tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81913089758521148372024-03-13T23:08:38.602-07:00Across The PondAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-70271026415745626532012-09-04T19:02:00.002-07:002012-09-04T19:02:47.458-07:00Shamelessly homesick!<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">"Now, nobody's sayin that Hill Country Texas is the Garden of Eden, but it's been a good home to us, to me - <strike>Frank GALLAGHER </strike><b>Josie Bisett</b> - and me kids, who am proud of! 'Cause every single one of them reminds me a little... of me."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Media/Pix/pictures/2010/1/26/1264508808185/Shameless-Frank-Gallagher-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Media/Pix/pictures/2010/1/26/1264508808185/Shameless-Frank-Gallagher-001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In case you're wondering, this is <b>NOT</b> me. This is Frank Gallagher, the Shameless lead character in the classic Brit hit show. </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We've all been <u>a bit</u> homesick at some point, right? You know, that feeling you get after 10 days legged out on the beach in Magaluf or Cancun, when you start yearning for one or two home comforts, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">like your own (arse contoured) couch, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Eastenders</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">, or a cup of Tetley's brew - for example. For me, it's a bag of greasy chips, for the hubs, it's his Tex Mex.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It's great to get away - but even better getting home!</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It can feel like something is gnawing away at your innards (like hunger pains) creating a hole that can't be filled by food - <i>believe me, I've tried</i>. Usually it's in the pit of your tummy - but sometimes it works its way up into your chest - and eventually your throat. That's when it gets so bad that tears are sprung.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">At least that's what it's like for me. But I can't go 'home' at least not yet. <i>In any case 'home' is not really my home anymore.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">OK, so at the moment I am officially</span> in that 'postnatal' phase. My hormones are raging - so maybe the world is not really coming to an end (thanks for that bit of insight husband dearest). </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">But that's not really 'it'. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">True, I've had a similar feeling of melancholy come over me after the birth of all three babies. Not initially, though. I'm on cloud nine for the first fortnight, but then a more sober emotion sets in. It happens when I realize that THEY are not coming...</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><u>My</u> family that is, <i>the blood relatives</i>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">This time the hunger pains are more acute. Each time I look at my beautiful baby girl I can't help a feeling of regret. I can't work out if it's me or them who are missing out.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">The hubs lived unhappily in Hawaii for six months. Night after night he would watch that gorgeous romantic sunset, alone. It turns out, t</span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">he most beautiful experiences in the world aren't quite <u>so</u> great when you can't share them with the ones you love.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I'm not saying the magic is lost (exactly),<i> But how much greater would it feel to be able to show this lovely little lassy off to my mum and dad?</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Perhaps it hasn't stung quite so bad in the past because I've known there'd be another chance. But this could be our LAST newborn experience. And my family are all 5,000 air miles away - they might as well be on another planet.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i>I know, I know! Cry me a river - right? Serves me right for marrying <a href="http://superted.gr82bgeeky.co.uk/texaspete.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Texas Pete</a>!</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">ANYWAY. To make up for missing my own Brit family I've adopted an on-screen British Northern family (a tad bit more dysfunctional than my own), the Gallaghers! </span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Thanks to them I've been shamelessly entertained no end for the past few weeks.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQXCHzo1x59KnfYFgRpGHIoCct5HdkBSlhZDD3CvWgoqcwRKz59&t=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQXCHzo1x59KnfYFgRpGHIoCct5HdkBSlhZDD3CvWgoqcwRKz59&t=1" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shameless's Steve is so yummy! </td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">The hubs and I were living in the UK when Shameless first hit the TV screens -<i> how we managed to miss out on this Channel 4 masterpiece series, I'll never know! </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Nearly a decade on and living across the pond, instant NetFlix is bringing <i>Shameless</i> shenanigans into our home for the first time <i>and</i> right in the nick of time! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">We've always watched back to back episodes of old TV series, while yoga ball-bouncing our newborns during the night. The first baby got <i>Everybody Loves Raymond</i> and <i>Yes, Dear! </i>on TBS<i> - </i>that was back in the day we were still willing to fork out for digital TV! Our second kid was subjugated to the <u>entire</u> series of <i>Roseanne</i> on NetFlix </span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">(he needed a LOT of bouncing) - </span><i style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">lucky Momma!</i><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">But this go around there's only British comedy on the menu. </span></span><i style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I wonder which kid will have the best sense of humo(u)r?</i><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I've got to say, it's been great getting back to Britain (even if it's not really 'for real') - a</span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">lthough, maybe it's only serving to make me more homesick! T</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">hey're only running series 1-3 currently on NetFlix </span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">(Series 10 is just about to start back across the pond.) </span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">and sadly they've already written some of my new found 'family' out. <i>Now I'm got even more</i></span><i style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"> people to miss! </i><br />
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btw, this isn't just a <i>shameless</i> punt to get my folks over here! <i>Well, maybe it is a little......</i><br />
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<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-7286688011258013132012-08-31T18:27:00.000-07:002012-09-01T17:53:13.651-07:00All quiet on the western front......Since the little lady put in an appearance, my bloggie focus (what little bit I have time and brain for these days) has been 'spent' relaying my postnatal pleasantries on Across The Pond's sister blog <a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Go Momma</a>!; however, while things have all been quiet on the western 'blog' front - so to speak - my freaky deaky spider post of long ago <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/08/daddies-freakin-out.html" target="_blank">Daddies Freakin' Out!</a> (<i>still an August post, though... What a manic month it's been!</i>) has picked me up one or two pats on the back....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF35_KMcDlEuYPxIG_rlJZFiaJoFgOtTOS3J55p6BoryH9XfiX4q69hR5CVsEywLAJ3LyWwGFFX4Nd0jS54-xzQ4bcSilSAws6RDPy53cK4hRyRnU1yY8kNjqTyvgs87wINTN8Azfzzf0/s1600/IMG_1532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF35_KMcDlEuYPxIG_rlJZFiaJoFgOtTOS3J55p6BoryH9XfiX4q69hR5CVsEywLAJ3LyWwGFFX4Nd0jS54-xzQ4bcSilSAws6RDPy53cK4hRyRnU1yY8kNjqTyvgs87wINTN8Azfzzf0/s320/IMG_1532.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look who's blogging now!</td></tr>
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Yay - nothing like a few big-me-ups to get me back 'in the game'!<br />
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I was already rockin' and rollin' on a blog post for Across the Pond. It came to me this morning while I was snoozing in bed with baby suckling by my side. I unplugged my milk-guzzling mite as soon as she'd allow and snook away to scribble down all I could remember (<i>while sitting on the john</i>)...<br />
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Did you really need to know that? YES - it's the only way I can convey just how manic my life has gotten of late...<br />
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Sitting on the pot is a parent's sanctuary - but even THAT is not really all THAT sacred in our house. If I'm really 'lucky' both my boys will want to sit on their singing potties at my feet while I'm busy in there, and Daddy leans on the doorjamb cleaning his teeth.<br />
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It's really OK - I sort of like the moral support... <i>sometimes</i>.<br />
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This morning; however, they were all three tied up at the table with their Rice Krispies, so I happened to steal five minutes (five - at a push!) to draft a blog. Yay for me and my super efficient morning - and all this before I'd even taken a swig of my Java! <br />
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Anyway - this post isn't THAT post. This is a double whammy THANK YOU post dedicated to Kerri from <a href="http://mummyandthemonsters.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mummy and the Monsters</a> and Michele from <a href="http://followmehome.shellybean.com/" target="_blank">follow me home</a>. These lovely ladies have given Across the Pond (and hence me... heehee) two smashing awards for me to sport on my sidebar!<br />
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This might not be the first time my blogging has gotten me a wee bit of recognition - however, it's a definite first for Across The Pond, a cross cultural Mommy blog that I am fiercely fond of!<br />
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<a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Go Momma</a>! nearly always steals the show - but only down to its more racy content! I've played with the idea of combining my two top reads, but I just can't find a good enough reason to do it. The upshot of this is, I'm allowed to get nominated for the same award TWICE!<br />
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Those of you (a wondrous few) that follow <u>both</u> my blogs may have seen my <a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Go Momma!</a> post titled '<a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/2012/08/go-momma.html" target="_blank">Go Momma!</a>', which has me jumping through 11 hoops to receive my Liebster Blog Award. Well, here we go again - but stick with me! These 11 questions are very different, so you might just find out something new....... <br />
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Ah-hem. First the rules:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Liebster Award rules (if you choose to honor the Liebstar legacy):</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b><br /></b>1) Answer my 11 questions</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">2) Think of 11 questions of your own</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">3) Choose 11 worthy bloggers (who have fewer than 200 followers) to lavish some love on!</span>
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So, Kerri from
<a href="http://mummyandthemonsters.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mummy and the Monsters</a> , here's what I have to say.......<br />
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>1. What do you love most about blogging?</i></b>
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I LOVE that blogging gives me an outlet to write! I've always wanted to write - and I've attempted to 'write' in the past - but it's hard to find a reason. I'm not talking about a topic or a muse - I've got ideas coming out of my ears! The reason? Instant validation!!<br />
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<i>If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Who the hell cares?</i><br />
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Nobody <i>really</i> writes just for themselves, do they? Blogging gets my writing out there with the click of a button. The way I see it, my words are far better off working their way around the web than locked away inside some dusty dog-eared journal in the attic. <br />
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And - whether the reception is warm or frosty - the reward is instantaneous! In the aftermath of clicking 'publish' silence speaks volumes. Pageviews and comments are a bloggers' wages and don't I love em'!!<br />
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>2. What is your favourite season and why?</i></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Autumn - and that goes for BOTH sides of the pond (although over here they call it 'fall' of course)! </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18px;">In Texas the unbearable heat of summer finally breaks and outdoor living really begins. Oh, the joys of a deck and a grill, and hammocks! </span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">When I think of Autumn back 'home' this little Harvest Festival ditty springs to mind: </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />Autumn days, when the grass is jewelled</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: inherit;">And the silk inside a chestnut shell<br />Jet planes are meeting in the air to be refuelled<br />All these things I love so well</span></div>
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<em style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: inherit;">So I mustn’t forget<br />No, I mustn’t forget<br />To say a great big thank you<br />I mustn’t forget.</span></em></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Most of all I love that it's the 'Holiday' season (<i>and no...I'm not talking about packing a case and flying to Benidorm or Majorca!</i>), starting with Halloween (and bonfire night back 'home'), then there's the magical build up to Christmas - made all the more magical with my fledgling family!</span></div>
<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>3. Where do you get your ideas for your blog posts?</i></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">My kids, my family, my friends, my dogs - pretty much anything and EVERYTHING that happens around me! When I lay down in bed on a night all the days events swirl around in my head and I usually have one or two blog post ideas that I just have to jot down. Obviously all these ideas don't make it to 'publish'.</span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>4. Tea or coffee?</i></b><br />
<b style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></b>
<span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There's a time and a place for BOTH. However, this does seem to depend on which side of the pond I'm residing. Back 'home' there's a burning need for tea - nothing quite soaks up the grease from a Full English brekkie or a plate of fish and chips the same way! There's also a scarcity of proper coffee pots and a surplus of that nasty freeze-dried Nescafe.<i> I know - I'm a coffee snob!</i> I grew up on that nasty s**t - I didn't know any better! Here, in Texas, I love LOVE my coffee pot. I've always got coffee on the go. I still like my cuppa' in the evening. We're limited to Twinings or PG Tips - but when you're desperate for a brew (and I'm talking hot black Tea with a splash of milk) even Lipton will do!</span></span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>5. Who inspires you?</i></b><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18px;">My friends mainly, but two in particular stand out and deserve a 'shout out'. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">They are both Scottish - but don't hold that against em'! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Firstly, my close gal pal (see</span></span> <a href="http://skyebirdandjules.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Skyebird and Jules</a>) who, although she blogs rarely these days, inspired me to start blogging in the first place. This lady also helped me find the courage to chase my happiness. I owe a lot to her today!<br />
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Secondly our transatlantic self-employed and self-made buddy (see owner of <a href="http://www.presentandpersonal.com/" target="_blank">Present & Personal</a>). Watching him pave his own pathway to success (<i>and Twitter fame</i>) over the past five years has been inspirational to say the least.<br />
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Both these friends have helped me figure out a few things about myself (and the hubs) - <i>and</i> they've both given my bloggie alter-ego a *clap right when it was needed!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*clap: Scottish for stroke. <i>Crazy - huh?</i></span><br />
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I could keep going. So many of my Mommy pals would make the list. I watch and learn from them all the time - I only wish they were blogging about it too!<br />
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>6. What was the last film you watched?</i></b><br />
<b style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></b>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;">Crash - the 2005 movie set in the aftermath of 9/11 New York (not the effed-up flick that featured folks f***ing over mangled metal and bodies after crashing their cars). I watched it on instant Netflix the other night (while rocking our newborn to sleep). A very sobering film! <i>Is everybody really a 'racist' when they're running scared?</i> I laughed (aw, c'mon - the Chinaman stuck under the car was pretty funny), I cried - and i</span><span style="line-height: 17.94444465637207px;">t's still making me think.</span><span style="line-height: 17.94444465637207px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;">The mark of a great movie! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;"> </span></span><b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>7. What do you dislike most about </i></b><b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>blogging?</i></b><br />
<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></b>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">That I can't be 100% candid with my content! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">In spite of how open and honest my very personal blogging may come across to the 'masses', there's a virtual library of censored content that I just can't put 'out there'. It may be a shocker to some, but, </span><span style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;">even in my TMI posts, I'</span><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">m holding a little of myself back!</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">There's a level of exposure that I don't feel comfortable crossing on behalf of my hubs or the kids. They aren't named, but it doesn't take a genius to work out their identities - even our big-kid isn't fooling anyone with his Batman mask!</span><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;"> My hubs gets to veto what he doesn't like (<a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/2012/06/daddy-censorship-what-do-you-think.html" target="_blank">Daddy censorship - what do YOU think?</a>), but the kids are too young to object - so I have to be 'objectionable' for them.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">I also HATE offending anyone. So sadly some really REALLY funny s**t is just a big FAT blogging no-no, <i>unfortunately</i>. </span><span style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;">I've toyed with the idea of creating an underground blog for those</span><i style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;"> really </i><span style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;">personal, or potentially offensive blogs that I just can't help but write. </span><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">Wait a few years. </span><span style="line-height: 17.962963104248047px;">Perhaps I'm saving the real meaty stuff for my book! </span></span><br />
<br />
<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>8. Describe your morning routine.</i></b><br />
<b style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></b>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">HAHAHAHAHAHAHA</span></span><br />
<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></b>
<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>9. What's your top blogging tip?</i></b><br />
<b style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></b>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.981481552124023px;">Same as Dory's advice: Just keep writing! Write ANYTHING even when you can't think of ANYTHING - the good stuff will work its way back out of you eventually.</span></span><br />
<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></b>
<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>10. If you could be a super hero for a day what would your super power be?</i></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS8UXcDRgT4rxXM2h5_GZtxCPSIuhwCyvoq1_rg5vy85mbdBI5u" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS8UXcDRgT4rxXM2h5_GZtxCPSIuhwCyvoq1_rg5vy85mbdBI5u" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evie stopping time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Is flying a given? I've got a cape right? If I can already fly then I want to be able to stop time too - like Evie used to do on that kids show <i>Out of This World</i>. THAT was pretty neat!</span></span><br />
<br />
<b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>11. What three words best describe you?</i></b><br />
<b style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></b>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.94444465637207px;">out-going, </span><span style="line-height: 17.907407760620117px;">achievement-orientated, motherly (did I cheat with the hyphens?)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.925926208496094px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 17.925926208496094px;">PHEW! So now it's my turn! And </span>I'd like to lavish the Liebster love on these lucky eleven bloggers:</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.thesahmconfessions.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The SAHM Confessions</a><br />
<a href="http://teenytinymommy.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">the teeny tiny mommy.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.saturdaymorningogremum.com/" target="_blank">Saturday Morning Ogre Mum</a><br />
<a href="http://www.littlemommydiary.com/" target="_blank">Little Mommy Diary</a><br />
<a href="http://delightfullyludicrous.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Delightfully Ludicrous</a><br />
<a href="http://themotivatedfatgirl.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Motivated Fat Girl</a><br />
<a href="http://morningcoffeeconfessions.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Morning Coffee Confessions</a><br />
<a href="http://dm-biggirlpanties.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Big Girl Panties</a><br />
<a href="http://www.adventuresofnotsupermom.com/" target="_blank">The Adventures of Not Supermom</a><br />
<a href="http://packmommy.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mother of the Pack</a><br />
<a href="http://refrigeratormemories.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Refrigerator Memories</a><br />
<br />
And <b>MY</b> questions for you are:<br />
<br />
1. Tell me about a time you were really homesick.<br />
2. Did you grow up with siblings, how was it?<br />
3. Do you still live in the same area you grew up?<br />
4. If you could live ANYWHERE, where would it be?<br />
5. What would you think if your child emigrated to a different country?<br />
6. What's your favourite TV show and why?<br />
7. Christmas, love it or hate it?<br />
8. What do you think of natural med-free childbirth?<br />
9. Would you spank your children?<br />
10. Is there anything that you regret?<br />
11. Name a song you've ever played over and over on repeat- why that song?<br />
<br />
I can't wait to read your answers - make sure to send me your links! <br />
<br />
One down, one to go...........<br />
<br />
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<br />
This award seems to have a bit of a beauty focus, so the fact that I've been awarded it puts a massive question mark against its legitimacy!<br />
<br />
See, I'm <i>that</i> Momma that goes back to bed in the-day-before-yesterday's clothes! I can count the number of showers I've taken since the birth on one hand - less than half that number includes washing my hair!<br />
<br />
A <i>real</i> conversation between me and the hubs this morning:<br />
<br />
Hubs: "<i>Hmmmmm, you smell nice. What perfume are you wearing?"</i><br />
Momma: "<i>Soap."</i><br />
<br />
The most I do (these days) with my (not really) red mop, is drag a brush through it before it frizz-dries, then pull it back in a pony. But, as my brush is lost somewhere under the abyss of diapers, burp cloths, onsies and other baby paraphernalia cluttering every surface in the house, I've had to master my own Little Mermaid fork-combing technique!!<br />
<br />
I don't wear make-up. I've tried - I'm far too lazy to keep it up, and I'm just not that good at it! A bit of clear mascara and some lip gloss on special occasions (like my wedding) is about all I can handle. <br />
<br />
I love my dangly earrings - but the babies have put a stop to that passion! <br />
<br />
As far as beauty blogging - it's not really my thing; however, I'm not opposed to covering beauty topics if they're in context to my blog post. For example I touch on <u>vajazzing</u> in <a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/2012/07/tmi-friday.html" target="_blank">TMI Friday!</a>, <u>waxing</u> in <a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/2012/05/keeping-your-hedges-trimmed.html" target="_blank">keeping your hedges trimmed...</a> and <u>pedicures</u> in <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/06/wax-that-tash.html" target="_blank">wax that tash!</a><br />
<br />
Anyway, in spite of being a beauty fraud, I am more than ecstatic to accept The Laine Blogger Award. Thank you, Michele from the bottom of my heart for thinking of me!<br />
<br />
Here are the 'rules' (a little laxer than the Liebster's - and thank the Lord for that!):<br />
<br />
1. Answer the five questions (same ones that I've answered).<br />
2. Pass it on to 5 more bloggers.<br />
<br />
So, my good friend Michele from <a href="http://followmehome.shellybean.com/" target="_blank">follow me home</a>, here goes 'nothing'....<br />
<br />
<b><i>1. What is your current beauty obsession?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
I don't really do beauty obsessions. I do, however, have a beauty paranoia. I actually blogged about it back in June in <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/06/wax-that-tash.html" target="_blank">wax that tash!</a> That's the only 'beauty' related post I've ever written in 'Across The Pond'. I find myself pulling on my not-so-imaginary girl-tash throughout the day. Last month - before giving birth to the bambino - the hubs and I were wandering around the Market Booths here in our small town Texas when we stumbled across a lady selling a girl-tash removal tool, a spring with a handle, which basically does the same thing as the Indian threading technique - snags and rips out your lip hair from the roots!! Her (torture) instruments were only $10 a pop (half the price of the <a href="http://www.remspring.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">R.E.M SPRING</a> - <b>more reasonably priced on Amazon, see below</b>)- so God only knows why I didn't snatch her hand off - <i>probably because it hurt like the bejesus when she tested it out on a few of my tash hairs!!</i> I think I'll stick with the humiliation of being waxed at the Pedi place here in town - at least it's over in one tug!<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=gomo04-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B001FXUTUM&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>
<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>2. What is the one beauty item you wished you owned?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
I've always wanted one of those blackhead extractors - you know, the little metal tool with loops on either end. They're not that pricey so I don't really know why I haven't ever bitten the bullet... OK, I probably do know why - it would become an obsession, and I'd make an absolute mess out of my face! I honestly don't know if those deep facials (where they pull out a million blackheads you never knew you had) do more harm than good. But doesn't it feel good to 'pop' one of those suckers outta there! I love it when the hubs lets me work on his back, unfortunately it's my back that has the goods! You can tell we've reached our seven year anniversary (this coming Monday!) when grooming each other like a pair of chimps is what passes for a good time round here!<br />
<br />
<iframe align="center" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=gomo04-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B000SSG0EE&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>
<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>3. What is your favourite topic to read or write about?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
I like anything that is personal and <i>real.</i><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>4. What inspired you to become a blogger?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
My bezzie mate started a blog <a href="http://skyebirdandjules.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Skyebird and Jules</a> and I thought, 'Cool, I could do that!'<br />
<br />
<b><i>5. What nail polish are you wearing now?</i></b><br />
<br />
I'm still sporting the chipped remnants of my turquoise toes that I got from the pedi place here in town, back in July <i>before</i> I had my baby.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhmilLSRM2381teBiB6cg9YFp-iOTg06vZMO1auAOJ0bd3BGiXGlDA63RO5jVOJ68d9JTrt4rzXhi6-E1TD13LdCGDfmb2yVqrqNPTSrGzrvj1a_jBqfzR4J35M_mzNUWOmQQAi1FqY4/s1600/IMG_1528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhmilLSRM2381teBiB6cg9YFp-iOTg06vZMO1auAOJ0bd3BGiXGlDA63RO5jVOJ68d9JTrt4rzXhi6-E1TD13LdCGDfmb2yVqrqNPTSrGzrvj1a_jBqfzR4J35M_mzNUWOmQQAi1FqY4/s320/IMG_1528.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perhaps I need one of those springy thingies for my toes!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Fortunately I managed to palm 'The Humiliator' (see <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/06/wax-that-tash.html" target="_blank">wax that tash!</a>) off on my willing British buddy. He took quite a shining to her and her toe cheese!<br />
<br />
Wowzers! That took a fair bit of blogging - but we're almost there now (<i>if any of you are still with me</i>) - so finally, in the spirit of 'Laine' (whomever that might be), I'd like to pass this 'beauty' Blogger Award on to these five beautiful bloggers:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://modmombeyondindiedom.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mod Mom Beyond IndieDom</a><br />
<a href="http://menopausalmother.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Menopausal Mother</a><br />
<a href="http://lipstickmargaritasandhairspray.com/" target="_blank">Lipstick, Margaritas and Hairspray</a><br />
<a href="http://smn0409.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Mommy Chronicles</a><br />
<a href="http://entirelyemily.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Entirely Emily</a><br />
<br />
Congratulations ladies. Happy Blogging and don't forget to let me know when you post your answers!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-69284036555074386512012-08-04T18:27:00.002-07:002012-08-04T18:27:59.458-07:00Daddies Freakin' Out!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucES1a-1KHEcheYN7ZdkjDmqOosRO5LMQIVHHuCxtBd-yVK7XOzWAEbgJPb5DdUFmrFJf74jeXZMwqsUYr7LktjPsDUXD0aMAo0YYxOGdKOyw8NwCzkwCXanOw6oPAMM72cTxGh55nwA/s1600/IMG_0693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucES1a-1KHEcheYN7ZdkjDmqOosRO5LMQIVHHuCxtBd-yVK7XOzWAEbgJPb5DdUFmrFJf74jeXZMwqsUYr7LktjPsDUXD0aMAo0YYxOGdKOyw8NwCzkwCXanOw6oPAMM72cTxGh55nwA/s320/IMG_0693.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">......a smattering of our deck squatters!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For many months now we've had squatters - hundreds of them - sleeping outside up in rafters of the deck. Despite my aversion to creepy-crawlies - especially ones found in Texas - these long limbed spider-like daddies I kind of dig!<br />
<br />
I first saw a bunch of them clustered on the back of our extension door over two years ago and immediately recoiled in horror. Luckily I was with an old seasoned Texas lady at the time, who convinced me straight away that they were 'friends' and that they would take care of the other nasties for me.<br />
<br />
My imagination had me dreaming up scenarios where thousands of these daddy long-legs would pack hunt the poisonous pests and gobble them up leaving no trace.<br />
<br />
Yes - these protectors are definitely welcome to hang out at our house. <br />
<br />
The fantasy seemed to support what is apparently the biggest spider-myth out there:<br />
<br />
<b>"daddy long-legs are one of the most poisonous spiders, but their fangs are too short to bite humans."</b><br />
<br />
I'd heard this myth years ago - applied to the British daddy long-legs variety - and after what my old Texan gal pal had told me about my new friendly squatters, it all seemed to add up.<br />
<br />
I've never attempted to get rid of the Texan gangly critters since I realized their super powers. But until this year I never had to house-share with them.<br />
<br />
This year they're everywhere!<br />
<br />
Our deck was completed at the back end of last fall, and like most creepers, we didn't see hide nor hair of the (not-really-a-spider) spiders until it started warming up again this spring.<br />
<br />
Then all of a sudden our squatters were back- and they'd brought <i>all</i> their friends with them....<br />
<br />
The first time I saw them huddled on our front porch, high up in the rafters and on the cabin siding I was gobsmacked at how many there were. I was even more stunned when they all started 'freakin out' together as our Daddy (short-legs) likes to put it!<br />
<br />
It only seems to take one daddy freakin' out - say, if a kid gets too close to the cluster - to set the rest of them off, then they all start bouncing in sync - it's the weirdest phenomenon. <br />
<br />
Before long I started to spot tall eerie shadows scurrying across our indoor carpets, and on the cabin wood floor. But even having encroached on the inside of our home I'm still not phased by them - I'm not so keen on having to sweep up their dead daily (I seem to find dead daddies all over the house - especially the screened in porch).<br />
<br />
This year our ecosystem - inside the house - has had a bit of a shake up.<br />
<br />
There have been <i>more</i> scorpions - which sadly scuppers my 'pack hunt' theory - but we've seen NO ants inside. None whatsoever.<br />
<br />
The difference is remarkable - considering that this time last year we were fire-fighting ant infestations with fresh poison stations weekly. And this summer - with two snacking toddlers - we've got double the crumbs, and ice cream and sticky melon drops all over the shop!<br />
<br />
It can only be the daddies doing their very best to earn bed and board.<br />
<br />
So far they seem happy to sleep in their humongous cluster outside - only scattering their troops out to forage and scavenge <i>inside</i> the house when they need food. I think my affection for them would quickly evaporate if they attempted to relocate their hoards <i>inside.</i><br />
<br />
<i>But wait, there's more.....</i><br />
<br />
Daddy short-legs (a.k.a the hubs) has been working diligently this last week to set up a mini pump and pool outside for the kids. A few days ago, while all but Daddy were happy napping, he wriggled under the crawl space of the house extension to hook up the pump electrics.<br />
<br />
The idea of crawling under the house freaks Momma out - critters or no critters. Ever since watching<i> The Children of The Corn</i> lower that house down onto that poor little old lady, I swore I'd never live in a house on stilts... <br />
<br />
So there our Daddy was - having crawled a good 6 feet or so (his height and then some) underneath the house - before he spotted one or two eerie shadowy movements on the floor in front of him. Then something made him raise his eyes to the underside of the floor just above him, and finally - with horror movie trepidation - he craned his neck around to look straight up. <br />
<br />
And what do you think he saw.......?<br />
<br />
Right above him, almost completely covering the floor insulation, were <i>millions</i> of our amiable ant hunters. The only thing standing between Daddy and 'The Daddies' was the chicken wire that holds the insulation in place. The same chicken wire brushing the top of Daddy's head - with holes large enough for tarantulas to crawl through, never mind a wiry limbed daddy-long-leg! <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.fototime.com/%7B080F801A-2B7F-4EE1-86DB-14A04274BF9E%7D/origpict/daddylonglegs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://www.fototime.com/%7B080F801A-2B7F-4EE1-86DB-14A04274BF9E%7D/origpict/daddylonglegs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy says:<br />
"Multiply this by a thousand and you're still not even close!"</td></tr>
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I would have screamed. Daddy - to his credit - did not (he didn't want to wake the babies - aww).<br />
<br />
What a Daddy!<br />
<br />
When they felt the presence of GIANT Daddy short-legs they all started freaking out together. Hoards and hoards of agitated arachnids bouncing furiously at Daddy's intrusion.<br />
<br />
He finished the job - in spite of the 'freak out' going inside his head - and his heart beating ten to the dozen. The 'job' involved crawling a further 4 feet under the pulsing mother hub of what I now know (after my trusty Google research) to be Harvestmen.<br />
<br />
In spite of maintaining an outward calm, Daddy fought for every ragged breath - coming close to hyperventilating each time his focus wandered from the task at hand to the cluster of creepy-crawlies over head and harrowingly out of sight.<br />
<br />
He later admitted that if they'd have dropped and scurried over him he would have screamed like a little girl - even though he knew they were harmless enough.<br />
<br />
Little did we realize that our hundreds of squatters on the deck are just the 'sentinel' harvestmen. Watchmen for the millions of harvestmen living underneath the house. No wonder they're taking care of the ants!<br />
<i><br />I wonder if they'll eat dog fleas too?</i><br />
<br />
The dogs' usual flea meds suddenly don't seem to be holding up against the summer flea infestations outdoors - and for the last couple of nights we've noticed the mutts scratching like crazy.<br />
<br />
I'm sure I saw something jumping on the couch yesterday...<br />
<br />
Hopefully the harvestmen will feast on the fleas (as well as the ants and the crumbs dropped by the boys) - and the new kitten will subsequently hunt the harvestmen, hopefully keeping their freaky-deaky population in check!<br />
<br />
<i>And if we're lucky the dogs won't devour the kitten..... but that's a whole other blog!</i><br />
<br />
Of all the fascinating facts regarding our summer squatters that my Googling has come up with - the one that trips me out the most is that these prevalent harvestmen are apparently an endangered species here in Texas....<br />
<br />
No freakin' way!<br />
<br />
Whichever Texan determined harvestmen to be 'endangered' in this state must have been looking under the wrong house.<br />
<br />
Just ask our Daddy short-legs...!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>*A few home 'truths' about harvestmen - at least according to Google:</b><br />
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<a href="http://blog.brasurespestcontrol.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/harvestman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://blog.brasurespestcontrol.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/harvestman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>1. Harvestmen are not spiders (they are arachnids - like spiders and scorpions).</b><br />
<b><br />2. They are not poisonous.</b><br />
<b><br />3. They don't have any fangs - but can pinch you with their claws (agghhh).</b><br />
<b><br />4. Harvestmen are the Grandaddies of daddy long-legs (six-legged crane-flys and cellar spiders are also called daddy long-legs). </b><br />
<br />
<b>5. They can emit a foul smell to ward off predators (much like another Daddy I know....).</b><br />
<b><br />6. If our Daddy short-legs was actually a daddy long-legs his legs would be 42 feet long!</b><br />
<br />
Pretty cool, huh?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-60161055751703979362012-07-27T20:49:00.004-07:002012-07-27T20:59:43.685-07:00GBR vs USAWhen it comes to the Olympic games it's never really been a fair contest - at least in my lifetime! <span style="background-color: white;">Even on home soil I wouldn't put my money on seeing significantly more medals for GBR.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />Forecasters, however, are predicting a whopping 27 Golds for GBR... <i>ahem...that'd be right... nothing like a bit of optimism!</i> That would place us third overall. Chance would be a fine thing!</span><br />
<i><span style="background-color: white;"><br />Haven't we been predicting another World cup win</span><span style="background-color: white;"> ever since 1966?</span></i><br />
<br />
But what do I know? Apparently I've had my head out of the games (and out of Britain for too long)!<br />
<br />
19 Golds for GBR back in Beijing wasn't such a shabby tally - placing my motherland in a fairly respectable fourth place. It's amazing what factual tit-bits a bit of Googling can glean. Apparently the UK did rank 1 in the Olympics, once - back in 1908 - just over a century ago.<br />
<br />
London hosted the games then too. Maybe there's hope after all..... <br />
<br />
But, those often elusive Golds - at least for us Brits - seem to come raining down on the Americans like April showers!<br />
<br />
They bagged 36 in Beijing (110 medals in total) putting them in pole position for the last four Olympics on the trot. <span style="background-color: white;">Maybe for once in my life I'll be on the winning side - well sort of. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i>Boo hiss</i></span><span style="background-color: white;"><i> .... I know, I know!.... I'm a traitor to good old (always on a losing streak) Blighty.....</i> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />And anyway - it's the taking part that counts, isn't it - not winning?</span><i style="background-color: white;"> </i><br />
<i style="background-color: white;"><br />What a load of codswallup!</i><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><br />
<br />
What tripe are we teaching our kids these days? Of course winning <i>matters.</i> It sucks to be on the losing side all the time!<br />
<br />
In all honesty (and in spite of how much we sucketh) I think my heart will always be rooting for GBR - and if they (I mean <i>we</i>) do manage to 'lord' it over the Yanks in any of the games I know I'll be right there with my old compatriots across the pond!<br />
<br />
But my home and so much of my heart is now based in the USA - it would be just rude not to cheer my new fellow countrymen on also. And let's face it - they're just so much better at winning medals!<br />
<br />
It'll be refreshing to be personally involved - and to see my adopted spangly flag flying - in so many more of the events.<br />
<br />
Thanks to our recent visitors from across the pond, the kids have enough GBR paraphernalia to at least look the part of the stoic British fan.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1g5PG2sOp-66yOwB_gfgEyJMXZXH0MUVLetTO5D9sFMaPfXwEgm7OiD4kEtAHXF2-7hcEJHvIQ5ZjegOB7uGa2oQuJKn_usheihnTo1B7hxI_cQDilintSkoCSp2EzLvst_c7zoAm-w/s1600/IMG_1157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1g5PG2sOp-66yOwB_gfgEyJMXZXH0MUVLetTO5D9sFMaPfXwEgm7OiD4kEtAHXF2-7hcEJHvIQ5ZjegOB7uGa2oQuJKn_usheihnTo1B7hxI_cQDilintSkoCSp2EzLvst_c7zoAm-w/s400/IMG_1157.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our eldest all kitted out ready for the<br />
Olympic open ceremony.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
You never know right.... perhaps the soccer (oops, I mean football), or the rowing, or the sailing and dressage Olympians in Team GB may come up trumps, and the boys will get ample opportunity to proudly wave their Union Jacks at the TV. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmDG7ex0pYaF3iYekzpyo4PqdEirt3SlQ4iS36VGDT5PSrZ8OaLlwfz8qQvZj4k3yi_Db1JflNJP990lK-ph-uYumiqDt_2T3dqX18SSBrYnP2VzvJSKMI5uPQaImOtgxlfRqRiOeOM4/s1600/IMG_1153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmDG7ex0pYaF3iYekzpyo4PqdEirt3SlQ4iS36VGDT5PSrZ8OaLlwfz8qQvZj4k3yi_Db1JflNJP990lK-ph-uYumiqDt_2T3dqX18SSBrYnP2VzvJSKMI5uPQaImOtgxlfRqRiOeOM4/s400/IMG_1153.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">baby boy practicing his flag wave..</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Without any TV hooked up to our cabin I'd been all set to miss the London Olympics (like I did Kate and Will's wedding and the Queen's recent jubilee celebration)..</span><br />
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However Daddy has somehow managed to set us up with live internet coverage and - now that I can be - I'm brimming over with excitement!<br />
<br />
It's the opening ceremony tonight!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vrLzE5DCCXpOzaPMl7jZICSv1eULecXQDCO33ZxjCCXsbMq6LsJvZJ30S2EaD1CCp2y0mzkQnxhnBlVz0RUqVjLyX7eKitBC48FRTbas3f4FruAmm8mvnIgrqCX4lzT2zosyIYxU91Y/s1600/IMG_1171_blog.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vrLzE5DCCXpOzaPMl7jZICSv1eULecXQDCO33ZxjCCXsbMq6LsJvZJ30S2EaD1CCp2y0mzkQnxhnBlVz0RUqVjLyX7eKitBC48FRTbas3f4FruAmm8mvnIgrqCX4lzT2zosyIYxU91Y/s320/IMG_1171_blog.png" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sadly Momma was the only one waving the Union Jack<br />
during the opening ceremony! The kids were too busy<br />
watching Finding Nemo! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">We lucky dual nationals get to revel in so much more of the glory...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />Go GBR!... errr, I mean Go USA, no... Go GBR......errr USA!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-62572583319240259872012-07-04T21:50:00.003-07:002012-07-05T09:11:34.441-07:00red, white and blue<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was a kid there was nothing much special about the fourth of July - until I met by childhood best friend. She lived a few doors down from me, her name meant princess, and her birthday was on the 4th July, exactly one month after mine. It became a pretty special day thereafter.<br />
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When I got a bit older I remember a really long film coming out called 'Born on the Fourth of July' (1989). <i>How cool that my bezzie mate had a movie about her birthday!</i></div>
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What a let down! After seeing Maverick in Top Gun, a washed up bitter Tom Cruise was not what I was expecting. I never made it through to the end - <i>movie buffs, I apologize for my 9 year-old self -</i> and I don't think the movie actually had anything to do with the fourth of July....<i> did it?</i></div>
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My last bit of British education on the fourth of July was the mega Blockbuster hit 'Independence Day' (1996) in which Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum pilot an antique UFO into space to open a can of whoop-ass on alien invaders who are hovering ominously over the USA.</div>
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I remember the spontaneous standing ovation and applause which erupted in the cinema after the presidents speech. </div>
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That movie came out the same year I did my GCSEs. I was 16 and my favorite subject was History. I nailed my exam - so you'd think I'd be a pretty accomplished historian. Not so the case.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I knew all about The Tudors and our more recent world wars - meaning WWI and WW2 - but</span><span style="background-color: white;"> it</span><span style="background-color: white;"> turns out that, being a student of the British Empire, my country's history is far too extensive (like the number of notches on Casanova's bedpost) to ever really get on top of! </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">We Brits have had our grubby fingers in almost every other country's pie on the planet!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I remember feeling acutely embarrassed about my ignorance (and subsequently pretty guilty) about England's role in The Crusade<i>s</i> after my taxi driver in Cairo enlightened me to the error of my country's ways! </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">It was the first I'd really heard of us Brits forcing Christianity down the Egyptians' throats all those centuries ago. After all the other stuff Britain had done it didn't seem like a big deal to me. Ancient history right? Apparently still a pretty big deal to my taxi driver. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I remember thinking I needed to be more of a diplomat whilst globetrotting across old enemy lines. At the very least I needed to have an idea of what offences I may be hauled over the coals for on behalf of Britannia!!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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The USA though, had always been a friend of ours for as long as I can remember. The only bitching about our Yankee brothers, that I can recall, was regarding their reticence to join in the Second World War until after Pearl Harbor. </div>
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Well, better late then never.</div>
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When I first met my hubs, our respective leaders Tony Blair and George W. Bush were so much in cahoots with each other over their 'War on Terrorism' I couldn't conceive of a time of discontent between our two democracies. </div>
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Of course I knew that wasn't the case. I didn't know the details though. </div>
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I'd heard of the Boston Tea Party - and I vaguely realized that the Brits (once again) had been cleared off someone else's land. <span style="background-color: white;">Tragically we didn't cover this titbit of history in school either. I hate to come across as such a numpty, but there you have it. </span></div>
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After living in Texas for nearly four years now, I'm a little more clued in to the history of Independence Day - and my country's part in it, although admittedly (like Thanksgiving - and the Superbowl) I have to get an annual refresher from the hubs! </div>
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<br /></div>
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Obviously us Brits don't come off in the best light. If they'd bothered to add this to our school syllabus back home then perhaps I'd know a different side to the story. As it stands, it just seems like we were a little bit greedy back in the day, and the American's were right to kick us out. </div>
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Whatever. The kids and I didn't sport any red, white and blue today - but not for any other reason than we didn't get our act together in time. Red, white and blue conveniently happens to be my country's colors also, so I could easily feign patriotism to the US without selling out my homeland. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The hubs pulled out his patriotic waistcoat (that Momma scored from the local thrift store) last minute to wear to the family picnic. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">No-one really talks about the history of </span><span style="background-color: white;">Independence</span><span style="background-color: white;"> Day anymore - at least they haven't in my company. Even with my tell-tale accent, victory over the Brits wasn't lorded over me once today. </span><span style="background-color: white;">It's all a bit like Christmas really. <i>OK - not quite the same thing</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Independence</span> Day is a national holiday. It's<span style="background-color: white;"> a good excuse for a day off work (unless you're a Mommy), and for family and friends to get together for a knees-up. </span><span style="background-color: white;">As far as American holidays go this seems to be the biggie. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Here in our small town Texas, the fourth of July celebrations throw down with a parade, fireworks and the rodeo! </span><span style="background-color: white;">We only made it to the rodeo our first year in Texas, before kids - although I did have a babe in my belly. But this is the first year we didn't make it to the parade.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Honestly I wasn't too upset that my two year old missed out on all the candy showers. We're still hiding their Easter candies along with last year's Halloween stash!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Instead we headed out to a private and picturesque slice of Texas Country heaven - where the bulk of the hubs' family - and his Grandpa's girl's family all met up for a bumper picnic and swim in the sun.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">It's been an absolutely fabulous family day outdoors - even for this over-heated Yorkshire acclimated preggo Momma! The river was cool and blissful on my bloated bod - definitely the right place to roost in the Texas heat. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Our Grand hosts did a grand job at grilling up a banquet that - try as we might - was impossible to deplete. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Under the merciful shade of grand old oak canopies, both families gorged on grub, scavenging pups were scolded, the guys played horseshoes while the younger troops played washers, and my boys did a fine job at interrupting both games. </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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The afternoon flew by in a whirlwind of family fun and food. <span style="background-color: white;">After a post picnic swim - second of the day - my water babies finally got their fill of the river. The littlest was all prunified when we pulled them out!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br />At 7pm it was time to '</span><span style="background-color: white;">lock and load' our troops in the minivan and</span><span style="background-color: white;"> i</span><span style="background-color: white;">t took less than fifteen seconds until this:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">They've been crashed out ever since! Now it's 10pm (almost lights-out for Mommy) and I can hear the fourth of July fireworks exploding all around me as I blog.</span></div>
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Good night everybody and happy Independence Day America. <span style="background-color: white;">I'm glad you started a revolt against us Brits - if only for special days like these. </span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-61911723796386379582012-07-01T21:57:00.000-07:002012-07-02T07:12:20.653-07:00Baby one, two, three - shower me!For the past four years, I've been suffering from a pretty bad case of 'The lady doth protest too much!'. It's partly personality driven - I'm sure - but I put a huge part of my reluctance to be showered with baby gifts at a party thrown in my honor as cultural.<br />
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We Brits can be a stuffy bunch at times. We like our nay-saying, and we've a negative habit of 'NOT' looking on the bright side of life (contrary to Monty Python's advice).
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Back home, giving gifts for the baby before the birth was always thought to be premature and done in poor taste. You didn't congratulate a Momma before she'd safely delivered her baby - that was just asking for trouble. Don't temp fate! I guess it's all part and parcel to that poultry idiom 'Don't count your chickens before they hatch!'<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />But what's the sense in always thinking the worst will happen, when more often than not everything will be OK? </span><span style="background-color: white;">I guess the thought of the additional heartbreak - if the worst should happen - caused by all the untouched baby paraphernalia is what shys us Brits away from making Momma feel special. Thankfully those tragic situations are rare (knock on wood), and if there's a grain of truth in the philosophy behind the 'Secret', then a baby shower can only be conducive to heralding a happy ending! </span><br />
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I was first introduced to a baby shower in the sitcom Friend's, where all Rachel's girlfriends and female family members overwhelm her with gifts of thought-to-be baby must-haves. She hasn't got a clue what most of the mod baby cons are for, prompting her to beg her Mom to come stay with her - much to Ross's horror! I found it funny when I first watched it, but I couldn't really relate<i>. </i><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">My time over here in Texas has definitely led me to look at Baby Showers under a different and more flattering light. Why not celebrate the upcoming birth? It's as much a way to get Momma in a birthing frame of mind and a chance for everyone else to bestow advice and wish Mom and baby good luck as anything else.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.metrolic.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Friends_Rachel_BabyShower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="http://www.metrolic.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Friends_Rachel_BabyShower.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends' Rachel getting Monica to confirm her cluelessness!</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"></span><span style="background-color: white;">I</span><span style="background-color: white;">n hindsight I can laugh so much harder at Rachel's panic - when the sudden realization of what she's getting herself into sets in. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />When we're expecting our first baby, most of us haven't a clue what we're getting ourselves into - possibly on the plus side for procreation -</span><span style="background-color: white;"> and so a baby shower is a fun, friendly and focused way for Mom (and Dad) to begin boning up on parenting (if they haven't already) and to start accumulating all that 'necessary' baby equipment. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />It's also a great excuse for a bit of lark. Baby showers are a well loved American tradition and such a big deal that you can't help but get sucked in! </span><br />
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Before moving to Texas, I was lucky enough to experience a shower thrown for my sister-in-law, while we were on vacation over here. <span style="background-color: white;">It was for her third baby - her first boy, and the excitement in the room was incredibly infectious. Everyone was animated and happy and chatting non-stop. They were all quite obviously loving lavishing attention on her. </span><span style="background-color: white;">All that time ago, I remember cringing on her behalf at all the attention she was receiving - but she didn't seem to mind at all. </span></div>
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Ridiculously, that right there is another reason we Brits get all silly about showers. It's the uncomfortable feeling we get from being thrown into the limelight. The idea of having to sit in front of an 'audience' and open presents is mortifying to most Pommies to say the least. </div>
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I'm sure there are a few British exceptions to the rule; however, this is a cultural trait that I've witnessed time and time again in my travels - but never more so than during my first trip to the states, when I helped wait tables at camp in Maine.</div>
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A dance had been organized for all the staff to get acquainted. Unfortunately, it was nothing like the 'underground' staff dance in Dirty Dancing, and sadly there was no alcohol allowed due to the fact that the room was half-full of International traveling working irresponsible minors! </div>
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But the lack of liquor didn't seem to matter to the American constituent who were able to sashay their hot stuff effortlessly across the dance floor stone cold sober! <span style="background-color: white;">At the time, I remember hiding my mortification beneath a 'way too cool for school' attitude, like all my fellow Brits in the room. We were the wallflowers secretly poking fun at the ridiculous Yanks - who in truth were having a whale of a time. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I remember watching in wide-eyed terror as they took it in turns to do their 'thang' in the center of the circle. </span><span style="background-color: white;">In hindsight, we Brits were pretty much in denial and blind to our own insecurities. It was much easier to unleash our superior sarcasm skills on our American allies than admit we were too afraid of being laughed at. Ironically, we were the only meanies doing the laughing! </span><br />
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Stage-fright, however, was still not the bee all and end all as to why I was initially so weird about having a Baby Shower. The simplest and possibly most pathetic reason of all was I simply didn't feel worthy of all the attention. I couldn't fathom why anyone would want to buy ME a present. </div>
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When I finally acquiesced to a shower, creating the invitee list was my first stumbling block. It just felt plain rude asking anybody to come along and buy me something for my baby: it felt presumptuous and greedy. Ironically I ended up leaving too many people out, inadvertently causing offence, the very thing I desperately wanted to avoid! It turned out that people who barely knew me wanted to be included, and many were put-out by my exclusivity. In spite of this, they still went ahead and bought me a gift <span style="background-color: white;">regardless.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />At first I was so incredibly confused and overwhelmed and humbled by the kindness of these -somewhat- strangers. </span><span style="background-color: white;">I soon realized, however, that it wasn't all about me. The people around me genuinely wanted to give a baby gift - not least of all because they got a chance to go baby shopping! </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />"Never look a gift horse in the mouth" was starting to hold a new meaning for me. Gifting was a two way street - and by not inviting folk I was denying them their rightful happiness - I was being selfish!</span></div>
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Creating a baby registry was also a tricky step. How could I let people know what we needed without being too cheeky? And did we really need any of this stuff? My first tentative registry was a modest list of low-priced items - which didn't help anybody, especially close family who were hankering at ticking off a few big hitters.<br />
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With a little encouragement (not least of all from the hubs who didn't suffer the same issues as his wife) I got ballsier and added a few big ticket items. In the end, building our baby registry was incredibly enlightening for the hubs and me. We used the time to really think about what we needed. It became an exercise of mental preparation. </div>
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The day of my very first baby shower I felt sick with nerves. I was so terrified about being the guest of honor, and having to open my presents with all eyes on me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzHFLqfeXXj4UCkB08VS7XOXtUWKZvGnGQMPIvdz0EQXXDvvkJsunUnAv5DOPWtINqk9P3K5T9fGYoevY_1o6cF5aFY_TLTPL2HEr7z42U0quq0Dfb7coFAWumnYLoBxYbdnz0_6FouU/s1600/5082_97073213890_4755903_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzHFLqfeXXj4UCkB08VS7XOXtUWKZvGnGQMPIvdz0EQXXDvvkJsunUnAv5DOPWtINqk9P3K5T9fGYoevY_1o6cF5aFY_TLTPL2HEr7z42U0quq0Dfb7coFAWumnYLoBxYbdnz0_6FouU/s320/5082_97073213890_4755903_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gift table at library baby shower</td></tr>
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I ended up surprising myself. It was simply wonderful being the 'guest of honor' and everybody there was genuinely excited for me and my baby boy.<br />
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We played baby games, nibbled treats and cake and the room was adorned with flowers and baby deco - and most impressive of all was a three tier diaper cake in the center of the room. I'd never seen anything like it and I was blown away by the magnitude and creativity. It was truly a labor of love - and so very thoughtful. How do you not spill tears in that situation? <br />
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When the scariest part arrived and I was seated up front so all could ooh and aah at the gifts as I opened them, it only took me a couple of presents to get into the groove before I was loving it! It wasn't so bad this shower malarky - in fact, I soon realized I was lapping up the attention. I needed it!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0S2gXo7mg38obKl9mIiw_KMFsjTzsQoaiPp1OlCk01EWNLF1ATbIc2faHzHaVyqO1wkj6g8ymlPXvLrsEZSrsfm4N4kyHUPSI7Y-zNlCpDDj0IA2kzYozS-eZpSFM0sF1RqYXM-lCkA/s1600/5082_97073273890_5692340_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0S2gXo7mg38obKl9mIiw_KMFsjTzsQoaiPp1OlCk01EWNLF1ATbIc2faHzHaVyqO1wkj6g8ymlPXvLrsEZSrsfm4N4kyHUPSI7Y-zNlCpDDj0IA2kzYozS-eZpSFM0sF1RqYXM-lCkA/s320/5082_97073273890_5692340_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opening baby's wind chime gift with all eyes on me!</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Although I may have appeared to be blooming, at almost seven months pregnant with my first babe, I was feeling tired, and unattractive, and somewhat terrified of the looming birth experience. </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This special attention was just what the Doctor ordered! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Much like Christmas is rumored to have been created to 'warm</span><span style="background-color: white;">-up' the harsher months, a shower is thrown to pick-up and possibly distract soon-to-be Mommy from the panic and pain of the labor and motherhood itself! </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Quite ludicrously this sensational shindig was a warm-up library work 'do' thrown by my incredibly considerate colleagues. The family was hatching to throw me an even bigger baby shower later on in my first pregnancy - by which point I knew the drill.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zTTUe1TuHZ1p_GHgJFYrpanSaDvOWpLrtJhinxW-pk-TSxoBpqAH_4_uZ4imGjk0Gt23uL2JMF8JSInfBHqq465TH-NXJBOaq1NEG1YLXHM8b2sRwN_EkFijceSQraKXK7gHfn4N1ow/s1600/6372_111964763727_337498_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zTTUe1TuHZ1p_GHgJFYrpanSaDvOWpLrtJhinxW-pk-TSxoBpqAH_4_uZ4imGjk0Gt23uL2JMF8JSInfBHqq465TH-NXJBOaq1NEG1YLXHM8b2sRwN_EkFijceSQraKXK7gHfn4N1ow/s320/6372_111964763727_337498_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Identify the candy bar poopy diaper game!</td></tr>
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My palms were still sweaty on the day - and I'm sure the blood was running high in my cheeks - but I absolutely loved it!<br />
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We played the classic diaper taste and sniff game, which was a hoot! And, o<span style="background-color: white;">nce again I was delighted by a dazzling diaper cake - so much so, that ever since, building a personalized </span><a href="http://gocraftymomma.blogspot.com/2012/06/diaper-cakes-custom-made-by-momma.html" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">diaper cake</a><span style="background-color: white;"> has become my baby shower gift of choice. I can't help but want to make others feel that same thrill that it gave me!</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhIepfr6lJJdQ2QzkSkwzU2qbtr9VvUlN7-vstu0GjeyODezdT0jXMISpdGdrjIWmIwPwzOiYC803Me361NAeJigM5VQwawsWFWwwy3j00QzhB0dmvOBlpKjuNbBXg_LhztRFnpgiRPk/s1600/134246_474323998890_2760364_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhIepfr6lJJdQ2QzkSkwzU2qbtr9VvUlN7-vstu0GjeyODezdT0jXMISpdGdrjIWmIwPwzOiYC803Me361NAeJigM5VQwawsWFWwwy3j00QzhB0dmvOBlpKjuNbBXg_LhztRFnpgiRPk/s320/134246_474323998890_2760364_o.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snowman cake for baby boy#2 </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Seeing as though my shower</span><span style="background-color: white;"> demons had been somewhat exorcised you'd think I'd have been cured by the time baby number two came around - not so the case. </span><span style="background-color: white;">My 'issues' with being showered were ever more so present with the second baby. I'd already been bought gifts the last go, so I still had all my stuff from the first baby - and it was another boy, so we didn't need any more clothes. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />In the end my friends twisted my arm, and I conceded to a casual couples Christmas shower. Again it was a lovely occasion and my hubs finally got to feel the love also. Thankfully we stocked up on much needed items like diapers and wipes and creams - for which we were incredibly grateful! </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcp6j78lhrruxHc0iafa5sbnTEQXFMEthA6W4wCLN_d6WwYrKFSPKoh59mUcnwPPJYHaVY5GhUjjJUZ_aaK75c0tdparDh7fhLxFHviCbqL8SuqY5v78t-DXeBNHWrljqdfzTBw3rNWEc/s1600/134246_474323993890_1111725_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcp6j78lhrruxHc0iafa5sbnTEQXFMEthA6W4wCLN_d6WwYrKFSPKoh59mUcnwPPJYHaVY5GhUjjJUZ_aaK75c0tdparDh7fhLxFHviCbqL8SuqY5v78t-DXeBNHWrljqdfzTBw3rNWEc/s320/134246_474323993890_1111725_o.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winter wonderland diaper cake for baby boy#2</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">After all the gift rallying and food support (in the form of a care calender) we received for baby number two I started to feel a burning need to 'give back'. We were no longer newby parents caught up in our own private panicky world of fevers and diapers and sleepless nights. We finally had time and energy enough to share.</span></div>
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Our best friends were having their second baby, and I seized the opportunity. I desperately wanted to shower her like she'd never been showered before. I couldn't think of a better way than to do it covertly. </div>
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Thinking about it, I guess my motives for throwing a surprise shower were partly based on my own issues. <span style="background-color: white;">Somewhat hypocritically I could have accepted all my previous showers more easily had I known nothing about them. All my fear of offending could have been waylaid, with all accountability on someone else's shoulders. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Besides which, a surprise just seemed like a helluva lot of fun! And the pleasure it gave me was equal to (and perhaps even more than) that of my own showers! I was a little worried I may have been depriving my friend of the fun and anticipation in the build-up, but the shock on the day surpassed all my expectations, and definitely made up for it. The moment of reveal was a tear-jerker - picture perfect - and overwhelming for everyone involved. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">And that's when the penny truly and finally dropped. People love to give. It makes them happy, and I was ecstatic to have pulled off a surprise shower for someone so special to me. I still feel warm and fuzzy inside today! </span></div>
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This third time around - as you can imagine - a baby shower was not even on my radar. I didn't expect or really think I deserved another one - especially with my bairns being so close together. These days I'm dropping babes almost as frequently as I'm having birthdays! </div>
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We're having a girl though, and what better excuse for <i>another</i> shower? My friends didn't have to work so hard this time to 'twist my arm'. Why not?! Although I was still quick to suggest a no-fuss, no presents required except your presence sort of a shindig - <i>you can take the girl out of Yorkshire but you can't take Yorkshire out of the girl</i> - of course I got presents anyway - even some stuff specially for Momma! </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">And now I'm simply buzzing in the afterglow of yesterday's baby shower. The generosity and thought that went into making this day special for me was out of this world - even though my pal played it down perfectly for me. I got the queen of all diaper cakes - a humongous pinkified castle cake with turrets! I'm tinkled pink. Every girl deserves to feel this special - at least a handful of times in her life. It's enough to keep on wanting more babies!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Finally I'm a complete convert, </span><span style="background-color: white;">just as I'm getting warmed up to basking in the glow of center stage! B</span><span style="background-color: white;">ut quite possibly I've had my run this lifetime - <i>although never say never</i>!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">I'm sure for the rest of my life I will look forward to throwing, and gifting, and building <a href="http://gocraftymomma.blogspot.com/2012/06/diaper-cakes-custom-made-by-momma.html" target="_blank">diaper cakes</a> for many other soon-to-be Mommas that step foot into my world (perhaps even one day for my own daughter - or even granddaughter..)</span><br />
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So, of course I'm blogging about it, when I really should be writing Thank You cards. I can do it here too!<br />
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Thank you to ALL of you -Texan family and friends (you know who you are) - who have played a part in showering me over the past four years. I'm overwhelmed by how welcome and special and loved you've made me and my baby bumps feel - over and over and over!<br />
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It goes a long way in helping dispel the sadness and homesickness of being so far away from my homeland family and friends at such a special and emotionally powerful period of my life. The heartfelt generosity and guidance has helped - I'm sure - in molding me into the Momma I am today. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Sniff... I've been reduced to a heap of American Mommy mush - and it aint half bad!</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-8441067441031822652012-06-20T19:08:00.001-07:002012-06-20T22:17:16.720-07:00wax that tash!<br />
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<a href="http://www.bangkokmafia.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/woman-tashes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://www.bangkokmafia.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/woman-tashes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The first time I visited Houston, Texas, I fell in love with the countless walk-in beauty parlors, calling to me from every shopping mall I happened across.<br />
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I couldn't believe how many there were - and how cheap it all was!<br />
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The majority of these parlors are under Asian proprietorship, with an all Asian beautifying crew, and - let's face it - when it comes to servicing our weary bodies, Asians definitely beat the pants off the rest of us!<br />
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Unlike beauty treatments in the UK, here I found it a most affordable indulgence to get obscenely pampered with peddies - <i>a popular enough treat in Texas to earn itself a nick-name -</i> and manicures - <i>I guess these are called mannies? </i>There was simply no excuse for excess leg hair growth, sprouting and bulging bikini forests (see <a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/2012/05/keeping-your-hedges-trimmed.html" target="_blank">keeping your hedges trimmed</a>), or arid and cracked heels resembling the Arizona desert.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />But that was back in my pre-kiddo days when I was earning British pounds - and working for a disgustingly affluent oil company that didn't bat an eyelid at flying me across the pond for a five week training course.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">So one hot afternoon, during my first work hop across the pond, I managed to escape to </span><span style="background-color: white;">one of these big city oases</span><span style="background-color: white;"> and treat myself to a fancy facial. In the midst of my magical and mollifying massage the Korean beautician leaned in and said to me in her pigeon English.</span></div>
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"You need to wax your lip.. yes? I do it for you.... "</div>
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And just like that, her wonderful work was undone, and all my newly acquired tranquility went out the window. I was appalled and offended. I didn't have a mustache, did I? </div>
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I stiltedly declined, and I couldn't get out of there quick enough. I scurried back to the sanctuary of my hotel suite where I could examine my new found lip hair privately - not under the scrutiny of that fine skinned, soft and hairless beautician.</div>
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What was she talking about? I couldn't see any hair. I looked up close, with the bright lights on, and the magnifying mirror angled just right... Ugh! Not the prettiest of sight... a black head or two could do with squeezing...</div>
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No mustache though!<br />
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I suddenly remembered poor Miss Owen at first school with her hairy upper lip, and old Mrs Earch at middle school with her sprouting beauty spots dotted across her chinny-chin-chin. Then there was the youngish and hott-ish high school gym teacher - Miss Wade I think her name was - who was also unfortunately bestowed with freakish facial hair.<br />
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It's funny how many mustache 'Misses' there were now I'd come to think of it - I hadn't had cause to think of them until faced with my own face fuzz. Had I become one of them? How was it they hadn't been able to see their own mustaches? D<span style="background-color: white;">enial it seems is a powerful and dangerous thing.</span></div>
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I eventually got over the incident. I put it behind me and moved on with my life. I never forgot about it though, but after umpteen assurances of my tash-less state from the hubs I was eventually content to drop the subject altogether. <span style="background-color: white;">I put the beautician's overstepping the mark down to trying to swindle more money out of the gullible Brit and that - as they say - was that.</span></div>
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A few years later I left my lucrative job and we moved across the pond. From the get-go we were on a tight budget and, what with my previous traumatic experience, I didn't venture into a beauty salon until long after I'd had my first baby.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">I decided to 'get my feet wet' with a peddie - I wasn't about to let a wax-happy beautician get a close-up scooby at my face. </span><span style="background-color: white;">It was so nice to get pampered again after all that time and so I let my guard down, and a month or so later (almost two years ago now) I decided to get another peddie. This time I decided to let them wax my eyebrows also. Bad call.</span></div>
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"Your lip is very hairy too... you need me wax it for you?" </div>
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WTF? There it was again.... ! Was it a business ploy, or had I really been walking around for another two years with a mustache? Why hadn't anybody pointed this out to me until then.... ?! <i>The irony that somebody already <b>had</b> pointed this out to me - two years previously in a different salon - was not lost on me...</i><br />
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Again I declined, and I hightailed it out of there all embarrassed and offended for a second time.</div>
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I boycotted the beauty salons losing all faith in their honesty. I resented being made to feel paranoid, and I started to look twice at my invisible 'mustache' every time I passed by a mirror. </div>
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I complained about this beautician to the hubs, and a close friend and my sister-in-law, all of whom assured me the beautician was bonkers - and I was being ridiculous. Apparently I didn't have a tash. <i>Well of course they're going to say that...... </i></div>
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But the seed of doubt had been planted. I didn't want to start waxing my lip. It seemed like the start of something that would have to continue forever - and if I ever stopped once I'd started I feared a real manly mustache would grow back in... Eeek!</div>
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I'm so bad at staying primped and preened - even keeping on top of the bare minimum; lower legs, armpits and <a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/2012/05/keeping-your-hedges-trimmed.html" target="_blank">bikini line</a> (eyebrows if it's a special occasion) is a stretch. Being a<span style="background-color: white;"> busy uni-brow Momma - I could just about live with that, but mustache Momma is a whole different kettle of fish!</span></div>
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However, since acquiring my lady bump, I've started to notice a more telling shadow hovering over my lip whenever I catch a glimpse of my reflection. I blame it on the pregnancy hormones - <i>I have more...err..... testosterone in my system..... right?</i></div>
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Finally a few weeks ago - after almost a two year boycott - I treat myself to a pedicure and manicure and an eyebrow wax. This time I was ready for them, and I went in with a different tactic - the preemptive strike.</div>
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But before we even got to my hairy face I had a new line of offense to contend with...</div>
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The man (<i>yes - I was a little surprised to have a bloke too, but why not? Many blokes did the massaging when I was in Asia. They've got strong hands so they're really good at it.</i>) doing my pedicure kept tutting at the state of my feet!</div>
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I'm NOT kidding! To make matters worse he was rough handling them - I'm not sure if that was just his way, or whether he was inexplicably angry at my pedi-neglect - and most embarrassingly of all he kept showing me the hard skin shavings. </div>
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After a few minutes of this humiliating treatment - there were other clients watching us - I closed my eyes in an attempt to fruitlessly enjoy, what was starting to look like 25 bucks of relaxation down the pan, and block the castigator out, but the merciless manny insistently tapped my leg saying only "Hey....!"</div>
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Then he'd point to the scummy crap he'd just polished away with his eyebrows raised and a 'tut-tut..!'</div>
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WTF?! </div>
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I was feeling like a chastised schoolgirl for not doing my homework - not the pampered and penny-wise Momma who is, quite nobly (I like to think), far too busy to fit in frequent pedicures! </div>
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He couldn't speak more than a few words of English - what was a mortified Mommy to do? I put up with it of course - true stiff (but hopefully not so hairy) upper lip Brit style - and giggled lots in a vain attempt to ease the tension. I felt a little better when the lady beside me took pity on me and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, </div>
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'He's rough with everybody. I stopped coming here because of him!'<br />
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She was only here then, apparently, out of necessity - she couldn't make it further afield as she was having visitors later on that day. <span style="background-color: white;">I noted that in spite of her kind words - she was a frequent pedicure patron. It was probably part of her 'must-do' list, like grocery shopping or going to the dentist.</span><br />
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Eventually the torture was over and my feet and hands were beautiful. It was time for the awful moment of truth I'd been dreading. Did I have a tash or not?</div>
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I followed the lady - thankfully my teste torturer wasn't qualified in hair removal - into the waxing room, and without further ado, I tackled the 'tash' issue head on.<br />
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I asked if she could examine my lip to see if it needed waxing or not, once she'd finished with my eyebrows.</div>
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Without a word she applied the hot sticky gloop to my eyes and got to work. It took a few applications and rips, and a bit of extra plucking, to tidy up my bushy brows (I'm surprised they don't add a surcharge for the likes of me).</div>
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I never saw her take a magnifying glass - or examine my lip up-close - or even think about it. She just dove straight in and smeared that hot gloop all over my mustache area and.....</div>
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"YOWZER!!"</div>
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I have to concede that waxing a bald patch could not have hurt quite that much!<br />
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I so desperately wanted to see the used wax paper. <span style="background-color: white;">It's that nasty fascination I hold for wanting to check out that black-head the hubby just squeezed out of my back - or to unfold a tissue to look at the goods after blowing out all my nose contents full force.... </span></div>
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I don't for the life of me know why I chickened out of asking her for a squiz. I'm still kicking myself.</div>
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Instead I asked tentatively.</div>
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"Was my lip pretty hairy then..?" </div>
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"Oh yes!" She exclaimed.</div>
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Well there you have it. No longer a Mommy in denial - my tash is finally waxed! I only hope I don't have to wax that sucker too often!</div>
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So spill it ladies! How often do YOU wax YOURS????</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-74375245877042672172012-06-13T19:49:00.002-07:002012-06-13T19:49:55.595-07:00Oh I do like to be beside the seasideIf I had to pick the one thing I miss most of all about living in the United Kingdom, it would have to be the ever present close proximity to the sea! When I lived back across on the other side of the pond I never fully realized I was living on an island.<br />
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We had lots of 'real' islands surrounding our great big land mass, e.g. the Isle of Skye, and the Shetlands (a great buddy of ours grew up there - <i>I'm not even sure I knew the Shetlands were inhabited until I met him</i>), which were supplied by us - the mainland. I was forgetting that so many of our food and fuel and other vital supplies were being shipped in to us also.<br />
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Size is a relative concept, and now that we're living in Central Texas, and our closest beach, Port Aransas, is at best, a four hour drive from us, I realize how much I took living on our Great 'little' British island for granted. </div>
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I was brought up on British beach holidays. For those of you that don't know what a British beach holiday is. Here's my Top Ten reasons why you can't beat a Brit-holiday :</div>
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10) <b>Donkey rides</b></div>
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An age old British seaside tradition! I infamously dived off of one of these poor beasts of burden when I was a wee nipper. I guess it wasn't a hit with little Momma back then, which is why they only just made it on to my list at number 10. The seaside would not be the same without them.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgX9ocEYMTkURTGGRlgjdkj4HbqRZ-_qsB7a-n6ZNm3EQhmVN1o6TcxYJQaJso2skLX3mOyVsgeJICu2DEGUVY5z3j2NFDH5ixjNDqlnIlBvsEa9cKxncTTsHL7YRp-PQYGG_-yNduz0/s1600/donkey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgX9ocEYMTkURTGGRlgjdkj4HbqRZ-_qsB7a-n6ZNm3EQhmVN1o6TcxYJQaJso2skLX3mOyVsgeJICu2DEGUVY5z3j2NFDH5ixjNDqlnIlBvsEa9cKxncTTsHL7YRp-PQYGG_-yNduz0/s320/donkey.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donkey rides, Cleethorpes Beach, England (2007)</td></tr>
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9) <b>Speedboat rides</b><br />
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A tad bit more thrilling than the donkeys, a speedboat ride is a thrilling adventure that just isn't the same without the bump and splash of those big British white horses! Nothing beats getting soaked to the bone sitting in the wrong spot on one of these speedy vessels, especially with the cutting chill of the North Sea wind whipping past. If you don't hold on tight though the bounce on those waves can make you feel like you've had a smacked arse by the end of the ride!!! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMH-35DgdHmTA_EFsF48_PBDGihbul-7qfg5bqf57_Q9C6sEmLckvEI-SMc3bVX-9v7JNsfvzA24VFSr-qwtbU-CN5DHjttXXWERnmYml9ZzHQYjAqn9CJd23ZqKJ6dRDF7ndp-iVPZFY/s1600/IMG_4347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMH-35DgdHmTA_EFsF48_PBDGihbul-7qfg5bqf57_Q9C6sEmLckvEI-SMc3bVX-9v7JNsfvzA24VFSr-qwtbU-CN5DHjttXXWERnmYml9ZzHQYjAqn9CJd23ZqKJ6dRDF7ndp-iVPZFY/s320/IMG_4347.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speedboat coming in to Bridlington harbour.</td></tr>
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8) <b>Saucy postcards</b><br />
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<b><br /></b>Do they still even have these? With the world gone PC mad, there's a chance these funny old fashioned seaside postcards have become a thing of the past! Walking through the tacky seaside souvenir shops would traditionally take you past dozens of carousels displaying hundreds of hilariously lewd and crude postcards to choose from - 10p each. I don't know about you, but I <i>still</i> think they're good for a cheap giggle! <br />
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7) <b>99 ice cream</b></div>
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Nothing better to cool down with in the 'heat' of the day! Haha! OK, so the chances are you won't need cooling down, but there's no better seaside treat than a 99 ice cream! It's a wafer cone topped with some whipped vanilla ice cream and a Cadbury's chocolate flake stuck in the top! Some folk like to go the whole hog and put some raspberry sauce on top. Not me! I like them just like in the pic below. Yum yum! <br />
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<a href="http://photosforblogs.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/99-ice-cream.jpg?w=590&h=395" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://photosforblogs.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/99-ice-cream.jpg?w=590&h=395" width="320" /></a></div>
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6) <b>Club bingo </b><br />
<b><br /></b>On an evening, after arcades at the seafront, it was down to the local WMC or Mariner's club (like a pub but more exclusive -<i> I don't mean </i><i>fancier, just a members only deal, where wives are not allowed to go without their husbands!!</i>) for a few rounds of bingo, dominoes, and, if we were lucky, there might be a pub quiz! Our folks would play four or more bingo cards at a time - us kids would get one each, which we had to watch and check our numbers off <i>really </i>carefully - especially if it was a snowball (a high earning round)! We'd happily guzzle draft cola and snack on Seabrook crisps and KP peanuts until midnight.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">5) </span><b style="text-align: left;">Making Camp</b><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b>In Bridlington we would traditional hire a wooden box chalet on the seafront (my family still do this every year). The little shed would boast one socket for a </span><i style="text-align: left;">small</i><span style="text-align: left;"> appliance - like a kettle. </span><i style="text-align: left;">I don't know anyone who would have the audacity to sneak their microwave and deep-fat fryer down to the chalet after dark... </i><span style="text-align: left;">Even with a small wooden shed for shelter further camp construction is required. Every day Dad would mallet in at least 2 stripey windbreakers (on either side) to fend of that fickle and brutal North Sea breeze! Finally with six or so stripey deckchairs, camp is complete. </span><br />
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On a beach without the chalet, camp construction can be a little more complicated. Dad would create a horse shoe effect with the wind-breakers and we'd have umbrellas on stand by!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNmQW7Q-AUYNXb9ZS3s-ExVecilAl2N6IPlJxEjPxIX4iXmjNM62zKMUbEd5zAwir-quk4EabxVWJadnq6KINQECDW4-TJb42-koXVZmKn7Lhus_GY_bb2Jr3ieZ-dUQrN3HDpl9BvbI/s1600/chalet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNmQW7Q-AUYNXb9ZS3s-ExVecilAl2N6IPlJxEjPxIX4iXmjNM62zKMUbEd5zAwir-quk4EabxVWJadnq6KINQECDW4-TJb42-koXVZmKn7Lhus_GY_bb2Jr3ieZ-dUQrN3HDpl9BvbI/s320/chalet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chalet and camp. Bridlington South beach, 2010 </td></tr>
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4) <b>Digging dams (and other wet sand play)</b><br />
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My big brother was the master at wet sand dam construction. Once the tide went out, he'd spend hours not too close to shore digging rivers and building dams with his metal spade. The rest of us would reap the rewards of his labor - these boy-made pools were warmer to play in than the sea. We'd help build some, but no-one had his tenacity and endurance for working quite so hard in the wet and cold. The best part was watching the tide slowly come in and fill up his intricate dams until, finally, all evidence of his day's work was washed away. He didn't care. He'd just do it all again the next day.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf54nKs0T0XwwG7xG-lQ5eP6891_OBxonNfUQ0WGso5xfRtyXfv7_-WxoQ8OEP6GgOvocLw9LmBG0kmSiOhfWPUmges6JBqEKBAuUBWZDwTGJebPYkzA6XTixsy2pCljS-u8pu5zaJwvM/s1600/sanddragon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf54nKs0T0XwwG7xG-lQ5eP6891_OBxonNfUQ0WGso5xfRtyXfv7_-WxoQ8OEP6GgOvocLw9LmBG0kmSiOhfWPUmges6JBqEKBAuUBWZDwTGJebPYkzA6XTixsy2pCljS-u8pu5zaJwvM/s320/sanddragon.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This sand dragon 'dam' was created by me, the hubs <br />and my family. Cleethorpes (2007) </td></tr>
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3) <b>Horse racing ball drop game</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Once the sun went down, we'd lock up the chalet for the night and back to the flat (or caravan) we would all troop for a cup of tea and a shower, then it was off straight down to the sea front to spend much of Dad's hard-earned cash on the fairground rides and slot machines! The biggest hit with my family being the horse (or camel) racing.<br />
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<a href="http://willroegge.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/pikespeakhillclimb-33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://willroegge.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/pikespeakhillclimb-33.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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2 ) <b>Beach cricket </b><br />
<b><br /></b>A favorite pass time for all British beach-dwellers. It's often a fight to find the best sandy stretch for a family game of cricket. Ripply sand is agony for your arches, and soft is too much of a work-out, besides which, you really need that tennis ball to bounce! Always a hard choice: do you bat or bowl into the wind? It all depends on the competency of your bowler, your batter and your wicket keeper. <i>Let's just say big brothers should always bat into the wind - otherwise fielding is no fun!</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKpcgWOZJVTYEftkonT8Ub8JItMOu4BuSPcTvxW3xcvyNMdtvgFJPew4hnKypvJ8Z3_egW_O5os_jczHQWM2ds36JdwaBncEfZ4-bBIHR4dit3-E9snUL1Iu8npOPY3ZdUFYkMzyvTGw/s1600/cricket.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKpcgWOZJVTYEftkonT8Ub8JItMOu4BuSPcTvxW3xcvyNMdtvgFJPew4hnKypvJ8Z3_egW_O5os_jczHQWM2ds36JdwaBncEfZ4-bBIHR4dit3-E9snUL1Iu8npOPY3ZdUFYkMzyvTGw/s320/cricket.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cleethorpes Beach, England (2010)</td></tr>
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1) <b>Fish and chips drenched in salt and vinegar</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Of course anybody that knows me would put a safe bet on my favorite thing about the seaside being related to food. Absolutely nothing beats a bag (or tray) of greasy fish and chips, drenched in salt and vinegar. Lunch, tea, or after pub snack - it all works for me! Just looking at the picture below makes me horribly homesick. Sigh. I can almost taste it...<br />
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It was never more than a couple of hours car ride for us to reach our British holiday destination. It's funny how long those trips seemed to be back then. We'd need snacks and entertainment for the road. And Dad would always kick-off with an alphabet car game, which usually took care of a big chunk of the journey.</div>
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During our time together the hubs and I have been lucky enough to live beside a number of exotic beaches, not excluding Stonehaven beach. OK, so perhaps calling Stonehaven Beach exotic is a bit of a stretch - especially to a Brit - but when you live land-locked and thousands of miles away from Scotland - you gain a new understanding of the word 'exotic'.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VPvjR_0hsHiPDdCduFCzsvfxO2q64NBPu4t4eJNt3ntcKbXrEze75uaINbD6vH4_V5szoFMqfrg5ghy4PiH-iM_UKCVzgYIKOmBzheojvAVAshdx0E30WWxjQYWnw8eY9AjUTbI8lfA/s1600/stonehaven.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VPvjR_0hsHiPDdCduFCzsvfxO2q64NBPu4t4eJNt3ntcKbXrEze75uaINbD6vH4_V5szoFMqfrg5ghy4PiH-iM_UKCVzgYIKOmBzheojvAVAshdx0E30WWxjQYWnw8eY9AjUTbI8lfA/s320/stonehaven.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stonehaven, Scotland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Before we moved across the pond the hubs and I had settled in the quaint and beautiful northeasterly Scottish coastal fishing village, called Stonehaven. We didn't strictly have a sea view - but if you leaned out of the top floor bedroom window and craned your head right you could see the sea! We were literally a stones throw away. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ry4iZ0ojK4JTAfhEhN6dutt-WABIdJTh5EW2ibcDJvpyh4KjjCxPnvvVvmb8v_Spnv6ojTZWc04NP3VWlOmuljrZ26lmCz8QA8WaJPWX_Im2DBkumiSJ3LHa8Zv37crXZiB_goqXFnc/s1600/stiffs.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ry4iZ0ojK4JTAfhEhN6dutt-WABIdJTh5EW2ibcDJvpyh4KjjCxPnvvVvmb8v_Spnv6ojTZWc04NP3VWlOmuljrZ26lmCz8QA8WaJPWX_Im2DBkumiSJ3LHa8Zv37crXZiB_goqXFnc/s320/stiffs.png" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday card sent across the pond, <br />
from one sea loving lady to another ! <br />
She knows me so well! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I miss it now, this time of year especially, when the chances of a fine weather day in Britain are fairer than none. I miss the sea air, and the noisy seagulls crapping all over our Ford Escort. I miss the walk to the harbor pubs, and eating our vinegary fish and chips wrapped in newspaper as we ambled along the beach front.<br />
<br />
By last summer, after three years of living in the lone star state, ironically we'd seen the British seaside - during our trips home - far more than any stateside beaches (which we'd only seen from the plane!). So we decided to remedy that sorry state of affairs and last June we headed down to Galveston for a weekend at the beach. I'm sorry to say, but Texan's - it just didn't measure up to size! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Unfortunately any hotel we could find within beach walking distance was ludicrously expensive, and with a 21 month old and a 4 month old we didn't much relish the idea of being a car-ride from the beach. Two nights was all we could run to, and with the journey being over five hours drive each way it's a huge expense and travel effort for such a short beach experience.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But most disappointing for me was the lack of a hub. My childhood holidays back home in Bridlington didn't require us to jump in the car every time we wanted to get an ice-cream. Once we were there and the car was parked, it usually stayed parked for a fortnight.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In Galveston, we tried walking to a few places, but everything was so spread out. We even commandeered an abandoned shopping trolley on the beach front to wheel our beach bags and one year old in, on our failed attempt to walk to the putt-putt place.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20Wnmn8aTPOl8FJwQFi29fliWU5nQAO78ec2A-h6dYkOc_N81yCLyqp88AmKpT0C1BsVb0jnUUSqxYdl9orfRlD6FAzQE_toQzLPpkuOdqiz8QAJqZ3gg2lQa7LsAArdQ5xMdXz4woq0/s1600/trolley.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20Wnmn8aTPOl8FJwQFi29fliWU5nQAO78ec2A-h6dYkOc_N81yCLyqp88AmKpT0C1BsVb0jnUUSqxYdl9orfRlD6FAzQE_toQzLPpkuOdqiz8QAJqZ3gg2lQa7LsAArdQ5xMdXz4woq0/s320/trolley.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy borrowing a shopping trolley. <br />
Galveston, TX</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"It's about ten minutes that way.." The lady at reception had pointed along the sea front.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But, what the nice lady at the desk had failed to point out was "It's about ten minutes that way... <i>in the car</i>!!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I should have realized that Galveston wouldn't be too different to the rest of Texas - of course we'd have to go everywhere in the car - silly Momma - but my mind's eye had created a seaside resort like I'm used to in Britain or Europe. Cars are only ever hired for day trips <i>out</i> of the resort, and who wants to do that when you're already at the most fun place on Earth - the seaside?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our beach time, albeit brief, was a massive hit with the kids though, of course! Don't all kids love the beach?<br />
<br />
Apparently not.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In the past the hubs has surprised me by not knowing how to play on the beach. When we were first married, and living in Scotland, we had family come to visit, and my brother and I created a massive sand castle for the kids to 'storm'. When we needed wetter sand we dug down until we reached water, then we created a castle moat, and waited for the tide to come in and claim it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All the while the hubs shivered at the side in wonder at his wife's tenacity for paddling in cold water and getting covered in wet sand. Sand and water don't go well together with the hubs - but he is getting more accustomed to it though - he doesn't have much choice with the sand box set up we have at our house (see <a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/2012/04/living-at-beach.html" target="_blank">Go Momma: Living at the beach.... </a>) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've often wondered at his aversion to sand. He was a river kid more than a beach kid growing up, so maybe that explains it. I spent my early days roaming wet sandy beaches diaper-less. It was second nature for me to whip off our bairns diapers and let them sit in the sand with the tide lapping around their never regions - much to the hubby's discomfort.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXJn1oWWuG1NsezrIBL89qlTv9EiLAAQkW4knce-vOqnokgRQze0SFlZg6XdlFKaoT6hd3-xI5_e9FxdUXvOlL8NFJqS-rqe5crHxN-qrNJtJZRKA_hYTZ_ONf8Eeagg6fR3ac31Eq9Y/s1600/seaside.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXJn1oWWuG1NsezrIBL89qlTv9EiLAAQkW4knce-vOqnokgRQze0SFlZg6XdlFKaoT6hd3-xI5_e9FxdUXvOlL8NFJqS-rqe5crHxN-qrNJtJZRKA_hYTZ_ONf8Eeagg6fR3ac31Eq9Y/s320/seaside.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy and our diaper-less baby hanging out in the wet sand.<br />
Cleethorpes Beach, England (2010)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
River swimming back in Yorkshire wasn't really an option for us. Apparently all natural water bodies in land were a no go! Usually lakes and ponds were illegal waste areas and dumping grounds, and we were commonly warned at school <i>never</i> to go swimming in them - we'd get our appendages stuck in a bicycle, break our neck diving onto an old rusted heap, drowned in the turbulent undercurrents - or even contract some nasty disease because of all the gross garbage that was floating on top.<br />
<br />
But for some reason, the tampon and sewerage ridden sea was OK!<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Sadly with no Brit-trip on the horizon, and our Texas beach budget waylaid for hospital bills, this seaside loving Momma will just have to make do with our own private beach consisting of two sandboxes and a paddling pool. My ice-cream cones are on the ready. If Momma-hamed won't go to the beach, the beach must come to Momma-hamed!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsN53zHNv8lWkn6b23OEMzCLCuhPtLouSO3K0FopqODSiddM24JsKj0lIquUHeEd5yswcS0d4nhJfBnj6ML8eQSGMfGL3RGfKdfOQcWr0Z7_ji_PSV_nGRo4Kv9Mio1rOTrwKqr4H5C4I/s1600/texas+beach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsN53zHNv8lWkn6b23OEMzCLCuhPtLouSO3K0FopqODSiddM24JsKj0lIquUHeEd5yswcS0d4nhJfBnj6ML8eQSGMfGL3RGfKdfOQcWr0Z7_ji_PSV_nGRo4Kv9Mio1rOTrwKqr4H5C4I/s320/texas+beach.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Momma and my boys cooling off in the paddling pool (2012)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-23128509286099375282012-05-31T15:20:00.000-07:002012-06-06T05:43:43.490-07:00No wine-ing..... POW POW POW!So this story is not <i>all</i> strictly mine to tell - but just because the hubs isn't a blogger, I don't feel it's fair to let his side of the story slip by.<br />
<br />
His was <i>another</i> scorpion saga after all......<br />
<br />
It happened over a week ago, while Mommy was on her way to book club. I'd innocently plonked a half-drunken bottle of plonk in a cup-holder beside the driver's seat in the minivan..<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://winetastingguy.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/winecar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://winetastingguy.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/winecar.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>
Yes - those cup holders are designed to fit a bucket of draft Dr Pepper - so there's no problem wedging a bottle of wine in one. There is a problem, however, driving in Texas with an open container of alcohol.....<br />
<br />
But I didn't think about that until I was standing inside the local Super' - trying to 'redbox' a copy of <i>One for the Money</i> for 'book' club movie evening.<br />
<br />
I also had no idea what redbox-ing was, and when I arrived, I was told by a teller that they didn't have a redbox. Oh... ! I was about to turn around, when the really helpful teller said. But we do have a bluebox!<br />
<br />
Redbox, bluebox... what's the friggin' difference? I'd never before heard of a DVD vending machine - I wasn't about to care about what color it was.<br />
<br />
It didn't matter, they didn't even have our movie in there anyway.<br />
<br />
It was about this time that the penny dropped about my illegal open wine bottle sitting pretty in the front of the minivan for all shoppers to see.. and I started to sweat a little. I rushed back out to the van with horrific visions of the Headlines in the local Hill Country paper:<br />
<br />
"Pregnant British Immigrant arrested after being found driving with half-consumed bottle of wine!"<br />
<br />
I wasn't drinking it - honest officer - it wasn't even for me! I was taking the bloody bottle to book club - a sure fire place to get rid of it - seeing as though I'm not allowed more than a tiny tipple!<br />
<br />
I'd failed on my movie mission AND I was breaking the law.<br />
<br />
There was, however, a movie store (i.e video shop in my Brit lingo) less than 30 seconds drive away. I could check there, but I was loathe to take any longer lingering in town - in case I upped my chances of being commandeered by the local sheriff....<br />
<br />
I tried in vain to stuff the wine bottle behind my seat, but it was too fat to fit in the pocket - and contorting in my seat in the late afternoon heat was exhausting for this 7 month preggo punter. By then I was much sweatier - and starting to look a little inconspicuous to the closest parked vehicles. My clammy hands accidentally palmed the cork out. <i>Oh, this looked bad... very bad.</i><br />
<br />
So back in the cup holder it went, and I rammed the cork back into place. <br />
<br />
Leaving the offending bottle where it was, I drove across the road to the movie store without being arrested - phew - unfortunately finding only a Blue-ray copy. Did our host have a Blue-ray? Did this baby-brained Momma even have our host's phone number?<br />
<br />
Can a monkey fly out of my butt..?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Meanwhile Daddy had set out with both boys in the double stroller for their evening doggie walk on the neighbors land. The doggies are still being leashed following the <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/05/well-shoot.html" target="_blank">shooting incident......</a>.</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
In the end I decided to ditch the DVD acquisition, and having failed my task miserably, I headed to our host's home empty-handed (save for the wine and a stick of summer sausage). Of course I passed a Sheriff on the way, but there was no reason for him to pull me over - at least no reason he knew of.....<br />
<br />
If I'd have been stopped for anything at all, it would have been overly suspicious safe driving - and possibly smiling too much.<br />
<br />
So I made it to book club unscathed. No real story there - sorry for the let down...<br />
<br />
But then, one of my book buddy's phones started ringing...<br />
<br />
The hubs was trying to get a hold of Mommy - but my phone was switched off of course - not entirely my own doing - I'm a terrible cellphone owner and user -admittedly - but even if I <i>had</i> been checking my messages, my latest phone has a life of its own - opting to shut itself down whenever it feels like it.<br />
<br />
Apparently the hubs had just gotten off the phone with a lost member of our booky crew who'd been attempting to reach me for directions to our new book club hub.....<br />
<br />
I was too late to help. She was already at the door having successfully navigated the new route to our host's house all on her own.<br />
<br />
Before she'd even crossed the threshold, she looked at me concerned...<br />
<br />
<i>"Is your husband OK - he's not allergic is he?"</i> I stared back somewhat baffled, then I looked over at book buddy#1 - the one who'd answered my hub's call only moments earlier - questioningly. She looked equally nonplussed.....<br />
<br />
"<i>He was screaming on the phone - I think he was getting stung by a scorpion....!</i>" continued the no-longer-lost book club buddy, closing the front door behind her.<br />
<br />
This was priceless! I was getting this story secondhand, from my book club buddy who'd ear-'witnessed' it firsthand over the phone!<br />
<br />
Funny - he hadn't mentioned it to book club buddy#1 when he'd called only seconds ago . No wait - that's actually not too strange for my hubs...<br />
<br />
It's not that unusual for him to have the most enthused and animated phone call with a family member, often with me hovering in the background hopping from foot to foot - dying to be filled in - and by the time he's wrapped up the conversation and hung up the phone, his expression is completely blank. He's already forgotten whatever tantalizing tit-bit of gossip he had to share less than a minute earlier.......<br />
<br />
Getting back to the hubs screaming like a girl......<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b>Daddy had been strolling the boys home when the incident occurred.</b></i><i><b><br />After stopping for a brief Kids' Discovery lesson at the giant ant hill, Daddy turned around to take the toddlers back home for their bubble bath - that's when he got the call from our lost book club buddy....</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />I can only imagine he was doing his very helpful hubby bit, when 'POW!' his calf erupted in flames (not literally - he didn't spontaneously combust or anything crazy) .....</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />He suspected at first that a monster fire ant had made its way up there.....</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />Seconds later - and still on the phone - 'POW!' his shin caught ablaze too... I just know Daddy was screaming like a little girl at this point... (in spite of being in the presence of both his boys).</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />And, to top it all off, the belligerent blighter popped Daddy a third and final - self damning - time 'POW!' on his thigh! Daddy was apparently jumping around like a madman - thankfully behind the stroller so the kids didn't get freaked out by the sight of Daddy's freaky-deaky dance!</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />Of course the sting-happy critter didn't again see the light of day, ending its horrid little existence dangerously close to the crotch, in the jeans' leg of my poor hubby...</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />But it was no ant! It was a big old brown scorpion that had scuttled its way up my hubby's jeans' leg during the walk. Eek!</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />The screaming was enough to spook the kids though, and in spite of the white hot pain searing up and down his leg - Daddy pulled up his 'big boy pants' - and showed the dangerous mangled arachnid to our boys (Discovery lesson of the day #2).</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<br />
The hubs relayed this second-hand scorpion scoop back to me over the phone, with the book club ladies congregated around the dinner table - all eyes on me. I confess I had a bit of a giggle at the hubby's expense - as soon as I knew he and the boys were all OK of course!</div>
<br />
I was very relieved to hear the incident hadn't happened inside our house - yet somewhat disturbed to discover that these horrid little creatures are nimble enough to crawl up a trouser leg on the move!<br />
<br />
By the way, we did manage to procure a copy of <i>One for the Money </i>after all. Our host happened to be snazzy enough to own a Blu-ray player, so we called one of our lagging ladies to make a quick stop at the movie shop to pick it up.<br />
<br />
Keep a look-out for my upcoming review in <a href="http://gobookem.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Book-em!</a> for Go Momma's verdict on paper v reel......<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=gomo04-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B004EPYZRQ&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-77807754854834017212012-05-25T14:49:00.002-07:002012-05-25T19:36:05.645-07:00No Soliciting!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Two kids - I guess they were early twenties or so, they definitely looked like students - came rocking up to our deck yesterday morning alarming Mommy, who was fortunately clad in more than just my signature preggo bed get-up (knickers and wife-beater vest), spurring a protective Daddy out of the cabin booming an authorative (and surprisingly intimidating):<br />
<br />
"<i>You're trespassing, this is private property - get off my land!"</i><br />
<br />
He's not usually still home at this time, and I was glad to not be alone, however, his not-so-welcoming approach to the kids - who looked harmless enough - didn't sit well with Momma. I recalled with a fleeting regret the hapless hippy I met nearly a decade ago, who was heavily into his travel karma.<br />
<br />
A lot changes when you have kids and a family to defend...<br />
<br />
They high-tailed it pretty quickly mumbling their apologies and uttering something about our neighbors up the hill having pointed them in this direction because we've got young kids...<br />
<br />
I didn't even get to hear the rest of what they had to say - and I felt guilty as all hell that they'd been run off, scared by a protective Papa - and it was all my fault.<br />
<br />
See, just the day before I'd been locking up the house and heading down to load the kids into the Minivan by myself, when a truck came hurtling up our driveway kicking up dirt, and pulled up behind the minivan.<br />
<br />
The driver started yelling something to me about buying asphalt for the drive...<br />
<br />
My eldest boy was closer to the stranger than he was to me. He'd climbed up into the front seat of the minivan and was pretending to drive. My littlest was behind me - still on the deck.<br />
<br />
I panicked - and for a horrifying split moment was terrified about how to protect both of my kids. If I hadn't been 7 months pregnant I'd still have been just as terrifyingly defenseless - if the guy <i>had</i> been trouble!<br />
<br />
Meanwhile the dogs were going wild - which I was incredibly grateful for.<br />
<br />
I raced back and scooped up my wee one before tearing down to stand guard by the minivan door, while I figured out my next move. I was actually considering running round to the dogs gate and releasing them - just in case - when the workman jumped out of his truck and started approaching me saying...<br />
<br />
''<i>I didn't realize the dogs were penned in</i>..." <br />
<br />
He also didn't realize how much he was freaking me out! Apparently they'd just finished up some road work on the local bypass and had some hot spare asphalt that they needed to get rid of.. for the 'bargain' price of 1.90sqft. I'm surprised I absorbed even that much information with the blood pounding in my ears.<br />
<br />
I quickly did the mental arithmetic and realized he wanted thousands to pour it on our driveway... ! I told him we didn't have the money. All the while, I was digging frantically with my spare hand in my purse, trying to get my hand on the cellphone.<br />
<br />
My fingers finally grasped the phone, and I told him I'd have to consult with my husband - I just really wanted a lifeline...... Thankfully he didn't stick around any longer. And my heart beat slowed to a more regular beat.<br />
<br />
We were probably never in any real danger, and I probably wouldn't have been quite so spooked if I hadn't just retweeted a kidnapping profile poster about a baby girl who'd been snatched from her home in Maine a couple of months back.... a momma's biggest nightmare!<br />
<br />
I blogged a wee while ago about Texas Hill Country folks' deference for signage and keeping people off their land <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/03/no-trespassing-private-property-keep.html" target="_blank">No Trespassing! Private Property! Keep Out!</a> It definitely doesn't feel so neighborly cordoning off your land, but I'm realizing it's not just about privacy - it's also about security.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, in the last four years we've only had one other unexpected visitor drive on our land (not including UPS or FEDEX) and that was some trucker selling frozen meat out of the back of his truck. I'd been home alone that time too - except for my faithful doggy who'd kept the 'seller' well at bay.<br />
<br />
It's pretty terrifying to have a strange and uninvited man show up on your land - especially for an urban gal living out in the sticks where <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/01/no-one-can-hear-you-scream.html" target="_blank">no-one can hear you scream</a>!<br />
<br />
I guess I'm partway through my Texan insemination. I'm acquiescing on getting some unfriendly signs and a gate. Perhaps it won't be too long now before I'll be checking out the gun section in Walmart........Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-53606242970020662842012-05-10T19:58:00.000-07:002012-05-11T02:36:12.339-07:00Gunner get yer!Not surprisingly yesterday's blog <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/05/well-shoot.html" target="_blank">well, shoot!</a> got quite a varied response - ranging from shock horror, and outrage at the extreme animal cruelty, to compassion and support for our shotgun wielding maniacal neighbor..!<br />
<br />
It brings to mind the difference in opinion regarding gun laws, both within Texas and back home in the UK. Across the pond you'll rarely come across an armed Copper, never mind an armed neighbor. I do remember, however, fearing farmers and their rifles, back in the day when it was 'cool' to trespass on private farmland....<br />
<br />
One summer evening back home in Yorkshire, when us kids were bored and up to no good, I remember jumping a 3 foot high electric wire fence just so we could 'break the law' and hang out in the grassy cow field - not that there weren't fields and fields of public land and park areas to legally play, but what fun was that?<br />
<br />
We barely strayed 15 feet from the long grass bordering the field, before a truck started heading our way. No doubt it was the farmer coming to clear us off. Unlucky for me, a boy I had the hots for - his name was Mousy - had fastened my shoelaces together.<br />
<br />
My brother and one of his mates had already legged it (so much for protecting little sis) before I managed to kick off my shoes. Mousy (to his credit) waited for me, and together we scurried back out of the field the way we came, but not before the farmer and his gun had pulled up close enough to get a full ID of his teenage trespassers.<br />
<br />
The blood was thumping in my ears. Of course he didn't shoot us - he yelled pretty loudly - but the fear and adrenalin of our close encounter with the angry farmer and his gun was excitement enough for this thrill-seeking rebel, and my trespassing days were over.<br />
<br />
Out here in Hill Country, Texas, every Tom, Dick and Harry fancies himself as a farmer or should I say 'rancher', so owning a gun is the norm - with or without the land or ranch to go with it! Apparently everybody has the right to protect themselves and their family, and their livestock - if they have any. And lots of landowners do - at least a goat, or a chicken or two. Owning a pet cow is great for lowering land taxes - as long as you're willing to eat the beast....<br />
<br />
So as far as calling in the police to prosecute my doggy's attacker, it seems the authorities would be more inclined to issue a citation against my trespassing doggy for hounding our neighbor - quite possibly the 'real' victim in this scenario - than slap the wrist of our girl's gun attacker.<br />
<br />
That having been said - according to our local and sympathetic Deputy - unless a shooter has just cause to offload his weapon at <i>any</i> animal, not just someone's well loved pet - 'just cause' being defense of ones livestock or family against a threatening predator or would-be attacker - then it is classed as a felony, trespassing or not (I hope that doesn't include scorpions).<br />
<br />
Taking any legal course of action is not really an option. However, reaching out to our neighbor to at least find out a motive, and let him know, we know 'whodunnit' might make him think twice from sniping our girl again.<br />
<br />
I've got to say though, the severity of our neighbors' actions, makes me question the smartness of initiating any further contact with them. The gunman's seeming apathy to our (the dog owners') presence when he committed the 'felony' does not bode well for a reasonable tete-a-tete over iced tea and lemonade.<br />
<br />
The last thing I want is for my dogs to be making a nuisance of themselves, never mind terrorizing any livestock or God forbid scaring kids. And, whether or not this was the case, next time we might not be lucky enough to have her come home again.<br />
<br />
Our two year stint of dog-walking freedom I raved about in <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/03/no-trespassing-private-property-keep.html" target="_blank">No Trespassing. Private Property. Keep Out!</a> has sadly run its course. Perhaps it's time to finally fence our perimeter so our rovers can roam our 4 acre 'ranch' without running the risk of being shot - and we won't ever have to 'hit' any trespassing hounds ourselves!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-87239866371706184932012-05-09T21:14:00.001-07:002012-05-10T07:02:49.158-07:00well, shoot!This evening's walk started out wonderfully. We all dawdled on our land, waiting for our youngest to pick up his pace. Daddy had pup leashed - a new training scheme we're adopting until he recognizes the rules, particularly our road safety regime - and our eldest dog meandered back and forth patiently awaiting her cue to run...<br />
<br />
At the roadside Daddy had all the family look left, right, left (rallied in Spanish of course) and baby, who by now was strapped into the double stroller (our dawdling abandoned after the headstrong little fella was hellbent on doubling back) joined in with Daddy's pointing and listening hand signals, making for one proud papa! <br />
<br />
Once the all clear was given, our 'trained' dog ran, and our leashed pup - after safely crossing - was allowed to follow suit. Big kid wanted to run too, so we followed our little runner down the long rocky driveway of our neighbors' property (our friendly neighbours - who welcome us to walk our family and dogs on their 20+ acres). Momma started cheering him on with the following tune:<br />
<br />
<i><b>run rabbit run rabbit run run run</b></i><br />
<i><b>here comes the farmer with his gun gun gun</b></i><br />
<i><b>bang bang bang bang goes the farmer's gun</b></i><br />
<i><b>so run rabbit run rabbit run run run! </b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i><br />
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<br />
After a few rounds Daddy joined in, and before long our eldest was singing along with the odd word here and there, while running as fast as his little legs could carry him. Each time we finished the catchy ditty he cried "more!" and so obligingly we repeated it over and over.<br />
<br />
We didn't go far. It's about a 1/4 mile walk from the country road down our neigbours' dirt drive to our usual turning point. First we pass a man-made fossil shrine, followed closely by a big BIG ant colony, and then we stop just before an uprooted tree stump. Any further and our neighbours' trailer comes into view, so respecting their privacy we've always stopped short of that stump.<br />
<br />
Frequently we off-road a little (only if we're all on foot) and take our time dawdling back home through the trees, but it was already 6:30pm and with Momma's hopes tagged to a 7:00pm bedtime, we needed to be heading back soon.<br />
<br />
The dogs had been playing behind us within our neighbors' woodlands, and as we reached the fossil shrine landmark they dashed across the path in front of us, as they normally do, to explore the land beyond. Daddy and the kids and I all turned around and the running verse game continued:<br />
<br />
<i><b>run rabbit run rabbit run run run</b></i><br />
<i><b>here comes the farmer with his gun gun gun</b></i><br />
<i><b>bang bang bang bang goes the farmer's gun</b></i><br />
<i><b>so run rabbit run rabbit run run run! </b></i><br />
<br />
Pushing the stroller along single-handedly, Daddy reached out for mine with his free one, and together we sang out loud, watching adoringly as our eldest ran his heart out. Once the country road was in sight we slowed our pace in order for the dogs to catch up, and baby started chiming in with the <b>'<i>bang bang bang bang</i></b>' part of the song.<br />
<br />
But the dogs were nowhere in sight. Daddy and I called out their names, and both kids - with their hands at their mouths - imitated as best they could. It wasn't unusual for our pooches to dawdle on the way home, so without worrying I finger whistled a little to make sure they'd heard - while Daddy and big kid pulled faces at each other, fingers stretching their mouths open wide - conspiratorially mocking Momma's whistle.<br />
<br />
Laughingly we all 'ran' on, but this time our song was chillingly halted during the '<i>bang bang bang bang</i>'.. with a loud and very real <i>BANG</i>!<br />
<br />
I froze, my blood running cold as I blurted out to Daddy, "You don't think someone just shot at our dogs do you?" Our friendly neighbours' 20+ acreage is not fenced all the way round, so the dogs could have strayed beyond an invisible border, and be trespassing on hostile territory....<br />
<br />
Daddy's instant and definite "No baby" was somewhat reassuring, and within moments of the shotgun fire our pup came bounding up the dirt path toward us, sitting obediently beside the stroller so Daddy could leash him. My heart was in my mouth as I waited only a few short seconds before thankfully our girl followed hot on pup's heels. They both looked exhausted - but our lady dog slowed to a jaunt well before catching up with us. We waited until she overtook the family, then we slowly retraced our steps home.<br />
<br />
Daddy was the first to spot blood on her tail. She wasn't limping, and there was barely a splash of blood, but that didn't mean she wasn't hurt. She's a tough girl. Last year she gashed a ligament in her back right leg after running through a scrap metal pile - but she toughed it out - the only evidence of her injury being a blood trail. <br />
<br />
Leaving the rest of the family to fend for themselves, I walked our 'wounded' doggy toward the house. She had to be persuaded away from her kennel so I could tell she wasn't feeling tip top. Daddy suspected she'd caught herself on a fence - or that the blood had come from another animal entirely, but neither of their mouths were bloody so that didn't add up...<br />
<br />
With a hot washcloth I started cleaning the few dotted blood stains on her fur. There was a small splash on the underside of her tail and under her booty, and one tiny smear on her back leg. Her thick hair made it hard to see through to the skin, and she wasn't flinching at all while I wiped the blood away. It was just starting to look like a bit of a mystery - a coincidental shotgun fire conjuring up a 'storm in a teacup' - when I saw a tiny hole piercing the back of her left hind leg. It wasn't bleeding, and she seemed content to let me closely examine the already clotted wound.<br />
<br />
<i>It couldn't be.. could it?</i> Daddy had just brought the kids inside, so I summoned him over to get his diagnosis. There was no exit wound, so any bullet would still be lodged inside her leg - Daddy surmised - and, after fiddling with the hole, he concluded there was no bullet. Likely - he speculated - she had punctured it on something sharp like a barbed wire fence or a cactus. And with that, he took the toddlers up to get their PJs on.<br />
<br />
Not yet convinced there hadn't been foul play involved I massaged her leg further, and sure enough my thumb eventually found what felt like a ball bearing floating about two inches up from the piercing.<br />
<br />
<i>"DAAAADDDDDY!!" </i><br />
<br />
He had to concede - one of our neighbors had doggone shot our girl!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-38179431951342469482012-05-04T21:12:00.000-07:002012-05-06T03:32:31.817-07:00'Grand Designs' for a family...<br />
Four years ago my trooper of a husband and I took the plunge and waved goodbye to our Scottish seaside home, our high-flier jobs, and our 'Brit pack' family and friends. Karma led us overseas to my husbands homeland, none other than a quiet Texas Hill Country village where he spent a good portion of his high school days<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August, 2008</td></tr>
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The opportunity to buy a fairly secluded plot of land had arisen within the family, and so a timely trip to Texas seemed to be in order.<br />
<br />
Mommy's eyes lit up after seeing the narrow steep lot, with a bare bones cabin sitting at the base, and my sights were set.<br />
<br />
We desperately wanted our own family- and we'd been working on it for a couple of years - but nothing had happened. I was impatient, unsettled, and unhappy.<br />
<br />
My best friend did a visual exercise with me, where I had to visualize where I would be in five years. A most provincial image vividly sprang to mind: I was 'cliche' barefoot and pregnant, standing on a deck, with my children, drinking lemonade and waving goodbye to my hubbie who was heading off to work in the local village.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April, 2012</td></tr>
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Hey Presto!! Five years on, and (substituting a mug of coffee for the lemonade) we're exactly where I 'secreted' us to be. Once I was clear on what I wanted it became so much easier to take advantages of the right opportunities and make those BIG decisions, which led us to where we are today. We have never once looked back!<br />
<br />
Not long after <i>we</i> (hubbie didn't need much convincing) had made the decision to buy the cabin, my husband received an overseas phone call and a subsequent job offer to teach at the local Charter School, which is where he teaches Spanish today.
<br />
<br />
Our stint here has been a whirlwind adventure of building and breeding. Each new babe has inspired a new project, and our space and family have expanded in sync.<br />
<br />
In January 2009 we discovered that one of Daddy's tadpoles had finally 'nailed' it, and a wee bambino was starting to grow in Mommy's tummy- Wahoo! The forthcoming birth of our long awaited sprog definitely set the goal posts firmer in the ground and more than just the Texas heat was on to try and get our country cabin kitted out for his arrival. <br />
<br />
There was so much to do! We were without a water supply or a septic system, and the cabin was not plumbed. 'Officially' we were camping out. Does a preggo Momma s**t in the woods? Well this one did - at least for the first trimester!<br />
<br />
The hubbie put himself through a crash course in plumbing, and boy did he do a 'sad to be squatting' Momma proud! By May 2009 our septic tanks were in the ground, we were trucking in water monthly to a 2500gal storage tank, and both kitchen and bathroom were installed and plumbed. All the work - accept operating the backhoe - had been accomplished by my versatile hubbie the Spanish teacher - "<i>who's the Daddy?!"</i><br />
<br />
'Our' summer project was to drywall, paint and floor our homely cabin, all in time for baby's projected arrival in mid September. Although it was hard work in the heat, it paid off and our cutesy cabin (albeit small) was so much more than just a comfortable family home just in time for baby.<br />
<br />
And the cabin would have been big enough for baby - if it had just been baby - but before long, the stuff that came with our baby was bursting out of the seems of our newly installed dry walls, and our outdoor shed was fairing worse than Monica Geller's closet.<br />
<br />
Mommy dared to dream big, and our extension idea was born. The area had already been scratched out during the septic installation with future expansion in mind, so an architect and build team were called in (this job was too big for a devoted Daddy) and by March 2010 the build was underway.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May 2010</td></tr>
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The extension was fully completed by May 2010, and Mommy and Daddy were overjoyed! We celebrated with an Open House Party and the subsequent 'christening' of each and every room lead to a very prompt bun in a still warm oven!<br />
<br />
Baby's first birthday - a train theme - was happily held in our new party pad, and the unfurnished space easily hosted all our family and friends. Summer turned to winter and, content in our casa, we finally relaxed on our renovation scheming and I turned my attention to interior design - otherwise known as <i>Ikea</i>. <br />
<br />
Bouncing baby boy number two joined our clan in February 2011, and for the first couple of months we stayed 'locked in' happily hidden away in our haven from the rest of the world. But even with our extension it wasn't long before the cabin fever set in, especially for our eldest boy who wanted to be adventuring outdoors. The temperature was starting to warm up, and I longed for a shady spot outside, where my kids could play safely.<br />
<br />
Again magic Momma dared to dream BIG, so I started to scribble my dreams down - and our super-duper deck idea was born. Building work started mid-summer, but it wasn't until October 2011 that this second phase was complete.<br />
<br />
Our deck 'wrap' party was held the week before Thanksgiving, and upholding tradition (after some alfresco knocking of our cowboy boots) a festive fertilization was in the making. This third pregnancy was so prompt, the prenatal age of our unborn daughter actually predates our decision to 'try'!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April 2012</td></tr>
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I don't think for one minute we're done with our expansion plans - not by a long shot - and whether I'm talking about building or kids is anybody's guess.<br />
<br />
Son number one got a house, son number two got a deck, (not to be sexist) I think our daughter would really like a nice big kitchen....<br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-1399309091972673882012-05-03T19:02:00.001-07:002012-05-06T03:32:18.625-07:00Fur real?So, it wasn't just my eldest kid that was well overdue his grooming, our furry red friend's winter overcoat has been crying out to be 'ferminated' since Texas flipped it's season from winter to summer.<br />
<br />
She's been fairing well in the more temperate 'spring' weather, and hasn't truly looked like a 'hot dog' until we reached the 90's (F) over the last week or so. But, it wasn't the heat that finally spurred this busy Momma into a brushing bonanza.<br />
<br />
Only in the past fortnight has the prevalent pretty yellow flower clover, which was carpeting our front yard, yielded the sticker burrs it had been threatening all spring. Daddy has been on standby ready to weed-eat the irksome spiky balls as soon as they became a potential pet problem.<br />
<br />
However, with our velcro doggy, it only took a few rolls in the hay with her toyboy bow-wow for her mass of hairs to become matted and clumped, and unfortunately we missed our optimum weed-eat window.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'hair of the dog...'</td></tr>
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A few days ago, when we brought the dogs inside for their nighttime cuddles, our poor girl's ears were pinned back with dozens of burrs acting like grips. It was definitely a scissors job, and when I got stuck in un-sticking her, I soon discovered that she was tangled from head to toe in the offending burrs.<br />
<br />
Time to get out the big gun. Our poor pooch isn't a big fan of the unforgiving Ferminator (that cunning comb pulls bags of dead hair from her coat) but she does love being brushed. It took over an hour of cutting and intermittent ferminating and soft brushing, before all her remaining hairs were free.<br />
<br />
By the end of it all, she looked about 10lb lighter, and her (now pathetic looking) tail had taken a bit of a merciless scissoring. Her fox-brush tail has been matted since we first adopted her, and no amount of hard-core combing over the past four years has made an ounce of difference to its wiry waywardness.<br />
<br />
I could ferminate that wagging appendage until the cows came home (if she would ever let me) and it would still remain a coarse tangled mess. So this time - no messing - I trimmed her tail feathers as close to the bone as I dared. Unfortunately, our poor lady now looks almost indecent (like someone pulled her pants down in public). Hopefully, she'll grow her modesty back in no time, and I'll be able keep the regrowth in better condition. <br />
<br />
The mountain of fur I got out of her was almost as big as she is! Hopefully, being free of all that hair, our 'hot dog' should be feeling as cool as a cat for the Texas summer......Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-49907660813192165082012-04-29T19:52:00.002-07:002012-05-06T03:32:05.589-07:00Texas Inferno!What with snakes, and spiders and other nasty nail-biting ways to pop your clogs - as if we don't already have enough death risks to worry about in this neck of the woods - this morning baby bump and I were tossing and turning mulling over yesterday's firefighter visit to our vulnerable cabin.<br />
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Our fireman visitor was a perk from our insurance company - a 'free' Wildfire Hazard Assessment - to help the insurance company and the Emergency Response Services recognize weak spots, more susceptible to wildfire burning hazards.<br />
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My husband has always been incredibly vigilant on this risk, and rightly so, although not having come from these parts it was easier for me to overlook just how serious this risk is, that was until last summer, when out of control forest fires rampaged across the state, stripping thousands and thousands of acres in Bastrop, a town situated less than one hour's drive from our town in Texas Hill Country, and home to close family members.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bastrop, Texas wildfires, 2011</td></tr>
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Without any network TV (only NetFlix) we had been blissfully unaware of the enormity of these fires. If it hadn't been for Facebook status updates I would have been completely in the dark. After the fires had already been sweeping Bastrop for a few days, we were eating dinner at a friend's house, and live footage of the fires was playing in the background.<br />
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The aerial video coverage was stunning, but most shocking of all was the verbage rolling across the bottom of the screen. A woman and her baby had burned to death in their trailer in a different wildfire in South Texas. I couldn't get it out of my head. My mind created vivid footage of the Mom and babe's last terrifying moments together, and I tortured myself by replaying the horror over and over in my mind's eye. I cried for all that Momma and baby had lived through and lost.<br />
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That night I packed Emergency Response bags, and for the next few days I watched fearfully from our half built deck as small patches of smoke emerged and extinguished on the horizon. The world had gone mad. It was like Judgement Day had come - and I felt like Terminator's Sarah Conner, watching helplessly from behind a fence, at children playing innocently in a park, when suddenly everything and everyone is burnt up.<br />
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But it wasn't the end of the world after all, and although it took weeks to completely extinguish the fires, they eventually got control of the blaze. Thousands of homes were lost - and incredibly less than a handful of souls departed throughout all Texas!<br />
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My husband's uncle and cousin were evacuated from Bastrop, and miraculously - although their garden fence had been destroyed in the blaze - their house escaped almost unscathed. The close proximity of the flames, and subsequent heat intensity succeeded in melting the window blinds, before the fire was stopped in its tracks. The firefighters had fought and beaten the blaze in their backyard. The line of destruction ended in their street, but the devastation beyond was unbelievable.<br />
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Before the Bastrop fires there had been a heavy drought for a number of years with barely any reprieve. Texas had reached a record dry stretch. Unfortunately last summer the dry land was hit with high winds, a lethal combination for the spread of wildfire!<br />
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Fire ban signs had been up pretty much consistently since our arrival in Texas. We'd had a chiminea fire on our land a few times, but not without the hubbie hopping around the embers on edge. He wasn't being a worry wart (like I may have misjudged at the time). Without a water source to speak of we were literally playing with fire! Even now, with our two 2500gal tanks, without any fire hydrants in the area - and no underground plumbing to source one - sufficient water for fighting any blaze would need to be trucked or flown in.<br />
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And I've seen first hand just how quickly this forbidding element can ignite and spread.<br />
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Our first New Year's shindig here had us partaking in a monster firework escapade over at our buddies' home. I think a fire ban had been lifted - although not in the suburb where we were - and that didn't stop the boys from igniting the fattest firework I'd ever seen! It blazed furiously and impressively, then died down without incident.<br />
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Once the gunpowder was spent, we chilled out indoors over a board game. I don't remember what made me go back outside. I was probably having a homesick moment - and a good thing too. The unfamiliar crackling sound behind me had me turning slowly just in time to see the trashcan and fence side erupt in flames. The fire was eating up the trashcan in seconds, the flames reaching opportunistically upwards to the large oak that was overhanging the house.<br />
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The spent firework had been placed beside the trashcan - and it's remnant heat had been sufficient to start the blaze. On hearing my screams the boys were outside battling the blaze in seconds. And a catastrophe was only just averted.<br />
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It was a fair warning though - received loud and clear. Don't mess with fire in Texas, and respect all fire bans and warnings - especially when we've been hard up for rain in so long!<br />
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That's not the only fire I've been privy to in my four years in cowboy country. A couple of summers ago, I was driving past the roadside picnic area just outside of town, when a spark erupted from a transformer on a telegraph pole, and landed in the brush below. The grass fire was instantaneous, and in seconds the entire roadside was ablaze with the arid straw grass burning up furiously like kindle ready to set fire to mass acreage of thirsty woodland beyond.<br />
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With no other witness save for my baby boy, I pulled over at a safe distance and very importantly dialed 911. Our local heroes arrived in minutes and in spite of it's ferocity, were on top of the fire before it knew what had hit it.<br />
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Yet another shocking display of the ever present threat wildfire poses here in Texas Hill Country.<br />
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So having a firefighting professional come over to hazard assess our home and surrounding land seemed like a responsible course of action (and not such a terrible hour for this stay-home-Mommy to have to endure with one of our local men in uniform).<br />
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I'm proud to say we passed nearly all the safety checks that Gary the Fireman indicated on his clipboard, save for the 'biggy' - the cedar trees hugging the back of our home. The firefighting services recommend a 100ft tree-free safety radius surrounding your house - a buffer zone for thwarting those tenacious flames that like to leap through the air in search of more combustibles.<br />
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Behind our house we've got thick, unmaintained cedar brush suffocating our remaining near four acres. The thick woodland continues across from all our neighbours' land (North, East and West of us) running right down to and hanging over our building, which sits at the bottom of our inclined plot.<br />
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Apparently down slope and upwind of a fire is as fortunate a strategic position as can be, so we're not in too terrible shape. The front of our house faces South down toward the canyon and is stripped of trees for the most part. The dominant wind direction is from the South, so the risk that our obtrusive flanking cedars presents is minimal, however, without a buffer zone we are still somewhat 'in the line of fire'. <br />
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We're not strictly mandated to clear all of them back to 100ft - Gary compromised - but at the very least we should pull out the dead underbrush and cleanup the loose flammable debris.<br />
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Needless to say, Gary the firefighter got me thinking, and worrying, and it's not like I don't already lose precious Momma sleep over the prospect of our house ablaze. I repeatedly check appliances and power outlets, and our stove top for any flammable cluster or food debris. Inside, we're kitted out with four smoke alarms (I wish we had more) and a fire extinguisher in the kitchen.<br />
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But what of our neighbours, behind us up the hill? How vigilant are they? Regardless of our own fire precautionary high standards, with the cedar brush behind us connecting our home to theirs, it turns out our kids are only as safe as the 'weakest link' in the countryside. All it would take is for one careless neighbour to doze off with a cigarette in hand, and our family could be reaping the catastrophic consequences.<br />
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We've (or should I say, I've) been itching for another project to tackle since our deck project was completed last fall, and although I was hankering for something a little sexier than cedar clearing, a bit of chainsaw and chipping action definitely looks to be top of Momma's latest honey-do list!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-45738095695472997022012-04-17T20:08:00.000-07:002012-04-17T20:09:30.009-07:00Easter Bunny deliveries with a difference.....The only egg hunt I can remember from my days growing up in England, was the one from the Charlie Brown and Snoopy show.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>British Easter Eggs</b></td></tr>
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Easter morning, we would wake up and find that our British bunny had dropped off a plethora of Cadbury's (and sometimes Mars, or Nestle) Chocolate Eggs - like nothing I've ever seen on an HEB or Walmart shelf! These were eggs, not far off the size of an American football, encased in a hard plastic moulding, and packaged inside a bright coloured, kid-tastic shiny box.<br />
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The chocolate factory manufactures a different Easter egg (every year) for each chocolate bar (or candy bar as they're known on this side of the pond) - and sometimes as many as three Easter Eggs - all different sizes - per chocolate bar! These boxed hollow eggs are BIG business back home!<br />
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Typically you might find two (or three if you're lucky) candy bars enticingly displayed beside a gloriously shiny foil covered hollow chocolate egg. These alluring boxes would take up the entire first shopping aisle in the supermarket, and from Valentines to Easter, us kids would trawl up and down the aisle trying to decide which Egg we wanted the most.<br />
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I was always lucky enough to score maybe five (or more) of these boxes each Easter, and if I managed to hold out long enough (or my brothers didn't tap in to my hoard), I would savour them all spring long, dipping into the last of my stash around my birthday in June.<br />
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Our first Easter in Texas was a bitter disappointment for me - purely on a chocolate level. I hunted high and low for one of these boxed eggs, and the only thing to come close was a chocolate bunny wrapped in a shiny foil wrapper (no fun and unnecessary box to speak of). But 'close' (as they say) was no cigar, and the waxy chocolate I found inside didn't hold a torch to the divinity of a Cadbury's Buttons egg.<br />
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Thank god my Mum started mailing over a stash of Milky Bars (for the kids of course) to soften the nasty American chocolate blow. Admittedly, in the absence of Cadbury's, it didn't take Momma too long to acquire a taste for Hershey's Dark chocolate - after all, us chocoholic beggars can't be choosers. Sadly - after four years of training my taste buds - Hersheys is still no match (and never will be) for the coco delights that come out of Birmingham, England.<br />
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But I soon found out that, in America, Easter isn't about the chocolate (and no, I'm not referring to the resurrection of Christ) - It's about the candy of course (more commonly known to us Brits as sweeties, spice, or confectionery)!<br />
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Instead of large over-packaged chocolate eggs lining the shelves, here there are baskets and baskets of candies, and little plastic eggs, and Easter toys, blocking the entranceway to every Grocery store.<br />
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I'd seen these plastic eggs before - back home - as my twin brother used to collect them at the seaside. He'd get them out of a slot machine - each one having a little toy to construct inside. I remember him storing his booty on the windowsill of our Aunt and Uncles caravan.<br />
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The American bunny likes to put candy (or toys, coins and trinkets if she's on a diet diet) in these eggs and hide them around the back garden early Easter morning. Local organizations will ask the busy bunny to hide hundreds of these treasures in a Church field, or playground for the local community kids to collect throughout the Easter 'Holiday' season.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QnwNJ-9NBZC9lZzcUqjCdT7ARNrbBnI93RZ9KIzPJEYJZ4M1T247haK9ZEj05K17lQ0X8MpYDBkqyxfXEODGuyoMq2LE5P_wwbQQ3O8ugcV1EuveJhbybChPBPqSot8s5nXb3EhWcjU/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QnwNJ-9NBZC9lZzcUqjCdT7ARNrbBnI93RZ9KIzPJEYJZ4M1T247haK9ZEj05K17lQ0X8MpYDBkqyxfXEODGuyoMq2LE5P_wwbQQ3O8ugcV1EuveJhbybChPBPqSot8s5nXb3EhWcjU/s200/014.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Good Friday egg hunt</b></td></tr>
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Once our first boy was big enough to walk and carry a basket (last Easter) he participated in a few toddler hunts - the word 'hunt' is a bit of a stretch ! It's more like gathering apples scattered in an orchard. This year, however, he's well on his way to turning three, so the bunny 'upped the anty' a wee bit, and plastic eggs were hidden and balanced inside and around his play-scape.<br />
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I can't take full credit for that stroke of genius - We had an Easter-experienced Momma and her brood over for Good Friday festivities, where the 'bunny' did a mock-up egg hunt, and this novice Momma paid attention! We also dyed hard-boiled white eggs from the store - and the kids (and Mommy) had our first go at wax scribbling on the eggs, then dunking them in dye - what a fun tradition! <br />
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I've been taking notes from my Texan sister-in-law for years on how to handle the 'Holidays' for kids, and finally I can put some of these skills into practice! There had been some debate in my mind about whether or not to adopt the American ways, or stick with what traditions I can remember from growing up. Silly Momma..... Surely I can gleam the bits I like best from both sides of the pond! Besides when it comes to Easter in Yorkshire, we didn't do anything but eat chocolate!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqo5K1AqXtu62R_vNd-9DyPxeIf_ULJMPK4Ho6tlvhvpqma9ajUA_41OuB_ntbf0JBOFNrkWjyasE-2IFmgbMiR4ckUhxz2Qp_bs5BRaUcG-jO5wv3R4yApzidN4chIekQK9EiDTOG49w/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqo5K1AqXtu62R_vNd-9DyPxeIf_ULJMPK4Ho6tlvhvpqma9ajUA_41OuB_ntbf0JBOFNrkWjyasE-2IFmgbMiR4ckUhxz2Qp_bs5BRaUcG-jO5wv3R4yApzidN4chIekQK9EiDTOG49w/s320/040.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Baskets from the Texan Easter Bunny</b></td></tr>
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On Easter morning, the Yankee bunny - working this area of Texas - left a basket of small toys (with some Kinder Hippo's from Granny Bunny), a little like a Christmas stocking, for each wee one. It was dark when our eldest came scurrying out of his room to check the basket he'd set out the previous evening, and the carrot he'd left for Mr Bunny had vanished without a trace!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQNSeLG8tOpa7TuDorhN9SuHGBMpzpA72GOvJL4DJyaV64oWv472b0GVy3ggaF-lOsgNgaNQSCc63EIT4SrHc5i931YgHvWXLmxBymV2Rm1X26rEw1dlmGTv2tOH2_1xHeDEe45m4LpI/s1600/078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQNSeLG8tOpa7TuDorhN9SuHGBMpzpA72GOvJL4DJyaV64oWv472b0GVy3ggaF-lOsgNgaNQSCc63EIT4SrHc5i931YgHvWXLmxBymV2Rm1X26rEw1dlmGTv2tOH2_1xHeDEe45m4LpI/s200/078.JPG" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Our eldest boy looking<br /> for eggs, Easter morning</b></td></tr>
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After the kids had exhausted rooting through their baskets, Mommy let them munch away on a Kinder Hippo each - which took the best part of an hour for our eldest who loves to savour candy. Then as soon as there was sufficient light, we all headed outside (empty baskets in little hands) in search for the bunnies hidden treasures...<br />
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I'd purchased a bumper bag of plastic eggs from Target, with lots of fun fillers (to pass on to the bunny of course) - but in the end we didn't need any of them! The eggs that our eldest collected at two local hunts were enough to feed the five thousand, and me - ever the conscientious (and thrifty) Mommy - would only let the boys reap a single spice reward after each egg hunt before speedily stowing the teeth rotting goods away. Only to bring the same pre-loaded eggs out again, for our own Easter egg hunt.<br />
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I'm sure we'll only get away with that trick for another year or so!<br />
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Oh, but <i>this</i> year Cadbury's Mini eggs, and Cream eggs were everywhere! No big bulky over packaged shiny boxed eggs, but still, Cadbury's! Apparently the Cadbury's Creme eggs HAVE been around on this side of the pond for eons (how my choccie driven eyes have never clocked any on the shelves before now is beyond me!). <i>If the little cream filled eggs made it over here, why haven't the rest (or at least the best) of Cadbury's collection made the journey?</i><br />
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I bought my bumper bag of Cadbury's Mini eggs with honorable intentions (truly I did) - that wasn't me with my eyes glazed over in target, uncontrollably salivating, while racing to the check out - but not a single Cadbury's Mini Egg made it into our Easter Bunny's hunt.<br />
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I don't feel so bad, Mommy <i>needed </i>her nightly choccie fix during our Downton Abbey catch-up marathon (I must have been the only Brit left on the planet who hadn't heard about that particular TV gem), and, after all, I was 'sharing' them with baby bump <i>and</i> Daddy, who miraculously managed to steal a couple when I wasn't looking.<br />
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The boys can't miss what they've never had and it would just be cruel to get them addicted to a crack candy delight we can rarely get our hands on this side of the pond - especially when they are already happily hooked on the local nasty candy!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-17492685267575140522012-04-16T19:16:00.001-07:002012-04-16T19:16:57.051-07:00more than just a Bone CollectorI'm starting to think that the latest addition to our family - our male mongrel pup, believes he's more feline than K9. The little scavenger loves to forage about in the woods, unearthing old bones and carcasses, in order to deliver them at Mommy's feet. I guess he wants to impress his owner - or perhaps give me (the undisputed pack-leader) the 'lions' share.<br />
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If I don't intervene he'd gulp those winnings down in a jiffy... Eugh! Of course mean Mommy always confiscates the nasty pile of remains so as to prevent the delightful diarrhea episode which inevitably follows these fanciful feasts. Whoever heard of a mongrel with such a tender tummy? And somehow we've managed to rescue two mutts with dicky stomachs!<br />
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But confiscating the germ infested bones and other dead animal remains is not an easy feat, especially when I always forget to bring a baggy and plastic gloves on our walks. My half-ass method (which still does the trick) is to first procure a stick, hook the manky specimen onto the end of it, then transfer the doggy treasure to a close by cedar limb - out of reach of our salivating pup. He always looks at me, ears hitched, head to one side - like I'm the biggest party pooper on the planet - yet he still insists on delivering his bloody booty to me!<br />
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In the past I've tried hurling said bones up into the tree tops, and watched them fall down through the branches hoping the deer skull, or rabbit carcass would strategically hook itself out of pup's reach. Sometimes this worked - however, more often than not, it turned into a race between Mom and pup to the base of the cedar trunk to reclaim the putrid prize - and the performance would start over again!<br />
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Yesterday's early morning walk was nice and uneventful, and thankfully we arrived unscathed back on our land without any dead creatures to speak of. Just when I was thinking we were 'out of the woods' pup proudly bounded out from the cedars heading our property, with his morning spoils dangling from his jaw.<br />
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The little scrounger had managed to find something dead after all - and today it was a species I'd not yet had the displeasure of extricating from pup's possession - a baby snake! Even though he'd brought the snake over to gloat, our hunter hound had no intention of sharing this rare and tasty morsel with Mommy.<br />
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By the time I was on him, he was already hoovering it up like a spaghetti noodle, but after a few insistent "drop" commands, he begrudgingly let go, and the remains of the baby snake fell at my feet. My eldest toddler and I crouched before the rubbery looking corpse in wonder. It was the first wild snake either of us had ever seen up close - albeit a dead one (and gratefully so).<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Our eldest boy holding the dead snake. </b></div>
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(Scavenger pup is hovering<br />hopefully behind in his kennel.)</div>
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The fact, we were well within our borders when our wannabe retriever found the snake, gives me the jitters a little. How far behind a baby would Mommy serpent be? It's hard to imagine that pup was responsible for the dastardly deed (or should I say heroic act?), but I can't say for sure. Save for the mangled chewed tail section, it had every appearance of a fresh kill.<br />
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Our eldest boy was dancing around signing 'snake' with both arms, while I employed my trusty trick and dangled the snake on a stick, only this critter's corpse I held out at full arms length (<i>on the off chance it were to come back to life and bite me</i>) and together we went in search of Daddy to identify our scaly trespasser.<br />
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Of course Daddy would say it was a rattler (if only to put the willies further up Mommy) although I couldn't see any sign of a rattle! Later on in the day he amended his deadly diagnosis to just a plain old harmless 'rat' snake. Whatever its poison, the serpent soul ended up being unceremoniously dumped in the trash - much to our ravenous pup's dismay.<br />
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After three years of drought, the rain of late has been a god send for Texans - and I'm not just talking about the two-legged kind! Every other species - including the deadly ones - that dares to tread (or slither) in this hardy territory have also flourished with the downpours.<br />
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Something tells me we haven't seen the last of these viperous visitors........<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-55682828092070004922012-04-12T14:19:00.001-07:002012-04-12T17:22:39.704-07:00Scorpion Saga III - a bathroom bludgeoning!So much for my self proclaimed pioneering spirit! This monster had me literally dancing about on tippy-toes, screeching ''What do I do? What do I do?". I was hopping around, just like one of those mean old spinster elephants in Dumbo, when Monty the mouse stalks into their huddle to teach them a lesson!<br />
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Daddy and both boys were splashing happily in the tub when this HUGE scorpion made a dash for it across our bathroom floor. The full grown critter was dark dark brown, so fortunately it stood out against our light brown cork tiling. I was sitting pretty on the can, minding my own business (not doing it!), with a lizard towel hoody open on my lap, waiting for a squeaky clean kid to be deposited into it, when I spotted the ghastly giant, high-tailing it away from me by the side of the bath.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAFmOn4T5e6oA-PByQztIgVR5anBHBMwslVpX4QzDvLfMaqmlAxxxnftT2UdZXonmAy3mb2jo0FOE3pUWt1bnoqCDZtfaVCjDEAH3ojcKUFFttWrZ7y-gfmoVcBgpXc5T-QCOmgexlb0/s1600/scorpion2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAFmOn4T5e6oA-PByQztIgVR5anBHBMwslVpX4QzDvLfMaqmlAxxxnftT2UdZXonmAy3mb2jo0FOE3pUWt1bnoqCDZtfaVCjDEAH3ojcKUFFttWrZ7y-gfmoVcBgpXc5T-QCOmgexlb0/s200/scorpion2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
There were only a couple of places it could have come from - likely the towel cape I had just shaken out on my lap - or from the nasty bath rag Daddy had just intercepted from our eldest boy's grasp.. or the bathtub toy box.... agghh! All three possibilities put my babies directly in the line of fire! The creepy-crawlies really like the tub toys - last year a humongous wolf spider nestled itself into the bath corner tub toy organizer... I haven't used that toy pocket since my run in with that hideous furry arachnid!<br />
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From where the scorpion stationed itself - it's stinger awaiting a cleansed foot to descend from above - no-one else but Momma could see the wretched creature, and with all the men of the house naked and as vulnerable as the plastic ducks bobbing around them, it was up to me to step up and save the day - <a href="http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Go Momma!</a><br />
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So I dithered around, my mind flip-flopping between the only two acceptable modes of extermination my husband has taught me - duck-tape, or scissors... ? When his voice broke my hesitation... ''There's a shoe..!'' Daddy suggested, nodding to my kicked off trainer. And so I seized my weapon and whacked the little bugger!<br />
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As I dropped the shoe, I allowed myself a full body shudder, and a further icky dance commenced, where I flailed around the bathroom like a lunatic, trying fruitlessly to shake the heebie-jeebies out of my system. My kids were a little stunned by Mommy's weird contortions, and subsequently, the pulverized miniature alien glued to the floor by it's own body fluids.<br />
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It had splatted quite messily, and on a closer examination of the critter's corpse, I could see some whitish secretion. Oh god! It was looking like I'd murdered a fellow Momma, and her innocent eggs were now spewged across my bathroom floor. To which Daddy congratulated me further! My two year old crouched in close - seduced by Mommy's ghoulish reaction and the cautionary words "Be careful baby - it's dangerous!"<br />
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Although I did the deed. I was more than happy to let Daddy be the corpse cleanup crew, busying my heroic self in the bedroom with the boys while Daddy mopped up the remains.<br />
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Size <i>does</i> matter to this Momma - regardless of Daddy's warnings that the babyies are the more malevolent - and this latest brush with evil has definitely revamped my scorpion awareness. A once more mindful Momma is back to scanning floors, shaking towels and banging out shoes!<br />
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Three scorpions before Easter! Surely it's time to call the exterminator? Daddy thinks not. Apparently one invader every couple of months is just par to the course in Texas. I'm quick to point out to Daddy that we're already onto invader number 3 <i>inside</i> of three months - and now I've got the blog to prove it!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-21267583141782167842012-04-03T13:20:00.000-07:002013-02-16T19:15:52.287-08:00Losing my religionI met a kindred spirit last week, out on a play date with the boys. She was with her two boys also, and we bonded when our elder kids almost came to fisticuffs inside a Scooby Doo bouncy castle. We chatted easily for an hour or so, between caring for the tots and when she offered her business card, so we could trade blog information and remain in touch, I was delighted, and warmed that she shared a mutual interest in us becoming friends.<br />
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So excited in fact that I bragged to my husband about my new friend and, how much we had in common. But later that evening, snuggling on the couch, I retrieved the cutesy, misleading, little business card and had a peek into my new friends artsy world and blog on our Google TV. I can't begin to explain the shock and confusion when what I opened was pure bible propaganda. I still don't know what to think. <br />
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I admit this angle shows great business acumen for the South, and her artwork - beneath the scriptures and such - was beautiful. She definitely knows her audience, which I then realized, I obviously don't. Her blog and lifework is dedicated to worship of the Good Lord and so it can't all be just an angle. My kindred spirit is obviously an avid worshiper much like her customers.<br />
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It doesn't take much delving round into her networks and such to see how well she is received within this community, and the idea that she could find anything of value in my writing was suddenly absurd. Who wants to waste time reading about my frivolous day-to day drivel, when that time would be better spent praising God Almighty? No matter that I follow the same code of ethics which the great man himself stands for - well some of them at least.<br />
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These moments truly bring home to me just how much we don't fit in with the bulk of society here in small-town Texas. Our Sunday mornings are often spent alone, while our friends are dutifully attending one of the gzillion local churches in the area. And all of these churches are packed out. Church it seems, is the most happening place to be on a Sunday - with brunch following close at the heels. Brunch I'll take. <br />
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If you haven't already worked this one out, I'm a Brit, born in Yorkshire. I wasn't raised as a devout Christian by any means, however, when I cast my mind back to any form I had to complete throughout my childhood, I was always told to write 'Church of England' in the little box beside the word religion.<br />
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I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I don't actually know what that means. I know we certainly weren't Catholic (to state Granddad was not a fan, would be a bit of an understatement), nor were we Protestant for that matter, and I was always aware (on a child's uncaring level) that the Irish were a bit ticked off with us over this very complex issue.<br />
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My parents were not 'practicing' Christians, meaning we didn't attend church on a Sunday. But Christmas and Easter were definitely in. I knew the Lord's Prayer standing on my head - thanks to middle school assembly - and on bank holidays Dad would always have The Ten Commandments - the longest movie in history - playing on the box, from which I acquired most of my Old Testament education.<br />
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Grace was never said at the table and there were no prayers before bedtime. I remember it being somewhat of a talking point with my school friends that my siblings and I hadn't been Christened, and for a while I thought that meant I didn't officially have a name.<br />
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Apparently my Granny wanted my Dad and uncles Christened, but Granddad was strongly opposed to the religious affair. As the story goes she even tried getting a brother to pose as the father, but Granddad got wind of the goings on and put a stop to it all, at the Church. My husband, although born and raised in Texas, still managed to escape the mark of the holy water, unless you count his Grandfather's own private ritual performed in the kitchen sink when no-one was looking...<br />
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I still don't know of any anti-religious reason behind why we weren't Christened, other than it simply wasn't necessary. I haven't really been hampered by my heathen status, other than being deemed unworthy to be Godmother, in the eyes of the Catholic church, to any of my brother's girls. But like my bro said, 'auntie' is a much better title.<br />
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In spite of my indifference to religion, I used to love singing hymns at school, especially Christmas Carols, and on the rare occasions we got to carry a lit candle stuck in an orange down the aisle, I didn't mind being in Church, but dear God, those sermons were hard to sit through.<br />
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Most church goers (as I recall) were pushing 60 at least. A dying breed - literally. If it weren't for the fact that Church weddings are still fashionable, funerals are a dead cert', and everybody loves a Christening (after all, there's no better excuse for a 'head wetting' afterwards down at the local pub) the Church of England would likely be run out of business.<br />
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As things stand in my neck of the woods, we weren't out of the norm. We were basically a pretty standard none practicing 'Christian' family. And I was very much OK with that.<br />
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When we were teenagers my big brother decided he was officially an 'Atheist'. He was quite the scientist, and although I followed steadfast in his footsteps I could never gain the courage to agree wholeheartedly that religion was all nonsense. I've never been one to burn bridges, and I felt then (like I still do now) much more comfortable sitting on the fence, than anywhere else on this matter.<br />
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With all that said, I still haven't plucked up the courage to forward my blog details on to my new found kindred spirit. I can't decide if the candor in this article would be offensive (perhaps even blasphemous) or just amusing to her - I sincerely hope the latter, but I'm still too chicken to find out.<br />
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Admittedly, since choosing to settle in the midst of God Fearing territory, we have been accepted wholeheartedly into the Christian flock, in spite of our heathen status. We have never actually 'come out' as it were, so perhaps this blog will expose us for the heretics we possibly are.<br />
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I hope not though. With all the local Church events and church playgrounds we attend (albeit in good 'faith') I sometimes feel a bit like the 'Wedding Crashers', having the time of our lives and taking advantage of the spoils at a party where we truly don't belong.<br />
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Speaking of which, this weekend it's Easter. C'mon kids, let's see how many free egg hunts we can hit - bring on the candy!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-26092467756467107972012-03-20T20:33:00.002-07:002012-03-20T20:36:49.645-07:00No Trespassing. Private Property. Keep Out!One of the hardest lifestyle changes for me, living here in Texas Hill Country - and still one I'm working hard to come to terms with - is the severe lack of public owned land, meaning: no fields, paths and woodland areas to walk your dogs.<br />
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Back home, you could leave your house on foot, pretty much anywhere on the whole island, and there would be 'free' countryside, woodlands, beaches, or farmlands for you and your 'unleashed' dogs to walk, picnic, or bike on, with the law on your side.<br />
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It's incredible to me how much I took that freedom for granted. Here, unless you own hundreds of acres yourself, pretty much everyplace you turn is fenced off, with 'No Trespassing' signs nailed to every other cedar. It seems that in the Hill Country, that same freedom comes at a very high price. I'd never before, understood the desire to own land, like I do now.<br />
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<i>You mean to tell me Katie-Scarlett that Tara doesn't mean anything to you? Why, land's the only thing that matters....... it's the only thing that lasts!</i><br />
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Owning just under 4 acres felt a tad bit excessive to me at first, especially when we were only using the bottom acre. However, once we adopted our first dog, the full enormity of being surrounded by only private owned land hit home, and it pained me that we were unable to provide our dog the same type of walks that my childhood pets thrived on.<br />
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Trying to make the most of what we had, we started walking her around our unfenced perimeter, taking great care not to stray onto our as yet unacquainted neighbors' land. The first time we did this was after dark - probably not the smartest choice - and we earned a hostile run-in with a neighbor procuring a gun.<br />
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These country folk are not messing when they say 'no trespassing'! Only we weren't trespassing. Our neighbor had become so used to the top part of our land being abandoned, that he'd cleared his own front yard to beyond our border.<br />
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Awkwardly, this makes walking on our land feel like we're crossing his front lawn. His problem, but awkward for us nonetheless. Still, having no other place to walk the dog, beggars can't be choosers, so we cleared a better pathway - with grand illusions of fencing 'our' land off - and adopted this as our twice daily dog walk.<br />
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This worked, until it got really hot, and I got really, pregnant, and my inclination to hike our land's unforgiving inclination fell by the wayside. So I opted instead to stroll along the flat, unpaved, and unsigned country road in front of our home.<br />
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Albeit infrequently driven on, the local folk that live here, namely our neighbors, are used to navigating these bends at break neck speed, so a Mommy and stroller can feel somewhat in jeopardy, especially attempting to exercise an unleashed pup! Needless to say her 'free' walks were dropped, and (feeling like terrible dog-owners) her exercise regime was reduced to a lame game of chase on our own land.<br />
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Luckily, over time, we've befriended our land- wealthy neighbors to the south, who boast a humble trailer parked within a beautiful 20+ acre woodlands. Their invitation for us to walk their land came initially in the form of a neighborly request to be a presence on their land while they were vacationing. Of course we gladly obliged, and our gushing admiration of their land was rewarded with an open invitation to walk our family and dog on their unused acreage.<br />
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This freedom has changed our world, and now with two dogs, and two young boys, it's easy to forget sometimes that we're enjoying private owned land. A reality check came at the end of last summer when our neighbors put up half their land for sale. If only we could afford it, I'd snatch their hands off! <br />
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It's been on the market now a little over 6 months with no bites as yet, and selfishly I hope it stays that way. I've become spoiled over the last two years, however, I no longer take such freedom for granted.<br />
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When the inevitable happens, no doubt we'll learn to make the best of our own 'meager' 4 acres once again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-8089209523894962602012-03-18T12:28:00.001-07:002012-03-18T12:31:18.277-07:00Happy Mother's Day, Mum!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3d/Mothers_Day_card.png/225px-Mothers_Day_card.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3d/Mothers_Day_card.png/225px-Mothers_Day_card.png" width="256" /></a></div>Just in the nick of time - yesterday - I accidentally stumbled upon the vital information, that today would be Mother's Day for my own Mum, and all my fellow homeland Mummies in the UK!<br />
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A timely phone call to my big sis, who just so happened to refer to Mother's Day in reference to her own kiddies, had me swearing at my forgetfulness, or at least my total unawareness to the goings on back home.<br />
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It's incredible how much we let society - or should I say, the commercial industry - guide us between 'holidays', and here in the US, not a single card, or sign, or gift idea can be seen on a store shelf, to save us hapless foreigners from letting down our loved ones back home. But why would there be? Mother's day isn't until May!<br />
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So I'm terribly sorry there's no card waiting for you Mum. I don't really have a good excuse as to why. After over 20 years of honouring Mother's Day in the UK, you'd have thought the month, at least, would have stuck in my memory.<br />
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I did a bit of Google research, and it seems that Mothering Sunday, back home, is always the fourth Sunday of lent. Here it always falls on the second Sunday in May. Well OK!<br />
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Now I know - and hopefully this will be the last year I forget to send my Mum her well deserved card on the right day. In fact, I think I'll let my Mum have both countries' Mother's Days from now on!<br />
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Now that I'm a 'Mommy' myself, that doesn't seem like such a bad idea....Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-51250832905186607102012-03-17T21:37:00.000-07:002012-05-24T19:39:02.411-07:00maybe there's a bit of pioneering spirit in me after all!The kids are asleep, and it's time Mom was too, but the cabin is too far gone to let the dishes keep on rotting away,<br />
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So instead of skulking away to bed, I pull up my big girl pants, grab a dishrag and get to work eliminating the mucky dishes scattered around the cabin.<br />
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Stepping lightly, in bare feet so as not to wake the bairns, I tread carelessly across the wood stained laminate, without a thought for the would-be predator in my midst..<br />
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Daddy reluctantly joins the clean-up party, when suddenly he exclaims, "Oh, s***!" He's crouched down across the cabin, getting a close up look at some offending specimen, and my first thought is (probably due to the nasty food remains on the stacked plates), we've been invaded by ants.<br />
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It was only a matter of time, now the temperature has warmed up enough to support their prevalent existence, and with all the microscopic food remains distributed far and wide throughout our home, by 'shredder' our youngest baby, who could blame the opportunistic creatures?<br />
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But then, Daddy's reaction seems a little strong for discovering an ant (even a big one), so my mind leaps to Black Widow spider, and I'm paralyzed in place. Oh God! Not something life threatening in our home - that's all we need! And I wait with bated breath, until Daddy confirms my worst fear.<br />
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"It's a baby scorpion." He says ominously.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjihhiNLPmGvMo7E_tW8hFTVHATf99zfFrTe3fcRSPO_x36RupvnG2WCOPlXk0cyaM766lNWlOfxqi1V0zdkjb6Gyqhg6J4znT2aQmBqbLoLyAWONOP9VlU0281t0ClYSvoqyDKO-zC5Ao/s1600/scorpion.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjihhiNLPmGvMo7E_tW8hFTVHATf99zfFrTe3fcRSPO_x36RupvnG2WCOPlXk0cyaM766lNWlOfxqi1V0zdkjb6Gyqhg6J4znT2aQmBqbLoLyAWONOP9VlU0281t0ClYSvoqyDKO-zC5Ao/s200/scorpion.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
And, I'm overcome by a surprising emotional response. I'm actually... relieved.<br />
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What the ......? Come on, you English, bug fearing Jessy! Where's the irrational panic, or the spine-shivering gone? I wonder at my seemingly newfound indifference to the ugly alien-like arachnid invader, as I approach barefoot, and hear my(strange new)self ask,<br />
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"Are you going to kill it then?". He stops me in my tracks in case the doomed creature is startled by my foot steps. I watch Daddy take a photo, before stepping nonchalantly on the wee baby scorpion - poor thing.<br />
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Ah, that's a bit more like me. I can't help but feel sorry about exterminating the baby creature. I finish clearing up the dishes, a little more cautiously, admittedly, but still barefoot.<br />
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It's just a little scorpion after all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-12683736552165287732012-03-15T21:24:00.002-07:002012-03-16T06:14:39.039-07:00Maximum Security pleaseA few weekends ago, a surprise friend showed up on our deck and stayed the night. We go back a few years, to our early days in Scotland, when my hubbie and I moved into a flat across from him and his wife. We reached out to them - initially freaking them out - with our un-Scottish invitation to Thanksgiving dinner.<br />
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They were a little bewildered when they came over and realized no one else from the flats had been invited, and now, after knowing them for so long, we suspect it crossed their minds that they were on course to becoming the main course - especially as big brother showed up a little ways in to the night (they must have called in back-up)!<br />
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That might have been the end of a beautiful friendship, if only my husband hadn't charmed the pants off them with his Texan banter. The four of us subsequently enjoyed many evenings chewing the fat and putting the world to rights. It didn't take long to find out that they (or at least he) harboured a safety paranoia that surpassed my own.<br />
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So, last weekend, when he went back outside the cabin to lock his rental vehicle (because you never know, right?), I looked upon the act with a conflicting mixture of ridicule and approval. See, after living here four years, you could say I've become wiser to the reduced risks in country living - or possibly I've just gotten sloppy.<br />
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Unfortunately the latter seems to be a more correct statement, and when our 'paranoid' guest lightly commented on how relieved he'd been when he showed up - as would any burglar - that our guard doggie greeting comittee had been securely penned in, I grimaced at the oversight. Apparently they had done their job beautifully, it was just us owners that had fallen short. More plainly, put I'd let my guard down, which is ironic when I think of my resolution before moving here. <br />
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If you've read my earlier blog <a href="http://alia-cartwright.blogspot.com/2012/01/no-one-can-hear-you-scream.html">No-one can hear you scream!</a> you'll be familiar with the stark terror I experienced staying out overnight in a fairly remote location, on my initial visit to Texas. And so, when we first moved into our cabin sitting alone on a 3.9 acre plot (nearly half a decade later), after sharing an equal space with possibly 1,000 or so Scottish inhabitants for 3 years previously, as you an imagine, I was quite the nansy pants!<br />
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I'm relieved to say, my 'paranoia' is not so acute these days (a decade ago I couldn't make it through one night). Ironically, I think we were running a much greater security risk, living in our quaint fishing village as oppose to our remote country cabin, simply due to the sheer quantity of strange folk that were surrounding us. Most of them we didn't know from Adam! Back in the 'safety' of our fishing village it was unheard of to leave your car or home unlocked, but here, the locals (maybe a naivety these days) do it all too often. I thought they were all crazy, at first, but it's easy to be lulled into a 'false' sense of security when you're in the lap of country living.<br />
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Even so, I'm still a little high strung when it comes to home security, especially now we've got wee ones. My safety checklists are endless, and my husband is so familiar with the drill, he's long grown bored with mocking me, when night after night I whisper to him as he's getting into bed "Did you do the the safety checks?".<br />
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A day or so after my - paranoid comrade in arms - house guest left, the hubbie noticed the house keys were missing from my key chain. I hadn't used them in days - a week even. After the initial panic subsided, it didn't take long to track them down, exactly where I'd left them, sitting outside, in the not-so-frequently used front door lock.<br />
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So much for Miss - high and mighty - Safety!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-54060303492865582422012-03-05T13:36:00.033-08:002012-03-05T15:50:16.234-08:00Waste not, want not (part 1)It's taken me almost the better part of four years to become wise to the false economies that I've been employing since arriving in the states. At first glance it's easy to condemn the behaviour of every-day Americans and pass judgement on the sheer day to day voluminous waste! If there's one thing I hate it's waste (I can hear those words coming right out of my Father's mouth). <br />
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Being a coal miner's daughter, born and raised in the North of England, I've been accustomed to much hardier times than now - and our current lifestyle is not without it's struggles. I don't think it's accurate to say that I was raised as working class. My parents, however, were. My father shared a bedroom with five brothers, and as the story goes they had one pair of shoes between the lot of 'em. My mother has no siblings, but times were still hard for her growing up. With a bit of hard grafting and a little financial fortune, my parents were able to better themselves, providing a much easier life for my siblings and me - as we were reminded often - we dint' know we wo born!<br />
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Being a self made husband and wife, much of their working class habits remained, and I watched them scrimp and save during my whole childhood. Some things made sense - not always at the time - but many self induced hardships were a false economy. Apparently the apple does not fall too far from the tree.<br />
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Mum hated to use the tumble dryer. Instead she'd stand looking out the window all day, playing Russian roulette with the weather. The same load of washing would be hung out and brought in five times a day (on a good day). When I first moved to Texas I couldn't believe the size of the washing machines and dryers, and not forgetting my roots I was opposed to a dryer. With all this sunshine the idea was ludicrous - at first. We didn't have room or money to invest in what I'd deemed an excessive and unnecessary purchase - did we have money to burn?<br />
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So we searched high and low for a whirly-gig, not common place here, but we eventually tracked one down, and my dutiful husband (in spite of his better judgment) installed it for me less than 15 yards from the cabin door. It was positioned in the direct sunlight (there was no shade available anyhow) and our clothes were usually dried through before I'd even finished hanging them out - that was the problem right there.<br />
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It took ages to hang them out - and almost as long to fetch them back in! I'd acquired an enviable tan after only one week of laundry. I started having visions of becoming one of those wrinkled old leather skinned ladies back home, who spend their retired days, ritually stretched out under the unforgiving sun in Spain or Greece. After only 5 minutes of clothes pegging under the Texas sun, I'd be feeling dizzy and whoozy - even if I took a break to chug a pint of water - and it took at least 30 minutes to peg out an American 'Super-Size me' wash load. I don't know how those old cowboys coped being out under the brutal Texas sun all day! Even the shade is barely bearable during July and August.<br />
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I persevered with the whirly-gig for at least 6 months or so (admittedly most of that was Winter time) and we also invested in a couple of indoor clothes horses to assist with those crazy hot winter days that Texas throws out at you once in a while. I'd do my hanging indoors, then carry the clothes horses out to the deck to bask in the sun. They were only blown over a handful of times if I recall.<br />
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Eventually, however, we inherited a dryer from some close friends, and boy was that a life-changing day! The very fact that we would be recycling someone else's junk dryer at no cost to ourselves made the lifestyle change a much sweeter humble pie to swallow. I was sure that I would continue using our clothes horses, and even the bloody whirly-gig, at least during balmier days. But after just one load (I'm a little ashamed to say) I was a total convert and I've never looked back. All good money/energy saving intentions are out the window! And our 'green' whirly-gig has sadly become a redundant waste of space in our shed.<br />
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I keep telling my husband that we'll find a convenient place for it outside, a little closer to the side of the house, where I can comfortably hang the washing out. But honestly, where would I get the time for that extra curricular activity? These days, finding time to empty the dryer is even a stretch!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8191308975852114837.post-36785023498527449092012-03-04T13:37:00.023-08:002012-03-05T13:49:25.263-08:00Here today, gone tomorrow..This weekend started just like any other...<br />
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It's Sunday, early afternoon, the sun is shining, and the house is still. Both kids have just crashed hard into their afternoon naps. Daddy is tap-tapping away in the other room working on a research paper, while I sit here quiet in thought. I guess I'm feeling sad, but it's a happy kind of sad, as barely one hour ago we all waved goodbye to one of our close pond-ling friends from the other side..<br />
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Yesterday morning (Saturday) the whole family piled into the minivan, set for an adventure of browsing, strolling and grazing within the myriad of antique, toy and bric-a-brac market stalls sprawled on the land behind the local high school where my husband Teaches.<br />
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We'd arranged a Skype date for 1pm - or so we thought - with close friends of ours, which we'd made during our stint in Scotland, and no sooner than we arrived at the market, the hubbie got a call from the husband of the couple. Being a little shy of Verizon biting him in the butt for taking an International call, my frifty hubbie cut the call short promising we'd make the Skype date for sure...<br />
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The morning came to a natural close. Kids and parents were all well over the market, and so, with sausage wraps in little hands, the kids nodded to sleep in the back of the minivan as we headed home for a good internet catch up - little did we know...<br />
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As soon as we pulled up onto our land, something felt a bit off kilter. A silver car was parked on the left, with a pair of trainers neatly stacked atop the boot. My first thought was that the Father-in law had popped round for a quick visit, but the shoes on the boot didn't add up. Then as we pulled into our parking spot, just right of the cabin, a familiar form (rocking nonchalantly on our deck - Shiner beer in hand) came steadily into view... and we just about flipped. Skype date, my arse!<br />
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What an awesome surprise! I haven't seen the hubbie so psyched in months! Our sneaky Scottish buddy was over in Houston on business, and had managed to snatch some time to come our way for a real catch up. I can't tell you how wonderful it feels to have someone you care about visit from afar. We've been living in the states for almost four years now. In that time, visitors from good ol' Blighty have been few and far between, and - well let's face it - non existent from my actual homeland, England. If it weren't for our three year stay up in Scotland we'd be 'S' out of luck!<br />
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His visit lasted barely 24 hours - a flash in the pan really - but what a difference it made! I'm sure we'll be buzzing for some time to come. Our eldest son, still only a toddler, made a new best friend this weekend, and although I'm sure we all wanted to cry, his tears were the only ones to fall unabashedly, as we waved our fond farewells to a great friend.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10929283831692486767noreply@blogger.com0