Shamelessly homesick!

"Now, nobody's sayin that Hill Country Texas is the Garden of Eden, but it's been a good home to us, to me - Frank GALLAGHER Josie Bisett - and me kids, who am proud of! 'Cause every single one of them reminds me a little... of me."
 

In case you're wondering, this is NOT me. This is Frank Gallagher, the Shameless lead character in the classic Brit hit show. 

We've all been a bit 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, like your own (arse contoured) couch, Eastenders, 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.

It's great to get away - but even better getting home!

It can feel like something is gnawing away at your innards (like hunger pains) creating a hole that can't be filled by food - believe me, I've tried. 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.

At least that's what it's like for me. But I can't go 'home' at least not yet. In any case 'home' is not really my home anymore.

OK, so at the moment I am officially 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). 

But that's not really 'it'. 

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...

My family that is, the blood relatives.

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.

The hubs lived unhappily in Hawaii for six months. Night after night he would watch that gorgeous romantic sunset, alone. It turns out, the most beautiful experiences in the world aren't quite so great when you can't share them with the ones you love.

I'm not saying the magic is lost (exactly), But how much greater would it feel to be able to show this lovely little lassy off to my mum and dad?

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.

I know, I know! Cry me a river - right? Serves me right for marrying Texas Pete!

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! Thanks to them I've been shamelessly entertained no end for the past few weeks.

Shameless's Steve is so yummy! 

The hubs and I were living in the UK when Shameless first hit the TV screens - how we managed to miss out on this Channel 4 masterpiece series, I'll never know! 

Nearly a decade on and living across the pond, instant NetFlix is bringing Shameless shenanigans into our home for the first time and right in the nick of time!  

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 Everybody Loves Raymond and Yes, Dear! on TBS - that was back in the day we were still willing to fork out for digital TV! Our second kid was subjugated to the entire series of Roseanne on NetFlix (he needed a LOT of bouncing) - lucky Momma!

But this go around there's only British comedy on the menu. I wonder which kid will have the best sense of humo(u)r?

I've got to say, it's been great getting back to Britain (even if it's not really 'for real') - although, maybe it's only serving to make me more homesick! They're only running series 1-3 currently on NetFlix (Series 10 is just about to start back across the pond.) and sadly they've already written some of my new found 'family' out. Now I'm got even more people to miss! 

btw, this isn't just a shameless punt to get my folks over here! Well, maybe it is a little......

All 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 Go Momma!; however, while things have all been quiet on the western 'blog' front - so to speak - my freaky deaky spider post of long ago Daddies Freakin' Out! (still an August post, though... What a manic month it's been!) has picked me up one or two pats on the back....

Look who's blogging now!

Yay - nothing like a few big-me-ups to get me back 'in the game'!

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 (while sitting on the john)...

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...

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.

It's really OK - I sort of like the moral support... sometimes.

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!

Anyway - this post isn't THAT post. This is a double whammy THANK YOU post dedicated to Kerri from Mummy and the Monsters and Michele from follow me home. These lovely ladies have given Across the Pond (and hence me... heehee) two smashing awards for me to sport on my sidebar!

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!

Go Momma! 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!

Those of you (a wondrous few) that follow both my blogs may have seen my Go Momma! post titled 'Go Momma!', 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.......

Ah-hem. First the rules:

Liebster Award rules (if you choose to honor the Liebstar legacy):

1) Answer my 11 questions
2) Think of 11 questions of your own
3) Choose 11 worthy bloggers (who have fewer than 200 followers) to lavish some love on!

So, Kerri from  Mummy and the Monsters , here's what I have to say.......

1. What do you love most about blogging?

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!!

If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Who the hell cares?

Nobody really 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.

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'!!

2. What is your favourite season and why?

Autumn - and that goes for BOTH sides of the pond (although over here they call it 'fall' of course)! 

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! 

When I think of Autumn back 'home' this little Harvest Festival ditty springs to mind: 

Autumn days, when the grass is jewelled

And the silk inside a chestnut shell
Jet planes are meeting in the air to be refuelled
All these things I love so well

So I mustn’t forget
No, I mustn’t forget
To say a great big thank you
I mustn’t forget.

Most of all I love that it's the 'Holiday' season (and no...I'm not talking about packing a case and flying to Benidorm or Majorca!), 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!

3. Where do you get your ideas for your blog posts?

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'.

4. Tea or coffee?

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 know - I'm a coffee snob! 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!

5. Who inspires you?

My friends mainly, but two in particular stand out and deserve a 'shout out'. They are both Scottish - but don't hold that against em'! 

Firstly, my close gal pal (see Skyebird and Jules) 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!

Secondly our transatlantic self-employed and self-made buddy (see owner of Present & Personal). Watching him pave his own pathway to success (and Twitter fame) over the past five years has been inspirational to say the least.

Both these friends have helped me figure out a few things about myself (and the hubs) - and they've both given my bloggie alter-ego a *clap right when it was needed!

*clap: Scottish for stroke. Crazy - huh?

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!

6. What was the last film you watched?

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! Is everybody really a 'racist' when they're running scared? I laughed (aw, c'mon - the Chinaman stuck under the car was pretty funny), I cried - and it's still making me think. The mark of a great movie! 

 7. What do you dislike most about blogging?

That I can't be 100% candid with my content! 

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, even in my TMI posts, I'm holding a little of myself back!

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! My hubs gets to veto what he doesn't like (Daddy censorship - what do YOU think?), but the kids are too young to object - so I have to be 'objectionable' for them.

I also HATE offending anyone. So sadly some really REALLY funny s**t is just a big FAT blogging no-no, unfortunately. I've toyed with the idea of creating an underground blog for those really personal, or potentially offensive blogs that I just can't help but write. Wait a few years. Perhaps I'm saving the real meaty stuff for my book! 

8. Describe your morning routine.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

9. What's your top blogging tip?

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.

10. If you could be a super hero for a day what would your super power be?

Evie stopping time.

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 Out of This World. THAT was pretty neat!

11. What three words best describe you?

out-going, achievement-orientated, motherly  (did I cheat with the hyphens?)

PHEW! So now it's my turn! And I'd like to lavish the Liebster love on these lucky eleven bloggers:

The SAHM Confessions
the teeny tiny mommy.
Saturday Morning Ogre Mum
Little Mommy Diary
Delightfully Ludicrous
The Motivated Fat Girl
Morning Coffee Confessions
Big Girl Panties
The Adventures of Not Supermom
Mother of the Pack
Refrigerator Memories

And MY questions for you are:

1. Tell me about a time you were really homesick.
2. Did you grow up with siblings, how was it?
3. Do you still live in the same area you grew up?
4. If you could live ANYWHERE, where would it be?
5. What would you think if your child emigrated to a different country?
6. What's your favourite TV show and why?
7. Christmas, love it or hate it?
8. What do you think of natural med-free childbirth?
9. Would you spank your children?
10. Is there anything that you regret?
11. Name a song you've ever played over and over on repeat- why that song?

I can't wait to read your answers - make sure to send me your links!

One down, one to go...........

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!

See, I'm that 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!

A real conversation between me and the hubs this morning:

Hubs: "Hmmmmm, you smell nice. What perfume are you wearing?"
Momma: "Soap."

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!!

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.

I love my dangly earrings - but the babies have put a stop to that passion!

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 vajazzing in TMI Friday!, waxing in keeping your hedges trimmed... and pedicures in wax that tash!

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!

Here are the 'rules' (a little laxer than the Liebster's - and thank the Lord for that!):

1. Answer the five questions (same ones that I've answered).
2. Pass it on to 5 more bloggers.

So, my good friend Michele from follow me home, here goes 'nothing'....

1. What is your current beauty obsession?

I don't really do beauty obsessions. I do, however, have a beauty paranoia. I actually blogged about it back in June in wax that tash! 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 R.E.M SPRING - more reasonably priced on Amazon, see below)- so God only knows why I didn't snatch her hand off - probably because it hurt like the bejesus when she tested it out on a few of my tash hairs!! 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!



2. What is the one beauty item you wished you owned?

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!



3. What is your favourite topic to read or write about?

I like anything that is personal and real.

4. What inspired you to become a blogger?

My bezzie mate started a blog Skyebird and Jules and I thought, 'Cool, I could do that!'

5. What nail polish are you wearing now?

I'm still sporting the chipped remnants of my turquoise toes that I got from the pedi place here in town, back in July before I had my baby.

Perhaps I need one of those springy thingies for my toes!

Fortunately I managed to palm 'The Humiliator' (see wax that tash!) off on my willing British buddy. He took quite a shining to her and her toe cheese!

Wowzers! That took a fair bit of blogging - but we're almost there now (if any of you are still with me) - 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:

Mod Mom Beyond IndieDom
Menopausal Mother
Lipstick, Margaritas and Hairspray
The Mommy Chronicles
Entirely Emily

Congratulations ladies. Happy Blogging and don't forget to let me know when you post your answers!

Daddies Freakin' Out!

......a smattering of our deck squatters!

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!

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.

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.

Yes - these protectors are definitely welcome to hang out at our house.

The fantasy seemed to support what is apparently the biggest spider-myth out there:

"daddy long-legs are one of the most poisonous spiders, but their fangs are too short to bite humans."

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.

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.

This year they're everywhere!

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.

Then all of a sudden our squatters were back- and they'd brought all their friends with them....

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!

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.    

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).

This year our ecosystem - inside the house - has had a bit of a shake up.

There have been more scorpions - which sadly scuppers my 'pack hunt' theory - but we've seen NO ants inside. None whatsoever.

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!

It can only be the daddies doing their very best to earn bed and board.

So far they seem happy to sleep in their humongous cluster outside - only scattering their troops out to forage and scavenge inside the house when they need food. I think my affection for them would quickly evaporate if they attempted to relocate their hoards inside.

But wait, there's more.....

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.

The idea of crawling under the house freaks Momma out - critters or no critters. Ever since watching The Children of The Corn lower that house down onto that poor little old lady, I swore I'd never live in a house on stilts...      

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.

And what do you think he saw.......?

Right above him, almost completely covering the floor insulation, were millions 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!

Daddy says:
"Multiply this by a thousand and you're still not even close!"

I would have screamed. Daddy - to his credit - did not (he didn't want to wake the babies - aww).

What a Daddy!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

I wonder if they'll eat dog fleas too?

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.

I'm sure I saw something jumping on the couch yesterday...

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!

And if we're lucky the dogs won't devour the kitten..... but that's a whole other blog!

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....

No freakin' way!

Whichever Texan determined harvestmen to be 'endangered' in this state must have been looking under the wrong house.

Just ask our Daddy short-legs...!


*A few home 'truths' about harvestmen - at least according to Google:

1. Harvestmen are not spiders (they are arachnids - like spiders and scorpions).

2. They are not poisonous.

3. They don't have any fangs - but can pinch you with their claws (agghhh).

4. Harvestmen are the Grandaddies of daddy long-legs (six-legged crane-flys and cellar spiders are also called daddy long-legs).  

5. They can emit a foul smell to ward off predators (much like another Daddy I know....).

6. If our Daddy short-legs was actually a daddy long-legs his legs would be 42 feet long!

Pretty cool, huh?

GBR vs USA

When it comes to the Olympic games it's never really been a fair contest - at least in my lifetime! Even on home soil I wouldn't put my money on seeing significantly more medals for GBR.

Forecasters, however, are predicting a whopping 27 Golds for GBR... ahem...that'd be right... nothing like a bit of optimism! That would place us third overall. Chance would be a fine thing!

Haven't we been predicting another World cup win ever since 1966?

But what do I know? Apparently I've had my head out of the games (and out of Britain for too long)!

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.

London hosted the games then too. Maybe there's hope after all.....

But, those often elusive Golds - at least for us Brits - seem to come raining down on the Americans like April showers!

They bagged 36 in Beijing (110 medals in total) putting them in pole position for the last four Olympics on the trot. Maybe for once in my life I'll be on the winning side - well sort of. 

Boo hiss .... I know, I know!.... I'm a traitor to good old  (always on a losing streak) Blighty..... 

And anyway - it's the taking part that counts, isn't it - not winning? 

What a load of codswallup! 

What tripe are we teaching our kids these days? Of course winning matters. It sucks to be on the losing side all the time!

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 we) 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!

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!

It'll be refreshing to be personally involved - and to see my adopted spangly flag flying - in so many more of the events.

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.

Our eldest all kitted out ready for the
 Olympic open ceremony.

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.  

baby boy practicing his flag wave..

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)..

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!

It's the opening ceremony tonight!

Sadly Momma was the only one waving the Union Jack
 during the opening ceremony! The kids were too busy
 watching Finding Nemo! 

We lucky dual nationals get to revel in so much more of the glory...

Go GBR!... errr, I mean  Go USA, no... Go GBR......errr  USA!

red, white and blue

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.

When I got a bit older I remember a really long film coming out called 'Born on the Fourth of July' (1989). How cool that my bezzie mate had a movie about her birthday!

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 - movie buffs, I apologize for my 9 year-old self - and I don't think the movie actually had anything to do with the fourth of July.... did it?

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.

I remember the spontaneous standing ovation and applause which erupted in the cinema after the presidents speech.   

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.

I knew all about The Tudors and our more recent world wars - meaning WWI and WW2 - but it 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!  

We Brits have had our grubby fingers in almost every other country's pie on the planet!

I remember feeling acutely embarrassed about my ignorance (and subsequently pretty guilty) about England's role in The Crusades after my taxi driver in Cairo enlightened me to the error of my country's ways! 

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. 

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!!

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. 

Well, better late then never.

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.  

Of course I knew that wasn't the case. I didn't know the details though. 

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. 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.   

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!  

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. 

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. 

The hubs pulled out his patriotic waistcoat (that Momma scored from the local thrift store) last minute to wear to the family picnic. 

No-one really talks about the history of Independence 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. It's all a bit like Christmas really. OK - not quite the same thing.

Independence Day is a national holiday. It's 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. As far as American holidays go this seems to be the biggie. 

Here in our small town Texas, the fourth of July celebrations throw down with a parade, fireworks and the rodeo! 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.

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!

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.

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. 

Our Grand hosts did a grand job at grilling up a banquet that - try as we might - was impossible to deplete. 

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.  

The afternoon flew by in a whirlwind of family fun and food. 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!

At 7pm it was time to 'lock and load' our troops in the minivan and it took less than fifteen seconds until this:

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.

Good night everybody and happy Independence Day America. I'm glad you started a revolt against us Brits - if only for special days like these.   

Baby 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.

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).



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!'

But what's the sense in always thinking the worst will happen, when more often than not everything will be OK? 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! 

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. 

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.

Friends' Rachel getting Monica to confirm her cluelessness!

In hindsight I can laugh so much harder at Rachel's panic - when the sudden realization of what she's getting herself into sets in. 

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 - 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.     

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! 

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. 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. 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. 

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. 

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.

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! 

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! 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. 

I remember watching in wide-eyed terror as they took it in turns to do their 'thang' in the center of the circle. 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! 

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. 

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 regardless.

At first I was so incredibly confused and overwhelmed and humbled by the kindness of these -somewhat- strangers. 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! 

"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!

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.

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.   

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.

Gift table at library baby shower

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.

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?

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!

Opening baby's wind chime gift with all eyes on me!

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. This special attention was just what the Doctor ordered! 

Much like Christmas is rumored to have been created to 'warm-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! 

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.

Identify the candy bar poopy diaper game!

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!

We played the classic diaper taste and sniff game, which was a hoot! And, once again I was delighted by a dazzling diaper cake - so much so, that ever since, building a personalized diaper cake 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!

Snowman cake for baby boy#2 

Seeing as though my shower 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. 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. 

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!    

Winter wonderland diaper cake for baby boy#2

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.

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. 

Thinking about it, I guess my motives for throwing a surprise shower were partly based on my own issues. 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. 

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. 

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!       

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! 

We're having a girl though, and what better excuse for another 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 - you can take the girl out of Yorkshire but you can't take Yorkshire out of the girl - of course I got presents anyway - even some stuff specially for Momma! 

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!

Finally I'm a complete convert, just as I'm getting warmed up to basking in the glow of center stage! But quite possibly I've had my run this lifetime - although never say never!

I'm sure for the rest of my life I will look forward to throwing, and gifting, and building diaper cakes for many other soon-to-be Mommas that step foot into my world  (perhaps even one day for my own daughter - or even granddaughter..)

So, of course I'm blogging about it, when I really should be writing Thank You cards. I can do it here too!

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!

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.     

Sniff... I've been reduced to a heap of American Mommy mush - and it aint half bad!

wax that tash!

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.

I couldn't believe how many there were - and how cheap it all was!

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!

Unlike beauty treatments in the UK, here I found it a most affordable indulgence to get obscenely pampered with peddies - a popular enough treat in Texas to earn itself a nick-name - and manicures - I guess these are called mannies? There was simply no excuse for excess leg hair growth, sprouting and bulging bikini forests (see keeping your hedges trimmed), or arid and cracked heels resembling the Arizona desert.

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.

So one hot afternoon, during my first work hop across the pond, I managed to escape to one of these big city oases 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.

"You need to wax your lip.. yes? I do it for you.... "

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?  

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.

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...

No mustache though!

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.

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? Denial it seems is a powerful and dangerous thing.

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. 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.

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.


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. 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.

"Your lip is very hairy too... you need me wax it for you?" 

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.... ?! The irony that somebody already had pointed this out to me - two years previously in a different salon - was not lost on me...

Again I declined, and I hightailed it out of there all embarrassed and offended for a second time.

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. 

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. Well of course they're going to say that...... 

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!

I'm so bad at staying primped and preened - even keeping on top of the bare minimum; lower legs, armpits and bikini line (eyebrows if it's a special occasion) is a stretch. Being a busy uni-brow Momma - I could just about live with that, but mustache Momma is a whole different kettle of fish!

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 have more...err..... testosterone in my system..... right?

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.

But before we even got to my hairy face I had a new line of offense to contend with...

The man (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.) doing my pedicure kept tutting at the state of my feet!

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. 

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....!"

Then he'd point to the scummy crap he'd just polished away with his eyebrows raised and a 'tut-tut..!'

WTF?! 

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! 

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, 

'He's rough with everybody. I stopped coming here because of him!'

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. 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.

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?

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.

I asked if she could examine my lip to see if it needed waxing or not, once she'd finished with my eyebrows.

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).

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.....

"YOWZER!!"

I have to concede that waxing a bald patch could not have hurt quite that much!

I so desperately wanted to see the used wax paper. 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.... 

I don't for the life of me know why I chickened out of asking her for a squiz. I'm still kicking myself.

Instead I asked tentatively.

"Was my lip pretty hairy then..?"  

"Oh yes!" She exclaimed.

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!

So spill it ladies! How often do YOU wax YOURS????