Mrs Carrotlegs

Meet Mrs. Carrotlegs.

Unique individual, one of a kind, not your off the peg type.

Its amazing what you can do with a deformed vegetable. It was a strange and coincidental moment that occurred whilst I was peeling the carrots for lunch one Sunday. I was mulling over some of the less than pleasant experiences I had recently encountered courtesy of a certain individual. This led me to thinking about voodoo. All of a sudden a pair of orange legs appeared on the chopping board. What luck. I had the components of the perfect voodoo doll in front of me.

Ten minutes, and a few bits and bobs later, a complete figure was assembled! I went in search of pins. By the time I came back I just didnt have the heart to go through with it. What if something bad really happened!? I looked at the"doll" and laughed, and so Mrs Carrotlegs was born and my therapy was complete!

Another Classic

Those little sayings are coming thick and fast...

At my local supermarket today, anyone within hearing range was giggling. Stood at the checkout packing my groceries, the conversation went like this.....


Me: Are you going to give me a hand with this packing?
Pod: (very very quietly) .....no....
Me: What? You dont want to help me?
Pod: I Can't hear you!!......
Me: Why?
Pod: I need bigger ears!!

The lady on the till nearly fell off her stool!

Hats off!

As I was tidying my very messy house I came across the Easter bonnet that I made with Christopher this year for his school's annual Easter Bonnet parade. (It's one of the hardest thing I have ever had to do, believe me - how does one make a suitably boyish bonnet ?!) It got me thinking about all the other hats that my kids have made over the years, for various school competitions. I realised that they were all winning hats, procuring prizes such as selection boxes, book tokens and Easter eggs! Now, don't get me wrong, many hours were put into making these masterpieces, but I did tend to find the best ones were made just hours before out of the nearest ice-cream tub or ancient bit of material I could find together with some staples or a wealth of stickyback plastic! In fact, even a couple of pairs of "American Tan" tights have even been used at short notice. Anyway, I thought I would showcase a couple of them here for posterity....

....there are more, which I will add when I find the pictures, together with any new additions that come up. Speaking of which - better get our thinking "caps" on for the next one - only 6 months to go to Christmas!!

Small Hair - part 2

Its been a month or so since my sons hair was crafted to become the cool dude length it has become. Today we are returning to the hairdressers to get his "small hair" back... as Christopher himself said this morning, "I want it back to where it was before!" tee hee.....

Another little gem

They just keep coming, bless his little cotton socks. On waking this morning I was met with one of those big questions that occupy the mind of a 7 year old. Well my 7 year old anyway (aka the "Pod" - see earlier blog!) The conversation went like this:

Pod: Mum, are there any Mediums up in space?
Me: What do you mean?
Pod: Rocks that hit planets.
Me: Oh, you mean Meteors - yes there are!
Pod: If they hit the Earth we'll be ok....... there's a big field.
Me: Oh, that's alright then!

Out of sight....

I returned home from college one evening last week, with a colleague. A quick change and we were on our way straight back out to finish off the day working on the hospital ward that we are both employed. That is bad enough in itself, but I didn't know whether to laugh or cry (we both laughed!), when my husband shouted upstairs to our beloved kids:

"You're mum's going out again now - do you want to see her before she goes?"

The Reply? "No, it's alright - we know what she looks like!"

At least I know they don't miss me when I'm not around!

Night Duty

Having just finished my night duty, I was considering how to put into words the experiences of the Twilight Zone in which I have been working.... I came across this poem by Babs Hurst and felt I couldn't possibly describe it any better and so just had to share it.........!!!

One Angel - No Wings By Babs Hurst©

I worked the graveyard shift last night
Oh my god, I saw some sights!
I had a constant stream of admissions
Mostly old, with chronic conditions
Gout and asthma, and a few heart pains
Even a sprinkling of varicose veins
People yelling and wetting their beds
Sending us nurses off our heads
Someone let out a ripping fart
Made me gasp … and clutch my heart
Then a snort, a grunt, a yelp
Those people really should get help!
That lady in the farthest bed
She was so pale I thought she was dead
Her pallor was just a trick of light
My god!! she sure gave me a fright
I worked my butt off, as per usual
Charts, charts, charts for my perusal
B/P's were done - standing and lying
I weighed them all and felt like crying
I wiped up shit and dished out pans
Then rubbed some butts with my caring hands
I did the obs, the whole damn lot
Gave morning meds then cleaned the grot
So there I was earning my crust
Even though I cursed and cussed!
I am an Angel dressed in white
Walking the ward in the midst of night

Tooth Fairy

The wait is finally over. The wobbly tooth is now out, after days of tugging and pulling, wiggling and wobbling, my son's left side "incisor b" wriggled free over breakfast. It is wrapped carefully and delicately in a parcel of tissue, ready to be placed under the blue pillow with the cars and trucks on, ready for our magical, winged friend the Tooth Fairy to pay a visit. My son will be rich beyond belief when he finds a shiny golden pound coin in it's place in the morning!

The childspeak hilarity continues

Not wanting to ridicule my darling young son, but some of those funny little sayings simply can't be ignored. Over the past 7 years, there have been many chuckles chuckled at some of the simplest of sentences. They come and go, usually forgotten very quickly, so I it is worth documenting them as they occur to raise a smile from time to time.

When my son got up this morning, and I asked my usual question, "Why have you got up so early?" I was met with the reply "Because my dreams have finished." aww....

When referring to dates, 21st, 22nd, 23rd, etc., childspeak is "twenty-one'th, twenty-two'th, twenty-three'th"......

chuckle chuckle .....

Small Hair

It was recently decided by my hairdresser and I, that my 7 year old would benefit from the super-cool surfer dude long hair look, rather than his usual short back and cute sides. The scizzors were deployed and my son's hair was re-shaped in readiness for further growth and a soon-t0-be shaggy new style.

One month later, the hair resembles more of a large mushroom shape from underneath which my little one asks.. "mummy, please can I have my small hair back". .. needless to say, the whole house shrieked with laughter. Bless him... out of the mouths of babes, eh??!

Two things...

Two things that are often the cause of puzzlement and wonderment in my house, but are most definitely ever present.... yawning, and hiccoughs, or hiccups. When the first yawn of the evening occurs, (usually my own), nothing is more certain than the domino effect which follows, whereby all members of the household including the dog open their mouths with great gusto and takes an inordinately long sharp intake of breath, and an even lengthier exhale. When the revolving questions is raised: Mum! Why do we keep yawning!? I try to put on my medical head and explain that a yawn is a semi-automatic reflex that originates in the brain stem in response to a lower level of oxygen in the brain. Many people think that when we yawn its because our bodies are trying to get rid of extra carbon dioxide and to take in more oxygen. However, there is also evidence to suggest that people yawn more when they are bored. But, mum why do we catch yawns? There is the theory that yawns are contagious because at one time in our evolutionary history, yawning was a signal to coordinate the behavior of a group of animals. Yawns may still be contagious these days because of a leftover response that is not used anymore! (I am yawning whilst writing this blog. I'll wager a bet that you may stifle a yawn whilst reading this too!)

Hiccoughs (or Hic-cups) are the source of much amusement within my family. (Not the most amusing bodily action I can assure you, but we won't go there at the moment!) I am never sure what works to relieve them or not, but we go through a whole array of old wives remedies, from holding our breath for absolutely ages, to scaring someone unexpectedly and even drinking a glass of water upside down! Hiccups are actually the result of an involuntary, spasmodic contraction of the diaphragm followed by the closing of the throat. They are a common disorder, but also one of the mildest. A hiccup is a reflex action. However, unlike other reflexes such as coughing and sneezing, hiccups do not have any useful purpose, apart from to cause great embarrassment outside the home and intense amusement inside the home! Most people have bouts of hiccups from time to time. They usually start for no apparent reason, last a short while, then stop.

Of course, drinking excessive amounts of white wine on a Friday night have absolutely nothing to do with it at all.

Shoe Fetish

The West Highland White Terrier is by nature deemed to be a friendly breed.

Definition: "Good companion dog, good with children, cheerful, playful and full of fun. A Westie makes a loyal and faithful pet".

I look at my canine friend with wonderment, trying to fathom where the definition and reality come together. For much of the time this little bundle of Scottish white fluff, measuring not more than 9 inches from top to bottom can be found nuzzling like a baby under my arm, wet nose occasionally nudging to be pet, letting me know she is there. So far so good.

In an unnervingly 'not quite the definition' kind of experience, however, there are three daily occasions when this little lady becomes full blown werewolf.

Occasion 1: Walkies

At the first sight of a handsome red leather lead, adorned with more than a sprinkle of glittering diamonte, especially for the cutesie pie dog, this Westie metemorphasizes into Rottweiler. A frenzy ensues during which flashes of red leather fly around in an episode of crazy, mouth frothing activity and piercingly unidentifiable noises are emitted from this apparently now rabied dog. Lead placed firmly between Westie teeth. Owner and ownee become interchangeable. Who is taking who for the walk here? OK, so I put this down to excitement. I know that when we actually arrive out of doors, that the battle will cease........except when Occasion 1 quickly moves along to Occasion 2.

Occasion 2: Shoe fetish

During which the subsequent and slightly more alarming canine behaviour shows itself. Believe me, the shoe fetish is not limited to being a human anomaly. Within a few blessedly peaceful seconds of the (under normal circumstances) soothing and, often therapeutic, dog walk, whilst lulled into a false sense of security that dog and owner are trotting in unison, the battle begins again. With a quick turn of those dainty doggy heels, the focus of the beast becomes shoes. Predominantly mine, but indeed any shoes that also happen to be walking by. An onlooker would surely think that this dog has indeed gone barking mad. In a feeble attempt to curtail an ugly, frenzied attack on my favourite sparkly treads, I try to implement a good dose of canine behaviour therapy. After a lot of tugging and pulling, it would appear that the beast becomes tamed. For now. Equilibrium is restored: The role of owner and ownee is correct. I am the leader. Me. All is as it should be...... until time for bed.

Occasion 3: Bedtime

In a bizarre, but religious nightly ceremony, the werewolf rears its head for the final time before sleep. As doors are locked and the lights switched off, a dark, hard, fixed glare appears where big soft brown eyes once were. The infamous Westie "smile" disappears, replaced by the bearing of little, but lethal, 'ready to tear apart teeth'. The target? My old, comfortable, pink foot attire - yes - slippers. And so the battle recommences.

The Family

Having got the neuroses out of the way, this blog will most likely reflect my family life and all other things that may deem to crop up in the life of the 39 +2 female. So probably anything and everything. Work, play, funny stuff, not so funny stuff, rants, general self help, jokes and nits.



At the head of the household is Bonnie, pictured above. Self appointed leader of the clan. Next there is my husband, Alan, or as a one time water ski instructor called him a-L-A-N! something to do with staying out of the sea. Following the pecking order comes my almost teenager Jenny whose favourite line goes something like this: "Take a chill pill, mum". The youngest member of the family, at age 7 is Christopher, aka "The Pod". Nicknamed so after that film, "The day of the Triffids", in which people were deprived of sleep by pods, in much the same way that we were in 2002. Beneath the ironing that is produced by that lot is where I come in. I'm Bev, masquerading as Slimceagirl. For some reason the 1970's TV advert for a certain brand of slimming bread has become the inspiration for my internet alias over the past few years. Every now and then the song from that commercial pops into my head. Weird.

Anyway. Welcome to my world.......

The First ramblings of a 39+2 year old female...

How strange is life. This morning I looked in the mirror, and somehow everything about my appearance had changed. I read somewhere that once you reach 45 the dreaded middle aged spread is guaranteed to attach itself to the waistline and it is at this point the ravishes (yes, I said ravishes, not ravages) of time become fixed and irreversible. I have 4 years to go. So why am I surprised to see a few laughter lines, a grey hair or two and a couple of wobbly bits, especially around the middle? Because I have 4 years to go, or so I thought!

When I was a child I thought that all grown ups over the age of 30 were middle aged. Except for those who were 50 or more, who were proper old people, and were always grandma's and grandpa's or even great grandparents. As the years begin to streak by at an alarming rate I am ever more hopeful that the sentiments I hear from my friends and colleagues are indeed true: that 50 really is the new 40, or 60 is the new 50, and that if and when I reach a ripe old age I will still be living it to the absolute full - courtesy of cosmetic surgery, hair extensions, a good win on the lottery and several bottles of decent plonk!