Aimee Horton

When it’s New Year.

Jan
02

Well, it’s here! A new year, a big year, and (I hope), an exciting year.

Nearly a whole year since I started blogging (well, except for the 5ish month hiatus) 2011 was a roller coaster which I have to say, I’ve mostly enjoyed.  On a brief reflection it taught me an awful lot about myself, mainly that I can’t put money before happiness.  The greedy side of me thought I was starting 2011 with the perfect career move.  It even caused me to give up my maternity leave and go back to work when Fatso wasn’t even 4 months old, (something I knew many disprove of).  However, it was totally right.  Teaching me in (on hindsight) a fairly painless way that I was heading down the wrong road, that whilst I could do very well for myself if I worked my ass off, I didn’t want to give my soul to the devil, leave my children, and work for a man with very few standards and ethics, and very little business knowledge.  Amazingly, it also taught me as I threw myself into a surprisingly successful contracting lifestyle, I don’t actually want to do marketing forever more.  I want to do (yes, I’m about to become a cliché) Something else. Something fulfilling.

DON’T WORRY!  I’m not nice enough to do something fulfilling enough that it benefits anybody else.  I’ve not changed completely! However, I want something that I actually want to do, rather than feel like I have to do benefit the family, and luckily enough my husband has agreed I should go down that path.  Admittedly, I think he was pissed off with my daily rants and sleepless nights.

So 2012 is going to be pretty life changing. For four main reasons (and lots of little things integrated with them!).

  1. I decided…and it’s taking a lot of guts to type this somewhere where I can be reminded it on those dark, cold, lonely days…I want to spend more time with my children.  Therefore nursery isn’t going to be anywhere close to full time (I actually feel a little bit sick writing this – I am terrified…I have to LOOK AFTER MY OWN CHILDREN?!).  This means I may have to venture out into the big wide world of parent socialising.  I feel slightly sick.  I will also have to learn how to play and not just lie on the floor on Twitter.
  2. I’m not going to do that much Contracting any more.  I will still do the odd thing, especially with a couple of companies I’ve become close to, and feel a bit of an emotional tug towards.  I want them to succeed.  But I won’t put myself out there for any more work.  This is HUGE.  A career with more the 10 years of worth – paused.  Instead I will be doing a bit of writing. (If somebody is brave enough to hire me – please).  It’s been a MASSIVE decision, but feels right.
  3. Our family is complete. Which means, after many discussions.  That’s it.  Over the next few weeks I will be selling all our baby things, putting away a few keepsakes from the boys, and moving onwards and upwards.  Fatso will be moving into a big boy room, hopefully by the end of Feb (to accommodate his huge amount of Christmas and Birthday toys).  Before next year he will be walking, talking, tantrum-ing and probably losing some weight.  The Beast will be starting school.  I will not have a daughter.  We will be losing a cat, gaining loads a goldfish (which will named – according to The Beast – Mummy or Betty), and making the nursery into my study.  (Matt things he’s sharing it, but he’s not, he smells).
  4. I will be turning 30.

So with that, I have decided to share a few of the families New Year’s resolutions.

ME

  1. I will keep up with my running
  2. I will not lie awake worrying about anything and everything
  3. I will not turn 30
  4. I will not scratch my car
  5. I will not break my children.

HIM

  1. My husband will learn to put his breakfast pots in the dishwasher
  2. Will learn to remove the children’s vests from their tops so that they aren’t all dyed a skanky grey/blue
  3. Will learn to have a perspective in time (e.g. not suggest to people we will see them in half an hour, when we are all in PJs, at the breakfast table and the destination is 20 minutes away).
  4. Will not teach the children to comment on peoples boobs.
  5. Will buy me a new car every time I don’t scratch mine.

THE BEAST

  1. Will not insist on watching me on the toilet
  2. Will not leave skiddies in the toilet
  3. Will lose the ability of “selective” hearing
  4. Will get scouted by a big sports person and be signed for some sort of sport (he wants Football, I’d rather F1 please)
  5. Will learn to say the letter “S” properly.

FATSO

  1. Will lose weight
  2. Will let Mummy sleep through the night
  3. Will stop laughing  and continuing on with whatever he’s just been told off for by Mummy
  4. Will stop shooting pooh up his back/down his leg at least once a week
  5. Will grow some more hair.

RIGHT – as it’s date night I’m going to put some make up on this old tired face and kick his majesty off the PS3.

x

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When you get a compliment

Sep
15

We’ve just come home from a week in Spain with the boys.  I’m pleased to report it went fairly well.  Slightly less sleep then one would like along with slightly less sun bathing opportunities.   Oh and please replace “slightly” with “a lot”.

I learnt a lot this holiday, some of which I’ll share with you in various blog posts – some of which I’ll spare you.  One thing I learnt though is how much crap you put up with/say when you’re on a plane, and you’re stuck there for just over two hours.

This was a relatively easy flight, our last flight with both boys was to the canaries and was four hours.  However, Fatso was a piece of cake then, he drank, snuggled and slept.  Oh except for the odd projectile vomit incident.  The Beast on the other hand had just potty trained and was scared of the toilet.  As per a previous blog it was quite stressful but he ended up weeing in the sink.  He has a memory like an elephant that child, and the first thing he asked (in a loud and high pitched voice) when we sat down on the plane was “Mummay, can I go and wee in the sink again?”.  Of course everybody looked.  I had no retaliation and said “maybe later darling”.

After making it through check in and into departures – please be suitably impressed that I packed a family of four including formula and nappies in ONE SUITCASE and kept it DEAD ON THE LIMIT, this has never happened before, when I was packing a suitcase for just MYSELF I’d usually end up having to redistribute into my hand luggage – we have breakfast and make it into the scrabble at the gate with 3 carry on bags (having a 3 year old does have it’s uses, his hand luggage had toys for him and the fat one) and the push chair.  I MAY have also smuggled on an additional carry on by strapping it to the pushchair – but to be honest in my opinion it is PART of the pushchair, if the pushchair can fold and clip shut with the bag on it’s part of it. That was my argument anyway, and if not, we’d find a way.

Yet again, we had to rely on the general public to make it safely onto the plane, the staff didn’t clock the pushchair and then clock the fact we were having to go down 30 steps to the runway.  Once on the plane they slightly redeemed themselves by offering to carry Larry and finding us 3 seats together.  I think the poor air hostess regretted this decision as she visibly buckled at his weight.

ANYWAY.  I digress.

Once on the plane you’re trapped.  The people in the area surrounding your chosen seats are looking panicked.  It’s a full flight, there are no other seats and are both eyeing up the lively toddler who has just informed us that he hasn’t done a pooh today, and that man (woman) has got a very high up skirt on, along with the baby who is shouting angrily at a bag he can sense contains snacks for the journey.

For both flights we had amunition planned to entertain the kids.  These consisted of:

– Snacks (lots of them)

– An MP4 player stuffed full of Cbeebies and films

– More snacks (for Larry)

– Colouring and Stickers

– Rattles and Teethers

– Books

I don’t know about you, but neither of my children sleep when something is going on. When we went to Spain when Theo was 18 months old we left the house at 3.30am – he didn’t sleep until 7pm that night.  Larry is apparently/annoyingly just the same.  Therefore when we were swapping and changing the children I discussed the following things with the boys:

– How clouds aren’t scary

– How the plane won’t land in the sea

– Why we’re in a plane

– Why Nan and Grandad won’t be at the seaside when we get there

– Why Larry can’t steal the sandwich from the lady across the aisle he’s staring out

– That the holiday house didn’t belong to us

– Why mummy has a spot on her cheek

– Agreeing that yes, the air hostess probably doesn’t have a willy just a bottom

– Why Larry can’t pull the hair of the man in front of us (I stupidly let him stand on my knee for a while and spent a while apologising profusely)

– Why mummy’s belly is squidgy (thanks dude – really going for it today)

and finally

– no, we aren’t going to school next.

So you see – I talked utter crap.  My brain was fuzzy, my hair hurt from being pulled and I was starting to realise I was being mocked by the toddler who whenever I gave a generic answer he said “uh huhh that’s nice” back at me.  I felt a mess, I had watched my tan (what there was of it) drain off as soon as I got on the plane.

Then…at the end…something unexpected happened.  The woman in front of me (with the guy who was involved in the hair pulling and I heard snort when I was singing “what the wigga what the wigga what the wigga wigga fat boy fat” to Larry) turned round and gave me a 2 minute speech about what a wonderful family I have, gorgeous boys, and they are very lucky to have such a kind good mummy and that she was so impressed with my lack of raised voice and calmness (Matt was sniggering into his t.shirt at this point as he’d heard some rather raised voices and frankly unrepeatable comments to Lawrence when he woke up at 9pm just as I’d served up my lovely BBQ dinner and was dipping bread into olive oil).

It goes to show, a compliment goes a long way when you’re doubting your skills and are counting the seconds until you hear the cork go POP. Even if the lady was either deaf or from a mental institute. 

Next post.  Ladies Boobs on the beach.

 

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