We 'popped' to the pub for lunch today. Always a danger, particularly on a Bank Holiday. Luckily I was driving and giving my body a bit of a break after the bashing of the last few weeks/months/years/ever.
The sun shone and the bouncy castle was up and we all had a lovely time. I was gently yet smugly telling my kids off every five minutes for getting slightly too near another kid on the bouncy castle, totally in the knowledge that they were being fabulous and it was completely for show to ensure that everyone could see what a good parent I was.
Let's fast-forward five hours then. Car is dumped. The sausage and chips that Sebi had for lunch without any veg which was going to be made up with a veg-filled dinner later has been trumped by a pasty out of a paper bag for tea. Haven't looked at the kids for about an hour whilst there are squeals of delight (or maybe pain) from the bouncy castle. My parents randomly appear to see their barefooted, ragged-short-wearing grandchildren bounding across a pub garden and mainly I have fallen off the wagon, once-a-bloody-gain and the feral offspring are revelling in the result.
All are now clean and in bed. Nobody died and scurvy can be warded off with return-to-school-boot-camp-normality tomorrow.
It just makes me laugh at myself. We went on holiday when Zak was four months old and we were the only family in the complex that were barricaded in our room by 7pm with the baby in bed and us taking it in turns to do a run to the bar and back. Every time I came back with my round I gave 'poor' Stu a lecture on all the irresponsible parenting I had seen when I was out and about. As far as I was concerned it was bordering child-abuse having these poor, innocent children up and having a fabulous time running about after their bedtime. Who did these people think they were?
Last day of the holiday, we got completely twatted and Zak (eventually) fell asleep in his buggy, underneath a very loud speaker, whilst his parents danced the night away till 2am...
The thing I am so proud of about my own personality is that I absolutely and totally stick to my convictions. That is, until I absolutely and totally don't anymore...
Monday, 21 April 2014
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
Like a Prayer
I've just fallen off my chocolate lent waggon, ten days early, and eaten an entire box of chocolates. I don't do things by halves. I've just cleaned my oven for the first time in 18 months as penance but I'm not sure that it a clean oven will be enough to get me through the pearly gates when my time comes...
Zak is reading the Bible at the moment, in its entirety. It is a Children's Bible but nonetheless I'm impressed by his dedication. His only view so far is that there isn't enough Jesus in it considering it is meant to be all about him. I've promised Zak that the second half makes Jesus Christ a Superstar. He was given this Bible by a local vicar during an assembly at school; all of Year 2 were. I'm delighted that he is taking it so seriously and taking such an interest, but I do find it odd that a non-faith school comes down so heavily with a Christian philosophy. I don't mind at all. In fact, I think it is a very good thing. I know however of one parent that was really angry about it and I am surprised that the school haven't come across strong views before.
Zak decided to take his Bible to discuss with Granny as she was 'the most proper Christian' in the immediate family. I think Granny dealt with her interrogation with great fortitude. Many weaker women would have buckled under Zachary's pointed finger and beady eye questioning the strength of her beliefs.
We were lost momentarily in Brighton this morning and Zak suddenly we suggested that we should pray. I told him that I would probably be able to sort it out on my own if I just had a moment to look at the map. Whilst I was looking at the map Zak told me it would be much quicker to ask God directly as he had made Brighton and therefore could just point us in the right direction immediately. At which point Sebi declared that Zak obviously didn't know what he was talking about as God was most definitely a 'She'. Amazing. The theological philosophising stopped dead at that moment, as I had nowhere to go on a feminist deity discussion with four-year old and Zak seemed to lose interest in God the minute he thought God could be more interested in dolls than footballs.
We managed to navigate our way, unaided, through the holy streets of Brighton. I would like to think that God has a sense of humour and enjoyed the meanderings of the Ward children so much that He/She looks indulgently this evening on their tired mother and her fat stomach full of illegal chocolates.
Amen.
Zak is reading the Bible at the moment, in its entirety. It is a Children's Bible but nonetheless I'm impressed by his dedication. His only view so far is that there isn't enough Jesus in it considering it is meant to be all about him. I've promised Zak that the second half makes Jesus Christ a Superstar. He was given this Bible by a local vicar during an assembly at school; all of Year 2 were. I'm delighted that he is taking it so seriously and taking such an interest, but I do find it odd that a non-faith school comes down so heavily with a Christian philosophy. I don't mind at all. In fact, I think it is a very good thing. I know however of one parent that was really angry about it and I am surprised that the school haven't come across strong views before.
Zak decided to take his Bible to discuss with Granny as she was 'the most proper Christian' in the immediate family. I think Granny dealt with her interrogation with great fortitude. Many weaker women would have buckled under Zachary's pointed finger and beady eye questioning the strength of her beliefs.
We were lost momentarily in Brighton this morning and Zak suddenly we suggested that we should pray. I told him that I would probably be able to sort it out on my own if I just had a moment to look at the map. Whilst I was looking at the map Zak told me it would be much quicker to ask God directly as he had made Brighton and therefore could just point us in the right direction immediately. At which point Sebi declared that Zak obviously didn't know what he was talking about as God was most definitely a 'She'. Amazing. The theological philosophising stopped dead at that moment, as I had nowhere to go on a feminist deity discussion with four-year old and Zak seemed to lose interest in God the minute he thought God could be more interested in dolls than footballs.
We managed to navigate our way, unaided, through the holy streets of Brighton. I would like to think that God has a sense of humour and enjoyed the meanderings of the Ward children so much that He/She looks indulgently this evening on their tired mother and her fat stomach full of illegal chocolates.
Amen.
Sunday, 6 April 2014
Ain't Nothin' but a House Party
Last night we partied like it was 1999.
I have found a new, favourite way to celebrate my birthday over the last couple of years that involves a load of champagne, a mixture of loud-mouthed birds and an 80's soundtrack in my kitchen. It works, I love it, and I'm not going to fuck with it for a few years - I had the time of my life.
The normal thing happened; I was just looking around about an hour in, thinking that it was lovely, everyone was getting on so well, but people really weren't drunk enough and then BOOM! Suddenly, everybody is totally and completely shitfaced, dancing on tables, non-smokers are smoking, new bezzies are bonding over lesbian-experience stories and comparative labia sizes and all hell has well and truly broken loose. Amazing.
Kath told me as she arrived that she was sorry she wasn't going to be able to stay all evening as her boyfriend was leaving for Qatar at 5am this morning for a month and she needed to spend some time with him before he left. I joked that that was a dangerous thing to say as it was tempting fate for her to be the last one out the door. She jointly was the last one out of the door at 2.30am and he left without seeing her this morning. Oops.
Will things ever change? I think I party as hard in 2014 as I did twenty years ago. The only difference is that I drink more expensive alcohol and tend to end up in bed with the same person at the end of the night these days.
Last night was relatively wild for people who are hurtling towards 40. Stuart re-entered his hareem at about 11pm and said that he could hear us from the end of the road. We are mainly avoiding the neighbours today... He thought it would be funny to prank call the house and pretend to be the police. He did, four times, and nobody answered the phone as we didn't hear it.
I love throwing a real mixture of people together and seeing what happens. It hasn't failed yet but I wonder when the day will come that people decide they really are too civilised to cope with the sex, drugs and rock 'n roll of Chez Ward. Maybe we will come to the same realisation at some point too and enter my parents' world of lunchtime drinks parties instead. I used to think that this would all end in my thirties but I'm beginning to think that that could be a little too close for comfort. I had three different cards with the same message on: "Growing old is compulsory, growing up is optional." Somebody is trying to tell me something I think. I was told last night that maybe I needed to rein it in a bit when I went back to Beaumont in September but they soon realised it was unnecessary as I pointed out my boss swigging a glass of champers over the other side of the kitchen. Happy, happy days. Thank you, you fabulous bunch. xxxx
I have found a new, favourite way to celebrate my birthday over the last couple of years that involves a load of champagne, a mixture of loud-mouthed birds and an 80's soundtrack in my kitchen. It works, I love it, and I'm not going to fuck with it for a few years - I had the time of my life.
The normal thing happened; I was just looking around about an hour in, thinking that it was lovely, everyone was getting on so well, but people really weren't drunk enough and then BOOM! Suddenly, everybody is totally and completely shitfaced, dancing on tables, non-smokers are smoking, new bezzies are bonding over lesbian-experience stories and comparative labia sizes and all hell has well and truly broken loose. Amazing.
Kath told me as she arrived that she was sorry she wasn't going to be able to stay all evening as her boyfriend was leaving for Qatar at 5am this morning for a month and she needed to spend some time with him before he left. I joked that that was a dangerous thing to say as it was tempting fate for her to be the last one out the door. She jointly was the last one out of the door at 2.30am and he left without seeing her this morning. Oops.
Will things ever change? I think I party as hard in 2014 as I did twenty years ago. The only difference is that I drink more expensive alcohol and tend to end up in bed with the same person at the end of the night these days.
Last night was relatively wild for people who are hurtling towards 40. Stuart re-entered his hareem at about 11pm and said that he could hear us from the end of the road. We are mainly avoiding the neighbours today... He thought it would be funny to prank call the house and pretend to be the police. He did, four times, and nobody answered the phone as we didn't hear it.
I love throwing a real mixture of people together and seeing what happens. It hasn't failed yet but I wonder when the day will come that people decide they really are too civilised to cope with the sex, drugs and rock 'n roll of Chez Ward. Maybe we will come to the same realisation at some point too and enter my parents' world of lunchtime drinks parties instead. I used to think that this would all end in my thirties but I'm beginning to think that that could be a little too close for comfort. I had three different cards with the same message on: "Growing old is compulsory, growing up is optional." Somebody is trying to tell me something I think. I was told last night that maybe I needed to rein it in a bit when I went back to Beaumont in September but they soon realised it was unnecessary as I pointed out my boss swigging a glass of champers over the other side of the kitchen. Happy, happy days. Thank you, you fabulous bunch. xxxx
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