tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10739963131742438702024-03-13T21:57:22.821-07:00Message in a beakerJane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-42711195910125750092011-01-17T13:01:00.000-08:002011-01-20T12:16:49.118-08:00Bella n'mash<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TTSuYWtH6pI/AAAAAAAAAG8/1aPjilu4GaI/s1600/BellaMash3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TTSuYWtH6pI/AAAAAAAAAG8/1aPjilu4GaI/s400/BellaMash3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563263173144341138" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Click on image to enlarge</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My top new year's resolution (on my list of one) is to stop blathering on about my own kids all the time and try something new - stealing everyone else's stories and selling them back to them. Brilliant! </div><div style="text-align: left;">Not sure why I didn't think of it before, so I'm showcasing the first one here. Another lovely true story, that could happen to anyone in the first fug of having a newborn, although I promised to keep the mum's identity secret for fear of health and safety reprisals.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Her daughter is now six, at school and, as far as I know, has no aversion to a bit of mash at tea time. Framed up it made a pretty good present, so I thought I'd offer the service up to anyone else stuck for gift ideas this year. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I can help you can turn any funny memory of your children, friends and loved ones into a cartoon strip. Completely original, thoughtful and funny - does a present get better? I haven't worked out costs yet, but for you my friend I can do a good price!</div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, enough of the sales pitch, any feedback welcome. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Happy 2011!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-73868780624282381342010-12-14T02:10:00.000-08:002010-12-23T12:52:05.127-08:00That Xmas Factor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TQdCsBoTdnI/AAAAAAAAAGw/XLJ_o1W_u4E/s1600/Xmas%2BFactor1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 326px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TQdCsBoTdnI/AAAAAAAAAGw/XLJ_o1W_u4E/s400/Xmas%2BFactor1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550478389876586098" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>Hurrah, it's Christmas; a time for cheer, confusion and card-induced guilt. Batboy, who received a potted version of the first Christmas at school, reliably informed me that baby Jesus was born two years ago. Then Diva confused the Christmas tree delivery man with Santa, checking his van for presents. I had to pull her off, explaining not only is he not Santa but I'd seen better trees in a Homebase skip and he wouldn't be coming to our house again.</div><div>Even a simple trip to Pizza Express to meet friends for a holiday treat was mistaken by Diva as a trip on the Polar Express. Luckily dough balls alleviated the disappointment of not actually going to the North Pole.</div><div>The real highlight so far has to be our first school nativity - how long have I waited for this moment! Batboy chose to be a narrator, taking on the challenge of learning actual lines. I was pretty nervous about it but on the day he handled it like a pro. </div><div>Poor Mary, however, had a bad case of stage fright and pretty much disappeared into her headdress leaving Joseph holding the baby. One of the gold stars missed her cue and burst into tears and a camel kept picking its nose but they did sing their songs beautifully and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. It was everything you could wish for at Christmas. xxx</div><div> </div><div><br /></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-6023606325191710432010-10-26T13:34:00.000-07:002010-10-28T10:23:59.628-07:00Potty-mouth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TMc7e2VgLXI/AAAAAAAAAGg/SKLb7L-pSGk/s1600/Potty3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 282px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TMc7e2VgLXI/AAAAAAAAAGg/SKLb7L-pSGk/s400/Potty3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532456068415761778" /></a><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TMc7e2VgLXI/AAAAAAAAAGg/SKLb7L-pSGk/s1600/Potty3.jpg"></a>All's good this week as it's half-term holiday and so far, touch cheaply-laminated wood table, it's going pretty well. On day one we dropped Diva at nursery and, as we aimlessly filled the morning drifting from library to Tesco, Batboy declared "this is so much fun, you come up with the best ideas mum". </div><div>Boosted by the vote of confidence I decided to up my game a bit and head for London town and the Natural History Museum. "Is this the history museum mum?" he asked as we stumble into Victoria station and the bright lights of Upper Crust and Tie Rack. Starting to despair, I had to remind myself he's only five and bribe him with sweets to keep it zipped till we get to the museum. </div><div>It was a great day though, even Diva loved it. She was fearless in the face of the giant roaring T-Rex, but terrified of the toilet hand dryer. Her survival extinct has clearly evolved to react to the modern world, so best not do any safari parks until she's read up on predators.</div><div>For now, we're just thankful she's more or less potty-trained. It has been a bit hairy this time round, with the kids engaged in near-constant bouncing, karate and pillow-fighting in close proximity of full pottys. I just pity the person that buys our rug on ebay in six months time.</div><div>So although we're loving half-term, the kids have completely taken over our house with noise, plastic chaff and paper planes. This peaked yesterday morning when Mr B went to get Diva out of bed and she said,"what are you doing in my house?" Batboy followed this up with a quick kick in the nuts with his Spongebob slippers. Only four more sleeps till school starts again.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-86824353921644808692010-09-10T05:27:00.000-07:002010-09-12T12:43:37.215-07:00Stop the clock<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TIokhAFVIhI/AAAAAAAAAGY/6KZZ8Ex4ZUs/s1600/EggRaceReady.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 245px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TIokhAFVIhI/AAAAAAAAAGY/6KZZ8Ex4ZUs/s400/EggRaceReady.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515260843045233170" /></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TIokhAFVIhI/AAAAAAAAAGY/6KZZ8Ex4ZUs/s1600/EggRaceReady.jpg"></a>Well, that's the first week of school done, now for the next 12 years...</div><div>So far so good with Batboy; we've had highs (scootering to school in his "smart like daddy" uniform) and lows (falling off his scooter at the school gate and landing face down in front of all the other kids - too humiliating too soon).</div><div>We had another wobble when he said "what we doing tomorrow?" after day one, to which he got a pretty blunt "er, more school". At what point do you explain to a four-year-old he's actually been sucked head first into the ever-whirring cogs of the school machine, not to be churned out till 2022? Maybe next week.</div><div>It's all change for Diva too as she's started nursery, God help them. I feel a slight pang of guilt about how little they are paid to deal with little Miss Madam and her wild ways.</div><div>Her current heart-stopping trick is stealing eggs from the fridge and legging it to the far reaches of the house (targeting rooms with the most soft furnishings). I feel like some badly trained negotiator trying to talk her into handing over the egg-shaped time bomb, which she brandishes with glee.</div><div>Kids aside, I wasn't sure how I'd handle being a school-run mum. It's now against the law to phone the kids in sick because we didn't get out of our jimmers in time and/or decided to watch a Scooby Doo special. Don't think it would make Crimewatch but Nick Jnr's off limits till tea time to keep the fuzz off our back.</div><div>There's all sorts of events you have to remember as well; 'world book days', 'wear what you like days'. The last one is crucial as there's nothing worse then turning up in uniform only to find all your peers in their carefully chosen civvies, cursed to roam the corridors all day in a cloud of shame.</div><div>So I am currently trying to work out my neglected 'icalendar', bought a bedside clock, set my mobile alarm and a series of light sensitive alarm systems to avoid being the last family at the school gates.</div><div>My back-up plan for waking the kids is Grandpa's tried and tested technique, picked up during his stint in the American marines, where you gently press on someone's bladder to get them out of bed in the morning. This is highly effective but slightly risky on the bed-wetting front. </div><div>Ah well, even if our time-keeping fails and the odd event goes awol on the calender, at least we'll rock the egg and spoon race next summer!<div> <!--EndFragment--> <div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-77964124168483338472010-07-12T12:00:00.000-07:002010-07-16T13:32:01.336-07:00Tents and tankinis<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TDtyMMfNblI/AAAAAAAAAGI/CXURj052JxQ/s1600/FunintheSun.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 323px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/TDtyMMfNblI/AAAAAAAAAGI/CXURj052JxQ/s400/FunintheSun.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493109724344577618" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Thought I'd give you all a quick flash of my "Fun in the Sun" picture that's gone into our local ABC magazine, along with a written bit. If you want to read more, pick up a copy!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Back to the here and now, and what a summer it's been already! We've barely set foot inside our house the last few weeks; we eat outside, play outside, Diva even wees outside in the nearest available receptacle - usually the paddling pool (although I was impressed by a precision pee, when she managed to fill a small bucket). </div><div style="text-align: left;">Batboy's also got a new summer game lined up for his play dates called 'Naughty Superheros'. He ran the rules by me, which are basically "you have to be nudie rudie" and a vague game-plan of fighting badies. It's a win-win scenario if you ask me, you disarm the bad guys by being nude and you don't have to wear a sweaty all in one suit in 25 degree heat. </div><div style="text-align: left;">It was all going so well but we must have had too much sun as we decided we need to sleep outside too and signed up to go camping. </div><div style="text-align: left;">We find camping is a bit like having babies; time seems to erase the pain and sleepless nights and you find yourself one merry evening saying, "yeah, lets do it again, why not, it'll be fun".</div><div style="text-align: left;">So last Saturday we found ourselves (a day late due to Mr B's workload) at a campsite on the hottest day of the year. All our lovely, die-hard friends had already done 24 hours and ordered in the Pimms. In very British style we settled down with a saucepan full of Pimms and lemonade and endured the heat, while the kids happily ran ferral. </div><div style="text-align: left;">We did discover a swimming spot in the nearby river, which completely saved the day and cooled us down but the kids wouldn't go near it. There was a touching moment when Mr B swam down the river and disappeared round the corner. Diva declared in a matter of fact manner, "Oh, Dad's gone. I loved Dad." </div><div style="text-align: left;">Much to her delight he made a grand return two minutes later when his legs started going numb, and then it was my turn. I was a little torn as I was desperate to swim but it would mean revealing what I have recently dubbed my 'reverse tankini'. You basically tell yourself you can still get in a bikini after two kids but you pull the pants up so high over your tummy to hide it, they nearly touch the top. I can only get away with this for another couple of years before my kids are genuinely mortified by my appearance.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Skip to the end of the day and the kids are finally asleep by ten, when our evening starts dangerously late considering we're woken twice in the night and then start the day with the birds. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Hangover and sleep deprivation aside, it was lovely and we did laugh round the campfire that night, which I know we'll remember next year when we dig out the tent. For now, things are back to normal. Just this afternoon I overhead Batboy asking Diva to stop kicking him in the face. "I'm not kicking you in the face, I'm kicking you in the head" was her reply. Somehow, this is all more tolerable for being outside. Long may the summer last.</div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-37659886490725967752010-05-28T04:16:00.000-07:002010-06-02T02:28:26.108-07:00Gone Insanesburys: Part 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/S_-mciTh7rI/AAAAAAAAAGA/gBnF142wnNk/s1600/SaneFinal2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 160px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/S_-mciTh7rI/AAAAAAAAAGA/gBnF142wnNk/s400/SaneFinal2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476278681081081522" /></a><div>Click on the cartoon to have half a chance of reading it!</div><div><br /></div><div>It's been a mix of success and and serious stumbling and falling on our arses the last couple of months. The success was two medals earned at the superhero fun run down on Brighton seafront - go team Briscoe! </div><div>Briscoe senior dusted down his Mr Incredible outfit (last seen at Batboy's third birthday in the park where it was met with a mix of confusion and suspicion). </div><div>Surprisingly, I fell victim to the first sports injury of the day by pulling a muscle in my back just pinning his race number to his suit. Elastigirl I am clearly not. After sourcing painkillers we staggered down to the seafront only to find the kids' race had already started. This actually worked in our favour as Batboy joined the fastest runners on their return lap. (A little trick I mastered at school, which backfired badly when I came fourth and landed myself a place in the long distance running team).</div><div>On the whole it was a great day and everyone felt like true champions. Sadly, we've since found out we've been total losers on the schools stakes and have to travel right across Brighton to the one we've been given by default, which is nice enough, just MILES away.</div><div>I'm now trying to work out which lap is the quickest so we can cheat our commuter competitors and defy space-time continuum so we can get Diva back in time for nursery. Batboy's not phased, his new superhero guise is 'Speedman', faster than Superman apparently but sadly he has no wheels, just a cape. Our chances of medal success are definitely slipping on this challenge.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-25844754590506530932010-03-01T13:37:00.001-08:002010-04-12T02:49:12.239-07:00On the move<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/S45JwRgGJUI/AAAAAAAAAF0/9YJ7tEFfO98/s1600-h/Moving2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 230px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/S45JwRgGJUI/AAAAAAAAAF0/9YJ7tEFfO98/s400/Moving2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444370093218080066" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#551A8B;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">It's been forever and a day since I last blogged because to be honest, I didn't know where the pooter was. All our worldly goods and a whole heap of tip-worthy filth was boxed up at great expense and moved to our new home last month. Third most stressful thing after A) death and B) divorce apparently (or is it Christmas? No, that's the trigger for point A and B).</div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, it all went as well as could be expected considering it was minus 17 on the day. That's taking into account the chill factor from having the front and back doors open all day. Mental note to myself; never move in January again.</div><div style="text-align: left;">After ten hours of packing, cleaning, then unpacking and assembling beds in the arctic winds, Batboy and Diva arrive at the new pad running into all the rooms super-excited. Then the questions began; "why isn't the tele working?" "Why haven't you unpacked the boxes in my room?" There's no room for mistakes and no mercy with these kids.</div><div style="text-align: left;">On our knees with exhaustion we mumbled something like "I'll unpack you in a minute", before forcibly putting them to bed. </div><div style="text-align: left;">One month on and the novelty still hasn't worn off, we're loving the new house (mostly because we can shut all the toys and kids into the utility room).</div><div style="text-align: left;">Diva is like a kid in a sweetie shop as there's no locks on the new kitchen cupboards. She can often be found squatting in the corner of the kitchen munching a dry Weetabix or trying to gnaw her way into a packet of biscuits. She's also developed a penchant for drawing on any, and every, surface available; tables, sofas, dvds etc</div><div style="text-align: left;">So yes, our brand new show home is already reduced to a feral, crumb-covered scribble pit but we love it.</div></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-59638940890274611232009-12-21T04:31:00.001-08:002010-04-12T02:49:12.250-07:00Double Bloody Mary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/Sy_ssIhZlEI/AAAAAAAAAE0/_Y8UL9Necpk/s1600-h/Jesuslow.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 340px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/Sy_ssIhZlEI/AAAAAAAAAE0/_Y8UL9Necpk/s400/Jesuslow.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417809119695967298" /></a><br /><div>I'm signing off this year with one more blog and one last gasp of effort after a long, ailment-afflicted month. The list is too long and tedious to re-live, so I thought I'd skip to the good bit - Christmas. Yes, the usual whirlwind of panic purchases has gathered strength but so too have the festive flashbacks.</div><div>Missing this year's Playgroup Christmas Party due to illness was probably a good thing as I don't think it'll ever live up to the legend that is PCP, 2007. This was pre-Diva and Batboy's first nativity. I'll never forget it.</div><div>The playgroup is held weekly at the local church by The Ladies, who are happy for the focus of its sessions (save the odd service schedule thrust into indifferent hands) to be eating play dough and scrapping in the sand pit.</div><div>At Christmas, however, The Ladies feel they have to make a stand and remind the biscuit-munching heathens (and their tea-soaked parents) of “the bigger picture”. </div><div>The event was, quite aptly, pregnant with promise. We were led into the church and lo and behold it was picture-perfect. The children ran gleefully down the aisles towards the Christmas tree on the ‘stage’, which was surrounded by nativity dress up gear and even a baby Jesus swaddled in a manger.</div><div>The vicar had taken up position and was bracing himself with his guitar against the tide of toddlers. I too was carried along the swell of parental pride as our children donned their costumes, especially as Batboy was the only Joseph volunteer. Alas, the title turned out to be a bit of a poisoned chalice as he was landed with two Marys.</div><div>The vicar then bravely launched into the story of Joseph and Mary’s journey to Bethlehem, her subsequent labour and the birth of Jesus. This was followed by a rousing rendition of Away in a Manger led by The Ladies.</div><div>It was clear, however, that the vicar’s wavering voice and earnest bible teachings were too little too late. The church now resembled a scene from a pre-school Lord of the Flies.</div><div>Batboy for one had ditched the tea towel, wearing the headband Rambo-style, and was running up and down the aisles shouting. No way for a new father to behave, but to be fair, a polygamous marriage is no picnic and it’s not strictly his kid anyway.</div><div>Meanwhile, back at the manger the baby blues had kicked in and the two Mary’s started shouting. One had Jesus roughly by the head and the other by the feet as they started pulling and shouting; “I WANT JESUS”, “NO, ITS MINE”. His blanket slipped and fell on the floor leaving, the poor plasticated Jesus exposed to the fury of the two-year-old tantrum.</div><div>Cranking up another gear, it reached its dramatic conclusion as Mary One grabbed a fistful of Mary Two’s cheek and twisted it with her podgy hand in a last bid to free “her Jesus”. It was wrath on a biblical scale, which left the audience spellbound.</div><div>Then the screams finally pierced the celestial picture for the vicar who, horrified, leapt on stage to separate and calm the Marys, explaining for the zillionth time the art of sharing; “Jesus isn’t yours, he’s everyone’s Son of God” etc.</div><div>The party was steadily broken up with the kids herded back into the playroom in a cloud of shame, while the parents all chattered about “what a nice idea” it was. We then steered ourselves towards the service hatch/holy grail for all parents with shredded nerves, where we were blessed with tea and mince pies and true Christmas cheer. </div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-51388087234300394482009-11-18T12:35:00.001-08:002010-04-12T02:49:12.263-07:00The great escape<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SwRa4yc9nmI/AAAAAAAAAEs/-fCN0QtB2CE/s1600/Aussie2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 245px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SwRa4yc9nmI/AAAAAAAAAEs/-fCN0QtB2CE/s400/Aussie2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405545384413863522" /></a><div>We've all had a big week-long adios to my friend Jess and her family who have gone on holiday for three months before being sucked into the school-system vortex.</div><div>Yes that is three months, not three weeks all-inclusive, proper pre-kids style traveling - with kids. Madness or genius, we've as yet to find out! </div><div>I just remember her booking the trip all hazy-eyed and dreamily talking about drinks on the beach while the kids sleep in the camper van. Course they'll sleep I thought and not fight and/or trash the camper and/or eat their passports. Seriously though, he who dares wins. They'll have an amazing time. </div><div>Talking of school vortex's I've been sucked head-first into the murky mire of school selections for Batboy next year. It seems like our school choice was actually - 0. So we're selling up and moving out. Looking round houses is every snoopy woman's dream but with batboy and diva (aka catgirl) in tow it's a race against time. Diva's thrown a face-down full-blown tantrum on the floor of a newly-converted coach house, locked herself into a good-sized bedroom and lifted various small artifacts. Batboy liked the house with incredible hulk gloves but came a cropper in an Edwardian money pit. Turns out periphery vision isn't very good in the bat mask as he walked square into a worm-riddled door frame. Cue more screaming and tears while an agent tries to push me for an opinion. We've all run screaming from a couple of homes but I think we've settled on one (the one with the hulk gloves, we're such sheep). Still doesn't completely solve the schools mystery, whoops, but it's got a lovely garden. I'll just be glad when it's over as the whole schools/house search has been eating into valuable Facebook time.</div><div><br /></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-71364207060500875172009-11-04T03:10:00.000-08:002010-04-12T02:41:44.777-07:00Batboy gets hitched<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SvFhJsM01bI/AAAAAAAAAEc/PaNOWdjYFIo/s1600-h/Ben10cGo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 191px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SvFhJsM01bI/AAAAAAAAAEc/PaNOWdjYFIo/s400/Ben10cGo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400204247305606578" /></a><div>It was just another ordinary day at nursery, but when I picked Batboy up and started to head home I could tell something was up. Was it his mask? Check, no. Was it his belt? Check, no, it was still sagging half-mast round his bum. There was a lightness in his step though, a certain look in his eye, then he fessed up. "I got married today". </div><div>No mum needs to hear of their kid's wedding after the event but I kept my cool. It seemed Batboy had already forgotten his wife's name (it happens) but he told me she'd proposed and they "did the ceremony and everything" eloping to some corner of the nursery. </div><div>Well Britney Spears step aside, it seems my boy's trumped her on the shotgun wedding stakes.</div><div>I was telling my mum-friend Jess all about it, whose daughter goes to the same nursery, and she said "I think I know that girl". My ears pricked up in a 'nonchalant but would love to know more about my daughter-in-law' sort of fashion. <br /></div><div>It turns out this 'Tara' has lots of blond curls and just loves boys, always chasing them trying to get a kiss and/or married. Then Jess reveals "she has a Ben 10 watch, which the boys love". </div><div>Well, I have to hand it to her, what a player. Four and she can already read boys like a book. She hooks their interest with some alien-fighting merchandise, flutters her eyes and gets them down the aisle before they can say "Ben 10 alien force". </div><div>Poor old Batboy's already a soft touch with the girls, so a novelty watch on a girl with curls would be like kryptonite to him. He didn't stand a chance. </div><div>And now? Well he seems to be back on side with the boys at nursery but he's not forgotten her. He proudly announced he wrestled some glass/plastic slipper off another boy for her and she told him "you've rescued my heart". So I guess the honeymoon period isn't over yet, although its been quite crowded with Robin, Two Face and the Green Goblin all joining in. It's a pretty random mixed-up fantasy world they live in and long may it last.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-28678261552787980222009-10-21T07:57:00.001-07:002010-04-12T02:49:12.283-07:00What the tummy tuck?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/St8iB8mhgaI/AAAAAAAAAEM/v4AQseAF0Eo/s1600-h/TuckColour+low.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 233px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/St8iB8mhgaI/AAAAAAAAAEM/v4AQseAF0Eo/s400/TuckColour+low.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395068295456063906" /></a>NB: Click on the picture to see the details.<br /><div><br /><div>One for the mums here! Yup, I'm afraid the "over the bump or under the bump" waistline dilemma continues way past actually being pregnant. Lovely stuff. Felt a bit guilty this week after accusing my fella of suffering from manflu all weekend, it turns out he's got tonsillitis and an eye infection. On the plus side (for me) it means he's been stuck at home and once the eyepatch came off I got him to give me a quick lesson in photoshop. Yey. So you can expect the Batboy chronicles in technicolour from now on - if I have time. </div><div><br /></div><div>COMING SOON - "Batboy gets hitched"</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/St8hk4PqI3I/AAAAAAAAAD8/zSbug2gr1XM/s1600-h/TuckColour+low.jpg"></a></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-58179290628880775602009-10-08T08:25:00.001-07:002010-04-12T02:49:12.294-07:00Batboy & the dark night<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/Ss5WHbuIaBI/AAAAAAAAADU/pXHaGXvHIig/s1600-h/Truecatgirl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/Ss5WHbuIaBI/AAAAAAAAADU/pXHaGXvHIig/s320/Truecatgirl.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390340489709381650" /></a><br /><div><br /></div>It was three in the morning when Batboy appeared at the bedroom door and solemnly declared "I can't sleep when it's dark". It wasn't clear if it was just because the night light had died or because vigilantes only work at night, cleaning the streets of crime. Once the fug of sleep had drifted we realised it was because he'd been in bed since six in the evening sweating out a bad fever and was now feeling better and ready for books, dvds and general light entertainment. Cue "quality dad time" while I slope off to the spare room. 12 hours is enough for me, I don't do 24 hour ents.<div>This has been a bad week at no 44 Gotham city. It's rained all week and Batboy's been struck down by flu. At first I thought it was the man made fibres of the batsuit that was causing the sweats (we've all been there with the polyester). Then I realised it was internal, most likely picked up at that bug-breeding ground aka nursery.</div><div>Once the Calpol kicked in he would stagger off the sofa and insist I become Superman and join him in his crusade against all the baddies; Green Goblin, Two face etc. Then his temperature would go up again and he would crawl back under his blanket, which Catgirl thought was an elaborate and on-going game of Peekaboo. She would jump on top and pull it off his feverish face, creating a vicious circle of screaming and tears that could outstrip an X Factor final. </div><div>Ah well, we're out the other side now and Batboy's having to take stock of the havoc wreaked by catgirl while he's been out of action. The Playmobil pirates have been stuffed in a teapot and Buzz lightyear is currently being held captive in catgirl's lair, wrapped in a "blankie". There's a lot to sort out but he's promised me he'll stick to the day shifts from now on.<br /></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-14663719466408844392009-09-29T03:28:00.000-07:002010-04-12T02:41:44.801-07:00Clarks farce<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SsNvCZHEaWI/AAAAAAAAAC8/SWfZaTlsPzk/s1600-h/batboy.jpeg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SsNvCZHEaWI/AAAAAAAAAC8/SWfZaTlsPzk/s320/batboy.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387271666156202338" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div>That's it, Clarks have blown it with Mrs B. I bet they're shaking in their well-designed footwear. Batboy was saying his pre-summer shoes were hurting, so I took him to the local branch of Clunkys footwear where they measured his feet then claimed they'd grown half a size. As there was no immediate choice other then the dullest pair of tan, can't even do it to a four-year-old, shoes we left. I then sent the old but perfectly good pair, complete with pointless flashing lights, to charity. <div>Fast forward a week and I'm at the in-town, far more cosmopolitan, branch of Clunkys and they measure his feet again saying he hasn't grown at all and it's all a web of lies. They then proceed to roll out another selection of smart-casual frankenshoe nightmares. We left in a cloud of fury, only to be alleviated by H&Mecca and a pair of cheap robot pumps. </div><div>As it turns out we can't see the shoes anyway under the batman suit's spongey shoe covers. Why did I bother and will I get sued? Bring it on, I have righteousness and Batboy on my side...</div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-5728380076678091762009-09-22T02:26:00.000-07:002010-04-12T02:41:44.845-07:00Milkoholic<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SriYV1It2UI/AAAAAAAAACk/yGzcP1jRMh0/s1600-h/Babysipping2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 272px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SriYV1It2UI/AAAAAAAAACk/yGzcP1jRMh0/s320/Babysipping2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384220855329741122" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SriYV1It2UI/AAAAAAAAACk/yGzcP1jRMh0/s1600-h/Babysipping2.jpg"><br /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">This was classic "grannygate" with her one-track mind when it comes to bottle talk. She's got our two for the whole night in a couple of days though, so I'm saying no more, as it's a bold and heroic gesture, she's sure to regret. Me and my fella are off to a "gig" in London. I know, what the "peaches geldof" I'm I thinking. Can hardly say the word gig anymore, let alone stand and jostle with sweaty bods for four hours, do enough of that at monkey business. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Don't know who'll be more pooped though, her or us. There's sure to be a prime granny-ism, maybe she'll send bibby 1 off to nursery with a fun-size bottle of gin for lunch (better hide my secret stash).</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-67739302103915692142009-09-21T12:41:00.000-07:002010-04-12T02:41:44.837-07:00Going insanesburys<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SriXPrLtdmI/AAAAAAAAACU/9JvJu3DQvu4/s1600-h/insanesburys3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 170px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SriXPrLtdmI/AAAAAAAAACU/9JvJu3DQvu4/s320/insanesburys3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384219650067101282" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-85087868204582027642009-09-21T12:04:00.000-07:002010-04-12T02:41:44.809-07:00Siblings, the early years<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SrfZLZhHw6I/AAAAAAAAACM/tQIgNrNZZVg/s1600-h/Dino+boy.jpeg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XZ6JuosZVCM/SrfZLZhHw6I/AAAAAAAAACM/tQIgNrNZZVg/s320/Dino+boy.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384010669396312994" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div>Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1073996313174243870.post-42873321575386004272009-09-21T10:38:00.000-07:002010-04-12T02:41:44.852-07:00New beginningsThis is it, it's the post-swine flu blog clean up. Going to start again, the kids are being dispatched into childcare on a regular basis, with strict instructions not to mention they've had swine flu. Probably a bit lost on the one-year-old but you never know what they're spongey brains are soaking up, mostly Loose Women, but hey, it doesn't do me any harm. Anyway, going to have a mix of old stuff, new bits and sketchy bits. Yey, it's all good...Jane Briscoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03202789016773930243noreply@blogger.com0