Friday Food Fight … happy royal wedding day

 

After a noticeable absence, I’m baaaaack with a Friday Food Fight post.  You can’t really blame me for not participating of late because … Jeez … if you look  at all the other Friday food flingers, my entries or entrees just pale in comparison.  I mean, how can I compete with such great foodies?

Anyway, this one’s in honor of the royal wedding … thanks to the lovely people at Kellog’s, the boys and I made a rice crispy treat cake in the shape of Prince William and his bride.

Erm, yeah … it started out really well with my oldest son carefully drawing an outline of them, however, it all turned a bit crap when the other two started to help.  Oh well, it tasted really great and we had fun.

Random musings from yours truly …

The other day my mum asked me what a MILF was. What the what? Thank feck she couldn’t see my face … I quickly overcame the shock and told her it was basically a compliment that a dude pays a mum … kinda like the term yummy mummy. I’ll let my sister give her the literal meaning.

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My youngest son wanted to know what a date was and after I told him, he promptly set to work planning one. With me. So far it involves paddling, crisps, a cuppa tea and a trip to McDonald’s … if he has enough money. I know I’m a cheap date, but come on son.

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A few weeks ago my bestie told me that we were now middle-aged and should be proud of that. Middle aged? WTF? After a few expletives and then some more outward displays of my disgust at being labelled with that term, she decided a better one for us was “mature women.” I’m still having nightmares.

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Oldest son rushing to my aid and asking if I’d fallen over after finding me laid out flat on the floor. I was doing sit-ups, FFS.

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Middle son asking why I like to go for runs/walks all the time. After telling him that it makes me feel better and less crazy, hearing him mutter “it really doesn’t help coz you’re mental all the time anyway.” Honestly.

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Seeing not one, but two open top double-decker buses tour through the town I live in. It’s not that big of a place which makes me wonder where they go. I mean, I think there’s only three of them that go round the whole of Edinburgh. I’m tempted to drag my boys on it and find out.

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Usually when I’m stressed it will come out in one of the following ways … my skin, weight loss, a sty or a sinus infection. I’m currently fighting all of them. Nice, right? I’m also not sleeping at night again, but that’s enough moaning bout that.

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I’m sorry, but the new song by Bruno Mars called The Lazy Song is just wrong, wrong, wrong in my book. My two older boys love it, but it drives me nuts every time I hear it. Can’t imagine just doing nuthin’ like it suggests. I just wanna shake that Bruno and say, dude there’s a whole big world out there and stuff to be done … don’t be teaching my sons to lie on the couch with their hands down their pants.

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Waiting for a new Terminator movie to explain why Judgement Day didn’t happen as James Cameron predicted. I was hunkered down all day waiting for Skynet to take over.

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Overheard my oldest son telling the middle son that being a douche to a douche makes you a king on the playground at school. Ummmm, okay … douche + douche = king.

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Being called a human Barbie doll. WTF? My bewbs are like way bigger.

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Finding the last bag of Jelly Babies at St. Pancras train station and squealing in delight … a little too loudly. Oh well, apparently it made the dude at the check out counter’s day … I aim to please and entertain, after all.

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At an Easter egg hunt where the children had to find hidden letters, my youngest son declared to all who could hear him, “yes, I know it’s an ‘E’ because I’m very, very smart.” I raise them modest, don’t I?

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Realising I may have some issues I need to work through after becoming a little obsessed with Keith Lemon and all his catchphrases. He’s kinda hot, don’t ya think? I’m trying to work the following … “smash the back doors in” to every sentence I say because it makes me larf and that’s how I roll.

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Realising I may have even bigger issues than I imagined what with my new guilty pleasure being The Only Way is Essex and all.

The Gallery … Green

 

 

I snapped this photo of a lady bug/bird at an Easter egg hunt we went to earlier this week … the poor thing was obviously trying to hide from the pitter patter of children tearing up the place looking for clues.  Thankfully, my oldest son came to its rescue … the nature lover that he is. 

 

Anyway, I thought I ended up with a pretty cool photo … if I do say so myself.

The Royal Wedding …

So, I’m sure by now that the whole freakin’ planet knows that Prince William and Kate Middleton are tying the knot this Friday. 

I don’t know whether you got yours or not, but I’m still waiting for my invite.  Methinks it must have got lost in the post.  No matter as I am planning to attend what is supposed to be the most amazing street party in Sconnie Botland that day. 

When I told my friend I was headed north for the royal wedding, she exclaimed, “oh, are the Scots celebrating?”  My response to her was a curt, “doh, come on … any excuse for a pish up.”  I mean, really.

Seeing as I didn’t get an invite, it looks like I won’t have to fork out on a wedding gift.  Thank goodness, as I was torn between the following fabulously tacky presents anyway …

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Musical Monday …

So, after failing miserably at the whole 30-Day Song Challenge … just as @nickie72 did before me … I’m baaaaaaaack with another one of my sa-weet Musical Mondays for your listening pleasure.

This one is for my brother and his new wife … it’s the song they danced to at their wedding … well, not this particular version of it as they danced to the soppier original. Anyway, it was a really special moment for them as they took to the floor for their first dance as husband and wife.

Yes, it almost brought a tear to my eye.

Steady on.

I said, almost … I think there was actually something in my eye that needed wiping away … because come on … I can’t be doing with all that mushy, romantic shite. Pfft. Not to mention the fact that I couldn’t mess up my smokey eye make-up that my cousin spent ages doing special for the day. She’d have killed me … and our Ab Fab poses just wouldn’t have been the same …

Anyway, enjoy … it’s Never Let Her Slip Away by Undercover …

Silent Sunday …

Happy Easter y’all …

Where’s my Woody, Mummy?

So, last week the boys and I had a long train journey ahead of us as we were off to Kent for my brother’s wedding. 

I know, I know. 

Long train journey with children? 

What was I thinking? 

Well, being the *cough, cough* highly organised mum that I am, I packed an activity bag.  Ya know … to keep the monsters treasures amused and occupied so I would be able to kick back and drink a cup of God awful national railway tea in peace. 

As we were headed out the door, my littlest one made a last-minute decision to add his beloved Woody to said activity bag rather than the suitcase.

Now, the first leg of our journey was just a short one so I told my boys we were only opening one activity … they picked some battle game called Bagukan … and while they played with that, I threw said activity bag on to the overhead compartment above us.

And, promptly forgot all about it.

Until we boarded the train for King’s Cross and the little guy says to me, “Where’s my Woody, Mummy?”  Now, this comment usually causes me to crease over in a fit of giggles, however, not this time.   This time there was no laughter … only sheer terror … the colour drained from my face and frozen with panic at the realisation of what I’d done set in. 

Poor Woody. 

Abandoned. 

Again.

I’d left him and the rest of the activities on the train.

I wanted to scream, stop the train and run back as fast as I could and collect the cowboy, but alas we were already hurtling past yonder streams and fields.  I whispered to my oldest son what had transpired, but he only he shrugged his shoulders and gave me a hopeful, yet dopey look in that way that only a teen can. 

Again, I heard the words, “Where’s my Woody, Mummy?”

I was forced to do what no mum should ever have to do … tell their child that their favourite toy is lost.  I had to tell my youngest that Woody was no longer with us.  That mummy fucked up.  That he was left on the last train and was, for the moment, MIA.  I was all on edge for the remainder of our trip as I expected sobs and temper tantrums aplenty.  I gave him a big cuddle, told him what happened and reassured him that I would try to get him back.  I waited for the avalanche of tears, but my little man just looked at me … cool as a cucumber … and said, “Mummy, it’s okay because Woody knows how to get home.” 

And, just like that my heart melted and I knew he was right.  After all, I’d seen every single freakin’ Toy Story movie.  Over and over and over and over … Woody did know how to get home.

I texted the situation to my friend who immediately got to work contacting National Rail.  Within the hour, I received a phone call to say that Woody was indeed safe and sound along with everything else and could be picked up at my local train station at my leisure.

Squeeeeeeeeeeeee!

For the next couple of days I was kinda forced to make up stories about the adventures Woody was having as he was making his way back home.  I detailed as best I could all the escapades he was getting up to …  I basically told him all three Toy Story movies rolled in to one fantastic ending. 

Three days later and Woody was back where he belonged, tucked in next to my little guy … a fantastic ending, indeed.

Hot as balls . . .

I know it’s very unladylike of me, but when I lived in the eternal sunshine state that is Florida, I liked to use the phrase . . . “hot as balls”  when describing the abnormally hot weather conditions.

Yeah.

I liked to use that phrase.

A lot.

And, I don’t even have balls.

With the weather finally on the warm-up over here in the UK, the term has started to pop in my head again.

Now, I know I certainly didn’t coin the phrase because it’s everywhere and damn, I know I’m famous and all, but really … taking credit for it would be stretching things.  And, like I said I don’t even have any balls to begin with so how would I ever come up with it in the first place?

Anyway, being the strangely curious person I am, I wondered just what balls the term refers to and decided to do some highly intellectual research on its origin.  *cough, cough* 

Here’s what I came up with …

 There are several meanings of the word “balls,” but I think only a couple that actually fit so to speak.  The first being that of a lavish or formal social function for dancing.  A ball like that could get quite hot and sweaty. 

Maybe? 

However, if that were indeed the true origin of the phrase, wouldn’t it actually be used in the singular, for example “today is as hot as a ball?”

Which brings me to the second definition of the word “balls” … the slang term for testicles.  After much research, I discovered that the average temperature of testicles is about 95 degrees Fahrenheit which really is hotter than hot.  In fact, when summer temperatures soar to that, I think it’s quite appropriate to say it’s  ”hot as balls”  unless, of course, it’s higher and then you would say something like it’s “hot as kidneys” or “hot as blood,” but I digress.

There you have it. 

The term “hot as balls” clearly describes hot weather and can be attributed to the natural temperature of a male’s testicles.

You’re welcome.

Hmmmm, I wonder where the phrase “cold as brass monkeys” comes from?

The Gallery … My Blog

 

This week’s theme for the Gallery is My Blog.

My blog, huh?

Okay then.

So, this is my blog. 

It’s my life … which is usually pretty crazy.

But, right now seems to be full of way too much drama.

Still, it’s my ramblings. 

The musings of a *cough, cough* thirty-something mum to three boys.

Still trying to find her place in the world.

Without drama or complications.

My words.

My blog.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.