And now the News....

Last week, I wrote a post sharing a wee bit of good news with you. I read over it, edited it, added links to it and finally hit 'post', and then somehow inexplicably and extremely annoyingly, I managed to permanently delete it. Grrrrr!

 Since then I've had a birthday- forty three since you ask- which sounds 'sooooo old!' or 'still quite young!' depending on who you ask. And me? Without wishing to sound trite, the older I get the more appreciative I am to just be here at all.

But back to my news. (Yep, my light's still on!) Two weeks ago I got an email telling me that I had received a full bursary to attend the John Hewitt International Summer School later this month.
 A whole delicious week to attend lectures, talks and workshops, to listen and percolate in the literature and poetry of the likes of Bernard Mc Laverty, Joseph O'Connor and Ruth Padel- basically to soak up inspiration and knowledge and words to my hearts content. I'll even get to hear Michael D Higgins, the President of Ireland speak, (while simultaneously assessing his likeness to an actual leprechaun IRL.)

Did I also mention that the bursary also includes a bed to myself and a full Irish breakfast every morning? And is it wrong that I'm just as excited about these as all that literary stuff? No shopping for groceries, no meals to plan, no laundry to sort, no refereeing the endless in car bickering, no 'if that doesn't stop by the time I count to three...'. I could go on but you get the picture. I'm excited. Much.

And honestly? I'm also a little nervous too because you see, I've never done anything like this before, like never. Yes, myself and Himself have been lucky enough to get a few days away together on our own from time to time over the years but alone? Just l'il old me? Never.

And it's not as though I look back and realise that I always had a burning desire to write. To my shame, I never even did GCSE English Literature at school, and certainly no teacher ever pulled me aside to mention any special talents...in anything really.

Looking back, I can see that I just drifted aimlessly along the well trodden paths of others, familiar yes, but with no real insight or self awareness into what lit me up and made me tick and feel truly alive.

And yet somehow, all these years later, and quite by chance I've felt an awakening in my soul-a love for words and a desire to write honestly, about everything and nothing. A need to purge the words onto a page or screen, and to feel the satisfaction creep through me when I do.

 Wise people say we should write what we know. The thing is, what I know is often the mundane and ordinary stuff-the nuts and bolts of an everyday parenting life. But still, writing about it scratches an itch I didn't even know I had, and when it sometimes resonates with others as well,  then that's the flake in my 99!

This year, I went to a writing class and through that I also began to hear about local literary festivals and events I was never aware of before, like The John Hewitt International Summer School in Armagh. Our teacher had told us about the bursaries available, so I filled in a brief online form, explaining why I'd like to attend, and what I'd like to learn, and then a few weeks later -whoop, whoop- I got the email! Just A little bit of luck...and maybe they felt sorry for me, because I may possibly have dropped in 'five kids and not a minute's peace!' in the 'Why you?' Question.

I tried explaining all this to my mum but she just won't listen, because in her mind, I've just won the equivalent of the Man Booker Prize, or possibly become the new Poet Laureate. It doesn't matter at all that she's (thankfully) never read my blog- she's only just learned to google Boden- so she explains vaguely (and a little bit worryingly) to her friends that's it all about me being an unfit mother... or something.

This new information has clearly upped the ante though, and an unmissable opportunity for publicity arose when a new M&S opened in Belfast last week, so on its opening day, the vast majority of Belfast's over 35 female population arrived en masse to give it their seal of approval. My mother, of course, was among them, and after extensive browsing, followed by afternoon tea in the new cafe, it seemed that she punched in the next few hours happily bumping into familiar faces in the flowers and plants department.

 'Seven different people!' She delightedly informed me. 'And all just on our way out the door, and of course I told them ALL about your prestigious award.
'What?,' I said alarmed. 'It's not an award! It's just the chance to listen to proper authors talking, and a few workshops to hopefully get inspired myself, and then there's the free breakfast.'

 But the shutters were down and she was clearly having none of it.
'Nonsense. You're always putting yourself down. It's an award,' She said firmly, and the conversation was closed.

So if you DO meet my one woman PR machine in the new M&S, just to clarify, it's most certainly NOT an award, but for goodness sake, don't tell her that...just nod and smile unless you want the head taken off you. And award or no, I'm still well chuffed, and feeling a bit like this actually.



Later lovelies xx

Friday Quicktakes

1. I am addicted to Ebay at the moment, addicted I tell you.  In a positive way though, as in selling, not buying, much to Himself's relief. I looked with fresh eyes at my wardrobe a few weeks back, and it was bunged with all the things I never wear cos they make me look fat ( it's not me, it's you), or don't fit me anymore, or never actually fitted in the first place but I'd DEFINITELY slim into them by Christmas.

 Then there were the tipsy purchases, (who doesn't love a little Saturday night surfing?), the not so unmissable bargains and the unwanted gifts. (Don't deny it, you do it too). And as I stood there looking at my bulging wardrobe, I suddenly had the urge to cleanse and clear and before you could say Ka-ching, I was uploading pictures with cracking descriptions such as 'too fabulous!' and 'sexy but sooooo elegant'  and 'Go on, grab yourself a bargain!!!!' Clearly I have a knack, because they read so well that I actually wanted to buy them right back off myself, which doesn't even make sense and likely illustrates shopaholic tendencies, which I've no wish to dwell on right now.

 But I've sold over 20 items so far and am now BFFs with the lady in the post office and £300 richer.  A second cull has yielded 30+ more items, so I reckon that'll keep me  the children in shoes for a few more months, AND my wardrobe's never looked so spacious.

2. Last Monday evening, I went to a fab Blogging Tools evening in Maven on the Lisburn Road in Belfast, run by Gemma, who blogs at That Belfast Girl  and Avril from SchoolGateStyle. In a nutshell, these two very successful bloggers treated a group of us to lots of tips, many of which included the important PR side of blogging, Yes, that would be the whole networking and social media side of things that I happen to be completely shit at. It's partially time constraints for me - I find the precious time to squeeze in some writing but then rush straight back to family life, neglecting to do all the important stuff that means people might actually get to read what I've written. So yes, as you can imagine, it was a productive evening for me.

For instance, I learned about a brilliant  photo app called 'A Beautiful Mess' which enabled me make the (teensy bit fabulous) photo collage for my 'Shoe of the Week'. Gemma and Avril  also convinced me that I should try harder to 'get' Twitter AND I'm committed to find out what the actual point of Google+ is, and what it's doing on my blog. (I haven't done it yet,mind, but I'll tell you all about it when I do.)

3.   Overheard.
Two boys at the table having a snack.
Cormac (age 10) - So Lukey, what did you do in nursery today? Who did you play with? Did you have fun? Did you play outside ?
 Luke (age 3)- (calmly) Dude, just stop talking.
Cormac - (incredulously) What????
Luke - Stop talking, dude. (Face-palms)



4. Lent starts next week ....and right at this moment,  I childlishly feel the urge to boo, panto stylee.  I've decided that I'll maybe, possibly, probably give up Facebook for Lent, because giving up the entire internet  would be way too difficult and anyway, I neeeeeeeeed it for my blog, so that's that decision made. I did it last year too, and honestly, the first few days were tough, but it definitely freed up time for other things...like Amazon. I'm joking...no, not really.


5. My boogie in the car seat this week is an oldie, but a goodie. I heard it on the radio earlier this week and it brought me right back to my teens, when I actually remember getting goose bumps every time I heard it on 'Cool Goes Quiet'. Mon dieu, that reveal near the end never gets old.
Enjoy my lovelies, have a fabulous weekend and I'll see you in March! Emx






PS- If you haven't done it already, could you take a wee minute and nominate me in any of the categories you think I fit into in the Mad Blog Awards 2014? I'm hoping it might be a case of three times a charm.Thank you - I very much appreciate it. xx

Hanging on the Telephone

Phones certainly aren't what they used to be. I'm old enough to remember the rotary dial ones that are now  'retro'- we had one LONG after other people had moved on to the 'oh so modern' touch tone phones. Ours was a horrid olive green colour and was attached to the wall in our cloakroom. Unfortunately, this was also directly adjacent to the downstairs loo, so with three brothers I'm sure that you can only imagine the woeful lack of privacy combined with the inevitable toilet noises that accompanied most calls- timing really was everything.

With the rotary dial phone, there was no quick punching in the numbers either. Oh no, you had to wait till the dial noisily whirred and clicked it's way back round before putting in the next digit, which of course gave the game away every time. I remember well huddling among the coats whispering about boys with my BFF only to be rumbled by Big Anne -  'I hear you! Get off that phone! You only left her 5 minutes ago so what could you possibly have to talk about?' If only she knew!

Of course you NEVER, ever made a call until after 6pm. In our house that was dicing with death, especially with the dawn of evil itemised phone bills. Major quarterly interrogations took place in its wake and believe you me, Guantanamo Bay had nothing on my Ma.
 'Someone was on the phone at 5.45pm to a Belfast number, FIFTEEN minutes before the low rate. Was anyone dying because nothing else could be that important! Who was it? Okay then, I'll just ring the number (after 6pm) if the culprit doesn't come forward.'
 Finger moving down the page. ' What!! Dear goodness, there was an INTERNATIONAL call to America costing £32 made in the middle of the night. That has to be a mistake....I mean, who would....?..... JAMES!! JAMES!!! Get down these stairs right now!'

 Later, when we did get a touch button phone, my Dad, understandably enough, put a lock on it straightaway. It was a plastic plate like device that covered most of the buttons and a special key was needed to remove it. Terrible it was too, except that by now Loverboy was on the scene, and motivated by a girlfriend who could never actually phone him, he first studied the lock and then promptly customized a table fork which acted as a substitute key, cleanly popping the plate right off. (The fact that it also cut the inside of my bag to shreds was a small price to pay). Unsurprisingly, the brothers were much less subtle- they simply ripped the plate off and clumsily re-glued it each time which ultimately thwarted my 'special' fork. Clumps of Dried glue on the buttons and an inexplicable rise in the phone bill led to the 'rents raising their game yet again and  a proper pay phone was installed.... Ah good times.

Of course, all this fun and games were long before mobile phones were invented....and Facebook, Twitter, Skype, and the rest. But  as teenagers, even then we still did our level best to stay in touch any way we could with our friends. Looking back it was all so very simple-there was one phone in the house and that was it, so the law breaking was contained.  Now our children get their own phone in primary school. Think of it, their own phone! And often it comes with the entire Internet at their fingertips as well! Then, at that very tender age, we expect them to learn and illustrate restraint and maturity, in the face of  huge temptation and a natural inclination to explore and break the rules. Could I have done it? Do I even now?

 For our oldest two, we opted for fairly basic phones and modest packages and strictly NO WiFi,  in an effort to break them in gently and hopefully teach them to budget and self monitor. So how's that working out?
Put it this way, they're learning...we're learning. It's a work in progress.
Which is why I was delighted when I came across these 18 rules that  Florida mum and blogger Janell Hoffman  laid out for her 13 year old son Greg, who'd just received his first iPhone for Christmas.  I love her wise guidelines and I plan on stealing and implementing most of them as well. Here they are....

12/25/2012
Dear Gregory
Merry Christmas!  You are now the proud owner of an iPhone.  Hot Damn!  You are a good & responsible 13 year old boy and you deserve this gift.  But with the acceptance of this present comes rules and regulations.  Please read through the following contract.  I hope that you understand it is my job to raise you into a well rounded, healthy young man that can function in the world and coexist with technology, not be ruled by it.  Failure to comply with the following list will result in termination of your iPhone ownership.
 I love you madly & look forward to sharing several million text messages with you in the days to come.
 1. It is my phone.  I bought it.  I pay for it.  I am loaning it to you.  Aren’t I the greatest?
 2.  I will always know the password.
 3.   If it rings, answer it.  It is a phone.  Say hello, use your manners.  Do not ever ignore a phone call if the screen reads “Mom” or “Dad”.  Not ever.
 4.  Hand the phone to one of your parents promptly at 7:30pm every school night & every weekend night at 9:00pm.  It will be shut off for the night and turned on again at 7:30am.  If you would not make a call to someone’s land line, wherein their parents may answer first, then do not call or text.  Listen to those instincts and respect other families like we would like to be respected. 
5.  It does not go to school with you.  Have a conversation with the people you text in person.  It’s a life skill.  *Half days, field trips and after school activities will require special consideration.
6.  If it falls into the toilet, smashes on the ground, or vanishes into thin air, you are responsible for the replacement costs or repairs.  Mow a lawn, babysit, stash some birthday money.  It will happen, you should be prepared.
7.  Do not use this technology to lie, fool, or deceive another human being.  Do not involve yourself in conversations that are hurtful to others.  Be a good friend first or stay the hell out of the crossfire. 
8.  Do not text, email, or say anything through this device you would not say in person.
9.  Do not text, email, or say anything to someone that you would not say out loud with their parents in the room.  Censor yourself.
10.  No porn.  Search the web for information you would openly share with me.  If you have a question about anything, ask a person – preferably me or your father. 
11.  Turn it off, silence it, put it away in public.  Especially in a restaurant, at the movies, or while speaking with another human being.  You are not a rude person; do not allow the iPhone to change that.
12.  Do not send or receive pictures of your private parts or anyone else’s private parts.  Don’t laugh.  Someday you will be tempted to do this despite your high intelligence.  It is risky and could ruin your teenage/college/adult life.  It is always a bad idea.  Cyberspace is vast and more powerful than you.  And it is hard to make anything of this magnitude disappear – including a bad reputation.
13.  Don’t take a zillion pictures and videos.  There is no need to document everything.  Live your experiences.  They will be stored in your memory for eternity.
14.  Leave your phone home sometimes and feel safe and secure in that decision.  It is not alive or an extension of you.  Learn to live without it.  Be bigger and more powerful than FOMO – fear of missing out. 
15.  Download music that is new or classic or different than the millions of your peers that listen to the same exact stuff.  Your generation has access to music like never before in history.  Take advantage of that gift.  Expand your horizons.
16.  Play a game with words or puzzles or brain teasers every now and then.
17.  Keep your eyes up.  See the world happening around you.  Stare out a window.  Listen to the birds.  Take a walk.  Talk to a stranger.  Wonder without googling. 
18.  You will mess up.  I will take away your phone.  We will sit down and talk about it.  We will start over again.  You & I, we are always learning.  I am on your team.  We are in this together.
It is my hope that you can agree to these terms.  Most of the lessons listed here do not just apply to the iPhone, but to life.  You are growing up in a fast and ever changing world.  It is exciting and enticing. Keep it simple every chance you get.  Trust your powerful mind and giant heart above any machine.  I love you.  I hope you enjoy your awesome new iPhone.  Merry Christmas!
 xoxoxo
Mom

And Amen to that. Emmax

Hitting pause.

There's loads of stuff going through my mind at the moment. I could talk to you about how depressing it feels to watch the riots in Belfast played out on the TV, the terrible effect it's all having on the Christmas trade here, the damage to the city's fragile reputation and the fear that we're somehow taking an unwelcome step back into troubled days gone by. All because of a flag. Where on earth will it end?

I could also tell you about my old friend's mother who passed away suddenly this week, and the deep sadness I feel for her. I spent lots of time in their home as a child and those bittersweet memories are trickling back. What sorrow now for her family, perhaps even more raw at Christmastime.

I could talk about my cousin and dearest friend Maryrose, who died just before Christmas four years ago, leaving a young family and a loving husband behind her. A terrible loss of a short life that was blessedly lived to the full. An aching, gaping hole that she once filled so beautifully.

And yet despite all of this, here and for now, our little world still turns- there's presents to be bought, meals to be made, uniforms to be washed, carols to be sung. Life pauses in tragedy.... and carries on regardless. It's both a curse and a  grace- the distractions and minutiae of our daily life drag us along with them and very, very slowly, the inner pain lessens. We carry on, not unscathed, nor without scars but still here. And possibly with a greater appreciation for today and for those we love. Sometimes anyway.

But today, I'm definitely not going to talk about any of that, because right now, I'm going to go and put on another load of washing after the vomit-athon we enjoyed here last night and then I'll do the school runs and the homeworks,  and maybe later on I'll go to a wake. And tomorrow? Well, tomorrow I'm going to take myself into Belfast with Loverboy and we're going to enjoy our great city at Christmas time, and ignore the rest... for a little while anyway.  Because life goes on.

Halloween is comin'....

'Halloween is comin' and the goose is gettin' fat. Will ya please put a penny in the ol' man's hat? If ya haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do. If ya haven't got a ha'penny, God bless you. And yer old man too.'

 Does anyone remember that? Cos that's what we sang at Halloween, long before all the 'trick or treating' shenanigans going on now. Actually the first time I ever even heard of trick or treating, was when I watched 'ET' for the very first time. Between that, and the proper scary costumes and face paints all the kids were wearing, I was enthralled! It was Halloween but not as we knew it!
 Belfast style, it was bin liners, tin foil and old sheets. Or in my case, an old 1970's maroon trouser suit of my mammy's. A bit of red lipstick on my nose and I was Coco the clown.  No question, our costumes  weren't wonderfully customized, lovingly made from 'vintage' affairs. They were cobbled together, dragged from the hot press/ wardrobe/ dressing up box, and  tied together with belts, safety pins and string. There was a lot of  'Guess what I am!' going on, and very hit and miss it was too.

Daddy's (not so) old shirt getting the fake blood and slash treatment.....ooooops!

And while we're on the subject - when did pumpkins join the party? I know that nothing says Halloween like a pumpkin, but then I was the turnip generation. And I'm sure that you can appreciate even with rose tinted glasses on,  that's just not the same. At. All.  I mean, there was Elliot and Gertie with their beautifully carved twinkling pumpkins on their doorstep, and we had....a turnip with a hole in it.

Breakfast...Halloween style!

And believe it or not, I'd never actually SEEN a pumpkin IRL, till we lived in America- they've been all over the pumpkin thing there for years- but it was only about 7 or 8 years ago that we've gone mad for it here as well. Now, there's pumpkin patches all over the place, and its all good....except, I suppose, for that hasbeen - the turnip.  Think about it, Halloween must've been a longstanding, much needed gig for the old  turnip, and then in breezes that upstart pumpkin, and that was it- Goodbye Turnip. Disappeared overnight like a vegetable betamax. And back in the day, you know, long before we had zucchinis and bean sprouts and rocket, the turnip was a player- a staple in every trolley. But now? When did you last see Jamie Oliver or Nigella getting all het up over the lowly turnip?  (Okay, I've clearly lost the plot when I'm feeling sorry for a vegetable-moving quickly on....).


Ducking for apples, masks with elastic bands on the back, monkey nuts, tarts with hidden 10p pieces  in tinfoil , sparklers, Bengal matches- these are my Halloween memories, and possibly amidst the pumpkins, the trick or treating, and the Harry Potter costumes,  I'm feeling a little bit, well, errrrm,  old. And even though I'm loving all the shiny new traditions,  I'm maybe missing the older ones a wee bit too. Maybe it's an age thing. Or maybe I should just go all vintage for Halloween around here... What about you? What did/ does your Halloween look like? Go on, do share...

Our Premier Weekend!

 So, we FINALLY got around to using our fancy restaurant voucher from Secret Santa on Friday night. It had actually expired a month before, but after the obligatory groveling phone call, we booked a table and sorted the sitter.
 Alright then, that's not EXACTLY how it went down... You see, I had come across the voucher, immediately after throwing a (totally justified) strop, about a certain person's apparent inability to make even the most basic of social plans, concluding with,
'Oh, and you needn't think I'm booking my own birthday meal again this year, cos I'm not.. unless of course, you've it all organised already?'
 (As if). Cue exaggerated feigned innocence from me, and predictable 'caught in the headlights' shiftiness from him. 
Later on, I strategically positioned the voucher next to the kettle with highish hopes, but a few days later, I quietly backtracked and rang the restaurant to do it myself. I did the whole grovelling thing, only to then sheepishly discover, that my less than subtle hint HAD indeed been heeded. Proof that a well placed metaphorical boot up the arse does actually work... sometimes.

Our room

Then it just so happened, that soon after that, I got an email from Premier Inn, offering me and my family a weekend in any of their hotels. I know-tres exciting! (Back story-Premier Inns are sponsoring the 'Family Life' category in the MAD BLOG AWARDS, and as one of the finalists in that category, they offered this lovely freebie to little old me.)
Unfortunately, and to cut a very long story short, it turned out that our super size family was too big for their family rooms. So instead, it was decided that the two of us would stay in the Premier Inn in Belfast's Waring Street, in the hip and happening Cathedral Quarter, after our fancy meal out on  Friday night. Then, after a day out in Belfast on the Saturday with the kids, all of us would have dinner in the hotel restaurant that evening. Sure, it would've been rude not to....
I suppose that I should mention at this point, that Belfast's most gorgeous 5 * hotel also happens to be on Waring Street, and on passing it, it took ALL my willpower to focus on the purple Premier Inn sign further up the street, and not get waylaid by all it's 5* fabulousness....but, believe it or not, I was glad that I did.
Honestly, from the moment we arrived until the moment we left, I don't think I've met nicer, more welcoming staff anywhere (and just for the record, they had no idea of my superstar status!) It's true -from Rachel on reception, to Marty in the restaurant, to lots of others who just chatted to us and the children, everyone was friendly, helpful and chatty, without being fake, in your face, or just too much. In fact, they could teach many fancier hotels a thing or two!
Our room was huge, bright, and spotlessly clean, and the bed turned out to be super comfortable- always a bonus! Once we were settled, Loverboy went down to the bar to get us both a glass of wine, and discovered that if you bought 2 glasses, you got the rest of the bottle free! (Now you won't get that in Fancy Schmancy up the street!)

Gotta love the brekkie!

 It must be said though, that breakfast next morning in the Thyme Restaurant was the piece de la resistance. It was self service, with Costa coffee, the freshest of cereals, fruit, toast, muffins and all the cooked breakfast goodies as well. I was only sorry that the kids weren't there to enjoy it too, because for them, nothing says 'I love you' like an 'all you can eat' breakfast!
 (The only minor downside was my unlucky view of the next table- each time this Lovely leaned forward, I was treated to more of the same!)

The view...now that's some craic!

After collecting the kids from my mum's, we headed into the brilliant St. George's Market, where I could happily have put in the day, but we'd pre booked tickets to the  Titanic Museum, and honestly, it was world class. Informative, emotional, exciting-everything a museum should be. If you get the chance, go. Afterwards, when we stood on the exact spot where her keel was laid and gazed into the water where she was first launched, it was surprisingly moving.

Then it was back to the Premier Inn's Thyme restaurant for dinner with the kids. We had the meal deal, which was 3 courses and a glass of wine or soft drink for £22, and the kids had an great selection to choose from for £4.25, or £4.75 with dessert. (There was even a baby and toddler menu for up to 7 months and 10 months+!) The food was tasty and seemed to really hit the spot- proof were the clean plates afterwards!

Add caption

But the big question is-would I go back to the Premier Inn and pay for it this time? For a family break, the answer is a resounding YES! In terms of a child friendly, great value hotel,  it's top of its field. (We stayed recently in a Holiday Inn and there was simply NO comparison).And the icing on the cake was definitely the staff- in Waring Street Belfast anyway. 
So that was my weekend..did you get up to anything yourself?

Titanic- enough already!

Complete with bulkheads...yes, really.

Elsewhere, Titanic fever may have died down somewhat, but round here it's still very much in vogue.
It would also be fair to say, that out of the four boys, Rory is most enthralled and, not a day goes by, where I don't find a 'Titanic', in the sink or bath or shower. Often cobbled together from anything he can scavenge out of the recycling bin, he gets busy with scissors and Sellotape and produces... well, these.
Although usually all christened 'Titanic', this week he mixed it up a bit, with a 'Carpathia'!  Understandably enough though, upon learning that Carpathia didn't actually sink, she too reverted to Titanic...because obviously a huge part of the enjoyment is seeing how long these, (let's loosely call them), ships, take to sink. Personally though, my very favourite part, is discovering the wrecks of these sunken vessels in the bottom of a filled bath...because if you've never experienced the clean up of huge sodden piles of disintegrating cardboard, quite frankly, you haven't lived.

Yes, that IS a cheeky Fly London shoebox you spy!

Following his 'Life on Board Titanic' project, Jude has been pondering, (seemingly endlessly), the big question of which class OUR family would have been aboard Titanic. With first class obviously out of the question, second was the preferred choice, with it's clear benefits of an elevator and a live band, but, as it turned out, steerage was also deemed perfectly acceptable. With four good meals a day, (Four mummy! That's more than we get at home!), bunk bed rooms, and music in the evenings, what's not to like, apparently? Indeed, upon overhearing, one might assume that he was excitedly discussing his upcoming holiday, as he, quite impressively, manages to sidestep the whole pesky iceberg issue entirely.

I  MAY have mentioned this before ;-) but I'm a finalist in two categories in the MAD Blog Awards. If you're feeling any love at all for this wee blog, I'd really appreciate it if you could vote for me in the Family Life category (the other one is decided by judges). Here's the link- http://www.the-mads.com/vote.htm and thank you very much xxxx
PS While you're there, check out the other finalists-who'd have believed there were so many amazing blogs out there?

Down to Earth with a Bump!

Ah well, all good things must come to an end. Isn't that an awful glass half empty, buzzkill of an expression, though? To me, it smacks of Mondays and holidays ending and diets starting and bloody loads of ironing....or maybe I'm just reading too much into it?

The cocktail bar in The Merchant

 Fittingly, the media whirlwind of last week was topped off with a wee night away in the Merchant* with Loverboy-only the fanciest schmanciest hotel in Belfast! It was a gift for his recent (big) birthday from his brother and sister in law, and it even included babysitting! Now, THAT'S what I call a present! Don't take this the wrong way but, (speaking for myself), it was a zillion times better than last year's gift of sewer rods.  Although not an obvious gift choice, they've proved to be very useful in their own way, and Loverboy certainly seems to spend many a happy hour outside, sticking them down drains or whatever else you do with them.
That said, I'd be lying if I said that this year's gift wasn't much closer to my own heart, and even though it wasn't technically my present, I can enjoy it too, non? And logically, as my appreciation likely deepens HIS enjoyment, everyone's a winner here!
So, into the Big Smoke we went, straight to the brand new Mac for a constitutional glass of wine and a yummy cheese and ham toastie, which was somewhat pretentiously named a Croque Monsieur. (Or maybe they were being ironic? I'm not sure.) Then it was off around the town, soaking up the atmosphere and having a mooch in the shops.

Nice work, if you can get it!

I just HAD to show you the picture of this boyo though, (and yes we did put money in his basket!). Is this not the laziest bit of busking you've ever seen in your life? What basically happens is, he sticks on a bit of music and then kicks back while the two giant Tiny Tears up the front do all the work! Not a bad gig at all and it got me thinking about 'Billy Bass' on the wall in the playroom.He's a fish on a plaque that wriggles about and sings 'Dont Worry, Be Happy' and 'Take me to the River'. Now, what's to stop me bringing Billy,  a load of batteries, a picnic, a deck chair, and most importantly of all, a sturdy cash receptacle, and setting up in Corn Market some Saturday afternoon? Bound to be worth a few quid surely, and the craic'd be ninety!

To the manor born..

After that, it was off to the Merchant, and up to our HUGE art deco inspired room- pure luxury-it even had gold leather cushioned doors on the wardrobe, and a mirror with lights right around it, just like in Cabaret! I was in heaven! Honestly though, how does one stay in a Holiday Inn after this? For me, the answer is an unequivocal 'they don't !' (unless of course, you've 5 kids in tow, in which case all bets are off.)
 We went up for a nosy to the top floor, where there's a gym, (as if) and an outdoor hot tub looking out over the city. Perfect for quaffing champers in, but unfortunately, another couple had the same idea. Himself and myself couldn't be arsed making small talk, and besides, I'd just had a blow dry and hadn't shaved my legs, so we headed back to the room to languish happily, reading magazines and 'double Apple-ing'**(Me!), before heading out for dinner.
 In the midst of all this relaxation, I became terribly distracted by a photograph, posted by a friend on my Facebook wall, of one of the most delicious caramel squares I'd ever clapped eyes on. Instantly demanding to know who supplied her, she informed me of an entire stall dedicated to tray bakes in St. George's market -just ponder on that for a moment- because quite frankly, I've been able to think of little else ever since. So in the name of research, I'm off to see the wizard next weekend and I intend to stockpile several- I even plan on testing their freezability potential, but don't fret, I'll give you a full and detailed analysis.
It has to be said, that it was the loveliest of twenty four hours- my only complaint was that it wasn't long enough! One minute I was in the Great Room in the Merchant having a 3 course breakfast, and the next, (or so it seemed!), putting on a wash and making the lunches. Talk about down to earth with a bump! Then again, maybe it helps you appreciate it all the more? And sure, as someone helpfully reminded me- all good things must come to an end....
 * I am not being sponsored to give lovely compliments to this hotel....but I SO would if I was asked.*bats eyelashes*
** Managing two Apple products simultaneously. 


I MAY have mentioned this before ;-) but I'm a finalist in two categories in the MAD Blog Awards. If you're feeling any love at all for this wee blog, I'd really appreciate it if you could vote for me in the Family Life category (the other one is decided by judges). Here's the link- http://www.the-mads.com/vote.htm and thank you very much xxxx
PS While you're there, check out the other finalists-who'd have believed there were so many amazing blogs out there?

The Graveyard Shift

I'm always dropping hints for flowers but..

Allow me to show you my most recent little 'gift' from Rory- these lovely, (fake), red flowers! Any guesses where he got them? Anyone? I'll just come right out with it then- he got them from the yellow skip at the bottom of the grave yard, and was at once both thrilled at finding such treasures, and completely bewildered as to why anyone would place them in a skip in the first place.He and Cormac had just enjoyed a pleasurable half hour actually IN the skip itself, having a good old hoke through it, unearthing all kinds of junk treasures.
Now that I've told you THAT, I feel the need to explain how two of my boys came to be find themselves in such an unorthodox playground in the first place. Well, it's really quite simple- I was on church cleaning duty with another girl that afternoon. (Now, I do realise that sounds terribly worthy, and although I'm very tempted to leave you with that (erroneous) impression, I really should put it in context. I'm on a rota to help out, and it only comes up every few months, so it's no biggie and I figure it cancels out the odd Villa Maria binge here and there.)
Anyway, I'd asked my neighbour, who I share school runs with, to drop my boys at the church after school, so she did. As usual, they were very keen to 'help', but after first tramping over our freshly mopped floors, then cleaning the Virgin Mary statue over enthusiastically with feather dusters, I instructed them play outside, while we finished off. Which is how I came to find them, shortly after, shooting the breeze in the skip.
I have to say, and I suspect grave yard appreciation may be an age thing, but as graveyards go, this one's a cracker. It's on a hill, in the countryside, beside a beautiful stone church-all and all not a bad place to wind up. If Carlsberg did graveyards.....
Honestly, even my mum has her eye on a plot there. Belfast, it seems, though a grand place to spend a lifetime, is less desirable eternity wise. Too noisy, too crowded, and you never know who you'd be put next to. No, no, apparently the place to be for the long haul is little old Glenavy!  People are DYING to get in, (sorry couldn't resist!), but Loverboy has assured her, that as her eternal comfort is of the utmost importance to him, he'll personally select a prime plot.....he's SO very thoughtful that way.

Titanic Much?

Titanic leaving Belfast

Titanic mania reached its peak this week with the 100th anniversary of its sinking, but surely nowhere more than here in Belfast, aka Titanic town. It's EVERYWHERE. Even in the hotel last week, the walls were covered with Titanic inspired paintings, (an artist somewhere is sooo making a killing), while 'authentic' Titanic afternoon teas were being served on the terrace. (Presumably these were the teas enjoyed on the upper decks and not by the poor sods in steerage class).
On the TV and radio over the last few weeks it's been programme after programme, (Even Len Goodman was jumping on the bandwagon for goodness sake!), and 'A Night to Remember' seemed to be running on a loop. There's commemorative supplements in all the newspapers and last week the Belfast Telegraph issued Titanic medals! 

Titanic museum, Belfast

There are tours-a -plenty and the new Titanic museum opened its doors here in Belfast last week to sell out crowds- tickets have been like hens' teeth, but personally, I think I'll wait till it settles down a bit myself. 

See that Rose one...

Oh, and James Cameron's Titanic movie has been shamelessly re-released in 3D as well- (like he didn't make enough first time around!) I remember seeing it in Virginia in 1997- we had just moved there a few months earlier, it was 2 BC ( Before Children),  my cousin was visiting and the three of us went on a cold December night. I was secretly thrilled to see Belfast featured, albeit briefly, on the big screen so far from home, and cried my way through it along with everyone else. Fast forward to this weekend, and our Anna asked to go see it on Saturday with her pals. It's a 12 certificate, and although she IS 12, we're pretty strict about  TV and movies in general, and my practiced parental mind immediately filtered through my memory bank, bypassing all it's historical value, zooming in instead, on Rose lying in the nudie rudie being painted by a bloke she'd only just met..then subsequently getting up to no good in the back of the car!  But we discussed it and decided to let her go, and later, when she arrived home red eyed, she announced that it was the saddest film she'd ever seen in her life and she cried the whole way through....and she'd had the best time ever. (And happily she was at the loo at the car bit ...cos I checked.)
But where was I? Oh yes, despite feeling more than a bit Titanic-ed out, I just can't help being proud of the increased tourism and buzz that Titanic fever has brought to Belfast. You see, like so many of us, I remember the bad old days all too well, when a backpacker was a rare sight, and anyway, we just automatically assumed they were here by mistake. When the streets of Belfast were all closed off at night, with barriers, and soldiers and barbed wire... but sure that's another blog altogether!
Now, haven't we only gone and got ourselves a Titanic Quarter? (along with Queen's, Cathedral and Gaeltacht ) To me, it's another welcome string in the bow of a town, that's long been the black sheep of Irish tourism, but my goodness, she does scrub up well.

Titanic in Belfast

And no, I don't subscribe to the school of thought that thinks that remembering, celebrating and, (God forbid), capitalising on Titanic, is somehow in poor taste. This was a TERRIBLE human disaster, but it happened 100 years ago, and is no longer in living memory. Also-let's be realistic here-so much of history is made up of tragedy, and every society has to learn from the mistakes of it's forefathers. If we only acknowledged the happy endings, it would be a false history indeed. At the time it was built, Titanic was a triumph of modern engineering and it was built right here in little old Belfast. My aunt told me, that my great grandfather recalled going to the shipyards, just to marvel at its size and beauty. He also remembered waving, along with so many others, as it sailed from the docks up Belfast Lough on its way to Southhampton. (Actually, it may be in slightly poor taste,  if you so wish you can even buy a t shirt that states 'Titanic- it was alright when it left here...' and I couldn't help but smile.. not least because it's true!)
But now the anniversary's over and the media coverage will settle down, the Titanic afternoon teas will finish, and the queues for the museum will shorten. From here on in though, I believe that Titanic and Belfast will be forever inextricably linked, both for us and in the eyes of the world, and to me that's a very rich legacy indeed.

Monday, Monday....

It would be true to say that I've had better Mondays. It began with a little voice in my ear whispering, 'Mummy, the tooth fairy forgot to come'. Bugger bugger bugger. I blearily opened my eyes to peer at the disappointment in Rory's little face and wanted to shut them again.

'Don't you worry, the Easter holidays are coming so there must be a back log. She'll DEFINITELY be here tonight, you wait and see.'

I'm not really sure what's going on with Rory's mouth at the moment, but the tooth fairy has her feet run off her for the last month or so. He is literally losing a tooth every few weeks, with the result that he now has more gaps than teeth. So, picture bloody perfect for the fast approaching family weddings and Holy Communion then!

Then, Jude came in to inform me that there was no milk for the cereal. Not. A. Drop. To Jude, for whom cereal is a food group all on its own, this was hard to take in.

'Well, could Daddy not go and get some?
'No he can't, not this morning.'

'But why not?'

There was an edge of desperation in his tone now, and he was actually beginning to wring his hands.
'Because daddy is sort of busy this morning.'
 'But Mummy, where IS Daddy and why can't he get the milk?'

'Well, if you really want to know, he's sitting in the car at the top of the road reading a magazine.'

Yes, you really did read that right. For after dropping Anna off to the school bus at 730am, he parked the car, took out his magazine and enjoyed a spot of 'me' time for, as it turned out, two hours. But not before thoughtfully polishing off the end of the milk for his own cereal first.

Meanwhile, Jude worked his way through bafflement, (What! Why?), to denial, ('Maybe there IS some milk and I just missed it'), to bitter disappointment, ('I just can't believe this is happening to me'), and finally to acceptance, ('I suppose pancakes will have to do, just this once'.)

I grumped about a bit, organising the boys for school, mildly annoyed at not being able to walk off that caramel egg I'd consumed at 10 o'clock the night before, and I don't mind telling you, the mental image of Himself chill-axing, with the seat reclined and a bellyful of milk was hard to take.

So how did it come to this, I hear you plead? Well now, to answer THAT, I'll have to rewind to Saturday morning, or actually to even further back last week, when I decided to clear out all the wardrobes of Winter clothes. Hours and hours it took me, and when I'd finished, there were piles of bags, about 10 in all, bound for various destinations. The best quality stuff was organised by age and gender and earmarked for various younger cousins and friends. There were bags of shoes for a shoe appeal in Africa, (for which Loverboy felt the need to unhelpfully query whether my red patent wedge boots would be fully appreciated, or even particularly practical. As it happens, despite appearances they're VERY comfortable.)

The other bags- mostly well worn clothes that had already been passed down through my boys, and the adult clothes, were ready for the St Vincent de Paul dropoff bin at the top of our road. Mindful of the number of bags, and the potential for confusion, I had placed all the bags for charity on the landing, while all the Belfast bound bags were safely in the back of my minivan. Then, on Saturday morning, I asked Loverboy to bring the charity bags to the bin at the top of the road, and although I knew I was labouring the point a fair bit, I cautioned him several times to make sure the charity bags were kept seperate from the family bags in the boot. And he did. I know this because I surreptiously watched him put them into the car - I just couldn't help myself-so feeling reassured, I watched him drive off.

The money shot...

Oh no! Surely not! He couldn't have, I hear you say! But oh yes, indeed he could and did. For reasons, I still cannot fathom, he somehow managed to put several of the wrong bags into the charity bin, before realizing his gargantuan mistake. Apparently, at that point he then did everything he could, save climbing into the bin, to retrieve the bags. To no avail for the damage was done. To cut a long story short, after bracing himself for my incredulous wrath, he managed to find out when the van came round to empty the bin, and yes, you've guessed it, it was Monday morning. So there you have it- after two hours he ended up retrieving the bags, I got the kids to school, stopping to take the money shot on the way, and bought more milk. Then later on, I squeezed that walk in and have it on good authority that the tooth fairy will definitely be making a stop here tonight too, So all's well that ends well. Happy Monday y'all! Emmax

The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse

Oh dear, how I hate January! Despite the fact that I'm definitely ready for Christmas to be over when it rolls around, I always wish that I could just  fast forward to the first week in February, and thus bypass the whole January buzzkill completely .
For me, along with the extra muffin top and the school runs in the dark, my annual country vs city struggle inevitably reaches it peak right about now. It tends to build momentum as November closes in, is temporarily sidetracked by Christmas, and then returns full throttle in the New Year. Oh yes, as you can probably imagine, Loverboy just LOVES me in January! I know that he grits his teeth as I do my nightly online property search, scouring suitable houses within the city limits ( OK then-it's mostly BT9,) for our tribe to move to. Unfortunately though, unless I plan on selling a kidney, or a couple of children, they're few and far between.

My favourite magazine.....no, not really!

Out here in the country, we're lucky enough to have lots of inside and outside space- a real necessity with a big family. What we DON'T have is proximity and convenience to pretty much everything and I find that a real drag. Growing up in the city meant that I took for granted being able to walk to chic shops, numerous restaurants, gourmet cafes and friends' and family's houses. Our previously unplanned decision to move to the country six years ago, was driven by a house sale falling through and our fourth child's imminent arrival. (Oh and for the record, I don't believe that Loverboy has ever REALLY appreciated the depth of trauma suffered, on moving here a short month after Starbucks opened at the end of our street - just saying.. )
I think it's probably what you're used to-what you grow up with, I mean- because I remember years ago, on first contemplating a move to just outside Washington DC, several people here cautioned ' Are you sure you want to move to the murder capital of the world?'  Then, when we got there, and folks learned we were from Belfast, THEY shook their heads and sympathized 'I'm sure you're glad to be out of war torn Belfast!' Similarly, but less dramatically, when we mentioned that we were moving from the city to the country, shocked Belfast people clucked reassuringly, 'Don't worry, it's not forever', while country people congratulated us on getting out of the dirty old city!
I suppose that everyone wants to believe that where they live is the best. And maybe it is...for them. As a city girl, I HAVE found aspects of the transition tough. (Really!? I hear you say disbelievingly!) I find that I miss silly things like footpaths and chimney pots and horns beeping.... and family. But thankfully, as February creeps in and with the promise of Spring just around the corner, I begin to notice and appreciate again all the really great things about living here. The wonderful school, the best of  friends, the real sense of community, the idyllic childhood our children love, the space around us, the changing of seasons...and as for the rest-well, a diesel car, a good taxi firm and filling our lives and home with friends and family all helps.

I'm getting me one of these bad boys..

You see, I'm only too aware that it's not just all about me, me, me-there are six others living here as well, and we DO have a good balance for now. That will naturally change over time, and if I'm honest, I know that we won't be here forever - as the children gradually migrate from our little corner of the world, I'm pretty sure we'll follow. But in the meantime, during the winter, and most especially in January, I'm sucking it up, knowing that Spring is a-coming and anyhow, I know how to make a skinny extra hot latte even better than Starbucks!