Oh my gosh! Guess what? I’ve only been blogging for a month (or maybe two) and I’ve been given an award! A Lovely Blog award. I don’t know what I did to get it. I mean, I have achieved a certain amount of notoriety, being the British Mummy Bloggers 500th member and all, but even so. A blogging award! I can’t believe it, I am so excited.
Let me see. Looks like there are some rules attached. I need to link back to the person who gave it to me. Hmm, how does that work? Ah, Brits In Bosnia. I didn’t know they read me! Who are they anyway? Can’t work out how to do that link thing either. Oh well. Wonder why they gave me the award? I wonder what the criteria are? Can anybody get an award? Do you need to qualify for something? Have Brits In Bosnia been trawling the blogosphere hunting down the blogs that they liked the best? Of all the blogs they chose me!
Hang on a second. I’m supposed to pass this award on. Who can I pass it on to? Anyone? Anyone I want? But, doesn’t that make it more of a chain letter than an award? Is it just a case that someone has made a pretty picture (and it is very pretty I must say) and turned it into a bloggy chain letter? It’s not really like the Oscars is it? I’ve just been looking at some other blogs. Looks like lots of people have got this award already. Am I the only one without it? Does that mean I’m the last one? That I don’t actually have any friends? I feel like I’m back in school. The new kid on the playground. Like the time everyone else was plaiting luminous coloured plastic threads into keyrings, and I didn’t know what they were doing. By the time I had bought some and worked out what the trick was, the other kids had all moved onto Cat’s Cradle, or Hula Hooping or whatever was next in the craze game.
(a little later). I’m back. Sorry about that. I’ve decided to look at these awards in a different way. Yes, I think they are a bit chain letter like. But I guess that they are also a way for bloggers to say that they like someone else’s blog. And if anyone is reading Brits In Bosnia’s blog then maybe they will come and read mine too. So, I’m not going to pass it on right now as I can’t quite work out how to do those link things, but I am going to say thank you very much for my award and I pass it to you, my readers, in appreciation.
Fraught Mummy, at Brits in Bosnia, has been Dee in this post.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Hip, hip, hippie, hooray!
7 comments
Hello lovelies! How are we all today? Is it just me or is being a mummy the best thing in the whole wide world? I mean, don't you just spring out of bed with a smile on your face, even at 5am, because you just can't wait to see your precious children's angelic countenances? It really makes it all worth it, doesn't it?
Anyhoo, so I woke up in a jolly mood as usual this morning and ushered the children into the bathroom, one by one, to do their business. Again, I don't know about you but I like to keep an eye on what's coming out of them. I care deeply about what goes INTO them so why would I not care about what comes out? Poo is both funny and fascinating, don't you think?
Next, we headed downstairs to have our yoghurt and granola, both of which I made myself, from scratch. It was no big thing really, it only requires that you hand-grind organic oats from your allotment, add some raw Fairtrade cane sugar from the Ugandan farmer two towns over and honey from your bee colony, bake in a clay wood-fired oven for 30 minutes and serve with milk freshly squeezed from your goat. So easy, and delicious to boot!
Getting all four children dressed was next on the agenda. An hour's knitting was all it took to produce durable and fashionable outfits for them all. I'm quick with my needles, I am! I get a real sense of satisfaction at working with my hands and sticking it to Mothercare and Next. The synthetic materials and corporate logos are just too much for me to bear. Besides, my boys love their wooly knickerbockers and mohair jumpers, they wouldn't know what to do with mainstream clothing.Ugh!
I realised suddenly that we were going to be late for our homeschooling cooperative meetup if we didn't really hurry. Seeing as we don't believe in cars or anything powered by fuel or fuel derivatives, we set to walking at a fast clip. Exercise, fresh air and a clear conscience. It's so freeing! The older two can walk just fine but the younger ones need a bit of help so I packed the two year old onto my back with a handwoven Asian shawl that I got from my healer and nutritionist and put the baby in a basket made with branches from Christmas trees that had been ruthlessly murdered in the name of Christianity last December. It's such a disgrace, what people will do just to follow some silly "tradition." I strapped the basket to my head, like the women in the African village where I spent my gap year taught me to do. It's much easier to do here in the West, of course, because we're not constantly having to duck and hide from rival tribe members on horseback. We are so spoiled, I tell you. Makes you really disgusted when you see people riding around in cars and on bicycles, taking it all for granted and thinking they're the most special people on the planet.
After two hours, we finally arrived at the designated place. Sugar! The homeschool cooperative meetup had been cancelled! The children were getting thirsty and the toddler was wriggling to get down from the shawl so when I spotted a Cafe Nero across the road, I have to admit it was rather tempting to go inside. I walked the length of the high street looking for an independently owned cafe but there appeared to be none. 'Tis a pity, I say, when one can't even find a cup of coffee without sacrificing one's soul to the devil. But the children were looking rather pale and sweaty and so I gave in to their demands for juice and a snack at Cafe Nero. I settled down with my chai tea and the children had orange juice that I'm sure had suspicious-looking preservatives and E numbers in it. No matter though, we'll just do a 24-hour cleanse starting tomorrow to get it out of their systems.
The baby began to cry and was obviously in need of some mother's milk. I unbuttoned my blouse and began to feed her while holding up flashcards for the other children. Every sit-down is an opportunity for learning, I always say. Idle minds make idle citizens! I guess I got engrossed in the flashcards a bit too much though, because suddenly I sensed some murmuring and stares in my direction. I looked down and saw that little Fawn had pulled my entire breast out of my shirt! I began to tuck it away but then thought No, I will NOT cover up. It is perfectly normal and natural and if people don't like it, tough! I think it's important to make a bold statement every time you breastfeed in public. Those mothers who say they're just doing what needs to be done and aren't trying to be political are talking bollocks. They know as well as I do that the babies could wait to be fed, really, but people like us just enjoy disrupting everyone's otherwise peaceful and non-obscene existence. It's the anarchist in me, I guess.
We finally made it back home and the children are napping in the canvas yurt. We don't have man-made power here on our farm so I'm sending this message to you while my donkey, Eddie Murphy, turns a great big wheel that generates electricity as and when we need it. Pretty cool, hey? Want not, waste not! I'd best go now though, dinner is in the clay oven and the last time I burnt the lentils, Phoenix (my life partner) got terribly upset and we had to go to a couple's retreat to work it out. I guess he thought the lentils represented our relationship and that I'd burnt it on purpose or something. I'm still not sure what that was about but his feelings are all that matter so I do my best to be sensitive of them.
Cheerio, my darlings! Oh, and one last thing. If you don't see me coming by your blog from now on, it means you started running ads or doing giveaways. I cannot reconcile sponsorship with the beauty and anguish of mummy blogging, therefore I will not be able to read your corporate-owned thoughts anymore. But please do pass on my URL to anyone who doesn't share your reprehensible views. Ta!
The Noble Savage has been Dee in this post.
Anyhoo, so I woke up in a jolly mood as usual this morning and ushered the children into the bathroom, one by one, to do their business. Again, I don't know about you but I like to keep an eye on what's coming out of them. I care deeply about what goes INTO them so why would I not care about what comes out? Poo is both funny and fascinating, don't you think?
Next, we headed downstairs to have our yoghurt and granola, both of which I made myself, from scratch. It was no big thing really, it only requires that you hand-grind organic oats from your allotment, add some raw Fairtrade cane sugar from the Ugandan farmer two towns over and honey from your bee colony, bake in a clay wood-fired oven for 30 minutes and serve with milk freshly squeezed from your goat. So easy, and delicious to boot!
Getting all four children dressed was next on the agenda. An hour's knitting was all it took to produce durable and fashionable outfits for them all. I'm quick with my needles, I am! I get a real sense of satisfaction at working with my hands and sticking it to Mothercare and Next. The synthetic materials and corporate logos are just too much for me to bear. Besides, my boys love their wooly knickerbockers and mohair jumpers, they wouldn't know what to do with mainstream clothing.Ugh!
I realised suddenly that we were going to be late for our homeschooling cooperative meetup if we didn't really hurry. Seeing as we don't believe in cars or anything powered by fuel or fuel derivatives, we set to walking at a fast clip. Exercise, fresh air and a clear conscience. It's so freeing! The older two can walk just fine but the younger ones need a bit of help so I packed the two year old onto my back with a handwoven Asian shawl that I got from my healer and nutritionist and put the baby in a basket made with branches from Christmas trees that had been ruthlessly murdered in the name of Christianity last December. It's such a disgrace, what people will do just to follow some silly "tradition." I strapped the basket to my head, like the women in the African village where I spent my gap year taught me to do. It's much easier to do here in the West, of course, because we're not constantly having to duck and hide from rival tribe members on horseback. We are so spoiled, I tell you. Makes you really disgusted when you see people riding around in cars and on bicycles, taking it all for granted and thinking they're the most special people on the planet.
After two hours, we finally arrived at the designated place. Sugar! The homeschool cooperative meetup had been cancelled! The children were getting thirsty and the toddler was wriggling to get down from the shawl so when I spotted a Cafe Nero across the road, I have to admit it was rather tempting to go inside. I walked the length of the high street looking for an independently owned cafe but there appeared to be none. 'Tis a pity, I say, when one can't even find a cup of coffee without sacrificing one's soul to the devil. But the children were looking rather pale and sweaty and so I gave in to their demands for juice and a snack at Cafe Nero. I settled down with my chai tea and the children had orange juice that I'm sure had suspicious-looking preservatives and E numbers in it. No matter though, we'll just do a 24-hour cleanse starting tomorrow to get it out of their systems.
The baby began to cry and was obviously in need of some mother's milk. I unbuttoned my blouse and began to feed her while holding up flashcards for the other children. Every sit-down is an opportunity for learning, I always say. Idle minds make idle citizens! I guess I got engrossed in the flashcards a bit too much though, because suddenly I sensed some murmuring and stares in my direction. I looked down and saw that little Fawn had pulled my entire breast out of my shirt! I began to tuck it away but then thought No, I will NOT cover up. It is perfectly normal and natural and if people don't like it, tough! I think it's important to make a bold statement every time you breastfeed in public. Those mothers who say they're just doing what needs to be done and aren't trying to be political are talking bollocks. They know as well as I do that the babies could wait to be fed, really, but people like us just enjoy disrupting everyone's otherwise peaceful and non-obscene existence. It's the anarchist in me, I guess.
We finally made it back home and the children are napping in the canvas yurt. We don't have man-made power here on our farm so I'm sending this message to you while my donkey, Eddie Murphy, turns a great big wheel that generates electricity as and when we need it. Pretty cool, hey? Want not, waste not! I'd best go now though, dinner is in the clay oven and the last time I burnt the lentils, Phoenix (my life partner) got terribly upset and we had to go to a couple's retreat to work it out. I guess he thought the lentils represented our relationship and that I'd burnt it on purpose or something. I'm still not sure what that was about but his feelings are all that matter so I do my best to be sensitive of them.
Cheerio, my darlings! Oh, and one last thing. If you don't see me coming by your blog from now on, it means you started running ads or doing giveaways. I cannot reconcile sponsorship with the beauty and anguish of mummy blogging, therefore I will not be able to read your corporate-owned thoughts anymore. But please do pass on my URL to anyone who doesn't share your reprehensible views. Ta!
The Noble Savage has been Dee in this post.
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