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Archive for February, 2011

Snoring

My two children are now often fairly good at night (why am I writing this and tempting fate?).  But I still feel knackered on a regular basis and it only takes a night or two of sleep depriving colds or poorliness to tip the finely balanced nocturnal scale and turn me into a knackered, grumpy mum.  Sound familiar anyone?

Added to this my husband is a snorer, particularly at times of stress.  So when the children are unsettled and the husband is snoring I long for a spare bed so that I can have an even half descent night’s sleep. 

Imagine my utter horror when I heard the distinct sound of snoring when pottering in the kitchen.  The husband had left for work so not him.  The only sleeper in the house was my wee boy.  Snoring his heart out, making the windows rattle, curled up angelically and fast asleep in his cot.  Like father, like son.

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Het familie

The child bit of the family consists of the big girl and the little boy, the two tots.  One of whom no longer totters but sprints, clambers and runs with staggering and exhausting proficiency.  The little boy contentedly sits and furthermore looks as though he has NO desire to be on the move.  Hurrah for that.  I do note the difference regarding my attitude – with the big girl, about three years ago I was egging her on as she frog crawled around.  This time with the young man I am relieved that at a similar age he isn’t looking to get mobile and am sending a silent pray that he doesn’t until we move somewhere with slightly less mad stairs and more space.

You might have noticed from this title that het familie contains a Dutch element.  The husband is a Cloggie thus are the children, though we haven’t yet gone through the slightly surreal bureaucracy of getting the little boy registered.  To explain the psychological scarring that occurred updating the husband’s passport and adding on the big girl  is a whole other post; other than to briefly say that the husband’s head does not fit the dimensions allowed on a Dutch identity photo, resulting in multiple trips between a photographer and the Dutch Embassy in Edinburgh all the while traipsing along a grumpy two month old baby and even grumpier, knackered mother.

Oh, there is also a cat.  What more to say except the husband and he adore each other.  He loathes me.  The cat that is, hopefully not the husband.

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northern mumbles

Well here I am, uprooted some time ago (hum five years ago) from rural Cornwall to the urban north and still adjusting.  To the weather, chilly and windy, nuf’ said.  To the accent which is less of the ‘oh ma dear ma dot’ type and more of the ‘eee pet’ variety.  To the long and sad distance from family and friends and recognising the upside of becoming a fairly proficient traveler in planes, cars and trains with two young children – oh the joys of play dough and I spy.  To urban life and yet loving the glorious beaches and moors near where we live.  To the shock of having two tots, one of whom is not quite so little now, and the juggle of being a semiworking mum. 

My northern mumbling will, I suppose, be a blog of my incoherent muttering about motherhood and working, rural and urban, contentment and grumbles, a family snap shot in time, memories of the past and musing for the future.

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