Happy Fourth of July

I hope all my American friends are having a fantabulous Fourth of July weekend.


I was inspired to make this flag cake after seeing it on A Cup of Jo. So, the photos aren't great, but the effect is pretty good and it tastes deeeelicious (trust me, I've had a lot of it).

Before

....and after, da daaaah!

We grilled out with our neighbours and the babies enjoyed a splash around in the paddling pool.

Couldn't you just gobble up those chunky little legs!

 A great start to what I hope will be a lovely week (it's nearly birthday time!!)...

Top up the vino please JP!

Frock It! #9

For this week's Frock It!, I am taking the lead of Mid30sLife and am showing one of my favourite baby outfits.

I was going to wax lyrical about Duchess K of Mid's style overhaul and the two sublime outfits she chose to wear publicly this week; her military-style coat and the ballgirl chic white Temperley dress at SW19 but, it's all too predictable now. She's clearly not going to put a LK Bennett foot wrong anymore, which is good, but it just means endless fawning and that's a bit, well, boring.

Maybe I will digest her Canadian and US outfits over the coming few weeks and do a fully comprehensive one-stop shop Duchess Tour of Duty special where I can hyperbolate and fawn to my heart's content...

So, back to this week and I have chosen a little dress that's a bit different from what you would pick up at your local Mothercare.


My Dad bought this outfit as part of Imogen's Christmas present and it came all the way from 78 Degrees North ie, the Arctic Circle. 

Back last year, my Dad undertook a sailing expedition to the North Pole via Norway (I think) mainly to explore and to view Polar Bears in their natural habitat. He found this great little shop that designs and makes childrenswear.

I adore it's uniqueness and it's Scandinavian simplicity. Imogen has only worn it once as I have no idea how to wash it and am petrified of ruining it, so it hangs up dutifully in the wardrobe and will be a keepsake for her future. Also, I couldn't be arsed had no opportunity to put it on her to take a photo, so, sorry about that, but she does look very cute (obviously). 

Completely unrelated photo!

Mummy in Meltdown

Today I did something about which I am completely ashamed and guilt-ridden.

This morning, Imogen would not go down for her morning nap. This is not that unusual, more times than not there will be a little battle, but she sleeps eventually. Today was different. 

Earlier this week, she had suddenly decided to start rolling over in bed onto her front. Now, I know most babies do this and it's fine, but she's always been a very still sleeper; lay her down on her back and she'll be in the same spot when she wakes up. But now, out of nowhere, she's decided to do cot gymnastics before the morning nap. It would be OK if she rolled over and slept but she cries, so I have to go in and turn her back over, then she rolls back, cries, I turn her back ad nauseum......

All this to-ing and fro-ing inevitably winds her up into a frenzy and to a point where she struggles to sleep. Today was a bad episode.

James had taken the dog for a walk and I decided to try and lay her down again with the house being quieter. It started off well, I thought she'd drifted off and I headed to the shower, but then the whining started again and gradually got louder and louder until it became a screaming cry.

For some reason, today these screams really got to me, really pissed me off and I lost my patience. I stomped into her room, pulled her out of bed, sat her down and shouted at her, calling her stupid and silly (two things she most certainly is not) and she just sat there screaming even louder, sobbing her heart out in confusion and distress. I don't know where all my pent-up frustration had come from and why I had to vent it on her. Then I did what I knew I had to do, I put her in a safe place and went to another room to calm down. 

I remember being told/reading this advice not long after I had her and it's obviously to avoid the unthinkable - shaking your baby with anger.** It's good advice. It took me less than a minute to find clarity and to regain my composure. I immediately realised that my behaviour was unacceptable, childish and irresponsible. I realised that I am my precious daughter's only mother, that I am her anchor in this crazy world, I ground her and my unconditional love makes her feel safe and secure. I do not EVER want her to feel unloved by me and insecure of my affection.

So, I scooped her up, both of us now sobbing, and we had big cuddles. I put my hand on my heart and made a solemn promise to her that this would never happen again. It won't. I know it. 

Losing my self-control, if only for a second, was scary and sobering. This is not the person I am and definitely not the mother I want to be.

In the end, James had the strength of nerve to outlast her defiant cries and she slept. We then went on to have a wonderful day out to Asheville, NC :-)

 
** By writing about this advice, I am not implying that I, personally, was close to shaking her; I was not and never would do.  It's just a good method for calming down and finding five minutes alone to see the wood from the trees! Also good for when dogs DON'T STOP BARKING!!

Tales of a Giraffe named Sophie

I am a sucker for a celebrity endorsement, let's just say that right away. 

So when, a few weeks back, I read Jessica Alba tweeting about the 'miracles' of her child's toy, I was SOLD.

Now, I'm not a total sell-out, I had been wanting to buy this particular toy for some time, but when I realised it was $19.99 in buybuybaby, I blanched and told Imogen she would have to make do and play with the tupperware for now; there was no way I was shelling out twenty dollars for a rubber camelopard (thanks to thesaurus.com for that little gem). 

But after Ms Alba had entranced me with her tweets promising never-ending giraffe love, I went to the website hopscout.com and lo and behold, her Sophie was on sale for $17! TOTAL SALE PRICE, INCL. DELIVERY.

Damn you, Jessica, with your shiny, glossy toy tweets

 Being a stingy Mum, the three buck saving was the push I needed and the deal was done. Before I knew it, my bank card had found itself in my hand and the order had been processed. Wooooooooo, 'Soon,' I promised Imogen, 'You will be the proud owner of a classic toy that you will love and cherish forever like all the other children'.


She looked at me with barely concealed contempt. I should have known what was to come.


Fast forward about 3 weeks. It seems Hopscout underestimated the power of tweeting to a million plus followers and they had been 'overwhelmed by demand' and my order would be 'a day late'. For 'a day late' read a week late.


But, day of days, yesterday afternoon I faithfully checked outside my front door as I had been for the last few weeks and there it was, my small brown box of long-necked delight!


After whooping it up to a satisfactory level and building the anticipation to fever pitch I opened the box and......it squeaked.....


Well, I couldn't have designed a more dog friendly toy better myself. Squeak? Check. Rubber? Check. Chewable? Check. 


Oh dear.

Bobble's in love with Madame Sophie

I soon realised that Sophie was not going to be a toy Imogen could play with at will, it was to become a special playroom toy, far from the clutches of Bobble.


But, I needn't have worried about the dog. One squeak from Sophie and Imogen turned away in disgust. 


I don't want to exaggerate, but my child does not dislike anything. She will happily play with anything I give her, will eat her food up clean off her plate every day. But a rubber giraffe, that squeaks? Nope. Nada. 


So, I tried to persevere all afternoon. We went and played in her room and she would physically bat it away with her feet and hands. When we walked the dog, I placed it in the stroller with her to chew on and she threw it out onto the street (another first). I tried to emulate the chewing technique to help soothe her teething gums, but she just looked at me in bewilderment.

Is my child the only one in the world impervious to this toy's charms. I'm a bit gutted really, I had hoped she would take to it and would bond with it, holding it tight for years on end. 


There must be a lesson in here somewhere. All I know is I have a $17 unused equivalent to a rubber chicken in my handbag. Bob Dog? You may be in luck after all.....

Bonjour, Sophie! Or should I say Au Revoir?!

Pool fun!

  
Yesterday was Imogen's first dip into water other than her bath.

I always planned to take her to a baby swim class as soon as she hit 4 months, but the pool set-up over here is not the same as in the UK: there are very few 'public' pools, most swim classes are in membership pools like in a gym or at the YMCA and I don't want to spend nearly $100 a month for a membership I will only use for the pool and then pay for swim lessons ON TOP.

So, because I am a stingy Mummy, she has had to wait for the weather to warm up so we can visit our friend's pool. 
 
Here comes the irony: the pool we visited yesterday is at the apartments we USED to live in, but in the fifteen months we lived there, I went in the pool ONCE. Disgraceful. And to think I had all that free time pre-Imogen and a big belly flotation aid I could have used! So now I go back to the pool I once lived at by invitation from my friend. Grrr! 

Hey ho, we all had a really fun afternoon. Imogen and Brooke played well together for 10 month olds (barring a sharing incident with a spoon...) and she slept well all night, probably dreaming of rubber rings and suncream. 

Have a wonderful weekend Peapodders, what are you up to? Plans Chez Priest are as yet unknown, but I'm hoping to indulge in some yummy lunch tomorrow, I'm thinking burgers or maybe fish tacos...

Feeding time

So far, in my 10 months of baby rearing, the hardest part, for me, has been the feeding.

While I was pregnant, I didn't give much real thought to feeding my baby every day. I planned to breastfeed and knew it wasn't going to be a complete breeze so I went to my pre-natal classes to learn all the tricks of the trade and felt prepared and comfortable with what lay ahead.

Until late into another sleep-disturbed night, about a week before baby was born, when it dawned on me that this feeding lark was quite an undertaking, a huge responsibility. With a gnawing fear growing in my belly, I realised that it wasn't a case of just feeding a few times in the hospital, it would be every two hours or so, EVERY DAY....FOREVER. That I was responsible for feeding this child until she left home, as an adult. Yikes.

Now, you may think I'm being crazy and naive, but I can't be the only parent to feel this way. Being pregnant, for me, was lovely, but the reality of having a real-life, bouncing baby in there did not become apparent until we stared eye-to-eye in hospital last July.

Well, unsurprisingly, the breastfeeding was hard; it was painful and tiring and incredibly time-consuming. Just when all I wanted to do was look after myself and my very sore body, I had to put that to one side to feed a hungry little girl every couple of hours. In the first few weeks, I began to resent this bodily-takeover and I used to dread the feeds (those few hours inbetween used to go way too fast).


However, after a month or so, without even realising, we began to get into the swing of things, my confidence grew, the pain went away and we were both happy with the situation. I came so close to quitting and swapping to bottles on several occasions, but looking back, I'm so very glad I stuck at it as it's been the most incredible experience.

One of our first successful feeds!

So, after 6 months of just milk, it was time for some solids, I guess. As with the milk feeds, solids started off on a rocky road and it took her a few weeks to get the hang of this new taste sensation (mmm, rice cereal, yummmmmm?!!), but with persistence, we overcame the hurdles.

First 'solid' food

 

Well, we have been successfully feeding solid food for 4 months now and Imogen has three meals a day with meals looking something like this:


Breakfast: Porridge oats with milk and some pureed fruit (apples, pears, peaches, strawberries, blueberries etc)


Lunch: Sandwich with various fillings - cheese, cheese spread, avocado (a real fave), egg, tuna, marmite (another fave) followed by fruit or a yoghurt


Mid-afternoon: Snacks or carrot sticks and hummus


Dinner: Chicken or beef casserole, fish pie, tomato pasta sauce, macaroni cheese and vegetables.


Milk twice a day


Now I know this all sounds really nutritious and yes, I am very proud of the effort and time I put into her meals; it's turned into a labour of love. James is always complaining that she eats a hundred times better than him and it's probably true. But I feel there is so much crap food out there that she will probably spend her life eating, so I feel it's the least I can do to have her eating perfectly while I can still control it.

 a MUST have freezer tray

I spend days sometimes cooking, mixing and freezing foods and the freezer is full of delicious meals but now, I feel like I've hit an inspirational brick wall. I like to make meals that I can freeze in batches as it's so cheap and lasts for weeks and most of the recipes I have used come from Annabel Karmel (baby feeding GENIUS). 

My saviour, Annabel

Current freezer situation

 

However, after a while, I think there's only so much damn chicken casserole I can cook before I start to lose my mind and when I look for recipes online, I'm always disappointed.


So here is my point, oh wise people out there: I would love to be refreshed with some delicious and easy baby dinner recipes to save me from fish pie boredom! Please let me know of any good books or websites that you all use...Thank you.

The Mom Pledge

moth-er (verb): to care for or protect like a mother; act maternally toward

care for or protect like a mother; act maternally toward

When you think about the qualities involved in being a mother, the following adjectives spring to mind: nurturing, protective, loving, caring. A mum should be all that is good in the world; a safe haven in stormy seas, a friend to all people, a homemaker.

So why is it that becoming a mother can bring out the worst in so many women?

Since becoming a Mum myself, I have sadly had to tag new adjectives on to the description of mothers: competitive, judgmental, two-faced, jealous, snobby.

I wouldn't necessarily class myself as a Mommy Blogger, but I do read a lot of Mommy Blogs and articles to do with parenting and unfortunately, I have encountered a lot of 'cyber-bullying' between mothers; grown women who should know better.

Although I have not personally been the victim of Mom-bullying, I have seen on many online comment boards some of the unspeakable vitriol that mothers feel appropriate to vent to other mothers who are simply trying to live their lives and share their honest experiences.

At the end of the day, as long as you love, protect and provide for your children, it doesn't matter whether you breastfeed or bottle-feed, whether you make your own baby food or buy jars and it doesn't matter what stroller you use. If your child makes it to adulthood a well-rounded, happy human being, you have done the best you can do.

This is why I am Taking the Pledge, to highlight the message of sisterhood, to say that women should show solidarity in motherhood and respect each woman's personal parenting choices.

The Mom Pledge

I am a proud Mommy Blogger. I will conduct myself with integrity in all my blogging activities. I can lead by example.

I pledge to treat my fellow moms with respect. I will acknowledge that there is no one, "right" way to be a good Mom. Each woman makes the choices best for her family.

I believe a healthy dialogue on important issues is a good thing. I will welcome differing opinions when offered in a respectful, non-judgmental manner. And will treat those who do so in kind.

I stand up against online bullying. My blog is my space. I will not tolerate comments that are rude, condescending or disrespectful.

I refuse to give those who attack a platform. I will remove their remarks from my blog with no mention or response. I can take control.

I want to see moms work together to build one another up, not tear each other down. Words can be used as weapons. I will not engage in that behavior.

I affirm that we are a community. As a member, I will strive to foster goodwill among moms. Together, we can make a difference.

To show your support for The Mom Pledge, you can follow on Twitter or look at their website.

Gone to seed

Yesterday was pretty rough.

The dog woke up on the wrong side of his bed and was persistently naughty from 7am-7pm. Halfway through the afternoon I had foolishly decided to take on the mountain of filing that was threatening to break out of the kitchen cupboard, so I had files and paper everywhere that just wouldn't go down. Plus cleaning, plus food shopping, plus bathtimes, tea-cooking etc...the final straw was Imogen refusing to go back to sleep just an hour into bedtime and screaming to the point of hyperventilation for an hour until James and I managed to finally rock her to sleep. Ugh.

So, by the time I went to bed, I felt frazzled. When I glanced in the mirror at 10pm, I almost didn't recognise myself.

This is how I look and feel. Where did it all go wrong!

From top to bottom, I look so far removed from how I looked and felt this time last year. I don't know whether it's hormones, lack of sleep, not eating and drinking enough, not enough exercise, I don't know, but I look rough.

what happened to this fresh-faced, young whipper-snapper?!

Hair was lank, greasy and in desperate need of a colour. I've got the dye, I just haven't committed to actually putting it on my hair yet. It hasn't been cut for months and months, so it never looks good, even after a wash.

My skin is pale and wan, grey even, the giant pores on my nose threatening to engulf my whole face; breakouts everywhere.

The closest my fingernails get to a manicure is a quick trim with the nail clippers every couple of weeks, not even a nail file goes over them anymore.

As for my feet, well after a winter stuck in shoes and countless hours pounding the streets with the dog, they are so dry and dusty, they could probably pass as elephants' hooves...

Even before I had a baby, I was never particularly high-maintenance. I don't wear a lot of make-up, a quick hairbrush is all I do to my hair in the morning and I definitely don't spend any time in spas. My only concession to vanity is getting my eyebrows waxed. Non-negotiable with my caterpillar brows! So I don't know how I've gone downhill so badly when there wasn't really that far to fall, if you follow. Surely being low-maintenance works well with young babies? A slick of make-up, a quick brush, job's a good 'un??

It seems that it's not enough to just shower every day and put on make-up to cover the cracks. Eight months of broken sleep and not enough 'me' time to drink enough water or eat properly, instead of snacking on mini eggs all day just to get by, has resulted in a washed out Clare.

Does all this sound familiar? I don't intend for this to sound all woe is me, I'm sure every new Mum or Dad on the planet, who hasn't got full-time help, feels the same way.

This time in my life is great, but I look like shit!

But don't all of you despair for me just yet, there is a beacon of hope on the horizon. Mumma W will, fingers crossed, be arriving this time next week for 2 weeks of Grandma duties. Hip, hip, HURRAH! No rest for the wicked, she will be put straight to work and maybe I will get some R+R? ;-)

Macaroni Mo

I don't believe you can call yourself a true American until you have eaten Mac 'n Cheese...and enjoyed it!

In the UK, macaroni cheese is usually eaten as a full course, but here in the South East United States, at least, macaroni cheese is served as a side dish, an accompaniment to the main meal. At Thanksgiving, it is a staple, just as sprouts and bread sauce are for an English Christmas Day dinner.

Despite Imogen being born into a English family surrounded by English language and traditions, I am effectively raising an American child. If we remain here in the Deep South, I will only be able to keep the American culture at bay for so long. It is inevitable to me that she will grow up being able to speak with a proper American accent, when she thinks of a 'biscuit', it won't be of the English cookie variety, she will understand how to host a perfect Southern soiree and green bean casserole with mac 'n cheese will be as normal as afternoon tea is to an Englishman.

With this is mind, I put her through her toughest initiation test yet yesterday; she had macaroni cheese for her lunch for the first time.

I don't think it will be the last time either...

The Art of 'Spacing'

Some of the very first thoughts that ran through my head after I gave birth last summer were:

• Thank GOD that's over

• Wow, there really was a baby in there and double wow, look at the size of her head, no wonder it hurt so much!

and thirdly:

• I am NEVER, quote NEVER doing that again, apologies to you, Imogen, you will be an only child.
  

I'm pretty sure I had #3 put into writing, I think I swore on oath in front of witnesses (well, I should have done anyway).

Just a week or so postpartum, I had to return to the hospital to return some equipment (not the baby, if you were thinking that) and just the sight of the place gave me the sweats and by the time I had taken the lift to the L & D floor and the smell of the place hit me, I was all a-quiver with the too recent memories and not in a good way.

For many months after I would say to everyone and anyone how hard it was and when asked about a possible sibling, I would blanche, maybe gag and then respond with 'absolutely not, no way, never!'.

But Mother Nature is a wily old fox and just a few weeks ago, I actually uttered, out loud, in audible voice, 'Yeah, it wasn't that bad, I could definitely do it again'. To which I replied to myself, 'Are you a bloody MAD woman, it was that bad, you are still physically and mentally scarred from the first time!'

However, it is inevitable. The small voice of my memories is being drowned out by the new voices who have forgotten those dark days, both of labour and the weeks postpartum with said newborn which are HARD, I tell you, HARD!

Only this week, James and I had 'The Conversation'. You know the one where you start discussing ANOTHER CHILD and when would be the best time to have one. Eeeeeeeek!

Best camera face! I mean, who couldn't resist another one of these!!

In the news last week, I read that professional WAG, Danielle Lloyd ('Who?' I hear you cry; I know, I know but I am a gossip whore and it's people like her who feed the celebrity machine) has announced her second pregnancy which arrived just 4 months after she had her first son. She claims it was all an 'accident', but we all know that a super-fertile body and no contraception doth a baby ultimately make, so either she is ridiculously dumb or she secretly wanted a baby but feigns an accident because people can't comprehend why you would want another baby within a year of your first!

So, with all this baby talk going on, it got me thinking as to the art of spacing, when is the best time to have another baby?

Ask a doctor and he or she will probably tell you to wait 2 years before trying for another to give your mind and body chance to fully recover from the pregnancy, birth and the relentless work that goes in to raising a baby to toddler age and beyond.

The decision is obviously very personal; some people jump straight in and have another straightaway. I wonder how many of these very close siblings were accidental, I mean you don't really know your a**e from your elbow the first few months after childbirth, so the prospect of adding another to the mix cannot often be a conscious one? Others like to take their time, enjoy the one or two they have and then take the plunge after several years.

For me, or us, the decision is not purely about what best suits our situation, living in the 'Land of the Free' we do not actually get 'free' healthcare and to physically have a baby is very expensive, not to mention the tranclements that come with a newborn. Sods Law tells me I will have a boy next, so we would have to buy all new boy things and wouldn't be able to re-use all my beloved pink stuff.

If I lived in a land of subsidised healthcare I would probably crack on and pop another out sooner rather than later. The thought of having a 3, 4 or even 5 year old and having my nighttimes and life back to relative normality to then turn it upside down with a newborn fills me with fear to my bones. Therefore, I would rather have two who are at a similar stage and not have to go through the disruption and sleep deprivation too many times.

On the other hand, I wouldn't want to have another too soon; I feel that my time with Imogen now is so important, to her and me and she needs my one-on-one attention as she is developing and learning so much everyday. I don't want to have to have one eye on her and one eye on nursing a newborn. It would seem unfair on both of them. She deserves to have my undivided attention at the moment and I want to give it to her.

However, having said all this, I know very well that when I want to have a baby is really out of my hands; these things cannot always be planned. Of course, for some people it can, 'Shall we have another child darling?' woman says to man, 'Yes, how lovely!' he replies. Man glances at woman and BOOM, she's pregnant! That didn't happen for me first time round and I had to wait for what felt like forever for Miss Priest. I'm not so deluded as to think it won't be the same next time, so for all my desires on the perfect timing, it really will just happen when it wants to.

And if it transpires that there never is a sibling for Imogen, then I already know that she will be more than enough for me. I look at her every day and cannot believe she is here, that she is mine. I will never get bored of her. She is my mini-miracle and I cherish her. If she is my only child, well I am MORE than happy with that!

One lucky Mama!

Rainy day blues

Well, it's a murky ol' day here in Walnut Cove; the sun has definitely NOT got his hat on and the rain has set in for the next 24 hours according to the WYFF4 Super Doppler HD weather forecast.

Oh joy!

The poor dog has realised that the odds of having a walk today are fast becoming slim to none and is wildly alternating between hyperactive and desolately bored. I know how he feels. Even the baby is fed up.

If the baby was older, today could be the ultimate pyjama day. We (baby, dog & I) could go back to bed and veg out watching TV and eating goodies, curtains closed, blocking out the wind & rain that is battering at the windowpanes. We could bake cakes and make play-doh, paint our nails and do our hair (Bobble especially would love this bit).

But the baby is only 7 months old so it's going to be a while before we can be indulgent together. Instead, I'm trying to appease her with stacking rings and Jumperoos (and even that most favourite of bouncers is in the bad books today!), sing songs and belly tickling.

It's only 10.45am, so unless I'm ready to book myself in for rehab by the end of the day after being cooped up indoors, we will have to venture out at some point. I think it will have to be the Target (oh, wondrous place of wonder!) just for a browse, of course! Or maybe the State Farmers' Market I read about this morning, as long as all the rutabagas are not floating off down the road!

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

In other news, on reflection (or rather on husband's advice), I have removed my earlier post from Monday night.

In the same way that after writing a letter in anger, you should sleep on it and re-read in the morning before posting because, invariably, in the light of a new day things are not so bad, I should have slept on my post and then kept it to myself.

I would have been mortified if, by some chance, they had read my post as they would have been hurt, upset and bewildered by my outburst, at a time when they should be surrounded by goodwill and love.

Although we have very different parenting styles and outlooks on life and I don't agree with their approach, I do respect it as I would feel very affronted if my child-rearing practices were so openly criticised.

So, the post is now in my drafts, for my eyes only. Case closed.

What's in a name?

Somedays I wonder how on Earth I ended up with such a downright naughty dog.

There's no question Bobble is a beautiful, intelligent and fun animal, but most days he could win a red rosette in World's Most Disobedient Dog. He just willfully ignores any command I give him, unless I append the sentence with 'treat, Bob?'. He is then my best friend. Obv.

But then yesterday I was thinking about this doggie dissention and realised that maybe Bob doesn't understand me. I mean, Bob is American and I am English, we speak two different languages. It's obvious there's a cultural barrier between us. 'Lo!' I hear you cry, 'you both speak English, you must be able to communicate?'

Well, you would think so wouldn't you. But, no.

A case in point: my daughter's name, Imogen - pronunciation Im-oh-jin (stress on the Im)

Now, Imogen is a beautiful (in my opinion), old (16th Century) English name, believed to be derived from a Shakespearean play, no less. So, it's been around for a while; dare I say it, longer than the modern America in which I currently reside.

However, whenever I am out and about with said daughter and someone stops to coo over her and they ask me her name, I may as well have said she is the Direct Child of Satan, she has two heads and one eye for the way in which they look at me after I've said 'Imogen'.

Most people are polite enough to lie and say what a pretty, but unusual name she has and then quickly scuttle off to mull over what a stupid name that baby has. But some people don't have the capacity for tact and will just stare at me and ask 'is that a family name?' which I have learnt is code for saying 'ah, so, you had no choice but to give your child such an ugly, old-fashioned moniker'.

Sometimes, if I can't be bothered, I just say her name is Emma; everyone is happy then; the stranger isn't flummoxed, I don't have to explain 'its English, it's old...you just don't GET it!!' and Imogen is young enough not to understand that her name is not actually Emma.

Maybe I am being unfair, after all, I reside in their country, why should they be aware of an English name and why should they have to be able to understand my accent.

But no, what really gets my goat is the sheer number of ridiculous, made-up names people here give their children. Two names I heard last night from a teacher friend were of twin girls named Frangelica and Frangenica. I mean, COME ON!!!!!!!!! And people don't get Imogen?

I can sense I am spiralling into a rant here, which I didn't intend, so I will stop before I alienate my fellow countrymen and am deported for crimes against baby names.

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

In other news, my very clever and talented father has had a letter printed in the Financial Times today as the LEAD LETTER! This is a huge achievement.

It's all about Wikileaks and Julian Assange, topics which I am not really up to speed with, as I spend so much time fretting over my daughter's name. I can't do it all, you know!

Anyway, you should all read the letter and marvel in it's cleverness:

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/78938c3a-46b9-11e0-967a-00144feab49a.html#axzz1FjU1DEp6

Have a great weekend folks!

Flights of follicular fancy

This was Imogen's hairstyle of choice this morning:

If she grows up to be a TV Gladiator in the style of Jet or Panther, at least she has a ready-made fighting name;

Mo by name. The MO-HAWK by nature!

Or, as her father pointed out, she could be a David Beckham hair double. Some tough life choices lie ahead for our Mo.

T.G.I. Friday

Crying baby,
She would not sleep.
Her Mama helped her
count the sheep.

Two o'clock, three o'clock, four o'clock
five.
How is poor Mama now up and alive?


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

It is Friday.

Mama has wine.

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

That is all.