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.