Einstein a No No!

How can I be waking up at four o'clock in the morning with a frozen right shoulder worrying whether I answered all the questions on a GCSE (England's exams for 16 year olds) accurately on a physics paper? I  always hated studying physics! In fact, I can claim, with absolute authority, that I achieved the worst recorded result prior to GCSE in the history of Westcliff High School for Girls - 1% : I placed my name upon the paper and then decorated it with cartoons of all the physicophiles in my exam room -I am completely offended that my illustrations achieved so little! What's more is that  I am convinced that the physics teacher also was disappointed with my 1%  as she spent so much time in detention with me extolling the virtues of the subject and trying to reform me to the physics way of life!

 Nevertheless at end of Year 9 ( in my day 3rd Year Seniors), I knew physics and I had parted company and our dalliance was spent. Physics will always remain that complete anomaly to me, never entering my world or my grasp on normality! The one that got away.  Physics, \I am sure feels the same about me! We have no understanding of each other: The Theory of Relativity does not hold me  agasp just as The Theory of My Relatives plays no part in the world of Science.

So why the sleepless nights? Because my arrogant eldest son is sitting his GCSEs and I seem more concerned than him. Every exam he faces I live - cold sweats, hyperventilation and sleepless nights. But not for him. Physics, he informed me was really enjoyable - in fact he spent 2 hours of absolute bliss answering questions that would have tied me up in knots  (not in a 50 shade way!). Questions that I would have responded to with:" No one cares actually and "Whatever loser! Not for me the physics phenomena. But clearly for my eldest.

Why then,on his return home, did I grasp said eldest tightly when he admitted enjoying his physics exam?  Why then did I say: "I am so  proud of you!"?  Maybe because he had beaten something that had avoided me.  Or maybe because - OMG- he must have gone horribly wrong as noone in their right mind could possibly enjoy physics! Or just maybe because I was knackered from hours of sleepless nights and worry.

Is physics the precursor to the girlfriend? You have to accept her but you worry whether she is treating your son properly; or whether he has read her properly? I await the results of both.

Sticks and Stones

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One Woodland One Fat Bloke One Month

A quick break from my helter skelter life to introduce you all to an amazing man. This guy I am proud to call a friend! He is adorable, incorrigible and has a huge heart! He will be living off the land camped in a wood for a month from Monday April 15th raising money for a charity. He needs all the well wishes you can send and any funny comments but most importantly if you have any loose change, it would be gratefully received xxx

www.justgiving.com/1woodland-1fatbloke-1month

Please take time to click and view x

I promise my tales of boydom will be soon bombarding you all again. However, it has taken an awful big lot of time to look half decent for my looming wedding - yikes a week away!

Traumas and Tantrums

Yes, I have been burying my head in my posterior, coming up only for breath to see if the world is beautiful once more! Please, please let the horrors go away! Please let the monsters be gone! Sadly, no, those pesky beasts are still looming in the near present. Not piles, even worse than that  - GCSES!

Now, I know they are not my exams, but I am living and breathing those pesky piranhas, since my eldest is now swimming in their pool.  I am totally, utterly drowning! They hurt. They bite. They are endless. They are eating me alive! My eldest is ambivalent, carefree and negligent but I AM COMPLETELY PANICKING!
Recently, I received a letter commending my son on his mock results - phew - I thought for a nanosecond - then reality bit. How is absolutely no revision, whatsoever, commendable?
So I arrive. a month later, at an aftermock parents meeting. Needless to say, things are remarkably different. Suddenly, French has grave concern, History worries, English bitches, Economics has the itch and P.E is cruising - or so I am led to believe by a man-/boy, who could not be old enough to surely crawl let alone walk! That is until the tape of my eldest skiing came in, then P.E is whining, "It's not A*" - too late fitness baby - we asked you at the meeting and you did NOTHING! Science and Maths are happy little potters - yes, he likes you two!

So now Mummy puts her boots on - big, bloody, kick-arse boots on! Life, for my eldest is no longer a bowl of cherries. Revision hurts. Hang on. Revision hurts me more than him. I am finding I am watching him, spying on him, entering his room without knocking (always a danger), checking, monitoring  screaming, insulting and crying!This has to stop. I am in a constant tantrum and it is only March.
Any stolen moments that I spend with my "soon to be husband" is in a constant full pitch whine, usually fuelled with wine! He is indulgent and our local pub is also... indulgent. They are at least being paid to hear my moanings.
Yet, from the bedroom of this GCSE student I hear, "Mum, stop your row! Hush a little".
"Hush? Stop? Row?"
I start to fall apart:, dribbling about future and life and ...."Trauma! Mayday! Trauma!

Well hello Mrs Scrooge!

So long, too long I have missed my bloggy world! Time flies when my head has been spinning 360 degrees in a toilet bowl of December celebration build-ups. As the bill grew, the exorcist gained momentum-.my tongue spontaneously reeled in and out lashing all those unfortunate souls nearby and my body shook in desperate need to find any coin available on my person to fund this nightmare.
Christmas sucks doesn't it? I love the build up, pretty sparkling trees and lights, shiny menorahs for Chunakah, Christingels and then the star event. But holy cow, the expense! For one day! Christ was born in a stable and I'll be flipping living one if I bought into my youngest's Father Christmas list! That bad boy is being killed off next year - "Yes, son I'm a liar. He doesn't exist and that is why he didn't buy you a plasma HD top of the range TV;  all the Moshi monsters in the world; make you a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and guest star you on ICarly!"
Still, I have survived to tell the tale and despite family dramas, tears, food, booze and floods, I enjoyed myself. That worries me. I enjoyed Christmas. Oh holy cow I enjoyed Christmas!

Sweet 16 and It's My Birthday and I'll Cry If I want To

So my eldest, a few days ago, embraced his sixteenth year. Prior to the fateful day he had informed me he would now be old enough to get married (God help that girl!) with his parental consent (if anyone girl is barking enough to want him, she can have him!); he would be able to join the armed forces but not enter a war zone (oh so it is alright if his family live in one as he battles against us!); he could sell scrap metal ( no point we live in Essex that market is saturated!); drink wine or beer with a meal in a restaurant (Boy, if you're offering to take us out for a meal, your mother is not complaining!) or leave home with his parent's consent (Oh so tempting!) and so on and so on.
Well, the morning of his birthday began with a grunt from his pit of a bedroom as I scooted out to work with my youngest in tow. I had left his gifts on the kitchen table so he could open them as he arose victorious from his lair to claim his sixteenth year. I had also left a malteser cake aka Lorraine Pascale on the side ready for the midweek evening celebrations. Stupid, stupid me!
On returning home from work with youngest still in tow chatting merrily about his day at school, the house was deathly quiet. The twins were nowhere to be seen. Unusual. The lights were dim. Unusual. I marched upstairs to discover the birthday boy lying on his bed looking at the ceiling.
"Happy Birthday", I exclaimed. "How was school?"
"Ok,"he sighed.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Nothing," he replied. Well clearly "nothing" meant everything.
"Did you like the gifts?" I enquired over the dulcet flat tones of my youngest singing "Happy Birthday to You!"
"Yeah, they were ok," he managed to sigh. Still there was no sign of the twins.
"Come on what is wrong?" I coaxed. Had his sixteenth year released a deep rooted depression?
"YOU DIDN'T MAKE ME A CAKE!" there was genuine emotion in his outcry.
"I flipping well did! A malteser ca...." before I could finish my sentence I realised what had happened. My pathetic attempt to contain the rising beast in his lair gave the twins enough time to grab their tennis kit and run for the door.
"Have a good game boys," I shouted hands splayed out on the chest of their elder brother attempting to race after them.
"Thanks Mum" they chorused dripping the remnants of their breakfast, lunch and tea behind them - those wonderful spherical chocolate balls of honeycomb centres!
Even though my sweet sixteen year old could leave home, marry, trade and drink in a restaurant, he was only really happy to embrace the fact that his mother, still in her coat, started to create yet another malteser cake to make everything better. My youngest sang throughout to cheer his older brother from his sixteen year old gloom. How many tears have been spent at a birthday when you could cry if you want to?

The Defensive Lion

My youngest is a sensitive soul prone to fantasy and comedic by nature. However, life can be full of carnivores, and as parents we are well aware of this. So what do we do? Tell our kids to be honest? Tell our kids to be moral?Tell our kids to be good citizens owning up when they have over- stepped the mark? Of course. That's the only way surely that makes society work. Isn't it? Yet, some out there make excuses: they protect their own, come what may and some out there are just mad, bad or odd.
So I have introduced my youngest to rugby! Why? Team spirit, fighting for a goal, being part of a community and learning to think on your feet and make tough decisions. Just harden up and face and embrace. Yes some may think that is harsh but the old adage is : cruel to be kind!
So we joined the club. A different one from his older brothers so he could have a voice apart from his older siblings.
He loved the kit. Twirling in front of the mirror growling into the glass, he aped alpha male. Yet, as a mother, I knew from this things were not going to plan.
His godfather, a Kiwi but resident in the UK for 12 years, took us to the club. His club.
At the ground, my youngest chatted rolling around on the tuff, happy to be out in the open air. He befriended all. Still I knew that things were not going to plan.
When asked to catch and throw, he was in his element tossing the ball gently and running away if thrown back with strength. I knew things were not going to plan. His godfather grinned.

Playing bulldog with tags showed his true colours. He ran about giving back the tags to all the poor souls who had been caught, attaching them with care and a smile. I knew things were not going to plan! His godfather sighed and rolled his eyes.
Asked to run, he swirled and skipped forwards. I knew things were not going to plan! His godfather ran his hands over his face in despair.
However, the true moment of dawning-the epiphany for me (when I realised that my boy was not built for this sport), was when the coach asked them to stand on the defensive line. My son, my gentle, fey,happy-go-lucky child decided to stand in the middle of the pitch and growl hands raised as claws - a defensive lion. Full marks for creativity but zero for the wonderful world of rugby. He had misheard or misinterrupted defensive line for defensive lion! At that moment things were not going to plan at all. At that moment his godfather walked away with a barely hidden sob and at that moment I realised, you can't toughen up a gentle soul; you can only teach teach them life skills to cope with the aggression in the big wide world. And more importantly, you have to embrace each child for their own worth. So my son may be the first English boy to rewrite the Hukka: Skip, meow, skip! But hopefully his gentle soul will not be forced into a defensive line nor a defensive lion's mouth.