Category: Lifestyle

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Why is Baby Food so popular?

Baby food seems to be an emotive subject.  I stated my opinion on it on twitter, and I was rapidly unfollowed by 4 mum bloggers.  Who knew that baby food mums took it so seriously.    Nobody said anything in defence of baby food which was surprising, but there were plenty of us who think that jars (and the ready-made tubs ) of baby food for older children are just not needed.  I can see the snacks being useful, but the need for the meals confuse me.

Image: Sharron Goodyear / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

My youngest came to me at 9 months old.  I was told that he had been fed on cow’s milk, and he didn’t like pot noodles, so I decided to take it from there.  I didn’t know any better, and with my mothers yada yada yada in my ear, I really never thought there was any other way of feeding a child, other than making something for them to eat.   From day 1 in my home, he began eating the kiddie sized portion of what we grown ups and his older brothers had for meals.

Saying all that, before I get struck down with some bug from a curse from the mothers rights brigade, it is every mums’ choice of what to feed their child.  The fact that their childrens’ taste buds might suffer eating bland gunk for so long in their lives is their choice.

What does annoy me is having to stand in a supermarket trailing my three hyperactive kids, who have little skills for waiting in line, to have to listen to a mummy righter blagging on about the baby food tub she had just bought in the shop – and wanted it heating up.  On and on she went about how was she going to feed her baby now.  The man behind the counter remained as calm as could be, although it was obvious he was dying to tell her exactly where to go.

She started off trying to persuade him to use the kitchens microwave to heat it up, but he explained that he couldn’t use industrial microwaves, then she tried to get him to let her go into the kitchen and heat it up herself.   He explained that it was against company policy to allow that.   I don’t know how often he said it, but eventually she paid for her food and walked away from the counter.

I had some sympathy for her, and stayed behind her in the queue without saying a word, as I could see that she was obviously getting stressed out about how to feed her baby.  When she asked what she was going to do now to feed her baby, I almost felt like joining in and championing her cause.

When I had my childrens’ food paid for and got seated, I found myself facing straight towards where she sat with her friend and her “baby”.  I felt a little jar of shock when I realised that this “baby” was well over a year old and possibly two or more.    The kids menu had several choices of things that would have suited that child perfectly well.  In the end, the mum mashed up some of her food, and spoon fed the little one.

My shock was at the fact that not only was she wanting baby food for such a big toddler, but that the toddler was getting it all mashed up, and not allowed to use a spoon or anything to eat it for herself.   Far from being unable to feed herself through some disability or special need, I spied the “baby’s” dexterity with toys and the ability to be able to potentially eat for herself was evident.

It’s the mum that seems to want to keep her baby as a baby, and not let her grow up.  Either that, or total laziness in feeding her child, so that the only thing she will eat is blah, blah, blah.   I have tasted the jars and tubs of baby food, and they are completely disgusting.  I suspect most children would turn away from them once they had “normal” not processed food to eat regularly.

I am not adverse to sticking on the odd packet of chicken nuggets, or pizza when I don’t have time to cook from scratch, but surely feeding toddlers that big on baby food is just silly.

If you want to unfollow me for that feel free, but I’d rather you debated the reasons for using it for older children with me.

I’d love to know the rationale and why baby food is so popular.  Feel free to comment below.

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Aberdeen Beach

We tried to find a way to amuse the kiddos on Tuesday, which saw us visit Transition Extreme. It is a skatepark for BMX’ers, skateboarders and climbers

My boys need to do the training before they are allowed to enter the park, so it was disappointment all round as I booked them in for next week as there were no slots left for this week.

Leaving TA with dejected faces, I took them to Codonas. It has long been the little carnival that is resident in our little home City.

I’m sharing some of the pictures of the only sunny day we’ve been privy to for three weeks now.

Beware.. When you buy a Codonas wrist band for the day, you get a ticket entitling you to a free kids meal for every adult meal purchased. When you try to order it, you are pointed to a large board with a corrected statement that says you only get a kids main course.

They refuse to honour the ticket.

Apart from that, it was a lovely afternoon for the boys.

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My Vege Bags

My little pots are growing their leaves and flowers, and I hope, that eventually we will manage to have some lovely little flowers from the pots and containers that are full of gorgeous leaves.  Whether they actually have some fruit or not remains to be seen, but hopefully they do.     I have spent hours (ok minutes) tending these lovely pots and bags to try to turn my non gardening fingers into some semblance of a growers beginnings.

Here for your enjoyment, in all the Scottish dreary weather are some shots of my growing pot collection.

I did try to hold off until the sun showed its’ smiley face again, but I suspect that might not be anytime soon.

Ok, ok, I know these are not vegetables, but some pansies and geraniums make lovely pictures.

The strawberries are nearly ripe for picking (all three of them).  There are two more, honestly, there are.

Leeks and Onions and Lettuce are really doing well.

My potatoes are growing up a storm.

And apart from the carrots on either end, I have no idea what is growing in the  middle of my trough.

My neighbour gave me the seedlings and I planted them.  She cannot remember what they were.  If you recognise the leaves, do let me know.

Thats it for now.  I’ll post more when I start to harvest my little crop.

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Thinking Slimmer and the Future of Suggestion Therapy

I think it is about time that I updated my Thinking Slimmer #slimpod journey.

I am now coming up to 5 weeks on the programme.  Many of you will have heard a lot about Thinking Slimmer by now, and all about the bloggers who are trialling the mp3 pods that give us the power of suggestions to help us change our attitudes to food.

I have spent my entire life thinking about food, obsessing about food, wishing for food, wishing to be thin, obsessing about my weight, and being paraniod about it.  When I was thin, obsessing about everying I ate, how much, and when.  There is NOTHING worse as an adult female in company, than to look around the room, and realise that you are the fattest person there.  It’s humiliating, it’s awful, and it stinks.  It made me feel disgusting and not worthy.      That’s maybe not how I looked, but it’s how it made me FEEL.    How we FEEL about ourselves is the important thing.  Yes, some people are happy fat.  I have never been a happy fatty.  I have turned down many many invitations to events and nights out because I could not face going fat.  Life is so short, that it is completely the wrong attitude to have, but it’s the one that I had.

At my heaviest, I had to buy size 20 / 22 tops and if I am honest, they were probably a little bit neat.  I had lost a couple of stone last year, but I couldn’t get down any lower.  I was convinced that the only way was to starve myself into my self imposed rules for society’s acceptance.

After just weeks of listening to this little file on my phone every night, I am feeling human again.  As an emotional and stress eater, I really thought that the power of the #slimpod would wear off, and I would struggle as the stress took over.   I find the opposite to be true.  I also find that with the emotional aspect involved, that I sometimes need to listen to the #slimpod during the day at difficult times when the stress makes me move toward the kitchen cupboard.  A set of headphones on low, the file on, and I get control again until the next big stress moment.  I have a very challenging special needs child so stressful days are very often, as are very stressful moments within a day.

I am finding the increasing confidence that I am beginning to have, is taking me back to the days before I lost my way.  My food choices are becoming very different.   I have always been a carb girl.  Put a bowl of crisps in front of me (as long as they are not plain) and I will happily finish the bowl, while my body will crave the bowl to be filled up again, just for me.

Even friends buy me crisps for when I go round, knowing that I will eat them (ALL).  I am the perfect guest who will stuff her face silly with crisps and dip.  Let me rephrase, that.  I USED to be the perfect guest.   I am now confident enough to be able to ask the host/ess not to have them out.  If everyone can cope with that, then it will be fantastic.  I suspect it is difficult for everyone as crisps and dips are a quick, cheap and easy way to feed guests.

I am losing weight weekly.  I have absolutely no idea what  my current weight it and I have no intention of weighing myself to find out as I am going to rigidly stay with my no weighing policy.  It is working fantastically so far, and I have NO scales weight hangups in an up week, or in any week where I only lose half a pound and then get paranoid about it.

I am in the van so have limited clothes to try on to see what fits and have had to buy some Tesco things to see me through.    I AM into my size 14 Tesco jeans – go me.  My size 16’s are all too big now.    OK, they are all BIG size 16’s, but still.    I have a few cheap size 16 Sainsburys T-Shirts I keep in the van and they are all lovely and loose, and getting a little too big as well.  I usually wear a top that is about two sizes bigger than my jeans to fit my boobs into.   They are shrinking.

I am eating more than I used to eat when I was a huge carb girl.   I am getting most of my carbs from strawberries, tangerines and melons.  I am eating shedloads of cherry tomatoes, iceberg lettuce, sweetcorn, mushrooms, onions and cucumber.  Tesco light caesar dressing is fab as soo low in calories to sprinkle over it all with some  chicken.   Add that to the tubs of Alpro Plain Soy Yogurt that I am now addicted to, and my life is changing.

My energy is huge in comparison to before.  I am managing to keep up with the kids out on their bikes.  I have NEVER been able to keep up with the kids before.   Ok, my fibromyalgia is still there, my feet still hurt daily, but I am managing to feel better about it, and without the daily carb coma effect, I feel lots better than I did.

I have bad days – I am no saint.  I don’t worry about them.  If I have overeaten, then I go to town on the day that I do it.  I am coping better that way.  I throw away my wishlist, and I just have what I crave.  I am not beating myself with the never ending stick that I used to carry on my back, weighing me down with every calorie that I put into my mouth.  I get up the next morning, and I get on with my day, as if the bad day had never happened.

I have the positive feeling, that this time, I can do it.  This time it is a life choice, rather than a lucky year where I have managed to lose lots of weight by starving myself, only  to put it all back on again a few years later.

How it affects us, I really don’t know.  I do know that the power of relaxation must have something in it.   I am in the van with the kids, and hub and grandma tootle back and fro, so on the nights that it is just the kids and I, I have been putting on the #slimpod aloud instead of through my headphones.   My youngest who struggles to sleep is now asking if I can put on the “old mans” voice (sorry Trevor) to help him sleep.  He prefers it to low music.  He is 9 years old.

I wonder if a similar podcast for children who struggle with their self-esteem would be a sensible way to go and put it on at nights for them.  I wish there was something out there off the shelf for it.  I see huge benefits in the power of safe, sensible suggestion therapy where we feel totally in control.

Thank you Sandra and Trevor.

xx

 

 

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I Have Sent My Child to Stay with Strangers.

For Thursday 7th July 2011, we were offered our first overnight respite from middlers non stop antics.  It was a blessing in disguise, however you describe it. 

  • This post may lose me readers. 
  • This post may also make someone else feel not so alone.

Lets take a day in the life of Scottish Mum and her family.  

It’s fair to say that middler has been struggling with his brothers since the start of the summer holidays (a whole three school days).  Having spent nearly 8 months under mums feet , he considers me as his sole possession.   He cannot read, he cannot write, but he can talk and he is highly mobile.  We are in the caravan, which is always a challenge, but has usually been good for him.

On Wednesday, woken up by a sharp prod in my chest, I jumped up with a start, and banged my head on the cupboard above my head in the caravan.    Racing to get to middler first, I miss, and he takes off out the front door and heads for reception of the campsite to try and jump onboard the little ride on lawnmower.  

Reception staff are starting to get annoyed with any children going around to the reception to play, and I don’t want to be thrown off the site.  I try and catch up with him.  The old wardens used to know him, and kept a watchful eye out for him, but the new ones are more rule orientated –  although still very nice. 

He dances around the lawnmower  and starts to shout and swear at me – telling me I am a “fucking bitch”.   I finally manage to catch him, and on the way back to the van, my shins get a few swift kicks.  My legs start to feel numb and the pain brings tears to my eyes.  

Getting him back to the van, I dodge his head twisting round to try and bite the back of my arms (you know the fleshy bit that hurts like hell if someone nips it – if you don’t know, you’ve had a sheltered life).  He’s nearly 10, and not far off my height, and the struggle to control him gets harder every year.  

He is in angry mode at being stopped from doing what he wants to do, and his voice gets louder and louder.   He slips my grasp and wakes littlest up by kicking him in the stomach.   I quicky give him his tablet and try to get him into a safe hold to stop him from kicking the furniture into bits.  Elder is woken up and comes down to take control of the legs that are swinging up and trying to knock my head off.    He manages to take off the trainers, and any kicks from now on will be much more pleasant. 

I know what kind of day I am in for.  It’s the kind of day we are in for often when his brothers are around, and I am the sole adult to look after them.   Littlest and elder can’t walk past him without a vicious kick numbing their legs, stomach, face, arms – in fact, anywhere he can reach them. 

It ends in Tesco for supper when he doesn’t get his own way, and begins to kick the shelves and products off of them.  I manage to get him on a wrist strap while elder holds his head to keep his mouth away from my face.   Getting embarassed now, littlest and elder decide to slope off to the side of the aisle and leave me to deal with it.  I am struggling to keep the intermittent headbutts away from my face, the alternating teeth off my hands and arms, and control the legs that are back kicking my shins as the hands grab chunks of my flesh and squeeze as tightly as they can.  He is in full meltdown in the middle of a flaming supermarket.

Unlike a toddler, you can’t leave a near 10 year old to rampage in a tantrum through a shop.  He would cause so much damage, that I’d have to work for a year to pay it off, and thats before Mr Plod is called for damage to property.     I decide there is nothing for it and I set myself down on the floor with him in a safe hold where we were.  We are in the main aisle in front of the checkouts.  I can’t move him forward or back, so I sit where we are.  I can’t hold him properly in the one person safe hold anymore as he is too strong, so he managed to get to my hands several times.   He is screaming, swearing,  headbutting and biting.   Staff begin to congregate around us, and elder and littlest get upset at people staring.  

Nobody bothers to ask if I need any help.  Why would they?  They think he’s just a spoiled brat and I’m a bad mother.  Nobody dares to ask me to move out of the front of the checkouts.  Thank goodness for that.  Maybe they think I’ll get up and headbutt them.

Such is my life.  Such is our life, mine, littlest and elder.  Middler keeps it in check for dad and strangers.  Then he waits until we are all alone and begins to pound us into what he thinks is his will.   No amount of bribery, corruption or sweetie offers will change the path of the outcome.  He resents his brothers, and he hates me when I have to split my time between them all.   He wants ALL the attention, ALL the time. 

In front of those who assess him, he cuddles me and tells them he loves me.   He saves his anger up and lets it out  for us when he feels safe.

He has a form of brain damage.  He looks normal, he walks normally, so therefore, to other people, he must be “normal”.  He can’t act like that, can he? 

  • I am exhausted, but its not physical. 
  • It’s mental. 
  • It’s never being able to rest, never being able to go to the toilet without getting someone to sit and hold him to make sure he doesn’t run off. 
  • It’s not being able to get a shower for five days if there is no other adult to keep him while I have the luxury of a spot of water to clean myself.  
  • It’s never being able to relax. 
  • It’s never knowing what he is going to get up to next.  
  • It’s never enjoying being his parent while his brothers are around. 
  • It’s never being good enough for him.
  • It’s knowing that he can keep that anger inside with other people but his anxieties are building up inside, and we get them later.
  • It’s knowing that he is vulnerable as much as he is strong.
  • It’s knowing his obsessions rule his life.
  • It’s knowing one of his obsessions is to always be in charge.
  • It’s knowing a major indicator of his issues is the extreme reaction to the word no.

At the offer of  our first ever respite, I drove home and back on Thursday at short notice.   A 112 mile round trip for a night of respite.    With littlest and elder, we saw him to the respite house.  They played hide and seek, and one of the carers for the night is also a helper at his new school for August.  His wobble on the way there disappeared and he instantly felt at home.  A young girl was on the floor playing.  We sat in the room he was going to sleep in, and after a coffee and a quick chat, I left him with strangers.

I walked to the car, choking back the tears – determined not to upset littlest and elder.   I didn’t want to leave him.  I knew for us, that I must.

  • I begin to feel free. 
  • I feel bad for feeling free.  
  • Littlest and elder feel free. 
  • They feel bad for feeling free. 

Not having him gives me a taste of what life is like with “neuro typical” children.   I mourn the lack of that life.

He will be back with us soon, and my heart fills with equal measures of happiness and dread.  I love him, and I will protect him until my dying breath, but I don’t like our life.  I don’t like how we have to live, I don’t like how littlest and elder have to live, and I don’t know if I can do it forever. 

When he is too big for me to control, he may have to go to residential somewhere.  I don’t want to do that to him as I know he would not cope with that.

Some days I don’t know how I will ever get to the end of it. 

I always do.  

Some days are better than others and for those days I am grateful.

He is not the cause of his anxieties, and he should not be like this.  He should be a happy, carefree “neuro typical” child.   He isn’t.   Every day, I wish that he could have the life that he desires.  It makes me so angry to see his struggles to live each day.

He wants to be “normal”.  

Having brothers only a year older, and a year younger than he is himself, means that he can never forget what he is, and what he cannot do.

So now you know. 

  • As a rule, we special needs mums with behaviourally challenged children don’t tell you exactly how it can be.
  • As a rule, you wouldn’t believe us if we did.
  • Our children don’t respond to textbook strategies.
  • We sit alone, thinking how awful we are as parents. 
  • Our confidence disappears as people treat us with condemnation rather than respect and help. 
  • We read, and read, and read, and read.   
  • We try to find a cure. 
  • We lose our old friends, and sometimes we are lucky enough to make new ones.
  • I am lucky.

When my son was 4, I thought I was the only person being beaten up by their child.  We were in the process of adopting him, and I was scared to say how bad it was in case they took him away.  I loved him, and I couldn’t see any harm come to him.  

I thought love was going to be enough.

Love is not enough.

  • Don’t judge a struggling mum.  
  • Give her a smile.  
  • Don’t dismiss every child who swears or kicks as bad.
  • Don’t think a family is coping, just because they seem to be.

I am grateful to the woman on the checkout we chose in Tesco on Wednesday. 

  • She smiled. 
  • She asked how we were.
  • She knew what I was doing as she has a grandchild who is being assesssed at the moment. 
  • She lifted my spirits. 

We came back to the caravan, we went for a walk and I tried to teach him how to skim stones on the lake.   

  • He comes back to see me today.
  • I can’t wait to see him. 
  • I have missed him.  
  • Littlest and elder have missed him.

Respite is good.

 

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The Crunch in Real Life – The Great British Holiday Empties

Sitting in a campsite, that is usually busting at the seams at this time of year – I am forced to reflect on the impact of the huge cuts that all of us below the levels of the wealthy pampered have been steam rollered into.

Around us, where there should be dozens of laughing and happy children, all enjoying the Great British Holiday, there are empty spaces. There are no children playing outside in the pouring rain. We were here the last two years at the same time of year, and the site was full of laughing, happy families and their children, splashing in huge puddles of thundering torrential rain. In a circle of 17 spaces that are usually crammed full, there are only three of us who have braved the economy, and the wet and wild scottish summer.

The site may fill up once the English children are all off school, but what does it say about the Scottish economy that a camping and caravan site that is usually full, is so empty? Yes, it is likely to fill up again for the weekender crowd, but without holidaymakers, there will be fewer sites to use, and the potential for “wild camping” will come back into business.

Camping and caravanning have seen a nice boom in recent years as money has tightened, although its safe to say that it is certainly not one of the cheapest hobbies around. There is something lovely about being able to relax in comfort, and away from your main home, and the absence of fellow holidaymakers this year has totally taken me by surprise.

Are seasoned caravanners and campers really giving up on their holidays and staying at home, or are they “wild camping” and being ostracised as travellers wherever they go.

It’s obvious that the campers and caravanners won’t be staying at home, but where are they? Are they staying closer to home to save petrol / diesel money, or are they taking off as our elder generations did?

My parents and grandparents both set off on adventures across the UK with packs on their backs in the summer time. I never did that. I wouldn’t feel safe doing that, especially now with the children, but I’d love to.

  • Should “wild camping” be allowed?
  • Should we be able to go, as we did as children – off into the wilds, and park where we felt the scenery is beautiful?
  • Are we too focussed on the “scare tactics” that seem to be evident as news in todays media that we are over cautious of where we go and what we do?
  • Is it really more dangerous today than it was in our grandparents younger days?

I don’t know. I only know that I don’t do some things that I would like to, and I shelve “just in case”. About the extent of my bravery, is my tin tenting with the kids while hub stays at home to work and keep an eye on grandma.

I am sad to see such an empty campsite and I hope the business picks up for them soon. I can’t really believe that people are “wild camping” instead, so it has to be that people have less money to spend using their lovely tents or caravans. Hopefully this isn’t one of the British Traditions that sees the end of many well run and well loved sites.

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When will MEN learn to PEE IN the TOILET?

It should have been a wonderful experience.  It should have been 8 hours of pampered bliss.

After months of anticipation, waiting for the 24th  of June to roll around on the way to Cybermummy 11, I tentatively stepped aboard the 7.52 from Aberdeen to head down to London.     I was hoping that the trip was going to be full of excited tweets, and maybe a little work along the way.  I splashed out and treated myself to first class tickets, and convinced myself that I was going to have a spectacularly wonderful journey, on the way to a spectacularly fantastic conference full of bloggers.

My first impressions went really well, and the seating suited me perfectly.  Being an insular blogging tweeter, my chosen single seat meant that didn’t have to make polite conversation based on get out moments of unintentional eye contact.  I settled in for the 8 hour trip, and very smugly, I opened my laptop to begin a marathon tweeting session.  All seemed to go well until I tried to connect to the free wi-fi.   After trying on and off for 2.5 hours, the guard did eventually say that the wi-fi and the promised power in the socket was out of order.    My heart sinks with the realisation that IT IS NOT GOING TO WORK AT ALL.  The reason I chose first class and paid more mullah was for WiFi and POWER.   AND to top it all, I didn’t have any books with me.

Faced with the prospect of 8 hours on a train with very little, and patchy mobile signal, no power and a laptop that wasn’t going to last for an hour, I could only see the endless journey ahead of me while I stared out of the window.  I religiously checked and rechecked the power point to see if it had come back on again.   The woman and her daughter in the quad seat at the other side of me. eyed me sideways as I plugged in and out every fifteen minutes to see if it would come back on again.  I’m sure they thought I had checked out of the closest hospital for the day.

On the map when I chose my seat at the point of booked, it showed a toilet right next to the seat I had picked.  I worried slightly that the door would open onto where I was sitting, and that a toilety smell would invade my long journey.  I needn’t have worried, as the entrance to the toilet, was through the carriage doorway.  I breathed a sign of relief and smugly smiled at my decadence.

 The man across from me, who got on at the first stop past Aberdeen, asked for a cup of coffee when they were taking orders for breakfast.  He obviously just wasn’t with the programme as he stared at his ALL DAY menu, but was told that there would be no coffee again until after Dundee.    I secretly giggled at his long face as I reached down and extracted my secret stash of juice to see me through the journey,

 I gave up hearing the guards announcements by Edinburgh, but was pleasantly surprised on the way back up again on the Sunday, to be able to hear ALL of the announcements.  I think some of it is a male thing.  Deep voice + loud train = mumble, garble, burble.

On the way down, I ran out of juice in my phone, my laptop, and my emergency back up phone battery.  Whats a girl to do on a train that has no wi-fi, or power working, and was daft enough not to have anything installed worth reading on the phone?  Yup, you’ve guessed it – she sits and refreshes the content on her screen every 30 seconds and wills the wi-fi into life – just to make sure she isn’t the only idiot on the train staring out of the window when technology is boop boop booping for everyone else.

There was no wi-fi on the way back up the road again either, so I guess it’s just me who seems to be internetty challenged on trains, and I am grateful for the lovely Kathryn Brown from  Crystal Jigsaw who played a game of cat and  mouse with me while she planned waving a yellow flag from her farm, while I watched from the train (yup, I missed her). (ps, if you haven’t read her new book, you should, it’s fab).  Kathryn – please forgive me for mentioning you in this post.

After holding in the desperate need to pee for as long as possible, the time finally came when I had to face the dreaded toilet.    The bitter disappointment I felt when I entered the cubicle, will stay with me for life.   There, like a vision of misery, was a soaking wet floor, with lots of bits of someone else’s toiletry paper adorning the floor like a decorated tapestry.

Now, forgive me for being a woman with too much expectation from others, but is it really too much to ask, for men to PEE IN THE TOILET.    I have to say, that the biggest no no for me would be when I put down a toilet seat, and am then confronted with PEE LINES.

NO human should be subject to PEE LINES.  Am I making myself totally clear?

And if they do pee on the toilet, or miss the pot altogether is it too much to ask for them to CLEAN IT UP AFTERWARDS…………?

Being the slightly obsessive toilet freak that I am, I take toilet roll from holder, and try to squirt a healthy dose of soap from the dispenser.

THERE IS NO SOAP

My bladder is going into overdrive, and the need to pee overtakes my need to sit on a sparkling like new toilet seat, but while I am in there, another train dweller begins to batter on the toilet door, and whang at the handle, and as I get ready to venomously spew out “whats your problem”, I open the door in a rage, to look down at a smiling junior battering ram.   I laugh at the silliness and I ignore the pain pressing on my bladder, walk out of the toilet, and head back to my seat.  I take my hand sanitiser and march back to wait in the now queue to the loo.  At this point, the man opposite with serious liquid envy seems to snigger as I pass.  I straighten my back and swish my hair with a flourish to get my own back.

A healthy dose of santisier, and I once again run back to my seat to grab the make up wipes that hide in the bottom of my never ending laptop bag. When I’m done, the toilet seat ends up as shiny as a new pin.

I ignore the “water” on the floor, and try to tell myself that it’s the result of drip dry hand shakers.

The piece of sodden loo roll scrunched up with what looks suspiciously like fresh blood fills my shoes with shaking feet.  I seethe as I consider the fact that somebody needs to open up a school that deals with teaching men to pee straight.  Women in their millions would book their men onto it, and we’d all live happier at home, on trains, and enjoy friends coming to visit.

With hours of a train journey still to go, a new obsession takes over.  Every half an hour, my body decides to make me suffer with the necessity to visit the room of a million smells.   Even Mr fluidly challenged begins to think it’s funny.    Every male that passes me on the way to the loo, I eye up with daggers, convinced that the possibilities will make them pee straight in the loo.

Will MEN please learn to PEE IN the TOILET !

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Who will take a leap of faith with me? Make a difference.

What did I learn from the conference in London for Cybermummy 2011? 

It isn’t a trick question, honestly.  I learned that I am capable of doing more.

This is not an ordinary blog post, I will save that for later.   I need to get this out, and I need to begin talks.  I am sorry for being so cryptic, but you know how the net is, and how ideas get lifted. 

I need to reach brands, and I need to have talks with people who can, and people who won’t get paid for it, and won’t mind not getting paid.

It may, or may not work, and anyone involved will be taking a huge leap of faith with me.

If it doesn’t work, I may get egg on my face and be ostracised from the blogging community for ever, but this is something I had planned locally,  that I want to amend and take further. 

But, it’s not about me.

I’m not one for being light and fluffy, although I can be as niave and inconsistent as any other sleep deranged mother.   I didn’t attend any of the money making sessions, and decided to head for the ones that would help me stay legal as an online blogger (but I did sneak in at the end of the over-running one which had successful business ladies giving a talk on how they make money from their blogs). 

I have had an idea forming for a while that I had begun to move forward with implementing locally, but hadn’t as yet rolled it out or secured any sponsors.  I know what I wanted to do, and what my end goals were, and it needs people to help get us there and take this to the next level.   My ideas are based around a concept which needs work, and shaped, and I would love to have it corrected, and challenged by someone who is more skilled than I at developing concepts.

The beauty of it is that I don’t know how it will look in the end, or if many people will support it, but with the joint networks of bloggers, the potential is phenomenal.

I missed seeing some people I wanted to talk to, and for that I am regretful, but hopefully a chat can be opened up very soon to amend that.   

A little discussion at the flower market on Sunday was the final catalyst that had me deciding to take this leap of faith, to believe in myself, and all of us, and do something about it across the UK blogging network.

The BIGGEST impression on me was made right at the beginning.  Sarah Brown affected me.  I am not going to deny that.  I had expected not to like her, but after listening to her speak, and a shy hello, I changed my opinions, and the possibilities of working with her, or someone like her for the future  began to spin in my head and make the potential of my projects wings spin even faster.

As the PM’s wife, she could have made the choice to be a well adorned, and beautifully dressed decoration to hang on the end of her husbands arms, and just be trotted out at public functions with a frozen smile on her face, and a damp platitude  on her lips.   She didn’t. She chose to act.

My blog is heading more and more down the road of serious issues, yet I also want to retain a sense of freedom, and call this blog mine.  I want to add some light and fluffy things and take advantage of the little luxuries that life has dealt me.   I will separate this project from my personal blog and twitter once an initial brainstorming session has been arranged and covered. 

This project is not FOR me, it will only be started BY me.   This will be OUR project.

I have had lots of ideas running for a long time, and I am ready to find support for them.    My blog is not suitable for that.   As I said, this project, is NOT about me.

From cybermummy11, I  took away the impression that we can pull this off together, all of us, not just those who went to cybermummy.

 Our world needs the people who go out and have fun and enjoy themselves, but it also needs ALL of us to move forward with taking some social responsibility. 

I NEED – help.

I NEED – support

WE NEED  a room where a group of bloggers  who can, and / brands / interested parties can meet, with the  travel and accommodation expenses of the attendees covered. 

WHAT IF – i’m talking about you?

WHAT IF – you want to work with  me?

WHAT IF you want to be part of us?

WHAT IF – you contact me?

WHAT IF  you take a leap of faith with me?

WHAT IF you can spare an hour a year, or a month, or a week, or a day?

WHAT IF- you volunteer ?

WHAT IF you can write press statements.

WHAT IF you can provide the space, or the sponsorship?

WHAT IF you can make a difference, and have the contacts to help make my ideas into a reality?

WHAT IF we talk?

WHAT COULD we do?

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Thinking Slimmer – 1st Week In the Trial

I’ve decided to update my Thinking Slimmer post  to let you know how I am going with it.  I have even give it a category all of its’ own.  At the moment, I am not terribly sure how well it is going.  It is still early days in the scheme of the programme.   The programme states that it takes about three weeks for it to become a new habit.  I am ok with that.

How am I doing so far?

In the first few days, I was not sure if the programme was working, or if the fact that I was on the programme was the incentive in itself.  Even, by the nature of posting the results, and reviewing the programme, it can have a placebo type effect.  That’s what I told myself anyway.

Now getting to the first week in, I am noticing small changes, as the programme tells me.  I am making better food choices already.  I am not eating so much, and my confidence is improving.  There is nothing like keeping on hearing it, to help you believe in yourself.

We should try this on the kids when they are dropping off to sleep.  “You will be quiet and respect your mother in the supermarket.”  Joking aside, I am feeling much more positive than I did a week ago.   Is it coincidence, or is it as a result of the programme?  I don’t know, and only time will tell how it works for me.

I have decided not to weigh.  I become obsessed with numbers when I step on the scale, and I want to free myself of that particular reason to shake my confidence.   I am going to do this differently from how Thinking Slimmer is judging results so far.   As a stress eater, taking the stress out of the equation is the best option for me.

I am going to judge my losses and how it works by my clothes and how comfortable I feel, and how positive my outlook becomes.    I don’t want to look at the scales and see how many pounds I have dropped.  I want to know how good I feel wearing whatever sized clothes I am putting on, and how I feel when I look in the mirror.

Roll on week 2.   I began quite sceptical and I have been pleasantly surprised so far.    There is still a long way to go, but  am positive about it rather than feeling like I am being deprived on a diet 24/7.