Posted under family

This is a review post.

A few weeks ago, the wonderful people at Eurocamp kindly sent us on a much-needed holiday to their Château Lez Eaux campsite in Normandy. Having done a Eurocamp holiday in 2008 – staying here, in a tent – we thought we knew what was coming. We really didn’t.

I had made the executive decision for us to sail from Portsmouth to Caen rather than Dover to Calais. For us, the driving distance on the UK side was the same but it was going to save me roughly 5 hours driving at the other side whilst also giving me 6 hours on the ferry to recuperate. As our children are so young (Findlay is 9, Nairn is 4, Erica is 3 and Greer is only 1) when we drive down South we tend to leave late evening and drive through the night so that the kids aren’t bored the whole trip home. Generally speaking it’s a win-win situation as doing it this way means we miss any heavy traffic normally encountered around Manchester, Birmingham and London and the total driving time is vastly reduced and indeed we did our 440 mile trip in 7.5 hours.

I have to admit that with four young children who had slept almost all night, Bob and I were dreading the ferry trip. We were pleasantly surprised to discover that not only was there a small soft-play area, playroom with colouring-in station & kids DVDs playing but there was also a full entertainment programme for older children including a very energetic quiz and a magician. As I had work to do, I paid for WiFi and got on with that whilst the children played. All in all, a surprisingly relaxing way to travel.

We docked in Caen in the early afternoon and set off towards Saint Pair-Sur-Mer, getting hopelessly lost circumnavigating Granville but still arriving on the site an hour after we got off the ferry which I was extremely relieved about. Now, in the space of 10 days we had been offered the trip, put an emergency passport application in for Greer, arranged for someone to stay at our home to watch over the menagerie and got permission to take Findlay out of school for the week so I must have missed the section of the email that explained that rather than staying in a tent, we’d be hanging out in one of these for the next week:

I have to admit to feeling a little ambivalent about staying in the static caravan rather than the tent but when the heavens opened not half an hour after we arrived, I realised immediately the one difference which became massively important – the kids didn’t end up traipsing mud everywhere. Anyone who has ever been camping will relate to that feeling as if your entire body is filthy no matter how good the ablution facilities are and thankfully, in our 3 bedroom superior we never had that. Having such an expanse of space was excellent too since the boys had a room to themselves where they could escape to play games, the girls had a room to themselves and we still had a comfortably sized living & dining room space too.

We were so exhausted after our trip down that we stayed on the parc for the first few days which is unlike us -we’re the kind of family who goes out and sees things rather than the heading-to-the-beach type – but with beautifully clean swimming pools and excellent facilities on site we wanted for nothing. There was plenty for the kids to do, a shop on-site where we could get the essentials and a bar too where internet access was available.

The kids absolutely loved the swimming pool and I have to admit I was terrified at the prospect of taking four of them to the pool with only two adults but it turned out to be completely manageable. What mainly worried me was that there was no lifeguard supervision (a common occurrence in France) around the pools but the boys took good care of Erica leaving Bob and I to take turns with Greer. Although, we did see a fairly horrific accident involving a teenager, a backflip dive and a certain broken nose. Ouch.

The site had a kids club available but our brood, being quite anti-social wary weren’t too keen on being left there which was fine. Instead they chose to spend a fair amount of time in a well-designed playground. I remember thinking, “Health and safety would never allow a playground like this back home” when watching Nairn clambering up a climbing wall – it was exactly the type of place that kids should always have access to and they absolutely loved it. Look at the smiles!

The Eurocamp staff who had briefed us prior to our departure had mentioned that this parc in particular was beautiful but that didn’t quite do it justice. The site was just stunning, plenty of greenery and a little fishing lake where guests were welcome to sit and indulge themselves. One thing that really impressed me – and which I felt reflected the consideration given to the site’s clientele – was that the entry to the parc was controlled via a security barrier which opened after a PIN number was entered into it. The PIN station was available on both sides of the road meaning that both UK and continental drivers could access it. Clever, eh?

We did do a couple of day trips – to Le Mont-Saint-Michel and to Saint Malo where we visited the Great Aquarium which were both within an hour’s drive of our site – and I shall blog about these later.

All in all, this trip just reinforced how good a holiday a family of our size can have on a budget. A seven-night break in this site, staying in accommodation exactly like ours would cost £987 accommodation only and – as we did – you can book your ferry crossing through Eurocamp who manage to get it significantly cheaper than I ever found quotes for. I’ve been told that Eurocamp can also help organise fly-drives and rail travel too.

For me, the difference between this kind of holiday and a package holiday is simple – you do everything on your own time. Having our car with us meant we could leave when we wanted, go where we wanted and not have to worry about schedules and going off-plan. The Eurocamp couriers spoke English – which was an embarrassing relief as my French has never exceeded schoolgirl level – and were available at the drop of a hat to assist. As an example – on our trip two years ago I came down with a stomach bug and had to go to a Doctor. Our courier found a Doctor and came with me to translate. I get the impression that the sites are picked by people who understand what a family abroad needs, such is the level of detail like ensuring we had a travel cot available for Greer to sleep in and providing loo roll and washing up liquid in the welcome pack.We’ve done two Eurocamp holidays now and I know that we’ll be back. Thanks ever so much for a great time!

Posted under reviews

Ask almost anyone old enough to remember, “Where were you on 9/11?” and they’ll be able to answer. Most people however aren’t quite so sure if you ask where they were on 7/7 – the day that London was attacked.

I can tell you where I was. I was in the Early Pregnancy Assessment Centre of the Southern General hospital with Bob. The night before, I’d been admitted to hospital with cramps so bad I was bent double and unable to stand up. Then I started bleeding. The Doctors said nothing with their words but everything with their eyes. They were 90% certain I was having an ectopic pregnancy and wanted to monitor me until 10am when I would have a scan.

I refused to stay in the hospital. It was so cold, so clinical and they wanted to admit me onto the maternity ward. The cruelty of this act stays with me even now, to be surrounded with new life when we were sure I was carrying death was just too much. We went home and attempted to sleep in between the tears and sadness, clinging to each other and resigned to our loss.

Early in the morning we made our way back to the hospital in silence, to that waiting room in the department of no hope. We sat in the most uncomfortable chairs huddled together already in mourning and watched the news of the bombings unfold on the tiny television. Slowly and quietly the visitors and staff crowded around us, silently hoping and praying that nobody had been badly hurt whilst our own troubles were put to the side until we were called into the ultrasound room.

It’s the longest walk, that walk from the waiting room to the ultrasound room. Every step produced more waves of nausea, fear and anxiety. In truth it was less than 20 seconds but I remember at the time absorbing the hospital smell, the ambience and the desperation of the other patients. Into the darkened room with the monitor turned away from the patient to save them from seeing the nothingness we went, and I lay on the bed. Hours and hours passed in less than a minute when the nurse silently turned the monitor towards me and pointed.

The pain, the bleeding – caused by a rampant kidney infection that had developed from an unchecked UTI. The baby? Well, he turned out to be just fine.

I’ve never forgotten how we felt that day when we thought we were going to lose the baby we’d only known about for 3 weeks and how our joy & relief was mingled with empathy for the mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons & daughters and friends who lost loved ones that day. Five years and I can only imagine their pain but I hope each and every person affected by actions that day is surrounded by love, support and memories of happier times.

Posted under family

I spent yesterday at the CyberMummy conference – an experience I’ll write more about later this week – and as we mostly only “knew” each other online we had little badges to wear around our neck with the title of our blog and our name on. Of course, many of you might not be aware that the title of this blog is “Adventures of a Lady in Training” or what it means to me so after answering that a few times yesterday, I thought I’d share. This is likely to be long, intimately personal and full of emotion. It’s the first time I’ve felt that I have the right to share this element of my life in such a public manner and I hope that I can do it justice without hurting anyone.

I’ve written 700 words of this, deleted it, written 376 words and deleted that. I can’t tell my story because I have an innate fear of hurting other people, even if I’m the one who has been hurt. I had a fairly bogstandard “nobody understands me” kind of teenage experience and left home/was kicked out a month after my 16th birthday – the day after my Higher English exam and the day before my Higher Maths exam. Whether it was the less-than-stellar home life I’d experienced or simply my hormones being crazy insane I had a longing to be a Mum myself. This is something I’ve talked at length about with my friends, I have always – for as long as I can remember – been broody and even now with four children who test my every boundary I don’t feel that longing has been satisfied. As a result, when I met Findlay’s Dad it suddenly became imperative that I had a baby. Looking back we had a seriously dysfunctional relationship – one that took us both a long time to get over – but when you’re 18 you know everything better than everyone else around you, don’t you? I discovered I was pregnant with Findlay and that weekend, discovered that my parents were splitting up because my Mum had been having a relationship with someone else.

I think you can only understand the hurt and pain that comes out of that kind of marriage breakup if you’ve been a part of it. My sisters were only 14 & 13 and my brother Callum was 9 the weekend my Mum left. I’m sitting here with tears streaming down my face as I remember walking into my parents house seconds after the kids had been told what was happening. The ramifications were and have been widespread but as I have joked since it was almost the perfect time to tell our families that I was pregnant because the heat was truly off us. Selfish? Perhaps, but when you’re 18 and think you know everything you don’t quite see it like that.

Findlay was born 3 months after my 19th birthday and right from the off I felt under pressure to be better than any other parent because I was so young. Findlay’s Dad came home from work one day and I suggested that we get married to solidify our family unit and he agreed, so when Findlay was 4 months old we did. And when Findlay was 9 months old – the day before my 20th birthday – he left. We have a very good relationship these days – in fact I’d almost go as far as to say I count him and his lovely partner as friends – but I can’t and won’t ever forgive him for leaving us like that even if I have some empathy for his reasoning. I did not cope with my parents’ separation well and expended a lot of energy being angry at my Mum, supportive of my Dad and just being there for my siblings which was obviously to the detriment of our relationship. For the next three years I was 100% certain we’d reunite, which was a deeply unhealthy mindset to have when you’re getting involved in new relationships. We would fight, threaten one another with legal action and then put on a brave face in front of Findlay because the one thing I was so, so certain of was that I WOULD not and COULD not have Findlay ever feel the way I did when I was growing up. I felt like an oddity, a spare part. Like I didn’t belong – to an extent, I still feel like this – and it’s damaging. I wanted better for my son.

I started keeping a blog at Blurty and then Livejournal not long after Findlay’s Dad and I split up but when I met Bob and realised what a proper healthy partnership should be like, everything changed. Some of you will have done the maths yourself but we delivered Nairn – a pregnancy we both planned and dearly wanted – into our family 13 months after our first kiss. Erica followed 14 months later and I decided that I wanted to catalogue my “training” from being just a silly 18 year old girl who thought she knew it all to a grown up lady who could keep a house and work and parent and sew and bake and do all the things that a perfect lady could do. I wanted to prove to each and every single person who had ever wrote me off as a “daft wee lassie” that in actual fact, I was so much more than that.

Last week I wrote about making a gift for Findlay’s teacher and I also gave her a knitted bookmark like this one. I wrote a card thanking her for her work, added a quote that I liked and sent Findlay into school on the last day – not expecting to receive anything back. But I did.

I cried when I read this. I’m crying again now. I don’t doubt that Findlay’s teacher had a stack of cards to write out that day and that she perhaps didn’t necessarily plan out her thank you, but her words gave me validation and I finally feel that I’m not just a daft wee lassie anymore, I’ve graduated into the class of “doing not too bad actually”. And perhaps it’s time to rename my adventures and take the training wheels off.

Posted under me, parenting

This time last week we were getting organised to come home from our amazing holiday at Eurocamp’s Château Les Eaux campsite and I promise I will be that boring friend who shows you every single snap they took on their holiday! It was absolutely fantastic and the kids were absolutely distraught to be leaving.

But – and there’s always a but, isn’t there? – about 15 minutes after we got off the ferry at Portsmouth, Erica barfed all over the car. I’ve never seen anything like it, there was no warning, no, “Mummy my not very well”*, nothing. Just Erica calling for Huey, Dewie and Louie as she performed the technocolour yawn from one end of the car to the other. Did I mention that we were 15 minutes into a 438 mile trip? Poor Erica, we ceremoniously stripped her in a layby as she proudly exclaimed, “My done a good sick!” – and oh, dear reader she had. I’m not going to elaborate because I’m sure that you’ve all been party to a vomit-in-car incident and we were lucky enough that she only got herself, her seatbelt, Bob’s backpack and the PVC weekend bag so it was fairly easily cleaned up.

We’d just got off an 8 hour ferry trip – during which I had accidentally given Erica a carton of fruit juice containing pineapple which she’s allergic to – so we assumed that she was either having an allergic reaction or she was travel sick. We thought nothing else of it and she was absolutely fine after that so as far as we were concerned, that was that.

We got back to our house at 2.30am with me having consumed several quad-shot lattes along the route. The kids were dumped in their beds and next morning were shipped off to school and nursery to give me a chance to catch up on my work and sleep. No dice – an hour later we were phoned by the nursery and asked to pick Greer up as she’d had a couple of incidences of dire rear. Diarrhoea at nursery = not allowed back for 48 hours. Ho hum. I assumed again that it was just a dodgy tummy because of all the travelling but by Thursday Greer had started blowing chunks too and wasn’t managing to keep down any liquids, so off we went to our local hospital for a night of observation.

Yesterday Greer perked up, managed to keep down quarter of a banana and drink some dioralyte. We put her to bed and ROOKIE MISTAKE gave her a bottle of milk. This morning, Bob said her cot was like that scene from Trainspotting. We all know the one I mean.

So today started just beautifully. I decided that I didn’t have the energy to have a shower so ran a bath and after bathing Greer and handing her out to Bob, I propped my laptop up on the table beside me (What?! I’m not the only person who does this, right?!) only to hear Nairn crying and shouting, “My MOUTH! My MOUTH!” which such panic and upset that I assumed he’d bitten his tongue. Bob – who bear in mind was clutching a just-bathed Greer – said, “Nairn come here and let me see” and he did. He walked over to about a foot away from Bob, opened his mouth and chundered in projectile fashion à la Exorcist all over Bob, Greer, the sofa, my CLEAN LAUNDRY and the floor. There was a veritable Lake Spew created in the middle of my living room. Again we hark back to Trainspotting.

And do you know how I reacted when I heard Bob going, “Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!” and Greer screaming? I leapt out of the bath, ran downstairs naked and soaking wet, stood in the doorway of the living room and laughed for a good 30 seconds solid. Howled. It would appear that I’ve developed quite the streak for inappropriate laughter, eh? Incidentally I should  mention that this is not the first time that one of my children has vomited on another. When the three eldest shared a room for a little while, Erica stood up in her cot and blew chunks over the bar. It just so happened that Nairn had decided he was sleeping on the floor that night and even now, a good two years on, I’m giggling away at the memory of his wee sleepy puke-covered head looking around in bewilderment trying to work out what the hell just happened.

I haven’t mentioned the third P – pee – but ONE of my allegedly continent children has peed through every pair of pants she owns and leaves me a little puddle on the bathroom floor every morning. Luckily the dog licks that up so I don’t have to worry about slipping in it. I think I might go barf myself.

I think we should start a list of things that nobody warns you about pre-children. What do you think? If you’ve got a post, add it into the Linky below and we’ll see how far we get. Bagsy not doing lochea!

*”Mummy, my not very well” accompanied by the saddest puppy-dog eyes you ever did see is Erica’s standard retort when you ask her to do something she has no interest in, like have a shower or go to bed.

**I hope you’re impressed at how many different ways to describe being sick I managed to wheedle in to this blog entry!

Posted under family

You guys know that I worship at the altar of KitschyCoo, so when she asked last week for volunteers to test her new pattern for kiddies underpants I was all over that bad boy.

Amanda’s kids are almost exactly the same age as my middle two – Jamie is about 5 months older than Nairn and Maia is only two weeks younger than Erica – and so we have loads in common when it comes to the kids. Amanda commented a while back that underwear in the UK is poorly designed and sized to the extent that she was becoming frustrated with how uncomfortable Jamie & Maia were in pants and I wholeheartedly related to that. I have to say I completely agree and I’d go as far as to say that poor fitting underwear is why Nairn is staying at nursery this year instead of going to school!

Amanda sent over the pattern, I picked up some cute fabric from Mandors in Glasgow and set out to work. The pattern is extremely easy – the body of the pants is one piece with attached waistband & legbands – but my sewing machine didn’t cope terribly well with stretchy knit fabric so I think I’ll rely on my overlocker next time I make these. I ran up a pair in each size:

Erica (they do fit, she’s just a fidget!)

Nairn

I much prefer the style of these over the almost bikini-style girls’ underwear on sale, especially since Erica has a wee pot belly and healthy thighs. These are so much more comfortable for her and are saving her from the dual perils of the builder’s bum and the wedgie. Nairn is currently going through an “I want to be exactly the same as my brother” phase and has steadfastedly refused to wear his new pants since I made them because they’re not like Findlay’s. Ah well. You can’t please them all

Posted under sewing

OKAY! Wow, do I have a lot to share with you guys today! First off, do you remember on Friday I promised you lovely lot that I’d share a tale that was so Homeward Bound-esque it would knock your socks off? Well today I’m going to tell you about it.

Let’s rewind back to August 2000. I was living with not-yet-born-Findlay’s Dad and majorly obsessed with guinea pigs and one day we went to East Kilbride to visit a guinea pig breeder whose parents also kept Jack Russells. It just so happened that they had puppies there ready to leave and even though in hindsight it was the WORST IDEA EVER, Alan & I fell in love with this litter of puppies. We picked out the weirdest looking Jack Russell you’ve ever seen in your life – she was almost exclusively brown & black brindle with a white chest and socks – and brought her home with us. We named her Penny.
Time marched on and a year after we brought Penny home, we brought Findlay home. Right from the off she was very patient with him and quickly became his greatest guardian after Alan & I. When Alan and I split up Penny stayed with me while Alan moved back to his parents house where he was prohibited from keeping a dog by the Factors in charge of the flats. Penny never wavered and was the shining star she always had been but with one single flaw – she was so protective that taking her for a walk with Findlay in the pram was impossible. Impossible. If anyone came near the pram, she’d go for them – never biting, but a dog of that size can bark extremely loudly and it’s intimidating. One warm spring day she did this to a young girl of maybe 7 or 8, wouldn’t come back to me and a passer-by remarked that if I couldn’t control the dog I shouldn’t have her. And he was right. Penny went to live with my friend and I never saw her again…

Roll on seven years to last week. I happened to mention on Facebook that I needed a filing cabinet and one of my friends suggested Gumtree. I’ve never really got into Gumtree but decided to have a look for myself, lo and behold the first advert I saw was this one. I nearly died. i was absolutely – absolutely – convinced it was Penny. I emailed Alan and asked him what he thought – he said he wasn’t sure but sent me this photo of Penny as a puppy:

I then sent an email to the advertiser explaining the story and to cut a long story short, we picked her up the next day. People keep asking me, “How do you know it’s her?” and I try to explain by pointing out her colour similarities, the fact that her age ties in with what the SSPCA estimated when they checked her over, how you simply don’t get Jack Russells with her colouring but above all – I just know. She’s gone grey around her muzzle and behind her ears, she’s older and a bit slower – but it’s her.

Photos from our trip to Calderglen park last night:

I can’t pretend that the timing was anything other than terrible for us to get a dog but as Bob conceded, knowing that Penny could be out there and not doing anything about it would have broken my heart. I count my blessings every day that I have such a wonderful husband who tolerates my whims, he is a wonderful man and I am very grateful to him for sticking around for this long!

I think I’ve babbled enough for just now anyway, I will be back tomorrow with a giveaway so make sure you pop back in

Posted under family

Good Monday, my little friends! How are we all this glorious day? Volcanic ash nonsense aside, things have been really pretty good here of late although alas I have to keep a lot of it to myself for now. I promise to share as soon as I can.

Friday I finally got to go over to Auntie M’s cake lounge in De Courcy’s arcade in the West End, which is the brainchild of Michelle. What a fab place! My mini-companion got the cutest pinkest cake available while my new friend Denise and I both elected for the Sweet Potato and pecan praline cake – a combination which I’ll openly admit to being sceptical about but I swear this was the best cake I have ever tasted. (Shhh! Don’t tell Bob!) I stupidly forgot that I had my phone with me so I didn’t take a photo of our cakes, but I snapped a quick photo of the table before we hotfooted it:

I honestly think that any of you who are within travelling distance to Byers Road would be doing yourselves a disservice not to go visit. Go!

Saturday, I was desperate to go to the Made In The Shade Springtime jamboree in the Lighthouse. With Greer not feeling her best, I left Bob at home with her and coerced Nairn and Erica into joining me. They had a great time! I was pleasantly surprised with how well planned the event was, especially with it being over two floors. The lower floor had a table filled with colouring sheets and pens and the upper floor had a table where browsers were encouraged to help make new bunting for the Made In The Shade events. We had brought along some of our own fabric and as you can see, Erica and Nairn put their own little mark on it:

We accosted some poor chap sitting at a stall minding his own business and asked him to film Erica’s first-ever sewing project. Admittedly, that particular bunting flag is now sewn in a crazy paving manner but hopefully nobody will look too closely! We pottered about and bought lots of pretties before heading over to Sloan’s market for a wander. Chrissy was there with Sarah selling their prettiful wares and we stopped for a natter before going to Sloan’s pub for lunch. Now, I have to admit that I’m really very proud of the fact that I can take my kids out to eat and reliably know that they’ll behave themselves but honestly they excelled themselves. They ate their (absolutely amazing value!) lunch, picking a little of each other’s plates and being so unbearably cute that the ladies sitting beside us gave them pocket money as we left! They immediately took that back to Sloan’s and bought themselves a cake each so a good day was had by them, for sure!

It sounds like a fairly normal day out, right? Except this is the first day I’ve taken the kids out by myself for the whole day since before I became unwell in November. We didn’t just survive, we had an excellent time doing it too so I’m proud of them for making it so easy. I’m also thrilled that Glasgow suddenly seems to be springing to life with all of these supercool independant business ventures that are so much more intriguing and appealing than the same old same old on the high street. So much fun!

Posted under family

In a Victor Meldrew style, I’ve spent the last day or two exclaiming, “I don’t BELIEVE it”. How is it possible that Nairn is turning four already? How did that happen?

I’ve always said that Findlay’s first four years felt like the longest of my life, but Nairn’s have flown past. I feel like we’ve only just had him so how can he possibly be this age already? How can the baby I brought home from the hospital just a short while ago be preparing for his preschool year at nursery? It’s just unfathomable. For all of you out there with young children: Cherish this time, no matter how hard it is. It’s over far too quickly.

For the fact fans out there:
Nairn weighed 9lb 3oz at birth.
I was induced at 14 days post-dates.
Nairn was due on 18th February but due to his late arrival has missed the cut-off for starting school this year.
Nairn is the animal lover out of our children
His nickname is “George” (… of the jungle) because he’s so large and lumbering but generally kind
He is probably the most loving of our children
He loves to read and his current favourite book is Stick Man by Julia Donaldson
He carries about a really revolting quilt that has fallen apart inside. He won’t sleep without it.
He wants to marry Rachel, one of his ‘Ladies’ at nursery. Or his best friend, N.
I hope he never changes.

Happy birthday my sweet, sweet boy and thank you for bringing four years of light and love to our family.

Meeting his big brother for the first time

Six months

One year, earning the “Destroyer” nickname

Fourteen months, with a new sister

Two

Three

Four

Posted under family

Readers I have a terrible admission to make. Terrible. There’s a bit of a backstory to this one so you might want to go get yourself a cup of cha and a nice biscuit. Okay, ready?

I’d like to take you back to July 2008. We – Bob, Findlay, Nairn, Erica and I – were staying on a campsite in Saint-Valéry-sur-Somme, Northern France. The weather was beautiful, the site was peaceful and I was bored rigid so of course I latched onto an idea. Nairn’s hair was a tad overgrown and I thought, “Hey! I can trim it!”

Up until that point I had regularly cut the boys’ hair with a set of trimmers – never with scissors – and the only scissors I had access to were the kitchen scissors supplied in our tent. Still this didn’t deter me and I trimmed the nape of Nairn’s neck, his sideys and his fringe. It looked excellent! For reference, this is a ‘before’ picture:

Flushed with success, I decided that actually cutting hair couldn’t be that difficult. I mean, you don’t need a degree or anything for it and it looks fairly straightforward. Right? Right?!!

Wrong.

I started at his crown and worked round in circles, until I got to his fringe. I turned him round and honestly he looked like he had a crop circle on his head. Panicked, I tried to even out the longer bits by cutting them even shorter until I gave up, burst into tears and put a hat on him to hide my shame until Bob got back from the site shop. When he came back I admitted in horrified tones what I’d done and made it clear that the situation would need to be remedied. And here comes the terrible admission. We went to the office of the site staff and chatted to the English liason chap who had been very helpful when we’d arrived and I said,

“Oh I desperately need your help. You won’t believe what my eldest son has done to his brother with a pair of kitchen scissors.”

Yes. I blamed it on poor, unwitting Findlay. A child who would never DREAM of touching scissors without parental guidance never mind attack his brother’s hair with them. Luckily my tale of woe seemed to strike a cord with the site staff and they lent me a pair of clippers to tidy up the mess…

… except the tale of woe ploughs on. Because you see, I was used to British clippers with British guard measurements on them. I was used to the #2 or #3 guard and so I used the guard marked 2mm, except that since it was a European set 2mm was MUCH SHORTER than a #2 or #3. Regardez!

The moral of the story? NEVER assume that you can do something just because you’ve watched someone else do it and it looked easy. It rarely will be. Thankfully Nairn was more forgiving than my Mother, who refused to display this lovely photo of my children taken on the Somme Bay Railway:

With this saga in mind, I have never since cut the kids’ hair. I was too worried about making a mess of it so they have been treated to the salon experience instead, but I have been trying to get Erica’s hair cut for months and been foiled at every attempt. After visiting Bron yesterday for a playdate I marvelled at Miss Small’s gorgeous hair and Bron told me she cut it herself, reassuring me that, “A bob is very forgiving” and I decided that perhaps I could make one final attempt to salvage my reputation as a demon with scissors. So – ta daaa!

I’m rather proud of myself I have to say! I wonder if this means the boys will let me cut their hair again. Hmmm…

Posted under family