Aimee Horton

When it’s about w(h)ine.


Today has not been a good day, which is a shame as it had all the qualities to be a lovely day.

Yes, admittedly I have girl flu and have been up half the night with The Chunky Monkey, who whilst didn’t get out of bed “until the sunshine comes up” did spend most of the night shouting “MUMMMEEEE III NEEEEEEDDD MILKKKKKKKK PLEEASSEEE. NOW“. Normally I wouldn’t cave quite so easily, but I’m tired, The Beast is tired, Mr Aimee is tired, we’re all bloody tired apart from him.

However, Mr Aimee let me sleep in for a bit longer then normal, and we agreed to visit my mum after The Beasts tennis lesson. Not mega busy, but nicely leisurely. Perfect.

Except for one tiny issue. The Whine.

Anyone with kids knows what I’m talking about. Noise I can cope with, I’m not saying I particularly like it, but I can cope with it. I can zone it out, either by opening a car window, turning on the fan over the hob, or putting on a song LOUDLY. I’ve even been known to succumb to a song that they like just to get them dancing and not talking, but whining. That’s another issue all together.

I’d love somebody to do a scientific study on whining. A study which analyses the pitch and octaves of a whine, along with discovering the proof that it does actually make grown mums and dads NEED an alcoholic beverage. How does it make you feel like you would actually rather jump out of a moving vehicle then hear that sound FOR ANOTHER MINUTE? HOW does it make you actually seriously google the term “is taping my child’s mouth shut frowned upon?” followed swiftly by Is there such thing as a Gin Drip?.

You see, the whine is a sound which sends shivers down the spine. It grates more than a cheese grater on your knuckles, it’s JUST NOT NICE.

It sits along par with nagging, and talking over you. Oh…and asking the same question again, and again, and again, and again, AND AGAIN, so that even though your answer is always the same, the way in which you present it changes each time in an act of frustration and desperation…

“yes darling, you can have something to eat when we get to Grans”
“yes, when we get to Grans”
“not now I don’t have anything when we get to grans”
“well, where am I going to get the food from now?”
“I know you’re desperate but I can’t make food appear as if from nowhere”
“what do you expect me to do? Magic it from my bottom?”
“If you say the phrase ‘desperate hungry…except for a banana’ one more time I may be forced to scream”

The Whine today caused Mr Aimee to utter the slightly naive phrase “I just can’t take it anymore, they’re always worse when we’re both at home” to which I want to shout “NO YOU JUST DON’T SEE IT WHEN YOU’RE AT WORK YOU DOOFUS”, however I replied swiftly with the justification of “no, this is how they are, you see, do you now understand the reason you get a text at 3.45pm saying ‘hurry home…bring gin’, imagine dealing with it ON YOUR OWN”.

So how does one deal with a whine? After a bit of investigation there isn’t such thing as a soundproof suit, there isn’t such thing as a gin (or prosecco, or any alcoholic beverage) drip, and it’s apparently it’s not acceptable to tape your child’s mouth shut (and even if you do this the tone of which a whine comes out can still be heard).

So I’ve gone for the only solution possible, put them to bed bang on time, open the bar at 7pm and drink enough booze to remind yourself why you wanted the little >>insert word of your choice<< in the first place.

Pass the gin.

When you lose a life line.


Today is a very sad day indeed.  After 19 months of friendship (best friends) my beloved iPhone had an accident, I fear it is the end of a long and loving relationship with Ivan, and it is definitely a separation of a few weeks while we send him off to the doctors via the insurers to see if he’s repairable.

Ivan came into my life after a lot of thought and deliberation.  I have always been a bit of a phone addict (I blame this man here), and as soon as I could I bought myself a Blackberry Pearl.  This was the phone I kept the longest (until Ivan came along).  I used to get bored and sell them on ebay and replace frequently, but the introduction of affordable smart phones  changed my life.  Now I could merge my texting addiction with my online obsession.  Now it was all in once place.  It was AH-MAZE-ING.  I kept Bert throughout the first year and a bit of The Beast, he performed well and took numerous photos that I was able to email or upload to facebook or twitter for free.  He also offered me a life line I feel many new mums needed…contact with the outside world, along with company during those long sleepless nights, hour long night feeds and long drawn out days when it’s too wet to go anywhere and your bloody gorgeous newborn WON’T SLEEP AT ALL.

When it came to upgrade I opted for the Blackberry Bold – it seemed the obvious choice.  I wanted to stand out from the crowd, not be a sheep and follow the iPhone clan!  He didn’t even last long enough to get a name.  Battery failure and constant chugging meant a new battery and ebay for him, buying out the contract and I gave in, and got Ivan.

Oh Ivan.  Ivan who kept me company when I was so heavily pregnant I genuinly couldn’t stand up.  Ivan who took the first photograph of FatLarry, Ivan who kept me addicted to twitter and facebook and awake with Solitaire and AudioBooks during those long sleepless nights.  Ivan who helps me with my calorie counting, my running, my email, videos my children IVAN IVAN IVAN.

When I sent Matthew the photograph of the damage and explained that I keep getting teeny tiny shards of glass in my fingers when I touch him he just responded with “well don’t use him until we get him sorted” (note how he also refers to my phone as a person not an object?).  It got me thinking:

Are we becoming addicted to our phones?

In true Carrie Bradshaw style I could write a long post judging society, talking about our addiction to social networking, not being able to cope with being out of touch from anybody, in virtual or “real” reality.  But I won’t because I think we all know we are, judging by comments on Facebook and Twitter, people agree.  Losing your phone these days is like losing a limb.

The insurance people have told me it could take “at least a few weeks” to sort/fix/replace.  How will I get my news feeds?  How will I reach for my phone and tweet what sort of night I’ve had with my children?  How will I get a quick photo of the kids and share it with my mum?  Some people might say I should use this oppertunity to break free, go cold turkey a little bit.  I don’t agree with those people…I have yet to think of a solution.  So in the mean time.  Could we just please all bow our heads and mourn the loss of a dear friend.


February 2010 – September 2011