Seeds and babies

So, okay.

I look after a boy and a girl three days a week, and sometimes my mornings with them are entirely normal.

Well, as normal as time can be when there is a fiery five year old red head that asks a lot of questions and a two year that will pick up his wooden hammer and start to hit various parts of your body if your not paying close enough attention.

You know, fun times.

So, we're driving to school and my radio is broken (jump starting disaster, don't ask), so with the lack of music to distract her ears, Amy instead fills the silence herself and amps up her nonsense babbling and question asking, which I'm mostly fine with, but sometimes I just think I really need to get the radio fixed.

But whatever.

So early this week, we're about four minutes away from school and she asks, "Becky, when are you going to pregnant?"

So I reel off my usual answer (because this is an entirely usual question for her) and tell her not until she is probably in year four at least. 

She's in year one now, and can't entirely understand how long it is if I say, probably not for another three years, but if I say not until she's in year four, she gets it.

Then with the extra four minutes until we pull up at school, I decide to dive into her little five year old mind and ask her where babies come from.

At this point I'm definitely thinking that this could blow up in my face, but very quickly she tells me exactly where babies come from.

Well, not exactly where they come from.

The five year version that she is very sure of.

So for when I want to get pregnant, I have to remember to send Ross out to the shop that only Dads know about and get him to pick up some seeds. 

They can be any kinds of seeds apparently.

You know, strawberry, orange, apple.

Then he brings them home to me, where he has to say that he loves me.

Then I put the seed in my mouth and swallow it with a glass of water, and then it goes down into my tummy and grows into a baby.

Then when my tummy gets so big there's no more room for the baby to grow, I have to go to the hospital where they cut me open with a really sharp knife and pull the baby out of me.

I was pretty surprised with the last bit, but then I remembered that her Mom had caesareans with both her pregnancies, and that explanation of how babies come out of your belly probably is a lot easier to explain than the alternative.

This one's for you

Here are the reasons why I haven't posted anything in a while.

Well, mostly I just really haven't felt like I could be bothered to.

And seeing as this is my blog and I can do what I like with it, that is reason enough.

But if your looking for a more legit reason (read: excuse) that is mostly boring, then here it is.

I hate reading posts on other people's blogs that have only been written because they feel like they have to post everyday so they just post something that is b-o-r-i-n-g because they can't think of anything else but omgosh absolutely have to post something, because holy cannoli think of the followers! What will the followers think?! 

And I didn't want to be that person, so I just took a little break.

And I have a dissertation on the go too. You know, no biggy.

Is it biggy as in piggy or biggy with an ie? 

Well really, I'm thinking to myself that that doesn't even matter. 

I've said once already that this is my blog, blah blah, so I'm sticking with biggy as in piggy.

I was thinking all of these things over while I was stood at the sink doing the washing up and I thought to myself holy Hannah Montana, I really hate doing the washing up.

And then I thought that a lot of people probably do a lot of their serious thinking whilst they're doing the washing up.

Now personally, I would choose the shower over the sink, both for personal hygiene and for deep thinking any day because then I can use up all of the hot water and wind Ross up, but we all have our preferences.

Am I right?

Anyway, what I'm basically saying is, I'm back, baby.

Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOMMA!

I dedicate this nonsense transmission to you.

Mugalicious

It has been a muggy day, my friends.

Muggy.

I'm not sure how it can be muggy in the middle of winter, but it is.

And also, don't you think that muggy is a funny word?

Don't muse over this too hard though, there's still a recession to think about and all.

Is it still a recession?

Don't you just love my old pal humidity? 

Me and humidity are so close. Like sisters.

I love her to death.

Although I'm kind of sad that she isn't joined by her evil summer twin, heat.

Because really, there is nothing that I love more than when your underwear is sticking in places.

Equally, I love the feeling of having recently been steamed in broccoli water. 

Just joyous.

I ran some muggy errands today, checking important things off my to-do list and solving national crises and buying Christmas presents, contemplating bagels and I just get home and the skies open up and all of the humidity comes dripping out of the clouds and lands in fat, sloppy puddles. 

Ross calls and says "it's chucking it down", well, I prefer the phrase "it's raining like a mad man", but each to their own. 

I reply, "oh really, because we are practically having a heat wave over here, I'm contemplating sunbathing", but he does not appreciate my sarcasm, so I hang up. 

Isn't this a really good blog post? 

I thought so too?

But on reflection, I feel like all of my blog posts are about the weather nowadays.

Am I right, or am I right?

Right.

It is far too hot in this living room, so I'm going to turn off the radiator and remove my fur.

That is not a euphemism, I am genuinely wearing a cardigan with a fur trim.

So, now we've got that all sorted, I'm going to watch my second ever episode of Ace of Cakes and hopefully a little mind blowing will occur.

These are not cakes, they are works of art.

But I never really was any good at art. 

Not even during my wannabe interior designer phase.

So now, I'm going to be a teacher instead.

I thank you and bid you a cheery farewell.

Sleeping

It is a drowsy dreary day out in Leeds today.

Although the day started with hope blowing in the breeze, it has ended badly.

I'm talking about the weather, by the way.

After a practically apocalyptic rain/wind frenzy 

(the trampoline in the back garden was picked up and blown into the fence!!) 

and another colossal library stint this afternoon, 

I am collapse-on-the-bed kind of tired.

It is taking all of my mental effort to write this and I'm asking myself why bother?

I should just go to sleep.

My brain is asleep already. 

The rest of my body is not far behind.

And I have to be at work early tomorrow!

Early!

I start at half 7 anyway and they want me there early?

It's a good job that I got two firsts this week.

Oh what, that statement has nothing to do with what I was talking about?

I know, I just wanted to declare it.

I am all kinds of proud.

You see those socks in the picture?

Ross got them for me for Christmas last year.

They are my favourites.

I know that Ross has some Christmas presents hidden in his drawers.

It is taking all of my will power not to tear through those drawers and give myself an early Christmas.

I am tired.

And I can not be held resonsible for what I blog about when tired.

Which is why I'm about to tell you that whenever I make a bagel and give half to Ross, I always keep the fatter half for myself.

That is probably why I am the fatter half out of the two of us.

I am tired, so will finally bid you a goodnight.

Amsterdam

At uni I'm a primary school teacher with a  French specialism. 

(Note, this does not mean I am fluent...I wish!)

And I'm all about making culture a massive part of language lessons.

A big part of that is dispelling stereotypes.

So when people say that Amsterdam smells like a weed and everyone cycles everywhere, I thought that that was the Dutch equivalent of people saying that English people wear top hats and monocles and only eat roast beef. 

Apparently I was mistaken.

Because Amsterdam literally does smell of weed.

Very strongly.

And there are cyclist everywhere.

Infact, after we got off the coach, we saw a cyclist face plant into the road right in front of us. 

True story.

He wasn't even wearing a helmet.

He was ok though, just really embarrassed I think.

Another true story, we saw a Momma cycling along with a bubba boy in her front basket and a bigger bubba stood balanced on the seat behind her.

It was like a circus act.

I wish that I'd have taken a picture.

Anyways, I absolutely loved Amsterdam.

Such a beautiful city.

The canals and the tall skinny buildings were exactly how I imagined they would be.

Also, don't you think that I would make an excellent cheese lady?! ^^^^