping all the moss off the roof tiles. It was so jungle-like up there I'm sure they'll have come across forgotten species. Unfortunately for me, they turned up two hours earlier than I wrote down, (my mistake, I have no doubt), and I was still in my PJs, with a sweatshirt thing on the top. Didn't look too inappropriate but it gets worse.........

They put three ladders up the front of the house, right outside the windows of my downstairs loo and two upstairs bathrooms. Given that we've just finished bathroom work, we are of course, waiting for new blinds to be installed. (Do you see where I'm going with this?) Yes, the windows are slightly frosted, but when you're on a ladder two feet out on the other side, there'd be no mistaking someone sitting on the throne, or standing naked in the shower. And of course half way through the morning I desperately needed to go.

I was seriously considering all my options - pee in a sink? Obviously, grossness ruled it out (almost) immediately as well as the fact that the only other sink is in the kitchen and yes, that's right below an enormous double window that looks out onto the back garden. Given that they asked for access to the back of the house, there was NO WAY I'd have risked that. I also couldn't quite figure out how I'd physically manage this one, the sciatica still being an issue. Besides, just gross.

I did think about hiding myself deep in the coat cupboard in the hallway and peeing in a bucket, but.........then remembered that the landlord's agent was coming round at 11, and wanted access to every room. Imagine the scene were she to open said coat cupboard door to a bucket of fresh, steaming ........Ok, I'll stop there. 
For those concerned about my bladder or kidney welfare, like most British builders or workers, just as my panic levels were going stratospheric, they all trooped off to their van for their elevenses. (In the UK, about the only people who seem to do this on a regular basis are workmen in your house). So, whilst they were feasting on their mid-morning tea and pastries, I executed an Olympic dash to the downstairs loo (with the smallest window) and pee'd like I'd never pee'd before. I may have broken a Guinness record.

And yes, we're getting blinds next week. 

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