I've been putting off a haircut for the 5 months since we moved here, because I'm a little dubious as to whether the local salons will live up to my shamefully North-London yummy-mummy persuasions. I've developed a strange habit of peering in the windows whenever I pass, craning my neck to assess (a) the stylishness or otherwise of the staff (it's a big indicator, you know) and (b) the average age of the clientele (likewise).
A couple of days before Christmas I finally established that there was one local place worth trying; it always looks busy and buzzy, and since most of the women I know here have pretty cool hair, I assumed they can't all be trekking further afield to achieve their look. (They take their hair and shoes pretty seriously here, even by back-water standards. Don't get me started on the night I made the fatal faux pas of wearing flat shoes on a girls night out and was forever more branded the girl who wears MARRIED shoes and effectively made a social pariah.) Anyway, so I popped my head round the door and enquired as to the possibility of a quick cut and blow dry and was effectively laughed out of the shop. BEFORE the New Year? she said, with incredulity, looking at me for all the world as if I'd need TWO haircuts seeing as how I apparently had TWO HEADS. Point taken.
But we're out part-ay-ing tonight and my hair just will not do. So I took a risk and tried the salon that seems mostly reserved for school boys, farmers, and ladies of a purple-rinse-persuasion. Result? Something took place that has not happened since sometime in 1987 when my Mum took me for my very first big girl's haircut. 1 - my haircut cost the extravagant, princely sum of £14. F-O-U-R-T-E-E-N measly pounds. I had taken out £40, thinking £50 to be probably a little excessive for such a backwater. And secondly, the only hair product I am wearing is HAIRSPRAY. Oh my good gosh. And do you want to know the most scandalous thing of all? They didn't offer me a glass of wine or a cappuccino and as for the head massage, forget about it.
The haircut is ok. I was eminently reserved and went for a conservative trim just incase. I am seriously having to ask myself if it's excessive to schedule a visit to catch up with friends and family just so I can book my next haircut in sweet ole Lahndahn Tahn.
I was skimming through my blog entries from last year the other night and was astounded at the changes in The Boy in that time... it amazes me how such tiny incremental developments and shifts can go so un-noticed in the day-to-day, but when piled up and set beside the picture of a year ago, the differences are incredible. One of the things that most annoys me about motherhood is the fact that I forget so much. It's only really from flicking through my old blog entries that I remember much detail about the days before. Every single day night I go to bed trying to recall the handfuls of perfect utterances that I've meant to blog but already forgotten all about. I think sharing in the wonder of a child getting to grips with language is one of the most brilliant things I've ever known. It's really magical. The first Christmas that your kid really 'gets it' is pretty awesome too. Anyway... last night Dada popped into the boys room because Sir Eatalot is back on form and consequently apparently needs an 8oz bottle before bed, another one at 1am and another one at 7am. It's really not fun so I intend to stuff him to the gunnels with food between the hours of daylight from now on. He lost so much weight when he was sick that he no longer really lives up to his festive nickname, Butterball, but he's obviously working overtime on replenishing his previously fantastic thighs and bum squidge. Edan sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, and in reply to Dada checking that he was ok, he whispered 'I think I am frightened.' He thinks, therefore he is. And this morning at 8.40am (Yeehaaa!) he clambered into bed beside me, clutching not one but two dressies, Mr Bear, and his old baby blanket which he recently rediscovered with fond affection. Once that menagerie was cuddled up beside me he started humming quietly in my ear. After a few minutes he pushed his face up close to mine and whispered 'Mama, I am making this noise because... I really love you.' And then my heart exploded and we all went to heaven and that's where I'm writing this from now.
Wine glass in hand, whingy baby at my feet, I started making beef wellington yesterday evening. Dada and Nanny Dill had schlepped out to soft play, only to find it closed, and so made do with McDonald's. Which in itself is something of a treat, only usually reserved for days on which small children burn themselves on red-hot grills and receive news that skin grafts may be required (they weren't) or for child-free nights out at the cinema when a big mac and chips is the height of gastronomic spoiling. Anyway. The wellington took HOURS longer than the recipe suggested, and I had to commandeer the men of the household to start building and stop watching telly. The boys got more toys today than they've had in their whole lives. But it was an absolute winner. And I was super-glad I'd made Dada and Jan-jan assemble as much as possible last night.
This morning... a little ray of sunshine woke up in place of the puke-master we've known for the past week. Soon after his big brother woke too, and we crept downstairs to see if Santa had been. It was totally priceless. He clapped both hands to his mouth in theatrical delight and shrieked and stage-whispered about Santa having drunk the port and eaten the mince pie, and Rudolph having munched the carrot and, much to his consternation, left alot of crunchy crumbs.
Toys toys toys and more toys. But all carefully chosen and each sincerely cherished.
Quotes of the day... chattering happily to me while I juggled roast potatoes with turkey and beef wellington, and tried in vain to limit his intake of duck pate and salmon mousse.... "Mama, it's really so lovely when we have a Christmas party just like this." And later, after opening toy number 912; "Mama, it's been so nice to have these lovely presents today."
Adorable. Can't wait to do it all again next year. But don't mind if I don't see another small piece of Playmobile plastic and an excruciatingly complicated assembly diagram ever again. Ever.
Me? I got spoiled too. Red leather gloves, an entirely new lease of life for my world-weary but much-loved filofax. A much-admired hat and vouchers that I can't wait to spend. Posh, expensive face-cream, selected according to my age but which is apparently for those with youthul skin. Woot! Cook books that I'd rather read than any novel, and which make me feel like I could cook something from them every day for the rest of my life and never need another book. And lots of other treats and surprises.
PS moonlit walk on the beach in heels last night, followed by midnight service complete with carols and more than a touch of Christmas magic.
A little Christmas sparkle is creeping in and filtering out my overly-romantic over-expectations. We braved Marks and Spencer's for Christmas food today and despite the momentary horror of far too many people crammed in far too small a space, I got it (mostly) all done in under an hour. True, I had to queue for the best part of 20 minutes just to get to the checkout but I went prepared: I blasted calm-inducing music through my ipod and cracked open a brand new hardback fresh from the library and was actually kind of sorry when my little reverie came to an end.
My Dad is in bed feeling poorly and Sir Eat-a-lot still persists in throwing up at least once a day. We had a horrible start to the day this morning when his cries had me padding barefoot into his room at 3.30am only to realised by cold slime on the floor that the poor little mite had thrown up AGAIN. Cue clothes-changes and fresh bed sheets (lost count of how many times we've changed his bed in the past week) and Big Brother believing it was morning. Don't think anyone really made it back to sleep after that and we all squished into one bed and shared the sleep-deprived misery together.
Chinese take-away tonight. Our landlords just brought round a bottle of home-made sloe gin, a home-made Christmas-tree cookie for each of us, and an invitation to lunch and a walk on the 28th. Lovely. We've another invite to a party on Boxing Night, and a party / sleepver en famille for New Year's Eve. Brilliant. Tomorrow we have to build a toy kitchen, assemble a rocking horse, and put together an art table and chairs, not to mention make a beef wellington. The plan is for the boys to come down to their new kitchen, their table, and their stockings, and we'll save the mountain of other presents until after lunch. I'm getting excited now. He keeps making me sing Away in A Manger, and every time I get to the bit about 'bless all the dear children' he gives me the cutest little speeches about how he wants to be one of those little children in that song. In a similar vein he just pointed to the black and white photo of New York that hangs on the wall in the playroom and said 'I want to be in there with you, Mama, and Daddy and Zackie.' Maybe next year, I whispered, picturing a book deal and a quick Christmas break in the Big Apple...
Bleeeuuurgh. We've just been to our 2nd toddler Christmas party in as many days and I am seriously jacked up on sugar. Having completely eliminated it from my diet for the past 10 days, I decided it was overly controlling and weird of me not to eat anything at Christmas parties, especially since half the point of the detox was to allow myself some slack for Christmas feasting. So I tucked in and maaaaan did I feel the sugar hit. I've always been convinced that sugar and caffeine don't affect me at all - I think I've proved the opposite lately; that in fact I mainline them so badly that my system is so completely dependent on them that I've stopped noticing that they do anything for me whatsoever. So I load up on them more and more and more to get the full impact. I think that's pretty much the definition of an addict. I broke out and even had a coffee and seriously, I was buzzing so madly that I suddenly completely understood why all the toddlers were running around like lunatics and going bananas. I felt like doing the same. It was fun to eat the bad stuff but I really don't enjoy it so much now. I like the 'treat' factor of it now and again but it's so nice to be free of the junk and feel so much better for it. Last night I caved and ate chocolate buttons and sweeties before bed, and woke with that distinctive groggy feeling this morning. My sugar-love days are coming to an end.
And hey why did no-one ever tell me how FABULOUS fuzzy felt is when you are nearly 3 years old? He got a set as a pressie at the Christmas party this morning and whereas whe usually wants to watch TV or ride like a maniac on his car when we come home, he disappeared into the kitchen and became quiet as a wee mouse. 3 minutes later I realised in horror that things were too silent, and snuck into the kitchen to spy on him, fully expecting to find him doing one of his 3 favourite tricks: eating the contents of the sugar bowl (like mother, like son), smearing himself head to toe in sudocrem, or pulling out every single baby wipe from every single packet he can find around the house. And we pretty much have a packet in every room, and a whole lotta rooms. But no, he was dilligently and carefully recreating a beautiful fuzzy-felt farm, exactly like the one on the box that the pieces came in. That just about proves my theory that his wildness is down to boredom, and that he's both ready for nursery and needs really structured activities to pass the time peacefully at home. I was EXACTLY like this. It slightly freaks me out to think of him as bored - I hate the idea of teaching kids to behave like little passive consumers of entertainment, and can't help but think that there was a time when kids didn't even know what boredom was. But times have changed and he's not free to roam the fields or live-out all his little-boyness tendencies as kids once were, so it's fuzzy felt all the way from here.
Aaaaaand... we heard yesterday that the owners of the house we're renting are probably not going to sell after all, which means we're welcome to stay put indefinitely. I can't tell you how happy that news makes me. I wasn't worried about what we'd do but it feels like the icing on the cake in terms of being here. Now all we need is for Dada to pass his probation period with flying colours and a hefty pay rise, and me to figure out how to earn some cash doing something I love. Santa, are you listening, and can you accommodate such requests from a girl who has been very, very good this year?
I just ate a Kit Kat chunky. Yum. Um, ok did I mention that I lost 6lbs on my 9-day detox? Except I think it was probably more like 2lbs because I fluctate 3-4lbs in a normal week. But anyway by day 5 I was 2lbs under the lightest I've been in months, and more importantly I felt ten times better. The first 2 days were awful - caffeine withdrawal took me under and the lack of sugar (I take it in tea and coffee, maybe 5-6 times a day) left me dozing off at any given moment. After that a spring was returned to my step, the likes of which I haven't seen before. I fell off the wagon a little at the weekend and snuck a slice of banana cake. Ok and a bite of a chicken sandwich and a handful of crisps. And I drank a cup of tea on Monday because we live in a backwater and the coffee shop I was in had NO herbal tea. Fancy that. Not in Crouch End. Anyway then today we went to a Christmas party and really went to town on the buffet table BUT although the standard of the food was amazing, it all tasted like artifical crap. Something's definitely shifted. I'm not sure where to go from here - I'd like to lose another few pounds and am really enjoying being veggie and going without caffeine or alcohol but half the reason for the detox is so I can indulge at Christmas without piling it on. Last Christmas was a wash-out because of the gallstones - we cooked entirely fat-free and I still ended up writhing around in agony so this year I intend to do some proper feasting. But the momentum of shifting a few pounds and what feels like a good couple of inches has got me hooked, and I'm going to be lithe and lovely in 2008. Hey but the BEST thing about the detox is the sleep - I fall asleep easily, sleep like a baby and always, ALWAYS wake up refreshed and alert, no matter how early it is. It's amazing. I really think it's a caffeine thing. I read that the groggy feeling that lots of people respond to with a cup of tea or coffee isn't actually a normal first-thing-in-the-morning phenomenon, but a sign of caffeine addiction. Basically you wake up feeling like crap because your body has done 10 hours or longer without caffeine and is screaming out for it. You have a cup of tea or coffee and feel better because you're addicted. But if you go without it you don't experience the same grogginess because your body is back to functioning at a normal healthy rate, not at a caffeine-addicted rate. I dunno. I was sceptical but the way I've been feeling on waking up this week if enough to keep me off tea and coffee indefinitely.
