Looky-likey

I got a text from my friend Nuala last night, telling me that she  thought I looked just like Bernice from Emmerdale. Now, I  don't watch Emmerdale myself- it was always on that little bit too early and anyway I'm  completely loyal to EastEnders, and one soap's enough for anyone, but I was immediately keen to know what this Bernice looked like all the same.

 Then I  remembered that a parent at school had told me the very same thing a few months before, but slightly worryingly, it had gone in one ear and out the other. However, I do recall mildly hoping that her name wasn't Bernice Dingle, because even I knew that the entire Dingle clan had fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every single branch on the way down. Yes,  I know that its what's inside that counts, but I'm still vain enough to hope that Bernice didn't resemble Heather from EastEnders.

I'm sooooo taking this one...

So, it was with a frisson of apprehension that I asked Mr Google for images of  Bernice from
Emmerdale....and was really very pleasantly surprised. Of course some photos were better than others, and obviously I've selected the best for here, but still, I was most relieved and mucho flattered..... especially as I'm up to my eyeballs in PMT, and therefore feeling decidedly frumpy, so this casual little Bernice themed text from Nuala *blows kisses* was timed to perfection.

Possibly more accurate...but still!

Go on then, squint if you have to....

Rainy Days and Mondays

So, if you were thinking this might be a cheery, uplifting kinda post on an August Monday, just stop reading now. Actually, run as fast as you can and don't look back, cos I feel a mind dump coming on, a need to share, to get things off my chest and once I pop I just won't stop. (God, it must be bad if I'm quoting the Pringles ad). 

It's nothing serious - just post holiday, bad weather, Monday morning, dirty nappy blues. With a little bit of PMT, feeling fat, and a shit load of laundry thrown in for good measure. ( There's a country song in that, I just KNOW it).

First, the post holiday stuff, which I suppose isn't technically true, it just sorta feels that way. Loverboy is back to work today, which is grand except that we're up here in the Caravilla, so it's a bit..weird. And quite frankly, a lot stressful so far, on account of the torrential rain outside and the 5 kids inside.
To be fair, the weather has been gorgeous for the last few days, so we're due a downpour, but close your eyes and  imagine for one long delicious moment, the logistics of torrential rain, Himself working, on important conference calls and the like, while trying to stop 5 kids bickering and bouncing off the (very thin) walls, less than two feet away. The fun just never stops! I'm actually afraid to look at the weather forecast now. It's always wrong anyway, but if they tell me it's gonna be like this all week, I'll have the car packed and be screeching my way back over the Glenshane, before he breaks for tea and a hobnob. 

Another problem is the laundry - let's just say that on my caravilla shopping list for next year, is my very own washing machine. Lots of people have them in their sheds up here, (everyone has a shed for 'stuff' out the back of the Caravilla), and when I'm hanging out my washing, and hear our next door neighbour's machine, unmistakably entering it's final spin cycle, I'm OVERCOME with jealousy.
The rest of us have to go down the 'laundry room' route, which I HATE. You have to buy these stupid cards for a euro each in the site office and it takes 3-4 for a wash. The main problem, is that the office seems to be closed about 50% of the time, which means unless you have a stockpile of the cards, washing wise you're f**ked.
This week, those (lazy sods) manning the office, have inconsiderately taken themselves off to England for a family wedding, so it's been shut for days. Days which inevitably, were only the best drying days of the entire summer. So now, I have a pile of laundry so big, it should be paying rent, but instead, it's piled up in the hall so high, the kids have to climb over it just to reach the toilet.
The problem now, is that even in the unlikely event of the office opening today, the chances of getting any washing dried outside in that rain are almost nil, which only leaves the 'sell a kidney'  tumble dryers option. But SOMETHING must be done, as the situation is now so dire, the boys are, as a man, down to their last clean whips. Which means that the inevitable next step is turning them inside out, or worse going commando, both of which makes their eventual washing even less appealing. 

Luke, on the other hand, is still in pull ups, which has its own pros and cons. It seems that for him, a fresh pull up indicates the optimum time to test it's capacity.  Certainly not in the one he's had on all morning - no, no, it MUST be the very last new one I have in my handbag. Once on, he positions himself at the arm of the couch, knees slightly bent, bottom out, slightly furrowed brow and gets to work. If I catch his eye, he smiles cheerily, points in the general direction of his bum, and chirps 'Stinky Nappy!', as if simply passing the time of day. All of which tells me he's ready for potty training, but despite having ordered the creme de la creme of potties, with the lovely padded seat, I just can't face it yet. Soon though, definitely soon.

Anyway, I feel much better now after dumping that on you, and while I was writing this, the sun made a brief appearance and I actually managed to craftily bribe all the wee-ans to push Luke to the sweetie shop and back, so right now I'm necking the coffee, ignoring the laundry and  enjoying the peace. Hope Monday's good to you all, emx

The Caravilla Experience

So where was I? Oh yes, we were just about to head to the caravilla for our inaugural trip. Just to put you in the picture, prior to that, I'd had the most head spinningly, busy week, so by the Saturday, (our proposed day of departure), I took one look at the driving rain, and another at all that needed to be done before we left, and descended swiftly into the blackest of moods.
In all honesty, at that moment, the only thing that would have pleased me, would have been waving the whole troop off, double bolting the doors behind them, and bedding down in blissful solitude with the remote, Hello magazine and lots of chocolate. (Did I mention I was PMTed as well?) As that was clearly 50 shades of pure fantasy, (without even the faintest whiff of Mr Grey), I grudgingly got stuck into the packing.
Much later, after final orders for the toilet, (When did you go last? Go and try anyway.), indulging in my usual OCD checking frenzies, (Did I lock the door/unplug my hairdryer/turn off the computer?), and somehow squeezing in that extra box of cereals, we were good to go. It may have been many hours after our ETD, but excitement was in the air and even the relentless rain didn't dampen spirits...(Nah,that came later!)

I would actually!

Hopes and expectations were high- I REALLY wanted it to be a good first week. I wanted to be able to  reassure each other, that spending all the money on the caravilla had been the right thing to do. 'Sure where would you get it? And isn't it fabulous? And aren't we lucky!' I suppose in the back of my mind, I knew that I was the weakest link. I knew that the kids would love it regardless, and that Loverboy had spent all his childhood summers in caravans, while I had only one horrendous experience to draw from, which had left lingering, unwanted doubts in my mind, as to whether I was cut out for it at all! I wanted very much to embrace it, but in order to do that, I had to just jump right in there for a good old stretch, and see how it went. Oh, I could talk the talk about caravillas till the cows came home, but could I walk the walk? And if I couldn't, would I learn to? Or just suck it up and get on with it? For years and years on end?
I'll be honest though, it was a tough start. It rained relentlessly for the first few days. This actually meant, that it had rained relentlessly every single time we'd been up so far, and when I read in the paper en route, that it was going to rain for for several decades at least, I felt a big knot in my stomach that definitely wasn't eager anticipation.
Don't get me wrong- one doesn't go to Donegal for the weather. I know this. And that suits me just fine, because I'm not a hot weather kinda gal. I'm blessed with a bluey, white complexion that prickles, freckles, swells and burns in the sun. Blessed, I tell you. But three days of driving rain was wearing thin, with all seven of us inside, and the TV not working properly yet.
I'd also made several glaring errors on my packing front, the most serious of which was overpacking excessively on the heels/jewellry/ floaty scarves front, and drastically under packing, in the sensible footwear/ knickers front. Under packing, as in none whatsoever... at all. What was I thinking!? An emergency knicker-buying trip to Letterkenny was immediately scheduled, but I still had to make do with my leopard print platform wedges as my only 'covered in' shoes.
Then to top it all off nicely, having been feeling rundown and generally exhausted for several days, the most grotesque monstrosity of a coldsore appeared on my lip, right in time for my birthday. It was the  icing on the cake, so to speak... Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, very gradually and hardly without my noticing,things began to improve. The rain stopped (mostly!), and we had a few beautiful days. (We actually needed sun cream, only I forgot it and the kids got roasted).

My new Wellibobs!

Little by little, I began to feel better, the kids made lots of friends, we walked the beach, barbequed and drank wine. I learned how to work the washing machines, we decided to put a deck on after all, my numerous sandals got worn and my mum and dad came to visit. Then his mum and dad came to visit, we ate 99s, I'd a lovely birthday lunch with friends, we started watching 'Game of Thrones', and I ordered wellibobs (thanks Johan!). I'd breakfast in bed, we ate enormous picnics, the kids went crabbing, we had a lunchdate alone, and then on our last night, we congratulated each other on buying the caravilla. 'Sure where would you get it? And isnt it fabulous? And aren't we lucky?'
 My goodness-It was such a relief to feel like that, and if truth be told, when it came to it, I didn't want to come home ...and now I can't wait to get up there again!  Note to self- next time though, I'll be ditching the wedges for wellibobs, and remembering to pack the knickers!