It's Not You, It's Me.

I've been putting this moment off for a while now.

I've been changing my mind, and making excuses but now the time has come. So I'm just going to come right out and say it...

We need to take a break.
 I need some time to go and do other things.

 I'm really going to miss you though. Yes, we've had our ups and downs but three years is a long time and you've always been there for me. I've learned so much from you too.

You've given me confidence in myself and pointed me down a path that I didn't know even know was there before. And I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for that.

You know you'll always be special, no matter what and I wish we could just go on as we are, but it wouldn't be fair..to either of us. And yes, I know there's a good chance that you'll  fall for someone else but that's a risk I have to to take.

And anyway,  I'm kinda secretly hoping  we might still hook up sometimes? As in, do you think you might  be open to the occasional booty call?
Don't look at me like that...you know you've always liked my cheeky side!  

So I'm just going to quietly exit stage left now. I've never liked goodbyes and this isn't one ....it's more a 'Catch you in the long grass' and in the immortal words of Arnold Schwarzenegger 'I'll be back.'

  Laters lovelies and thanks for the craic,
 Emma xx

Almost Time.

 He starts big school on Friday and he's all set. Cars school bag, Gruffalo flask, Mickey Mouse pencil case, all lovingly chosen. Last night I cut his hair. He's counting the days down, excited and ready, and I am too...mostly.

It's a new stage for both of us. But change can be scary too- unlike the other four, this time there's no baby coming after.
That's my baby over there with the school bag - how did it happen so fast? 

And no, I'm not broody since you ask - I'm excited about a little quiet in the mornings and maybe even some space to write and drink coffee without interruptions.  It's been a long time coming, Hell, I've even been looking forward to it ...so why do I feel the warm breath of melancholy on my cheek?

 I remember an old Irish ballad, one I learned to sing when I still wore a uniform myself, when the words were just words and they didn't speak to my heart like they do now. My Granny used to get me to sing it sometimes on a Sunday, and I'd wonder why she always wiped her eyes after. Now I know. 

Wee Hughie

He’s gone to school, wee Hughie,
An' him not four,
Sure I saw the fright was in him
When he left the door.

But he took a hand o’ Denny, 
An’ a hand o’ Dan,
Wi’ Joe’s owld coat upon him
Och the poor wee man!

 He cut the quarest figure, 
More stout not thin:

An’ trotting right and steady
Wi’ his toes turned in.

I watched him to the corner 

O' the big turf stack,

An' the more his feet went forrit,
Still his head turned back.

He was lookin' would I call him,
Och my heart was low,
Sure it's lost I am without him,
But he be to go.

 I followed to the turnin’ 
When they passed it by,
God help him he was cryin',
An', maybe, so was I.

Elizabeth Shane

Friday Quicktakes

1. It was midterm break this week, so we decided to take a wee run up to check on the caravilla. We'd winterized it in October, (I DIDN'T make that word up), and this was our first time checking  on it. We'd put down industrial amounts of silica gel and salt to absorb the moisture, but we'd also heard about the dreaded mould, so it was with a certain amount of trepidation that we opened the door.  But.... it was grand, except for the basket holding the crocs and sandals. I didn't notice it initially, but then it dawned on me that it didn't seem to be made from brown wicker anymore, rather it seemed fashioned from white/green cotton wool. Nice. Note to self-you can't winterize wicker.

2. Staying on the Caravilla theme, it really did feel lovely to be up there again. It was a beautiful, bitterly cold day, and completely deserted, so understandably enough I used the opportunity to nosy unchecked through the windows of the other Caravillas. (Sure you'd do it yourself!)
I could almost imagine as I wandered through, the play park filled with kids, the smell of the barbecues, the sound of the icecream van- the promise of the new season seemed just around the corner and I'll admit I felt a real frisson of excitement ..kinda like Mr Kellerman must have felt at the beginning of Dirty Dancing, and Baby and Johnny and salsa classes and watermelons and 'nobody puts Baby in a corner' and I can definitely feel a song coming on. Roll on Summer 2013!

3. We stayed in a hotel for the one night we were up there-a huge treat and the kids loved every minute, most especially the breakfast. In fact, I had one slightly unsettling moment when the waitress came over and congratulated me on how much they could eat. I mean, what does one say to that?
'Four Weetabix,  two croissants, toast, poached eggs and bacon! That's really very good, very good indeed.'
'I'm so proud. They take it after me.' (I didn't really say that)

 'And five glasses of apple juice as well!' one of them reminded her happily. Clearly she wasn't used to boys, because she definitely looked at me oddly when I then did a 'mammy' and wrapped up a few sausages and a croissant in a napkin for the car journey home.

4. I'm probably one of the last to see it, but myself and a few laydees finally went to see 'Les Miserables' last night in the cinema. OMG. I'd seen it on stage last year in London but was still completely unprepared how utterly AMAZING the film was. The closeups, the sets, the drama, the tragedy, the emotion-all five of us wept from beginning to end, passing tissues up and down the row-just wonderful! Alright, so these were definitely actors singing (they were no SuBos), but I thought they did a great job, even the much maligned Russell Crow. And as for the talented and 'very easy on the eye' Hugh Jackman...and Anne Hathaway ...and even Borat! Who knew! Go and see it if you haven't already...just remember to bring your hankies.

5. I'm going to park the 'Carseat Boogie'  this week and instead stay with Les Mis for today's musical treat. Here's the Dublin born Colm Wilkinson-the original and many would say, the best Valjean ever, singing the beautiful 'Bring Him Home'. (An interesting piece of trivia is that he played the much smaller role of the priest in the movie-surely that must've broken his heart just a teensy bit?). Hope you like it and happy Friday peeps xxx

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...

What's your Poison?

On Sunday morning we caught a mouse in a trap under the kitchen sink. And by we, of course I don't actually mean me- I was far too busy standing on a chair screaming Tom and Jerry stylee. The little fecker got his leg caught in a trap, and then proceeded to drag the trap underneath the kitchen cupboard, where he squeaked and wriggled and created such a distraction, it put Cormac right off his breakfast. Which absolutely never happens.
 The only way for us, ( NOT me-as if!), to get at him, was to take the plinth off the front of the cupboard and suck the horrid creature AND the trap out with the Hoover. Obviously Himself then did what any normal person would do-he threw the whole lot into my mop bucket, got out the camera and took plenty of photos.
After which, I naturally assumed we, (I COULD have done this bit), would bash him squarely over the head with a brick, but instead Loverboy made the rash decision to release him from the trap, whereupon the fecker ran off back into the field, as fast as his gammy leg could carry him.
Now, can you just imagine the story he told his mates? He'll be eating out on it  for the rest of his life for goodness sake  - he'll probably write a book, sell the movie rights-  he's on the pig's back! (metaphorically speaking)
 God, I HATE mice and it happens every Autumn-our house is surrounded by fields, which in turn are jam packed with mice. Combine that with the chill in the air, the warmth of the kitchen and the kids leaving the back door open ALL THE TIME, and we may as well just issue an open house to the entire mouse population of Glenavy.
Then, on top of that, this morning I got a text, (A text! I ask you!), from Anna's school to say that headlice had been discovered in her year group, and it advised me to check my child's hair. Well, my blood just ran cold right there because, much as I loathe mice, I'm undoubtedly on the OCD spectrum when it comes to headlice. Thankfully, we haven't had them for a number of years *touches wood repeatedly* but just the thought of them makes me shudder.
It brings me right back to Christmas Day 2005 (Christmas DAY, FTLOG!) We had just moved out to the country, (major stress),  I was 9 months pregnant with Rory (even more stress), and I was getting the older three ready to go visit relations, before hosting dinner for 16, (stress +++).   Then I found the lice AND with them my tipping point, and that was that. Christmas was immediately cancelled and the entire day was instead spent fine combing, delousing and weeping. It was horrendous, and it probably didn't help that we'd also had mice the week before, so I was ready for the hills.
The time prior to that, was in 2001 when we were living in America. Anna was two and Jude was 8 weeks old.  We were all due to fly home later that day for his Christening, when I  discovered, to my utter horror that Anna's ginger curls were walking....and so the wheels began to come off.
First,  I rushed to the supermarket for the special delousing shampoo for her, but then I panicked about whether or not I should treat Jude as well, even though, in hindsight, he was entirely bald. But in that skewed moment,  it seemed perfectly reasonable to me to phone the 1800 LICE number on the back of the bottle and implore the poor woman on the other end for advice.  And although I'm fairly certain she was well trained on the side effects and treatment times of her product, she was woefully unprepared for the oversharing, sleep deprived, Irish madwoman on the other end of the phone, crying about colic and flights and newborns and  feeds, oh, and headlice. Not my finest hour, and as you can imagine it's all left me with a bit of a phobia in that department.
Truthfully,  I 'm MILITANT about Anna wearing her hair up in school, I switch channels if the headlice ads come on the TV,  and I literally cannot look at  pictures of a magnified louse without feeling sick. But needs must ...I've got that text from the school, so  I HAVE to do a check later whether I like it or not...and just talking about it now makes me want to scratch...Ugh!
What about you?  If you HAD to pick-  Mice or lice- what would it be? Go on, choose your poison...