Miss Cherry Red

Motherhood. Love. Life. And everything in between

I have been really, really shit of late.  Looking at the blog, I don’t think I’ve blogged properly since… erm… September I think.

How shit is that?  Actually don’t answer that – I know how shit it is.

So here’s a quick run down on what’s been going on Chez Cherry Red:

October

First there was The Trade In

I finally traded in my shitty road boat of a car Chrysler for something that didn’t bleed me dry every 6 days…. A Micra.

A shiny, bright red, 1.2 Micra.

When I was looking at getting a new car it needed to fit the following criteria:

* It had to have 5 doors

* The Girl had to have plenty of room in the back

* It had to be economical round town

The Micra ticks all the right boxes and I love it.  Actually, I loved it at the time but that’s another post.  I’m grateful for it if I’m honest – it’s saved me £150 a month in petrol. That’s gotta count for something surely!??

Then there was The Operation.

The Girl had her tonsils out.  Not gonna lie, that week was the worst week of my fucking life.  Horrific is the only way to describe it.

Her operation was scheduled for 17th and she had to be in the hospital by midday which was fine but I really struggled with was not letting her have anything to eat or drink after 7am – especially as didn’t go down for surgery until nearly 5pm by which time my nerves were screwed.

Anyway, surgery went “as expected” and she was back on the ward within 40 minutes and she was as miserable as sin.  Which is fair enough I think when you’re a) 5 years old and b) forced to wake up after being drugged to go to sleep.

She was discharged the following morning and I was given strict instructions to make sure she ate normally and drank plenty.

Eat.  Normally??

Yeah right – like that was going to happen.  Anyone who’s had their tonsils out know how painful it is so getting a whingy, whiny, miserable 5 year old to eat toast and normal food was near impossible but she did manage to eat some foods.

Didn’t do any good though – by Friday the infection in her throat had gotten so bad I had to rush her into A&E where she was readmitted because the infection in her throat was so severe she smelt like rotten flesh and the whole back of her throat was green.

It was disgusting.

want to tell you that I was a model mum and that at no time did I lose my patience with the medical staff but that.. that would be a lie.

For one, I believed she’d been sent home too early and I told the consultant exactly that.  I got no reaction from him at all which did nothing for my mood.

Then there are the ‘protocols’.  Don’t get me wrong, the nurses were brilliant but I was very tired, very worried and The Girl was really ill and some of their rules are just really fucking stupid.

Take for example the one about checking.  You know the one – it says nurses have to constantly check their patient hasn’t morphed into someone else in a short space of time.

The Girl had a catheter because she needed IV antibiotics every two hours.

Now, getting The Girl to tell the nurses her name and date of birth during the day was fine, but what wasn’t fine was the need to wake her up every 2 hours THROUGH THE GOD DAMN night??  I don’t get it?  She was the same girl at 1am that she was at 11pm.  And the same girl at 3am that she was at 1am!?  It was just ridiculous.

But what really, really fucked me off was the fact that the nurse had the gall to complain in the morning that The Girl was miserable and cried a lot.  WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT!?!?  I found myself asking her what she expected of a 5 year old that was unwell and had been woken up every 2 hours through the night.  I think I asked her how she’d have felt if she were the one being disturbed.

Not my finest hour I admit, but still…..

November

Shit all to report.

December

My 80 year old Nan fell, broke her nose, ripped her leg open to the bone and needed over 40 stitches to repair it.

Christmas.

The End.

So there you go.

That kind of brings us up to date.

Got loads more to blog about but for now… I think that’ll do.

Categories: life

I know we’re in September and #cybermummy seems like it was months ago, but I figured I’d blog about it anyway.

Firstly, to the wonderful ladies who spent not an inconsiderable amount of time organising it – thank you.  You did a fantastic job.  The venue was fabulous and perfectly located.  The choices for key note and crowd sourced key note speakers were, well, superb.

I wasn’t sponsored to go to the event in June.  The ticket arrived with me as a Christmas present from The Hot Geek after I’d spent weeks telling how much I’d really like to go because everyone raved about last years and how I felt a little sad that I couldn’t go – we were sunning ourselves inSpainfor the 2010 conference.

I won’t lie, I was absolutely shitting myself really nervous about going.   I was travelling toLondon on my own and I was massively aware that I didn’t know anyone.

I’d done my research before hand and read up on each one of the workshops and decided which ones I was going to attend.

The first workshop I attended was the The Writing Workshop being lead by Sophie King and in all honesty – I was disappointed with it.  I didn’t really get very much from it.  I have no desire to write a novel and this workshop was, in my opinion, heavily geared towards bloggers who want to use their blog to launch themselves as a novelist and that really isn’t me.

Please don’t get me wrong, I understand fully that some bloggers want to be novelists and this was reflected by some of the people who attended the workshop – people who clearly got something out of it.  But when Ms King was asked questions from bloggers who didn’t want a writing career it was obvious that she didn’t really understand the needs of her audience as a whole.

One blogger was told that perhaps she should change the name of her blog so it stood out to people about who she was and what she was about and that she should write about a single subject.  I’m not sure Ms Kink really grasped that for some, their blog names are how people know them, how they identify with them.  Blog Names aren’t book titles.  You don’t change them dependent on the ‘storyline’ of your next post.

Another blogger was told that her weekly post link up should be held somewhere separate to the rest of her blog because it seemed quite a niche thing to do.  Ms King didn’t, in my opinion, understand that the link up posts are part of someones blog and aren’t something they want to keep separate.

About half way through the workshop, bloggers started to leave and I can understand why.  Me, I stayed in the hope that I’d get something out of it.

I didn’t.

My experience wasn’t helped by the fact that we were paired off for a hands-on session.  Ms King gave us prompts such as a single word or an example subject and we were asked to write a short creative piece, only a few lines, based on that prompt.  The reason for the exercise was to bounce idea’s off your partner and see how we could inspire each other only my partner didn’t acknowledge I was in the room and instead chose to sit on her laptop.

I felt really let down and the session left me questioning both myself and my reasons for blogging.

In reality, the whole day wasn’t negative.

I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the speakers as part of the Blogger to Blogger inspiration session.

The Girl is a major part of why I write and what I write about.  I’ve often wondered about how I out how I can get her involved in my blog but I’d never thought about video blogging.  Until I sat in and listened to My Daddy Cooks talk about his experience with video and how he gets his little one’s involved.

But for me… the absolute highlight of my day was putting faces to names and meeting everyone – especially those I tweet more regularly perhaps than others!

The first words I heard when I arrived at Cybermummy were uttered by the rather delicious Jay who, across a crowded reception bellowed “OH MY GOD, I’D RECOGNISE THOSE TITS ANYWHERE!!!!!” and then proceeded to hug me as if she’d known me for years.   I don’t think I stopped smiling for ages afterward!

So there you go, my rambled take on Cybermummy.

Late I know, but hey, better late than never!

Categories: life

dildos.jpg

OH. EM. GEE.

Pretty gorgeous eh???

whole mantle piece full of cock.

And do you see the gorgeous humdinger of a cock on the left hand side???  The clear one?

He was mine. AAAAALLLLL MINE!

His actual name is Columbo The First.

You may address him as Senor C.

Now, I absolutely plan on telling you how we became…… er…. friends but before I do, I’ve got a two very special people who I need to say a big thanks to cause y’know, my Mamma raised me right and shit.

First, to Jay

Dude… when you say you’re gonna throw a dildo party, fuck me do you throw a dildo party.  I mean, I’ve only seen such phallic displays at  Ann Summers.  I was surrounded by them.  Big ones, small ones, veiny ones, really funky feeling ones.

All a-maz-ing.

You.  Rock.

Secondly a mahoosive big thank you to EDEN FANTASYS who supplied the goodies.

In all honesty, without you, 25 or so women wouldn’t have spent over an hour giggling like school girls and using the kind of language that would shame a sailor!!

There will be more photos and the full story about what we go up to in my next post……

Promise

Categories: life

I spent months teaching The Girl to speak when she was young.

Here are just four reasons why I wished I hadn’t bothered:

One:

To the checkout lady in Asda whilst I’m packing the shopping:  D’you know, my mummy makes me do the hoovering at home while she drinks wine.

The poor woman serving me looked horrified but I don’t think it’d have been so bad if she weren’t scanning a bottle of rosé just as The Girl opted to tell her story.

For the record, I don’t make her do the hoovering whilst I drink at all.  The hoovers too big for her for one :-)

Two:

In the car on the way home and she’s pretending to have claws: *raises her hand* Don’t make me use these bad boys on you!

Bad boys?  Bad boys?  Where the fuck did she hear that expression from?  I certainly don’t refer to anything as ‘bad boys’.

Three

In the changing room of a rather busy high street store: Mummy, your boobies are reeeeally big and wobbly

Yes.  Thank you for that.

If I didn’t have big-boob-complex already then The Girl broadcasting her opinion on their appearance didn’t help.

Four

On the way out of said changing room: Mummy, when I was a little baby I drank milk from your boobies and I used to say it was yummy.  Didn’t I?

Whilst I’m not embarrassed by the fact that The Girl was breastfed, I’m sure the rest of the changing room didn’t need a) to know or b) the sound affect of how The Girl thinks breastfeeding sounds.

Five

For the whole of Friday afternoon:  Mummy, why aren’t you married to my Daddy?  Don’t you want to marriaged Daddy?  I want you to marriaged Daddy cause I want to be your bridesmaid. Oh and Mummy, I’m really, really, really ready to be a big sister.  I am, I promise.

I could just cry.

Like my uterus wasn’t under enough pressure from family and friends it’s now coming under fire from The Girl.

Enough already.

I spent 3 hours trying to explain why she wasn’t going to be a big sister and why I wasn’t “marriaged” and got nowhere.

Categories: life

The Hot Geek has one simple task.

Put the dishwasher on.

Here are some examples of what class as (fucking impossible) difficult tasks:

Explain quantum physics to The Girl.

Explain binary to me

Build a rocket ship and fly it to the moon

Put his foot in his mouth

So, is everyone clear on the differences between a difficult task and a simple task?

Yes.

OK.

So could someone please explain to me WHEN putting the dishwasher on became a difficult task and why I was greeted with fuckwittery when I got home.

Apparently I was fortunate not have seen the kitchen BEFORE Operation Clean Up began.

I could tell by the look on The Hot Geeks face that things were obviously bad so because I’m a glutton for punishment I opened the dishwasher and all fucking hell fell out.

Yep.  I was pissed.

I did NOT need this shit.

Not only had I been at work ALL day, but it was 11:30pm and I’d just finished a shift at my 2nd job.

According to The Hot Geek is was far too late to get dishwasher tablets so he ‘improvised’.

With washing up liquid.

Because he ‘didn’t know that was going to happen’.

He stood there, grinning at me.  Muttering the words ‘Love me…’

He’s lucky I didn’t lamp him one!

He did not get lucky that night.

Categories: life

At exactly 19:42 on Thursday 16th March 2006 I became a mother.

And my world as I knew it changed forever.

I’ve never written about my pregnancy and labour before but I have read the birth stories of many others.

So, in honour of my gorgeous daughters 5th birthday today, here is our story

*************************************

Two weeks before I was due to go on an all inclusive holiday with family I found out I was pregnant.

My first thought wasn’t about how my life was going to change.  It was more “oh fuck”.

You see, I never wanted kids.

Ever.

There, I said it.

Kids were a bind.  The kind that drained your wallet and your drinking time.

I didn’t have the time for a baby.

I mean, my weekend started on a Wednesday and ended on a Sunday for christs sake.  How on earth could I possibly parent with all that my weekend entailed going on?

No, being a mother simply wouldn’t do.

Parenting was not for me.

Until 4 digital pregnancy tests and an emergency test done by the nice nurse at the family planning clinic lead me to my “oh fuck” moment.

I had convinced myself that I was going to deal with the pregnancy rationally before I made any decision.  Questions needed to be asked, after all, I was single and it certainly wasn’t planned plus I still lived at home.  Sure I had a job and a steady income but could I honestly do what was needed?  Could I be a mum?  Should I be a mum?

Besides, I’d just been promoted and was just about to start my (almost) dream career in London.

A baby would royally fuck up my plans.

I went to see a friend who, before any pleasantries, handed me an ice cold pint of cider.  I should point out that she didn’t know I was pregnant, she just knew me so well she had it ready for when I walked through the door after I’d called to say I was coming round!

My head told me to have it.  Besides, it was almost summer, I’d had a stressful day and hadn’t made a decision.  I mean, really… what harm would it do?

Seconds later my heart waded into the argument telling me that drinking when you were pregnant was bad for your baby or at least that’s what I’d read somewhere.  Why take the risk?

I will never forget the look on her face when I refused the drink saying “oh… erm… no.  Thanks though”

She looked completely hurt.  Betrayed almost.

In that very moment, I knew there was only one possible road my life could go down and my heart claimed it’s victory.

My due date was 17th March 2006 – St Patricks Day.  Ironic don’t you think given that I’m half Irish?  I’m fairly sure a tear trickled down my Dad’s face when I told him.

I wish I had some kind of horror story to share, months and months of stress and worry and week long morning sickness.

But I don’t.

My pregnancy went really smoothly.

Every milestone was hit and everything normal: blood tests, urine tests, scans, baby’s growth.

I was offered every piece of advice under the sun and told horror stories about the pain that made my toes curl.

My labour started at 1am on 16th March 2006 and the pain was slow building.  I managed at home on my own until 9am when I called my Mum.  She drove me to the hospital.

My waters hadn’t broken and the midwife in charge decided that because the unit was having a “quiet day” they’d put me in a side room so they could monitor me as this was my first child.

12 hours after my first twinges of pain my waters broke and the pain started to intensify but I was so tired I just wanted to sleep.

In walked my midwife who gave me a shot of pethidine.

It was amazing.   Pethidine doesn’t take the pain away it just tells your brain that the pain doesn’t belong to you.  It’s really, really weird but gave me enough respite to sleep for a couple of hours and to get the energy that the next few hours demanded.

I laboured in complete silence.  None of this shouting and screaming like you some of the women doing on One Born Every Minute.

Sweet, serene silence.

The midwife couldn’t believe it but I knew.  I knew because I’d seen enough birthing programmes to know that wailing like a banshee wasn’t going to get me anywhere and was probably going to piss some people off.

So I breathed through it.

Keira was born at 19:42 and weighed 7lb 2oz and delivered by ventouse cap.

She was placed onto me and I just, well, looked at her and she just looked at me.

I remember smiling at her and thinking “oh fuck”.

I have never looked back.

Happy Birthday Angel Face xxxx

Categories: life

Well… not special as such….

The rather gorgeous Jenny recently revealed seven things about herself that no one knows!  You can read it here.

Now, I wasn’t exactly tagged in the post but she did say that anyone who wanted to jump the bandwagon could, so I thought why not…. plus it’s been ages since I last blogged and I’m getting withdrawal (plus writers block).

So, here goes.  7 things you never knew about Miss Cherry Red:

1.  I have an unhealthy obsession with glitter nail polish

Seriously.  I just can’t help myself.  If my nail polish doesn’t have a sparkle in it, I’ll put a layer of glitter nail polish over the top!  I’ve got glittery polishes in red, silver, pink and gold!

2:   I only like the strawberry and orange creams in a tin of Quality Street.

I may eat the others, but only after I’ve demolished every cream one first.  Plus, given that most people consider the cream chocolates the food of the devil, I count myself lucky that I rarely have to fight someone for them!

3: The bed has to be made *my* way.

Now, before you get all ‘Christ, she’s a psycho…’ on me, I’d just like to say that I am well aware that this makes me sound like an utter fruit loop.  Honest.  It’s kind of like an OCD.

The Hot Geek makes the bed and I always remake it because it has to be ‘just so’.  We argue about it sometimes because when he does it because he doesn’t flatten the bottom sheet and doesn’t fluff the pillows.  I mean really?? Is it so fucking hard?

4: The smell of Southern Comfort makes me retch.

It is vile.  Truly vile.  It’s the liquid equivalent of evil.  Which is a shame because it used to be my tipple of choice… until I got so horrendously drunk on it when I was 17 that I had to be carried (literally carried….) home by my friends boyfriend.  Unfortunately for him I’d found out he’d been cheating on my friend so verbally (and drunkenly) abused him the whole way home…. he dropped me on my arse a couple of times.  Didn’t stop me though and 15 years later he still hasn’t let me forget it!

5:  I wanted a coffin as a bed when I was 14!

I wanted my parents to paint the walls of my bedroom black, put down a black carpet and let me sleep in a coffin.  No real reason really.  Just thought it’d be different!  (FYI: I didn’t get it.  Mum said No.)

6:  I hate the dentist

I know, total cliché, but I really do loathe going.  My actual dentist is quite nice but the thought of sticking a needle in my gum terrifies me.   My mother finds this hilarious – she doesn’t understand how I can give birth in utter silence yet cry at the thought of the dentist!

7:  I am desperately in love with Gabriel Byrne.

The man is just delish.  I mean have you seen End of Days?  Oh. My. God.   If he was running hell I’d sin every day!

Categories: life