Category Archives: renovations

Various from the re-Crippled

19 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by in accidents, family, holidays, humour, Living in a village, Living in France, osteopathy, Parenting, Parenting and family, Raising boys, renovations

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(For anyone that i’ve emailed this week, don’t bother reading this blog as I’ve already exhausted your sympathy with my moaning about my back. For anyone else, read on and sympathise!!!!!)

Blog, good afternoon and a g’day to all of my followers especially Story time with John and Felix O’Shea (maybe not a follower but now that I’ve applied some pressure…)who between them have given me some (blog) laughter on an otherwise pain filled Sunday (except when Fatty ran into my room, stumbled and 3 of his toes ended up inSIDE the posterior of the sleeping Lidl Supermarket Dog… rude awakening indeed. Entre nous, I also laughed whilst watching the Gumball cartoon on Cartoon Network even if the kids weren’t there. Bloody funny that show).

Crippled Again

Life can be cruel.

So, as I knew that Fatty was about to start school (and I’ve been waiting three years for this to happen), I ordered some new running shoes expecting to be able to run a marathon in the way that some men of a certain age still believe they can fit into their 20 year old, size 28 waist jeans? Actually, no. Optimist I may be; deluded? I wouldn’t say never but only rarely.

However, my super duper run like the wind shoes remain unused as:

5 months on from The Stone Steps Bounce and near Ruin, I find myself immobile again. At least it’s different this time. If my spine were representing a letter from the alphabet, it would be an S…….could be worse….could be a Z …heaven forbid, a W.  Funnily enough, I’ve learned from the tongue yanking, ear shoving, coccyx tickling experience with the local osteopath (see post The long road to recovery) and will try a new guy on Tuesday. Watch this space.

s shape spine

 

The 5 boys – an update

The Prodigal

Out of sight out of mind. Sounds harsh? Ok, he is in mind but as I can’t see or hear what he is getting up to, I can’t worry too much about it (except in the long, dark hours of middle night).  He has moved into a flat belonging to some person who lives somewhere in London. ‘I’ll give you my mobile number when I get it. mum’ and ‘yeah, everything is great.’

As with the osteo appointment; WATCH THIS SPACE

The Face

Has been gallivanting in style. Most of his summer was spent in England and he enjoyed two weeks in Sri Lanka.

‘How was it, Face?’

‘yeah…..it was ….erm…….yeah, it was hot.’

I’m hoping that at the start of this new school year, we reach a break through on the understanding of what is homework and what is revision and the difference between the two.

‘So, Face, do you have lots of homework AND revision for this weekend?’

‘Nah, I did it on Thursday.’

Start as you mean to go on, why don’t you.

The Prof

Has started a new school.

It is a Catholic school, in fact but that’s not why he chose it (unless, there is more to him than meets the eye. Mother WOULD be pleased to have, if not a son who is a priest but a grandson).

Although I was brought up Catholic (and let me tell you that one day soon I shall blog about my childhood memories of our family praying together activities……yes, all 8 kids and parents – especially during the month of MAY), the Prof has only been inside a church a handful of times so I’m fully expecting to find him doing some Mass research from the ‘R.C. guide to Mass Etiquette’ prior to his school’s welcome mass next week.

child and bible

The Lips

Still making dark paintings and drawings. Spends lot of time alternating between cuddling Fatty (and who can resist all that softness? All that softness yet what a very foul mouth) and punching him. I guess it’s good training for Fatty’s introduction to Ecole.

 Fatty

‘Mum, your legs are SOOOO SPICEY!!!!! You LOOK.LIKE.A.PLANT!’

A picture of me, second one in from the left:

cactus legs

 

Well his Dad (whom he revealed was actually Michael Jackson) who lives in England now has a wife………yes……called Mum.  Fatty was talking to them both on his plastic telephone and passed me over to them.  It was very much a one sided conversation which I terminated after a few pleasantries.

The next day:

‘Hey Fatty. How is your English dad and mum?’

‘They’re dead.’

—

‘Eye spy with my little eye, su’fing that is yuk’

‘We don’t know Fatty. What is it?’

‘Papa’s arsehole’

I’m relieved that at our local school, the English speaking teacher isn’t there until January.

Upcoming posts:

Catholic family prayer (not to be missed)

The nearly drowning dog, part II

and my thoughts on the recent scientific achievement of brain to brain transmition of thought……actually, I won’t write that down, I’ll just think it to you.

Blog and readers, happy Sunday to you and hope that you don’t get that Sunday evening ‘Haven’t done my homework feeling’ that some decades after leaving school, I still suffer from………unlike my eldest children…….they haven’t done their homework but they don’t suffer from the feeling!

 

 

 

 

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Happy holidays

19 Saturday Jul 2014

Posted by in family, humour, Living in France, Parenting, Raising boys, renovations, teenagers and alcohol

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Bonsoir Blog,

Slack?
Very

Promises of regular blogging?
The road to hell is well paved.

Here in the year 1904, summer is being enjoyed.
Oh!
Hang on – did I say 1904? What I mean is living as if I was in 1904 -when this house was built – but without the conveniences of staff….. And a well kept holeless roof – it could be called old fashioned air conditioning?

Still – a summer holiday washing up for 6 at a sink which is so low, Im already resembling a hunchback (yes, a very old fashioned idea – washing up by hand!) 3 times a day is a change from loading a dishwasher for 7 (yep – you’re on the ball ce soir; Le Prodigal has removed to Angleterre) and we do have electricity and 4 channels on the tv but no phone or, horror above all horrors, no internet.
We threw a bed away today. The mattress was stuffed with horse hair – you get the scene?

This evening we tried for the 9th time to try and catch the sunset at the beach.
There have been various obstacles which have prevented this simple yet fulfilling and soul refreshing activity.
Tonights?
Lidl Supermarket Dog enjoyed her first freestyle swim in the sea.
She swam.
She swam further.
We felt a bit uneasy.
She swam further perhaps to make the first canine attempt at swimming the Channel.
The husband stripped down to his underpants – ‘im going in’
We screamed her name.
She swam.
He waded.
She swam.
LIDL SUPERMARKET DOG!!!!
Fatty screamed as i pulled him from the water to strap him into the buggy to avoid a 2nd near drowning as I had to go in too – with a leash.
I must point out that I did not strip down to my pants as by that time we had an interested crowd.
I left Maisy the now very smart looking dog in charge of the kids and in I went as The Prof incessantly chanted ‘she’s going to drown. I told you she would’ and Fatty roaring ‘i want to go in with you and Papa!!!’

It has a happy ending. Although that walk home in our clothes soaking wet as the storm started behind us, felt LONG:
Finally she saw the leash and swam near enough to be grabbed.
By way of thanks, she left me a sea enema deposit in the sand to clear up and I suspect similar greetings in the morning.

Sunset tomorrow?

20140719-212049.jpg

Sprung Sprang Sprong Spring

10 Thursday Apr 2014

Posted by in family, humour, Living in a village, Living in France, Parenting, Parenting and family, Raising boys, renovations, teenagers and alcohol

≈ 2 Comments

Well Blog,

What a day. Has your day been like that? IS your day currently like that?

Let’s have a photo of something peaceful to calm down any unhappy spirits:

Image

 

Did that work?

Not even a little bit?

Then we’re all doomed to depression.

Anyway, moving on:

In this old stone (crumbling) abode, we have had a (half) week of peepee and caca.

If it wasn’t Lidl Supermarket Chain Dog with a urine infection? Bladder control? Bad manners (certainly) then perhaps it was Fatty pushing the limits of his Freedom of Nappy Bottom Phase. There has been wee every-where. I have been walking around with an old rag (actually, the husband’s favorite item of clothing – it would be hard to distinguish the two) and disinfectant spray. It’s got so bad that I think the villagers are dropping in just to pee on the floor. I exaggerate NOT.

We’ve also had more poo munching by the said dog; taking toilet paper (used and a deep shade of …..brown) from the toilet (‘but I always flush the chain, mummy’), a bare bummed Fatty squatting in the garden and releasing his bowels without getting any on his trousers …….or so I thought.

Until,

‘mummy, I wet my trowlers’ as Fatty comes in with his feet apart and his lower body resembling a triangle.

‘all right (feckin feckin feck). Come over here and I’ll take them off…..and your wet shoes and weewee socks”

‘are you cwross, Mummy?’

‘no, fatty but next time, tell me.’

So I cuddle him as I put him up onto my knee, lift up his bum to pull down his ‘trowlers’ and ‘oh, but what’s this on my hand and jeans? I didn’t give you any chocolate, Fatty? AGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Yuk!’

“mummy, are you cwross now?’

The Husband

has gone to Paris.

Yep.

AGAIN.

I know.

The other one is far more demanding and alluring than moi.

Never mind, it’s not like he left half the garden wall pulled down and unfinished and not like he left a power drill switched on in the area that Fatty plays. No…..not like that at all.

Normally, when the Husband is gone, the Prodigal behaves.

I said normally.

But not this time.

The Prodigal

If I could package him up in a box and another box and another box and then cellophane (industrial strength) it, put a chain around it and padlock it and then send it (the box) to a destination 1,000km west of, say,,,,,Sydney……then I would!

I get home at 10.30 this morning:

‘what’s wrong with you, Prodigal?’

‘You’ve come home.’

Great. I can’t say our exchanges got much better from there. Still, it beats him tapping his fingers on the kitchen table (incessantly) for around 15 mins on Sunday when I accused him of having drunk alcohol.

He denied it.

But then he always does.

He gave me some words of wisdom. In his denial of having drunk alcohol and generally tripping over his sober…..yes, sober words, he told me: ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’

Yep. My 18 yr old said that to my 41 year old self.

The Face

Has fans.

Yep. Two girls from the village who hung around (for at least an hour) the (broken, unbuilt, unsecured) garden wall JUST to get a glimpse of him…….. I’m presuming it’s of the Face they’re interested in and not say, the builders bum showing, half naked, wild haired husband. Well, there is no accounting (none) for taste.

The Prof

Has yet to edit his latest love letter to his amour. Currently, he signs off saying:

‘It’s been ages since you rubbed me’ – we need to work on his spelling – it’s not what he meant to say (I hope).

The Lips

Told me not to worry that I couldnt’ remember something as ‘you don’t sleep too good.’

what an understanding child. Funny though, because as he said it, I swear I saw him smile towards his father in a ‘check out the mad old bat’ (yes, each insult has it’s own facial expression).

My parents

Visited us.

I enjoyed that.

We even left the house and ate in a place called a restaurant. Not once but twice.

Fatty

yes, I know that I covered him (and he covered me) earlier but I’ve just realised that he has been asleep for 40 minutes and it’s 5.20 p.m. MERDE!

I’m signing off dear blog/readers/weirdos

but I shall leave you with these wise words:

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

(that’s here as in the village of Nowhere, SW France).

Who will edit this post for me?