Mornings in Casa Lemons are always chaotic.
There is shouting, rushing, spilt cereal to mop up, lunch packs to pack, hair to plait, teeth to brush, armpits to sniff, coffee to make, (without which I would collapse), action figures to frantically search for and the dreaded fecking sock seams to deal with. Continue reading
Winter Swimming!
Imagine waking up to blues skies every morning, never having to switch the heating on, never wearing winter boots, not even owning an umbrella…
Well that’s me, that’s my life on the always-sunny little island of Gran Canaria.
The weather in the Canary Islands is pretty unique, this is one of the very few places in the world where the weather rarely drops below 20°C and doesn’t experience any scary weather conditions such as tropical storms or hurricanes, which often go alongside the hot weather of sub-tropical islands.
Lucky me eh?
But I want to leave.
I want to return to the piddley weather of Swansea – officially now recognised as Britain’s wettest city!
I want to see the green mountains of the Brecon Beacons, I want to cwtch up on the sofa wearing a onsie and a thermal vest, I want an open fire and to drink hot chocolate on a cool October morning, I want to see rainfall so heavy that is cleans my damn windows and makes everything smell fresh and bright and alive.
I want to see slugs again.
I long to feel the cold, to get dressed in the morning and leave the house before my make-up slides off my bloody face coz I’m in a bath of sweat!
And I really, really want a pair of red wellies!
But the thing I long for the most is snow, oh my how I miss it.
The last time I saw snow was on a ski holiday pre-kids in 2001, it was, without doubt, my favourite holiday ever and I cherish those fab memories each winter in Gran Canaria as I lie on the beach roasting my boobies off.
So at least I’ve got those memories eh!
But my kids don’t.
They’ve never seen snow, felt it or shoved handfuls of it into their mouths and felt it melt on their tongues. They’ve never seen a snowman, had a snowball fight or gone sledging, never felt that red-nosed coldness that has you running inside scattering snow everywhere as you kick off your sodden wellies and frozen gloves.
If there was one gift I could give to my children this Christmas it would be snow, they ask for it every year, it’s number one on their Christmas lists, closely followed by Lego and Barbie.
So I am crossing my flip-flop clad toes that I will be chosen to be a Mark Warner ski blogger and then I could give them snow. Piles of gorgeous, crisp, freezing cold snow and I promise you, on my bikini-clad bottom that I’ll never complain about living in the sun again!
So until I return to my rainy, cold Swansea or as the poet Dylan Thomas called it “That ugly, lovely city”, I’ll keep wishing for snow in Gran Canaria!
Now tell me, what are you wishing for this Christmas?
Did you have the birds and the bees talk with your parents when you were a kid?
I didn’t… I never got that talk.
My sex education came from the pages of ‘Just Seventeen’ magazine and a friend who showed me her Granddad’s stash of porn in his upstairs toilet, whilst we were hanging out of his bathroom window puffing our way through ten Regal Kingsize.
I think my Mum was too shy to talk ‘intimate’ with me… bless her.
I’m not bothered that we didn’t have THAT CHAT, I think I might have died of mortification if I’d heard my mother use the word ‘ejaculate’ or ‘vagina’, never-mind ‘testicles’ or heaven forbid, ‘sperm’!
But now that I am a mother, I do want to be able to chew the fat openly with my kids about sex. I want them to be cool around sex. Not as cool so as that they are humping in my house like a bunch of adolescent rabbits on viagra mind you, but coolish, know what I mean?
I am happy to report that we are pretty open minded in our gaff. In fact, not a day goes by without willy talk or flashing of thrupney bits. We are not ashamed of our bodies , although I wish Scandiman would be a bit more ashamed of his todger sometimes, know what I’m sayin’? 😉
But it did come as a bit of a shock to me yesterday, when my daughter, aged 10, came up to me with the card pictured below, that someone had sent to her father for his birthday and asked me, “Mama, what are these people doing?”.
I nearly bloody choked on my muesli!
Obviously I grabbed it off her and spluttered, “They are cuddling, now go and clean your teeth!”
Cuddling… CUDDLING!
Honest to bloody god, what kind of ‘mature-I’m-cool-hip-with-the-kids-kinda-mama’ comment is that to say, FFS????
I can see it now… “Darling, remember when you kiss your first boyfriend you’ll have to marry him, and don’t you go off cycling when you have your monthly visitor, coz you might get pregnant!”
I felt like a damn Victorian!
In my defence, I had expected our first foray into sexytime to be a little more subdued. Seeing a big-knockered neon-blond getting busy with a tango-tastic ginger cartoon character in 31 positions, poised in front of a selection of Gran Canaria’s top tourist attractions was not what I’d bargained for!
So I have decided to re-tackle the issue when she get’s in from school.
I have dug out a great little book I bought a few years back called ‘Mummy Laid An Egg’ by Babette Cole. It’s a short, brilliantly illustrated book which comically but cleverly explains the basics about sex, it’s probably a bit young for Victoria, but it’s a start…
I shall be forthright and cool, I won’t blush or make jokes. I shall handle this straight-forward essential topic with the sensitivity and simplicity it deserves. I shall be a grown-up.
But I swear to god if she mentions oral, I’m getting the f*%k outta here!
Jus sayin’…
😉
Adios! x
If there’s one thing sure to whip my crazies up into a frenzy, it’s the plop of an Ikea catalogue coming through the letterbox.
Last Saturday was one such day.
Within minutes of the postman ramming the latest glossy Ikea catalogue through the post box I was awoken from my slumber, by shrieks of , “Mama, Mama can we go to Ikea for meatballs?” .
Now bearing in mind I was slightly hungover (aren’t that what Saturday mornings are all about?) and it was about 4am (ok slight exaggeration, but shit it was early), the thought of meatballs, never mind the horrors of shopping on a Saturday with 3 kids was, quite frankly, more than I could stomach.
I groaned, semi-heaved, rolled over and begged Scandiman to make me breakfast.
Three cups of coffee and 2 paracetamols later (me not them, they had popcorn and sweets) we were all up, dressed and heading off to Ikea with the bonhomie that only the truly stupid and slightly hungover seem to posses.
We set off, as usual with strict warnings regarding running off, hiding in cupboards, screaming, saying bad words and stealing sweets at the pick & mix at the end.
Did they listen… did they f*%k.
And as always, I captured each excruciating moment on film, coz I’m sick like that see… you might remember Supermarket Carnage Part 1, well here comes part 2, albeit in a slightly cooler shop.
In their defence, it started well enough and damn they looked cute as they admired the artwork as we entered Ikea. But the little hellcats were just bloody luring me into a false sense of security!
As within minutes of entering the store Ozzy decides to ride the escalator on his stomach.
I’m afraid the photo’s a little blurred here as a) he was ascending at speed and b) I was running and screaming.
We de-railied Ozzy and then we all entered the store calmly and happily… till we realised we had a runner!
After much frantic shouting and alerting of security (sooooooo embarrassing, I coulda’ wept!) we found him… on his way to McDonalds.
It wasn’t all bad, I do have moments when I can control my kids, the threat of zero hotdogs and a swift bypass of the pic and mix resulted in this adorable little family snap.
Cute huh!
Of course it wasn’t to last and a few moments later I was frantically searching for Ozzy… I found him in a broken cupboard, as you do.
My pleas of “Get out Oskar I am starting to loose it son!” were, of course, duly ignored.
So to help matters and my nerves along, Axel got in too, FFS!!!!!
(might I just add dear reader, that by this time by focus had shifted somewhat from thoughts of flat-pack furniture to being flat-out drunk at home, gripping a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc).
Then we queued in the cafeteria, quietly and without incident or withering glances from the other shoppers… NOT!
Next came our favourite part of Ikea (I’m being as sarcastic as hell here, just in case youre wondering) the children’s department. 
Where we lost Axel again. And then found him hugging a terrifying, savage beast that strikes fear into all that cross it’s path.
Rather apt now I think about it…
On the plus side I only lost Victoria once and when I found her she looked so beautiful, arranging her wedding bouquet (her words), that rather than tell her off I swooned. And now I’m actually quite tempted to call up the producers of ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’ and offer her up.
We’ve always wanted a caravan down West Wales see.
Finally we made our way out of Ikea, laden with tea lights, plastic plants, storage options and stolen sweets.
We hopped into the car and began to drive off, till we realised that Ozzy was hanging out of the feckin window!?¿?!!! WTF!
And that was the end of that little delightful debacle.
Although, as we all know, every good story has to have a happy ending…
Which, my lovelies, in this case, came in the form of the new gorgeous rosy red rhubarb cordial that I snuffled into my shopping bag in Ikea.
I went home, poured myself a big kick-ass glass of vodka, chucked in a splosh of cordial and threw the lot down my frantic neck.
CHEERS!
Thank you and goodnight.
With the true spirit of teaching our children fair play firmly in mind, we kicked shit out of the oppositions castle as we left the beach.
Happy days!
🙂
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Muddling Along - trying to balance work, family, children and still being me.
Losing My Lemons 