Lovely things arrive at last.

At last! My lovely prints arrived from Australia. I ordered a limited print for my sister for her birthday from Tiel Seivl-Keevers through her tsk tsk shop on Etsy. I love her designs and would have loved to keep her '8 days a week' print for myself. But I am a kind, generous, selfless, kind of a sister, so I settled for hoping my sister would hate it and give it back to me, and as a back up plan I ordered a wee something for myself - (her 'jet bird' print).

What I hadn't considered in all of this was customs and excise charges. So when they arrived I had £10 to pay. Then another £5 to send it onwards to my sister securely. Now my sister is on the hunt for a lovely frame and nice mount for it (unfortunately she really loves it) It's a gift that just keeps on billing!

The trouble with parents

It's possible you won't like me very much after this, especially if I start off with a nice sweeping statement along the lines of 'I really don't like the parents of children with learning disabilities'. Sounds really awful, doesn't it? I know you're judging me, don't worry, I feel bad already.

Here's the thing. Every week we 'attempt' to get to a playgroup aimed at 2 to 3 year olds who wish to follow on to the nursery at age 3. Invariably we end up missing it as Hamish has recorded it somewhere in his brain that Wednesdays are the day that he should eaither have a late morning nap or a very early afternoon nap. Orla is the person with the place at the playgroup but siblings are allowed to come along and play for an additional charge. So there are two children who go both with different learning disabilities. Both from different families. Both of these children hit the other children on a fairly regular basis. The policy on discipline is that although their are 2 play leaders, because the parents are there with their child/children it is there responsibility to resolve any issues such as hitting.

So, the first thing that happened on our first week there was that the boy, let's call him Sam, came over to the reading area where the children were all sitting singing nursery rhymes with one of the leaders, and he picked up the chair next to Hamish and swung it at his head. Hamish had a narrow miss and I got a bit of a surprise. Sam's dad was standing behind him and I turned to look at him to catch his eye in a 'Whoa, what was that all about?' manner. His face was expressionless and he didn't say anything, even as Sam picked the chair up again to try again. Never having been in this situation before I just moved Hamish away and said nothing not wanting to make a scene in front of the other parents.

After that I just kept Orla and Hamish away from where Sam was so that I didn't have to deal with any problems as it became clear that Sam hits quite a lot with some force, though he seems to be keen on hitting his younger sister more than anyone else. Today though Orla was on a trike and cycled past Sam who took a step towards her as she went past and hit her in the face as she went past. Orla just took it and as his mum wasn't around I thought 'I'll just leave it. It doesn't matter'. A few minutes later though I saw Sam hit his sister so hard in the stomach that she flew backwards off her feet and landed hitting her head off the ground. Their mother came over and asked the now hysterical daughter what happened. As she couldn't speak for crying I went over and said that her brother had hit her very hard and it looked very sore. To my astonishment the mum started to talk to her daughter about her 'falling over' completely taking Sam's part in the incident out of the equation. It was a bit odd to be honest. But I couldn't help but think how confusing it must be for the little girl if she is always being told that she's 'just had a silly fall' etc even though she would be aware that it wouldn't have happened if Sam hadn't been involved.

Now ok, I don't know anything about bringing up children with learning difficulties, but I find Sam's parents attitude to his behaviour and how it affects others a bit annoying. In other shoving, hitting incidents where Orla or another child has been involved both his parents who normally witness the act tend to say nothing either to the other parent or to Sam. Their faces and attitude by just ignoring what he does seems to say 'He has a problem, therefore he can do what he wants'. To be honest it really makes me angry and there have been occaisions at the Playgroup where he has been hellbent on smacking Orla that I feel like I have an extra child to look out for because his parents don't. Of course my problem is that I don't say anything to them about what he's doing because their body language and attitude make me feel like I would end up looking like a really awful person picking on the poor boy who can't help it. Call me overly concerned about other people's attitudes towards me but I really don't want to have a scene in front of the other parents.

The other child with learning difficulties belongs to a different family and comes with her mum. We'll call her Lily. (Of course I could be using their proper names, but you'll never know). Lily seems to focus her hitting solely on Orla. Lily was really premature and when we first met her she used a walker to help her get around. Even when using her walker the first time she hit Orla she managed to hold on with one hand and use the base of her palm to smack Orla square in the face and knock her off her feet. I had thought it was a one off and (once again) just left it, but minutes later she was back again and yanked her arm and hit her in the face once more. Lily fell over once she'd done it so I picked her up and took her over to her mother and told her I was bringing her over as she had hit Orla. Her mother who had been busy chatting and hadn't seen it didn't say anything. Not even a 'sorry about that'. Lily hit Orla again at another session and I went to her mother and once again told her that Lily had hit Orla. Once again, her mother's response was minimal.So said 'oh.'.

I saw her afterwards in Tesco and she stopped to chat and told me that the reason Lily hits so much and so hard is that she has an older brother and they are always hitting each other. Her view was that this was perfectly acceptable and went on to suggest that Orla should just hit Lily back. What?? I was so incredulous about this I didn't even argue the point, that I don't want my daughter hitting and I don't find it acceptable behaviour. Never mind what the other parents at the playgroup would think if they saw me going 'Go on Orla! Hit her hard in the face!'. Seriously, can you imagine their faces? So Lily managed to get a good swipe at the side of Orla's face today when we weren't expecting it. Once again Orla just took it and didn't say anything. This is driving me mad. She seems happy to accept that other kids will hit her and she just has to put up with it. Anyway more words with Lily's mum and I told her I didn't find it acceptable. Still no apology or anything.

I feel bad that I am putting Orla in this situation, and I feel unsure of how to deal with the situation. I don't blame the kids, but I do think the parents attitudes are appalling. Anyway, I have decided we are quitting the playgroup, and I am training Orla into saying 'Stop! That's naughty' and coming to tell me and hopefully avoiding getting hit, but I don't know what else to do. Is there even any point in me taking her out of the situation if she's going to end up in a similar situation maybe at nursery or at school where I can't remove her from the situation?

Thoughts please!

Fiona tries to hang some washing on the radiators.

2 items. 'What do you need? Something to eat because nursery lunches are the size of a 50p piece? Ok.' 1 item. 'Ok, Orla you need something now because he has something. f a i r e n o u g h!'. 3 items. 'You want the same as her now...grr...great!'. 1 item. Much screaming. 'What's he done? Mummy will be through in a minute'. 1 item. Screamer enters room. 'Ok, I'll go and give him into trouble now'. Re-enter room. 1 item. 'Hamish! Get out of the toilet!!'. Retrieve son from heavily bleached toilet. Stop to look and admire gushingly daughter's lovely elephant picture. Return to room. 2 items. 'He's done what?!' . Go to other room to break up argument over crayons. Start to hang washing on radiator but stop to wipe felt tip pen off sons face applied in the form of make-up. 2 items. Get daughter more juice. Make afternoon bed on sofa for daughter's nap. 1 item. Stop son from breaking little drawer off DVD player and put on Bugs Bunny. 1 item. Move into hallway. 1 item. Pick up the rest of the contents of the washing basket that son has tipped on floor. Help son hang Ninky Nonk fleece on radiator (1 item). Re-pick up contents of washing basket once again tipped on floor. Start to climb stairs. Go back down to break up wrestling match over half-eaten apple. Re-climb stairs. Hang out the rest of the washing ignoring the screams, calls for help, apples, juice, dummies, etc etc etc etc.

And this is why I get nothing done. That and my internet addiction.

The Kate picture

I spent a little less time on the internet last night, and I bit more time being creative. I did this for my friend's daughter for the joint party next weekend. It's meant to be one of these 'secret Santa' type things but I enjoyed doing it so much that I wanted to show it early. This is the kind of thing I plan on spending my time doing in Berlin. What do you think? I hope she likes it.

Road trips for the sleep-deprived

I am in dire need of sleep (I think). I nearly crashed the car this afternoon on the way back from a farm. Kids, animals, slides, swings. It's becoming an increasingly frequent cocktail in our social life. Anyway, the car is making a funny noise and shuddering in a slightly worrying way. It's been doing this since yesterday, so it's not like I was distracted by it. But on the way back I was just thinking about it, and wondering about what bit might have gone wrong, and whether we would get the cat replaced, and whether if we did that 'engine management system' message would finally disappear, and whether the car would conk out if Stevie drove it to Berlin, and how I'd be concerned about it making it to Belper at the moment never mind Berlin and all of a sudden I was vearing off to the left towards the verge and Stevie was adjusting the steering wheel. Daydreaming or half way to falling asleep?

I'm struggling these days to know if I am tired or not. I have a secret belief that there is a possibility that I could probably sleep for about 48 hours straight if I was just left alone. I just never get a chance. Orla wakes me up in the middle of the night to let me know she has done a wee wee in the potty and Hamish has various calls to me to let me know he has lost his dummy, needs his mummy, wants juice, or just wants up. We decided to try and ignore the whole clock change thing in an attempt to fool the kids into sleeping in an hour longer in the morning. It's all going to pot though as things like nursery and playgroup and meals surrounding these things get in the way. Hamish is determined that we get up at 6 and after a night of being up and down it's a struggle. Especially as I find it really hard to get to sleep once I've been woken.

Stevie tells me to go to bed at the same time as the kids, but I never want to do that. I resent then that all my time is 'mummy time' and I don't get any time to myself to do things without being constantly interrupted. Stevie argues 'well, go to bed and you'll get time on your own'. NO, THAT'S NOT THE SAME! and I still get constantly interrupted!! So I stay awake all day, force myself to stay awake in the evenings, and have quite a lot of awake time in the night. Still. After 3 years. How much longer will they keep waking in the night?

(please don't tell me the answer. It could send me into a spiral of despair).

My birthday

It's my birthday. I got a teensy lie in after being out last night with my friends. Teensy, as Stevie my beloved had said 'Drink as much as you like and stay out as late as you want, because I won't play football so you can lie in and get a good sleep.' Then this morning 'Oh, the football manager called me last night and they really need me so I'm off to play football. You better get up.'

The morning passed in a sleepy, mildly hungover blur. We played in the garden, and I got to play with my new camera. The kids played on the trampoline and wanted in and out of it like yo-yo's and every time they got out I got a massive electric shock off of each of them. I'm starting to go right off that trampoline. I don't remember it ever producing so much static.

We rounded off the day by having a wee jig to some nice ceilidh music. The kids loved it! And now I think I shall rest.

My first meme. What's a meme?

So I just got tagged to do a meme (pronounced to rhyme with 'cream'). I had read mention of meme's before but had no idea what they were. This afternoon I checked my email and I had a message from Mary at 'a small hand in mine' about being tagged in a meme. So off I went to have a look. Basically it's a bit like a chain letter thing, this one is for photos though. You follow the instructions and put up a photo and blog a little about it and pass it on to 5 other people (with or without the instructions that they will have very bad luck if they don't follow it out and pass it on - isn't that what chain letters said at school?).

So here it is: my oldest photo folder I think is from our holiday in Bilbao in 2006, and this is the 10th photo in that folder. It's quite similar to the other 140 in that folder, they are pretty much all of the Guggenheim building by Frank Gehry, my most favourite architect. This was why I wanted to go to Bilbao and it was so worth it. I love these photos, and love this building. I was about 4 months pregnant with Orla and we managed to fit in 6 holidays before she was born: New York (hold on, that might be an older photo folder actually - too late, I've got to get ready to go out so I'm not starting over), Bilbao, Prague, Barcelona, Paris, and Munich (well Munich was with work, but it felt like a holiday). Ah, those were the days...

Good haircut day!

I took the kids to get their haircut yesterday to a place highly recommended by some friends. When I say highly recommended, well, there's always a bit of a funny look on their face at the same time. I've been told about this place and how amazing they are with kids by three different friends. Then they tell you 'Oh, but he's a man' in a kind of 'Don't you think that's a little bit weird?' way. Then they expand on this by saying 'You never get him on the phone, but you can leave a message and he's always really good at getting back to you'...'but his answer machine message is a woman's voice. I think there's a reason for that, don't you?'. Then they go on enthusiastically to tell you how amazing he is with the kids; he's got toys; he doesn't pressure the kids time-wise, they can take their time getting used to the place; he will put on their favourite dvd to watch; they can sit in this little car chair; he makes them really calm, etc, etc. This guy is a miracle worker. He can even cut the hair of those kids for whom this experience would normally be akin to watching a cat on a lead. Amazing.

Then they tell you, 'Oh but he's a bit odd', or 'He's really strange'. The reason he's a bit odd is that he is obviously a big fan of Johnny Depp and Tim Burton and has lots of posters of them or their films around his walls. I had been told by one that he models himself on Johnny Depp, but he certainly wasn't for our visit. He was modelling himself on someone who seriously works out and could crack open walnuts in his biceps were they not to slip out given the enormous amount of fake tan he was wearing. One friend (who would use him again) said 'Oh yes, he's really weird. I'm sure he's a paedophile. There's got to be something going on with him.' Ha, ha, I don't think he is. He said (unprompted) that I had a really good cut and my hair really suited me, so of course I think he's totally great. And I love the kids hair!

New camera!

My new camera has finally arrived. I love it! I just have to learn how to work it, and then I am all set to get myself a Flickr account and then I can fritter even more time away on the internet on a daily basis. Yippee!

Only a quick update for the moment, my German lesson awaits, and I'm a bit behind Stevie because I'm always trying to do something else at the same time so end up taking nothing in.

bad haircut day

The ball-shaped blow-dry had died down by this stage, and at this point it just looks like a rubbish hair cut.

I don't know if it's my hair I don't like, or whether I have gone off my face. But I am not too happy. I am pretty dreadful at getting my hair cut on a regular basis, and always feel incredibly uneasy when they ask "When did you last get it cut?". Squirm, squirm, shuffle in my seat. Let me think, possibly 6 months ago?? Eek! When I do get it cut I seem to pay an extortionate sum for a cut and highlights so I figure it balances out and saves me having to find a cheaper hairdresser that I like as much.

What I like about my hairdresser is that she is brave enough to do what I ask her to. Today I had no fixed ideas apart from getting rid of my massively long fringe that I've had to start wearing a clasp to keep from blinding me and it served to give me a kind of hideous 'year book' look. Oh and I needed my colour sorted out. Stevie said my hair was the colour 'a middle aged woman would dye hers'. Full of compliments, so he is. But it's bad if he's having to say that.

So my hairdresser gives me a hair magazine and I find a picture I like. Unfortunately the picture is of Erin O'Conner. A look that I am not going to be able to recreate unfortunately, but I am sure my fine, straight hair could be persuaded into some kind of resemblance to hers. So that's what I ask for. What I get is more along the lines of Myra Hindley. Or a motorcycle helmet. A nicely highlighted motorcycle helmet, but still. Why do they dry it into a ball shape? Of course I said it was just what I wanted and that I loved it, but inside, well I wouldn't say I was crying. I was kind of sniggering at my own stupidity and laughing at what a mistake I'd made. Oh dear.

Oh and of course I kept the long blinding fringe, but I think the colour is different.

Get ready for a rush of activity!

I took 2 photographs of the mantlepiece, but this one looks less messy. I was too ashamed to put the other one up. I feel the need for a bit of an excuse too. I can explain! I can explain! It's all Hamish's fault! I have to put everything up here out of his way. All my high shelves etc, are packed with 'Leave-It-Hamish! Essentials'. Well that's the excuse I am sticking with. Tough if you know me and don't believe me.

• 6 photographs, some framed, some still waiting to be framed by lazy person - tick!;
• 1 handmade pottery bowl filled with crap (misc.) - tick!;
• 1 little ceramic artwork that I hold very dear to my heart and cherish cause it was quite expensive and so far has avoided mishap, eh, filled with crap (misc.) - tick!;
• 2 name trains in various pieces scattered throughout crap (misc.) - tick!;
• Assorted necklaces - mine, Orla's, Hamish's(!) - tick!;
• Innumerable letters that lazy procrastinator probably needs to do something about - tick!;
• Tub of Playdoh, small plastic teacup, Peppa Pig barbeque trio objet d'art - tick!;
• Pile of Dora, Diego, Peppa, and dreaded Barney dvd's - tick!
• 1 hurricane lamp, never used and bought to look pretty, but inevitably stuffed full of crap (misc.) by aforementioned lazy person - tick!;
• Coins and notes and two un-banked cheques artfully scattered or stuffed throughout above items - tick!;
• 2 tv remotes - tick!;
• Unloved Easter chick - tick!;
• Nappy rash cream - tick!;
• Dust (x lots) - tick!

And that was an inventory of the living room mantlepiece.

I emailed a friend who moved with RR to ask about the move and what happened and got back a lovely email that nearly made me crap myself. Let me quote you the second line: "So from what I remember you have to do an inventory of everything in the house" ...oh, and my favourite bit..."even down to the names of all your cd's, dvd's etc,". YOU WHAT??????????? "...and then you have to put a price to everything, for insurance purposes I think.". Think of the mantlepiece and multiply that by a house. Holy smoke, I practically started swiping great loads of (Stevie's) stuff into bin bags for the dump there and then! This sounds like about a million times the work of just packing it myself. Great. What happened to my dream of an elite team of RR packers coming to the door, I shout to the kids "Time to stop playing now" and then hand them the keys as I sashay out on my way to the airport casually telling them to pack the cleaning products and hoover after they've given the house a good scrub before they go.

Apparently this is the dream. I still get my knickers packed, but only if I've listed them and put a price to them first.

Plaster-infested waters: part two

This is not the pool. If it were this nice I might not be moaning as much. Though I still think it's probably not that clean.

I am being punished for eating the kids chocolate buttons. Orla chose swimming again today. All went well despite even more grotesque fungal images flying round my mind this time round. But hurried through the first changing room experience as quickly as possible, and got in to the nice(r) warmer (pee temperature?) pool and had barely set a foot in the grime infested waters before we were told we had to leave in 10 minutes. You'd think they could have told us that at the front desk when we paid our £5.00, but admittedly they were a bit distracted by the lady who quite rightly was having a good shout at them for their incompetence*.

Our 10 minutes pass in a blur, and then we're kicked out into the teenage pool. We managed somewhere between 5 - 10 minutes before the children's chittering gets in the way of their fun and even they want to leave. I wouldn't be me if I wasn't just a little bit pleased to be getting out. So back in the horrid changing rooms, I open the locker and give Orla the £1 to hold (just in case I need to divert her attention away from having a massive tantrum because she's been short-changed on swimming fun). But it appears that a short stint in freezing cold water is enough to entice her back into her clothes. So I am relaxed and happy as we get changed. Last time I think I might have forgotten to mention that she had a massive tantrum in the little cubicle, which was nice, and simply added to my pleasurable experience.

This time round aside from chanting "cold, cold, cold", she was a very good girl and mostly kept quiet. She had been playing with the £1 coin running it up and down the filthy grout; digging it into the dirty, fungal, grooves in the wooden slatted bench; dropping it on to the musty, just plain filthy floor; oh, and then popping it in and out of her mouth and licking it.


I just deserve this, don't I?

the last plate

I got my last piece back from pottery. I'd had high expectations for it: I'd painted a really nice lily on it in different glazes, but I wanted it to be quite subtle so put more white on on top. Well, subtle is not the word. You couldn't see it at all. But this provided me with the perfect opportunity to try out porcelain pens. I've been eyeing these for a while. Unfortunately they didn't have the colours left that I wanted, and being an impatient sort I just went with what they had...orange, green, and navy.

I don't think there is any hiding the 'felt-tip' look that they give so I've tried to use it to its advantage. Once I'd done it I was in two minds about wiping it off and starting again, as it really doesn't look like my usual kind of thing, but I decided to stick with it and baked it in the oven this morning. Now supposedly it'll be dishwasher safe, but I'm not sure how well the actual plate would cope as it's not glazed on the reverse.

Happy Easter!

I've been keeping Easter quiet. Orla has grasped that there's something with little chicks and hats and eggs, and who knows maybe her work (nursery) will have gone into the religious side of things, but the chocolate side of things I have been keeping quiet. I don't let them have masses of chocolate and they don't eat sweets at all. My mother-in-law and possibly quite a few of my friends think I am a food fascist on this score but I know that there will come a time when sweeties will come into their life all by themselves without my introducing them.

7am: Hamish turns on the tv as soon as he gets downstairs. Orla grateful for his skill at finding Milkshake on Channel 5 sits down and listens as the presenter says "...is busy eating his easter eggs already. Happy Easter, everyone! Hope you are all enjoying your easter egg!". Orla to mummy: "I don't want breakfast. I want easter eggs!". Ha, ha, so much for keeping it quiet!

Time for a minor panic

Someone sent me a text last night asking how the packing was going and if I wanted them to come round this week and help. Apart from laughing initially in response at how unorganised I am compared to others (I know some people who pack for a holiday a month before they go!!! Madness, I'd never be out of that suitcase. For starters I don't have enough stuff to just leave a caseful untouched, and my two little assistants would find it irresistible and would be removing and adding to it for the entire month and I'd end up with 6 blobs of plasticine and 2 pieces of a Fifi jigsaw and no shoes or toiletries). My second thought was if I asked her round this week what would I actually do? I could throw out that apple crumble that went out of date in March, or I could... what?, go upstairs and have a nap?

The trouble is, we have yet to find out what happens with this move. We have heard tales that RR arranges for a company to come in and pack everything right down to the pictures on the walls, and the knickers in your drawer. But if I'm wrong, then we're probably in trouble.

Yet, I am finding it impossible to get into a panic about this. Maybe cause we don't have an exact date it makes it less real that we'll be living in a different country in a months time or less.

I don't want a pool party for my birthday

Are we having fun yet?

I hate swimming. I have never liked it and whenever Stevie suggests it my heart sinks like a brick to the bottom of the pool. You don't even get to wear your pyjamas which would make it slightly more palatable. I had heard Stevie murmering about it this morning and tried mentioning "baby animals" to Orla to try and steer the day in a different direction. No success. So today we went swimming.

5 things I hate about the swimming baths:

1. I hate the filthy floors and the mixture of shoe dirt with pool water and general grot in the changing rooms.

2. I hate the plasters that have fallen off people that they put on the edge of the pool. I sat Hamish on the edge to splash in and inadvertantly he was right next to one and it made me want to throw up.

3. I hate the cold, cold, water - why can't it be like a really warm bath?

4. I hate getting splashed in the eyes cause I've forgotten my goggles (cause I hate water in my eyes anyway). Oh, and I'm going to sound like my mother here and I don't care, but the water is probably about 40% pee anyway.

5. I hate having to make a return visit to those filthy changing rooms. They make me want to wear verruca socks in case I catch something off the floor.

Orla and I went into the wrong pool to begin with. I thought Hamish must be having a meltdown squeezing into a super-tiny swim nappy and last summer's swimming shorts, but i hadn't figured that he and his daddy were in another pool. So me and Orla hung out with the teenagers doing handstands 3" away from us and and splashing us with pee water while we admired their belly button piercings while wondering 'who does that to 13 year olds?'. And then we spotted the baby pool through the glass!

Not quite as warm as a hydrotherapy pool (the only pool I have loved was at the hospital after I did my cruciate ligament in), but really quite nice. Well, temperature-wise anyway. I think I should switch off my brain and stop thinking about things too much and maybe I might enjoy it more. But anyway, once I sat Hamish next to the discarded plaster, my brain started thinking about how much pee would be in this Under 5's pool - I'm thinking more because there's less water and hey, babies just can't keep it in, and by the look of some of the daddies, I bet they weren't either. See, this is why I don't like it. My thoughts get carried away. Enough!

We are planning on going to the beach sometime soon. I used to live less than a mile from a beach. My views on beaches are somewhat similar to those of swimming pools, except you are fortunate not to get the luxury of the filthy changing rooms. The downside is that you are 100% more likely to find things a hundred times worse than a discarded plaster. Can't wait. Hamish is just at the right age to pick these things up and chew them.

Fantastisch! Or something like that. Without the spelling mistakes.

Ten things I love about April 1st:

1. A lovely friend has just told me she's pregnant, and I am as thrilled and excited as though it were me.

2. This mornings news that the SECONDMENT IS ON!!! and may be starting at the beginning of May.

3. It's the birthday month. We practically have a birthday every second day in April. Stevie's brother today, then my sister tomorrow, then me and my birthday twin Carmella on the 10th, then oodles of kids and my gran.

4. I am eagerly awaiting some lovely things from Australia - very excited, one for my sister and one for me!

5. The sun is out and I'm off with my friends to ride on the little train in the park. Let's hope it stays so nice.

6. Lots of lovely nights out with friends coming up, and one last night with my friend A who is sick of the dating scene and has tried everything from salsa dancing to speed dating with internet dating in between to find a nice man who has at the very least had a girlfriend before and doesn't turn up for a date with his v -neck jumper on back to front.

7. Watching Hamish colour in his face today with a piece of chocolate made me laugh.

8. Making new Facebook friends with old school friends and seeing all their children looking just like them.

9. Doing a lovely drawing for Orla's bedroom.

10. Listening to the house phone being thrown to the floor 3 times since I started this...