Five year old with faith

I've told you before that the little girl that I look after talks about God a lot.

(Remember when she thought God's favourite song was probably Lady Gaga?)

Well, recently she's been bashing out some pretty special pictures.

They're only your standard Mummy, Daddy, Amy & Jake pictures over and over again, but recently there's been a new addition to the family too.

Amy: Becky! Look at all of these pictures that I've drawn.

Me: Yeah, they're great. I can see Mummy, Daddy, you and Jake.

Well done Amy!

*I notice the additional character drawn in orange in the sky.

He's there in every single picture, 

always in orange and always with a big cross over it, 

like she's made a mistake.

Me: Who's this person in the sky? 

Amy: *Looks at me like I'm stupid.*

Errr Becky, it's Jesus.

Don't you know that?

Me: But why have you crossed him out?

Amy: I haven't crossed him out, that's him on the cross.

You know? Where he died.

Me: Oh, ok.

Why is he in the sky?

Amy: Because from up there he can watch over me and family 

and make sure that we're all alright 

and he can keep us safe too.

How lovely is that?

Ohh, melts my heart!

Sometimes Mondays suck

Today hasn't been a bad day. 

But it also hasn't been that great.

It's just been blah.

So when Ross got home from work and I was being a full blown Negative Nancy, he took it upon himself to try and cheer me up.

So we went to McDonald's.

You know, that place where dreams come true and people are so happy that they sing instead of speak?

That's what the McDonald's closest to us in like.

Not.

(By the way, this is a completely pointless story of immaturity)

So to make us both crack a smile, after we were finished using the drinks machine, Ross cheekily turned it off.

Then we sat at a table close by that gave us a pretty clear view of said drinks machine.

Two minutes later a woman came to fill up her drink, pressed the button and nothing happened.

So she pressed it again, this time harder.

Nothing.

So she pressed it again.

Nada.

Then she tried a different button.

Still nothing.

By this point, Ross & I were creasing up, like absolute kids.

So the woman calls a worker over who tries pressing every.single.button on the machine.

None of them work.

We see confusion in his eyes and he calls over his manager.

He tries pressing every single button and not a drop comes out of the machine.

By now, we're actually lol-ing, for reals and people are staring as us, including the two McDonald's workers and the now very thirsty lady.

It took them a good five minutes to figure out that the machine wasn't even turned on. 

But those five minutes of flat out immaturity were just what I needed to make my Monday good again.

Varsity

Every year in Leeds, the two universities have a random day that is dedicated to competitive sports.

I know little to nothing of these things, but apparently it's the biggest student sporting event in England.

Sounds like a big deal, huh?

It was also apparently a big deal that I had got through right until my last year of university without ever having gone to the big varsity rugby match. 

So basically just to say that I'd done it (talk about peer pressure) I bought tickets for me & Ross and went with some of my Frenchies last night.

It was quite the experience.

Let me jump back in time to varsity night two years ago.

I lived in a student house right behind the rugby stadium and completely oblivious to the match decided to drive to a friend's house on the other side of the stadium.

I started my journey just as everyone was piling out of the stadium and onto the streets after the match has finished.

And when I say 'everyone', there were 10,000 students there that night, so the street was absolutely rammed.

10,000 students that were all feeling pretty merry and probably a little bit drunk.

So because I literally couldn't drive because the road was crammed with people, I locked my doors and just inched forward when I could.

Well, several people tried getting in the car with me, which was traumatic enough, but there was also one severely more traumatising occurrence that should have told me what to expect last night. 

I'd been sat on this street getting nowhere for about five minutes when a group of lads stopped literally an inch from the bonnet of my car.

One of the lads looked straight at me and then before I knew what was happening, whipped down his trousers, whipped out his...thing and then proceeded to do what I can only describe as a helicopter motion.

Vile.

So last night, I watched an hour and a half of rugby, which for me was an absolute first. 

I couldn't even tell you if it was rugby league or union. 

I do know what a conversion is now though, which honestly, I am so proud of.

Additional to the actual rugby, I also saw lots of people dressed up like Where's Wally, one of the Leeds Uni cheerleaders fall over in the middle of their routine, a fight in one of the other stands, one guy that stood next to me and sang "shoes off, if you love Leeds Met" who then took off his shoes and stood on the wet ground, one somersaulting streaker,  three other regular streakers (all of which ran around a bit and then got rugby tackled to the ground) and a guy about 10 meters from who weed into an empty cup on the floor and then threw his wee over one of his mates.
Again, vile.

Seriously, I could not make this stuff up.

But believe or not, despite all of those things, I actually had a pretty good time.
I won't ever go again though.

Chinese encounters

It's been a while since I had a notable encounter with any Chinese people.

Correction, it had been a while. 

Up until yesterday.

The phone rings whilst I'm at work.

(I have no idea why this family has so many people cold calling them all the time, 

but they have at least two a day.

I wish that all of them were Chinese people.)

Me: Hell-o

Chinese lady: Herro

Me: Hello.

Chinese lady: Oh, herro.

Is this Mrs M-C-I-L-R-O-Y?

(At this point I'm smirking to myself and wondering if she spells out everyone's name over the phone or if she just couldn't pronounce this one.)

Me: McIlroy?

Erm, no. She's at work. 

Chinese lady: Are you fam-i-ly member?

Me: No, sorry.

Chinese lady: Ho-k.

Pause.

 Are you just a close friend then?

Me: Ermmm...I'm just the nanny actually.

Chinese lady: .........Ho-k. Thank you very much.

Dial tone. 

I have absolutely no idea if asking me if I was a close friend was part of her script o if she just wanted to settle her own curiosity, 

but I was smiling as I hung up the phone.

I love me some Chinese people.

The story of the road less travelled

In the imaginary world in my mind I live out an existence of fulfilled proverbs and cliches.

The idea of adventure and possibility encourages me to take the road less travelled, so in my imaginary world, I do.

In reality and in no metaphorical sense at all the only way I get onto the road less travelled is by being led astray by a rogue sat nav whilst I'm trying to find a village in the Spanish mountains. 

So when I say I'm about to tell you the story of the road less travelled, I mean I'm literally about to tell you a story about how we got lost up a mountain in Spain, definitely on the road less travelled. 

Probably on the road that's never travelled actually.
--------------
"Mmmk, it says that after this next bend, we get to a fork in the road and we go right."
We slowly round the corner and see the aforementioned fork in the road.
Ross indicates to turn and slows right down.
"Are we sure that it's this way?
Left looks like it'll take us to Mijas."
I look at the sat nav and then back at the road.
I'm pretty certain that it's telling us to go right.
Even though going right takes us onto a little dirt track before we get onto the actual road that I can see 100 yards in front of us.
Admittedly it looks a little bit suspect, but I'm in a foreign country where they drive on the other side of the road and I have absolutely no knowledge of it's geography, so I decide that we're not going to try and second guess it and we're going to do as the sat nav says.
"Yep, it says right. Why would the sat nav say right if it's actually left?
....We can always turn around if it's wrong."

Five minutes later and the sun is starting to set over one of the most beautiful views I've seen in my entire life.
Think lots of mountains, street lights that are starting to twinkle in the distance, the setting sun reflecting off the distant sea and far away on the horizon the always beautiful white buildings of the Spanish coastal towns.

Two minutes later and the beautiful view is out of sight.
The sun that was so beautiful reflecting on the sea is now a precious friend that is quickly slipping away.
The twinkling street lights in the distance are gone and instead there is a sheer drop of 500m into a rocky ravine.
The road slims down into a skinny one laner and the road side barrier is no more.
And to top it all off, the sat nav just gives up as if to say 'sorry, even I don't know where this road goes. Your on your own, suckers.'

I never knew that my best friend Chloe is afraid of heights.
Correction, I never knew that she is absolutely, flat out terrified of heights, but when she starts crying in the back seat and begging us to turn around, I figure it out pretty quickly.
"I knew we should have gone left.
Please can we turn around.
Please."

"Chlo, we physically can't turn around.

The road just isn't wide enough."

We all take it in turns to try and comfort her.

We try to placate her with soothing words, we try to distract her with the beautiful view we keep catching glimpses of and we try to lift her spirit with humour.

All the while we're slowly climbing higher and higher up the mountain with no choice other than to keep on going.

Eventually her cries soften to a panicked whimper and she lays her head down on the back seat so she can't see the heightening drop on the other side of the window.

The occasional 'wows' from Ross, both at the view and the sharpness of the bends in the road either elicit a "please stop looking at the view and concentrate on the road" or a "Ross, be careful, be careful.  Go slowly."

After fifteen minutes of still finding no where to safely turn around, there suddenly aren't any mountains higher that us anymore and even I start to get a bit panicky.

My heart pounds as I anxiously look at the road ahead and pray that we will be safe.

Ross loves every second of the whole the adventure.

He's the driver and feels safe knowing that he's in control of the car. 

He drives slowly and cautiously and announces when we're about to drive over a bump in the road, so that we all expect it and don't freak out.

But bless his heart, in highly tense situations, without thinking of how his comments will sound, he turns to what he thinks is humour.

"Well guys, don't worry. If we were to plunge over the edge I'm pretty sure we'd be dead before we know it."

That was the final thing that pushed Chloe over the edge of her composure.

She sits up in the back, now crying again and declares to us all "I'm not ready to die."

Luckily we soon found somewhere to turn around and managed to make it to Mijas without plunging to our death.

--------------------

I've always like the poem 'The Road Not Taken' by Robert Frost and here's one thing that I've learnt about it...

Taking the road less travelled is good in a metaphorical sense, but that is all.

When you're driving in a foreign country and have no idea where you're going, always, always take the road most travelled.

Jokes jokes

Before I even write this post, let me first apologise - 

I feel like I have become a bit of a Mommy blogger and I don't even have any children.

But that's what looking after two nippers will do to you.

Especially when they crack you up on a daily basis.

Amy: Becky, do you know any funny jokes?

Me: Erm...what's orange and sounds like a parrot?

A CARROT!

(That one is a personal favourite of mine!)

Amy: A carrot?

Me: Yes, a carrot. 

Because carrots are orange and carrot rhymes with parrot.

If a joke needs explaining, it quickly loses its funny.

Saying that, she is only 5.

Amy: I know one.

What did the Mummy chimney say to the baby chimney?

Pause...

Becky! Your meant to say you don't know!

Me: Oh. Sorry. 

What did the Mummy chimney say to the baby chimney?

Amy: Your too young to smoke missy!

And then she manically laughed for a straight minute.

I did too.

Not because of the joke, which admittedly wasn't bad for a 5 year old, but because she said the entire joke in a cheesy American accent.

When I asked her why, she didn't even know that she'd done it.

And when I thought back to when I overheard her playing in her bedroom - the time she fell over the baby squirrel no less, that was in an American accent too.

That girl watches too much iCarly!

Pork/port chops

I'm a big fan of ridic-u-lous pet names.

Honeypie, pumpkin eyes, sugar lump, oaty cakes, cute-and-delicious-frosted-cupcake.

The more farcical the better.

(Please know that even I don't take myself seriously, so please, don't you do it either.)

I've been using pet names for a long time now.

Ross sometimes like in on the action.

He sent me this text a few nights ago.

"What you doing pork chop?"

Surprisingly pork chop is a name that I've never used before.

But I love it.

So I text him back and told him to add pork chop into the rotation of regularly used pet names.

Only I didn't say pork chop.

My stupid fingers typed in port chop instead, which Ross found kinda hilarious.

I did too when he pointed it out.

So now we have two new names.

Pork chop & port chop.

I love both equally.

Bad dream

Something bad happened last night.

Not like the-world-is-ending-and-we're-all-going-to-die kind of bad, but you know, pretty bad.

Pretty-ish bad.

Basically at 4:14am I had a dream that we had a power cut whilst we were sleeping.

Not so bad, I know, but because of the power cut my alarm clock didn't go off the next morning.

So I overslept by approximately 2.4 hours which meant that I was late for work, 

which meant that my boss was late for work, 

which meant she was really mad with me even though a power cut is pretty legit and nothing to do with me, 

which meant that she fired me.

See. prettyish bad.

And that's not even the worst part.

Because between me waking up at 4:14am and my alarm actually going of at 6:20am, I woke up to check the time 400 times.

At least.

Bad night's sleep.

And Becky after a bad night's sleep usually makes for a grumpy Becky.

Poor Ross.

Lady Gaga should be proud

I am getting better and better annoyingly answering Amy's questions with questions.

I'm glad actually, because Amy's answers are getting better and better too.

Or maybe it's the questions that are good in the first place.

Either way, this is our conversation from earlier.

Amy: What is God's favourite song?

(She goes to a Catholic school so talks about God a lot.

Apparently God's taste in music is not on the curriculum.)

Me: What do you think God's favourite song is?

Amy: Probably Lady Gaga.

The 'rah rah ah ah aahh' one.

Me: What 'Bad Romance'? I don't think it would be that one.

Amy: What about bad boys then? (Alexandra Burke)

Or girls run the world? 

Me: Hard to say. 

Could be either.

Why don't you ask your new teacher when you go back to school next week?

Apparently I'm also learning the fine art of passing along children's unanswerable/awkward/embarrassing questions (unanswerable in this case) off to other people too. 

Nannying is teaching me so many valuable skills.

Imagine all the people

There was one day last week where it didn't rain at all.

Tuesday.

It was actually quite a nice day, with blue skies, a little bit of warmth and a little bit of wind.

(The weather kind, not the...other kind.)

So first and foremost being English, I knew that I had to make the most of a nice day, because even in 'summer' the aforementioned conditions are never guaranteed,

and secondary to that being a nanny, I knew that if we spent the day away from the house the day would go by that much faster.

So I packed up a little picnic, bundled the two munchkins into the car and took them to Kirkstall Abbey. 

Fast forward the car journey and the picnic

(although as a picnic related side note, what is the appropriate way to react when a child spits out a completely masticated cheese sandwich and just lets it ooze out of his mouth and down his chin? Gross)

and freeze frame at this moment...

 Amy folding her arms and looking borderline grumpy.

At first I mistook this for her physically showing me that she was sick of me taking her picture,

but it was actually her five year old way of trying to work out something completely ridiculous to her in her own mind.

"Becky, why does this place not have a roof?

Where has it gone?"

Keen to nail down my role as an annoying, cryptic adult, I naturally answered her question with a question.

"What do you think happened to it?"

She's silent for a few minutes and then offers me two options.

1). The Queen of the witches used to live here and when she moved out she took it with it her.

(Why had I not thought of that? It seems so obvious now...)

Or 2). Some robbers and burglars stole it.

(Actually, she said some robbers and burgers stole it, 

which makes for quite an interesting mental picture, 

but I'm pretty sure she meant burglars.)

Couple this small display of her imagination filling in the gaps,
with her falling over a baby squirrel in her bedroom
and a thousand other examples of her being completely content to play in the recesses of her own mind and you have to admit, this kid has quite the imagination.

But wait, don't all kids?

I was a kid once, where has my imagination gone?

Actually, has it even gone anywhere? Or has it just changed?

Because when I made dinner last night, I didn't follow a recipe or any instructions.

I just took some ingredients, made up a method and served up some stuffed peppers. Bam.

It takes imagination to do that right?

And when I get dressed everyday I think of how the colours, patterns and textures of what I want to wear will look together as an outfit.

That takes imagination too, right?

And for crying out loud, I'm going to be a teacher.

Surely pretty much everything about that requires imagination?

Hmm, I think that a lot of people believe that you grow out of your imagination.
Like you leave school and suddenly see the world as adult, in all its realistic glory, so you gently fold away your imagination and put it in the loft with the rest of your old school books. 

But really, how boring would that be?

Now please excuse me, I have to go and brush my unicorns silky purple mane.

A lesson in tact and imagination

It's probably a universally accepted fact that children are hilarious.

The two that I work with are absolute crack ups. 

Being all young and innocent (usually) they are lacking in tact.
Completely.

(As a side note, I remember when I learnt what the word tact meant. 

I was probably about nine years old and my Mum had just told me for telling my Uncle that if he carried on smoking he would DIE!)

Anyways, back to a more current story.

Yesterday, we're walking around the park and a man with a half sleeve tattoo is walking towards us.

Amy notices it as he's about two meters in front of us and then looks up at me, then back to the tattooed guy, points her finger and then very loudly declares...

 "he is a very bad man!"

I squeeze her hand and quietly shush her whilst offering the tattooed man an apologetic smile, and then she says...
"WHAAAT?! Look at all of his DIRTY tattoos.
That means that he is a BAD man!"
Que me quickly dragging her away before she opens her mouth again.

Fast forward half an hour and we're back at home.
I climb the two flights of stairs up to her room, where I find her wearing a purple dressing up outfit with matching high heels in her bedroom.
I stand outside her door for a minute and listen to what she's doing.
I peek around the door and see her twirling and spinning around her bedroom.
"I wandering and spinning through this magical forest.
The birds are singing and everything is just wonderful.
Oh no! I've fallen over a baby squirrel."
Que her dramatically falling to the floor with her hand resting on her forehead.
"Where or where is my handsome Prince Charming."
It was at this point she noticed me watching her.
I was kinda disappointed that the show was over.
So I took her downstairs and put on another Disney film and hoped that she would get inspiration for the next time she dresses up and pops off into her little imagination.

I asked, she answered, I asked some more

Today I sat with my Nannan in the little restaurant in her retirement village.

It was decorated a bit like a Parisian bistro (at least what I imagine a Parisian bistro would look like), 

but for old people.

Work with me here people, I trying to paint a picture.

We sat at a cosy table nestled in the corner, looking out onto someone's bright little flower patch, our heads close to together deep in conversation.

Well, when I say deep in conversation, what I mean is, I asked questions and she answered. 

As a war baby (her, not me...obviously) I already knew that her life story, her memories and experiences were different to mine, but I find it absolutely fascinating.

There are stories from her being a baby and having her head bumped on the air raid shelter during the bombing in Sheffield and people being worried that she was crying so loudly that the German would be able to hear her and know exactly where to bomb. 

Stories from when I was baby generally include projectile vomiting and me not going down at night.

There are stories from her being a child and driving to Scarborough at the weekend with probably about 8 people all in one car, with some sitting on stools that they'd put in the back seat and none of them wearing seat belts. 

Stories from when I was a child generally include me bossing my two younger brothers around and making up dances that I force them to learn and perform.

There are stories of faith during her adult life, when she prays to get a new job and to see her Dad again, and both happen in one miraculous incident and when she sells her house so that she can afford to serve a mission.

Stories from me being an adult generally involve amusing interactions with funny Chinese ladies.

I hope that one day my children and grand children and great grand children find me so interesting.

PS. I also learnt from my Nannan today that one of my relatives was taken to Auschwitz during the war. 

They thankfully survived it, but I think next time I watch The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas I will cry even more than usual.

Imagine an accent: Take 2

I think there must be something inside of me that draws Chinese people to me.

Like a magnet or something.

That, or I have 'if you are Chinese please come and talk to me and say something funny to me' tattooed on my forehead.

So, I'm paying for all of the stuff that had crept into my basket in Boots and I look over at the Dior counter, where there's a Chinese sales assistant stood staring at me.

I didn't stare back, because that would have been awkward, but as I'm putting my purse back in my bag and getting ready to leave, I look up and happen to make eye contact with said sales assistant.

Next thing I know, the Chinese Dior lady runs over to me (literally runs) and says to me.... 

"I just have to tell you that you have beautiful lips." 

Then she runs back over to her counter before I even have chance to say thank you.

In hindsight, I think that she must have meant that red lipstick suits me (which is what I was wearing today...obviously), because no-one has ever commented on my actual lips before.

And more than the fact that no-one has ever commented on/complimented my lips before, no-one has ever run towards me, offered up the compliment and then run away again.

Not that I'm complaining.

I think I want to make friends with a Chinese person.

Imagine an accent

Firstly, you should know that I can only do two accents relatively convincingly.

1). Scouse

2). Chinese

I can't even do my own native Northern accent anymore.

So when I tell you the following little story, you have to imagine my wannabe Chinese accent.

Because I promise if you could hear me doing the voice, this would be about a thousand or million times funnier.

I personally find it quite hilarious. And so does Ross. 

(When I'm telling the story with accents at least)

So that means that I must be pretty good.

Anyway, I started a new job yesterday.

Over the summer I'm nannying for two little cherubs.

(I've not just gone off on a tangent subject..that little bit of information is kinda needed for the story.

While I was at their house today, the phone rang.

I picked up and said hello, and then the timidest Chinese voice said hello back.

Seriously, if you can imagine what a mouse would sound like if they could speak, 

and then you imagine a Chinese mouse speaking, 

you can probably quiet accurately imagine what the woman on the other end of the phone sounded like.

"Is Mrs Mc....Mc....McIl...roy there please?"

"Erm, no, she's not actually, she's in Berlin until Thursday afternoon. 

I could take a message if you'd like, or you could try calling back on Friday? She'll be back by then."

"Oh...ok. Thank you for so kindly giving me this information.

You have a beautiful voice.

I wish you good fortune for all things in the future."

This little telephone memoir actually reminded me of something else that happened while I was working one day.

Again, you'll have to imagine me trying to do a Chinese accent.

I worked in Marks & Spencer at the time and was sat on the till at a really busy time.

There was a Chinese lady waiting in my queue and I noticed that she was staring at me really intently.

When it got to her turn she said to me...

"Are they your real eyes?"

I didn't really know how to respond to that, so I just looked at her.

"It's just that they're really, really blue.

Are they not contact lenses?"

"Nope, these are my real eyes."

"Well, I was just looking at you and wondering how you could disguise yourself.

Have you read 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo?"

"No, I haven't actually."

"Well, in the book, the girl has to disguise herself, so no-one will know who she is.

So I was looking at you and thinking, how could this girl disguise herself?

Maybe she could wear a wig or some contact lenses."

At this point I was finding it considerably difficult not to laugh. 

"Then I saw the colour of your eyes 

(which, by the way I have never considered to be that blue)

and then I thought, maybe she is already disguising herself!

Who is she hiding from?!

Anyway, it is a really good book.

You should read it."

So now I am.

There's a snake in my boot

When I don't know what to write about, I take a look through my photo albums until something jumps out at me.

Well, it doesn't literally jump out, but.....

Anyway, today is such a day, which is way I'm going to write about a snake.

I vaguely remember having a snake draped around my shoulders when I was just a wee one. 

Maybe on holiday or in a pet shop.

I don't remember.

Actually, when I really think about it I'm not sure if either of those things ever happened.

It might be a made up memory.

Or maybe a dream that I had a very long time ago that I've confused as a memory.

Anyways, so seeing as I don't really remember it, 

when I was asked last week if I'd ever touched a snake, I said errrrm no.

Then I went right ahead and touched one.

It was...unexpected.

It was warm and not at all slimey or slippery.

Like I said, unexpected.

At least that's one thing I can tick off my bucket list now.

That was a lie.

I don't even have a bucket list.

And even if I did I don't think touching a snake would be on there.

Lemon-aid

When I was a little chiddler, my Mom didn't really let me watch lots and lots of TV.

But it must have been enough for me to one day conjure up the idea that I wanted to sell lemonade from a little stall out on my street. 

I'm blaming this idea on watching TV, specifically American TV, because selling lemonade is something that a little English girl would have never thought of all by herself.

So yeah, one day I hauled my red plastic table out onto the driveway with my lemonade sign and set up shop.

Just for your mental picture, when I say that I was on the driveway, I mean that I was stood on the driveway but behind a closed gate because my Momma wouldn't let me go out onto the street by myself.

Also, for your mental picture, incase your imagining some big icy glass jug of traditional lemonade with real lemons in it and everything, all I had was a 2 litre bottle of fizzy lemonade from the shop.

I must have looked like a right idiot.

Me stood behind a closed gate with a bottle of lemonade asking every-single-person-that-passed if they wanted to buy a glass of lemonade off me.

Someone did though. 

Some kind and/or strange soul bought a glass of lemonade off me.

For 50p.

What a joke!

I don't know why I remembered this today, but when I did I laughed out loud and decided to share.

I think I must have been quite a peculiar child.

If this little memoir wasn't enough, this picture surely proves it.

Why I will never have 13 children

Yesterday I started a placement in a children's centre in a pretty deprived area of Leeds.

I'm working in the pre-school room, with 13 kids, some of which don't speak English as their first language.

(I now know how to say toilet and drink in Polish. Thumbs up.)

Yesterday was a lot of fun. 

Basically I spent the entire day cutting & sticking, reading stories, kicking footballs, cuddling crying children, colouring, dressing up and playing at Princess'.

(Having a group of kids all chanting Princess Rebecca while running around you waving their arms is really something.)

Today was the same.

But all that fun, with 13 children is TIRING.

Last night I was asleep by 9:20pm.

Seriously.

And I slept right the way through until my alarm went off at 7am.

Seriously.

I'll probably do the same thing tonight.

Seriously.

A story involving windows and stupidity

This story has absolutely nothing to with my wedding dress or even my wedding day.

For the purpose of this story, you need to focus on the top windows in the background of this picture.

Take a good look and pay particular attention to how small they are.

________________________

It was a Saturday sometime last year. 

Before we were married, I'm pretty sure.

We were in Sheffield for the weekend with my famille, and we'd been to Costco.

We love Costco so much that when we go, we go as an entire family.

After Costco my Mom & Dad were going shopping somewhere else, and now that Ross & I had got out Costco fix, we were ready to go home.

So go home we did.

When we got there, we realised that I didn't have any keys. 

Massive oversight on my part. 

But not wanting to admit that I was stupid enough to have forgotten my keys I decided that I was somehow going to get into the house.

If I could anyway.

So we walked into the back garden and saw that one of the windows in the conservatory was open.

(If your a burglar reading this, windows are NEVER normally left open, this was a complete fluke.)

And in the conservatory only the top parts of the window open.

The very small bits at the top.

Now, you might look at the photo and think that a person could very easily fit through that top bit of window, but let's remember that I'm almost 5"10 and the window only opens so far, so the actually gap to fit through is much smaller than it looks.

But I wasn't going to to let those two minor details stop me from getting into my own house.

So, Ross boosted me up.

My head and shoulders fit through fine.

The boob area was more difficult, but I was still managing to squeeze through.

The difficult part was when my body was half and half of either side of the window.

My legs and feet were on one side of the window, being pushed and shoved by Ross and the upper half of my body was on the other side of the window, just hanging there, with nothing to hold or hang onto and nothing to support me.

So Ross just ended up pushing me through the window.

 I grazed my side and bashed my knee, because once he'd pushed my through the window I had nothing to land on other than the floor.

But got through the window I did. 

I even did a little victory dance.

It was right in the middle of the victory dance that I realised what an absolute fool I'd been.

The conservatory is obviously joined to the house, but it's separated by a set of French doors.

French doors which are always kept locked.

With the key on the house side of the door, not the conservatory side of the door.

So now I was trapped in my own conservatory, which in the summer (which it was) is like a sauna.

It gets seriously hot. 

There was no way that I was going to sit and wait for what surely would have been my death in that overheated conservatory, so my only choice was to go back through the window that I'd fought so hard to get through in the first place.

Tragic isn't it?

And getting back out of the conservatory was so much harder than getting in.

On the way in I could go head first, because Ross was there to pick me up and feed/force me through.

But I wasn't tall enough to get myself back through head first.

So I had to climb up on the window ledge, get one leg out of the window and then try and get the rest of my body through length ways.

That too ended up with me being stuck in the window, only this time the entire left side of my body was out of the conservatory and the entirety of the right side of my body was stuck inside.

I ended up with such a bruise right in the middle of my chest and long grazes from where Ross had to very forcibly pull my back through.

.......I don't think you need me to tell you what the moral of this story is.