Frog Massacre! No!

And it came so soon after The Toddler and Postie did some further bonding over the frog in our front yard thing.  Though of course, if Postie was right and it was indeed a killer frog who was responsible for ripping our hedge to bits, well.  Poor frogs though.  But I guess it must be a slow news day when the headline is Frog Massacre Shock.  Love this place.  Feel sorry for the frogs though.

And now that it’s nearly his birthday, Psycho has decided to remember that The Toddler is his niece.  He’s only after a present from her of course.  So transparent.  And shocking, given that he’ll be thirty-one.  But they are very grasping people are The Family, after whatever they can get.  And Psycho remains determined to beat the bailiffs, trying to claim he needs his cars for his business.  Fortunately for him, he does technically have a business other than the shop, which is literally a few minutes walk from his flat.  Technically he also has a computer business.  Though why one man would need two cars to run this business is beyond me.  Especially when it’s been more or less defunct since he and his girlfriend got their precious wool shop.  I have asked The Ex to keep me posted.

And speaking of The Ex, he may finally have moved on!  At long last.  He mentioned some girl he’s sort of maybe interested in.  Though the alarm bells are the fact that she’s a single mother with two kids.  The kids are in counselling because her ex was a violent bastard who regularly beat her to a pulp.  The Ex is ideal for her then.  Eek.  But from what he’s said, she might not be so keen herself.  Sensible woman.  Though as far as stepmum material goes, she may be more suitable than the last one, the sixteen year old girl he’d slept with a couple of times.  Behind her boyfriend’s back I might add.  Hmm.  But we shall see.  At least it means he can stop claiming to still be in love with me.

I on the other hand have developed something of a crush on Postie.  Our almost daily chats do help keep me somewhat sane.  And he’s so friendly, both to me and The Toddler.  Actually, I’m beginning to worry about The Toddler.  She has taken to playing out in the front yard with the nicer weather.  But today, she took one of her many drawings out with her.  She told me it was for Postie.  But fortunately he wasn’t on today, so she was unable to attempt to foist the picture on him.  I’m beginning to think that this situation could get potentially awkward.  Though in our defence, he encourages her himself, so he really only has himself to blame.  Hmm.

Toddler Flu

The Toddler has been suffering from the Toddler Flu for months now it seems.  I am at the end of my tether.  And I used to think that Man Flu was bad.  Well, The Ex used to sit around feeling sorry for himself, declaring that he was dying while expecting me to play nursemaid.  Well, The Toddler throws tantrums over anything and everything, wipes snot everywhere, uses up all the tissues so there are none left for me, tantrums some more, refuses to get dressed, refuses to eat, refuses to go out, throws a tantrum some more, livens up a bit after forgetting that she’s ill, and then the world falls apart once more.  I am exhausted.  Nothing pleases her.  Nothing is good enough.  And boy does she want me to know that something is not quite right.  Of course, I would get the message without the tantrums.  The snotty nose is clue enough.  But I suppose she has yet to learn a more effective way of making her feelings known.  But she is three years old, and I do wonder if she should be telling me what’s wrong by now.  Of course, her response to this is, “I can’t.”  Not exactly helpful.  Grrr.

This is where I really could use a nice network of mummy friends.  But I tend not to have much in common with other mothers, given that I’m so rubbish with kids.  My own included I often think, though with her I do not have The Fear.  I am also rubbish at making new friends, what with having no social skills whatsoever.  It’s possibly something of a miracle that I’ve retained any friends at all, especially after everything with The Ex, and how pathetic I was back then.  Hmm.  Maybe I’m just being hard on myself again.  But in any case, it would be useful to know what other parents are going through.  Though people do tend to make out that everything is wonderful.  Who wants to admit that they think they are doing a rubbish job after all?  I don’t exactly tell the other mums at nursery how I’m feeling.  I don’t even feel able to confide in my own parents really.  But it’s not all bad.  In fact, when she’s not suffering from yet another cold, The Toddler can be so unbelievably charming, that I feel like the luckiest person ever.  And I know that I am lucky that she sleeps through the night without disturbing me.  She never leaves her room after I’ve put her to bed either.  Not yet anyway.  There is plenty of time for that to change of course.

Pushchairs

The Toddler has been out of her pushchair for a while now.  Mostly because it broke, I admit.  Though she was getting a bit big for it, and that is probably why it broke.  Hmm.  But anyway, being out and about this afternoon, seeing all the pushchairs around (a surprising number were neon pink), reminded me of our pushchair days, and the bizarre looks I would get from many passers by as I happily chatted away to The Toddler.  Hmm.  I assume they were aware that I was not talking to myself, but the big curly haired monster in the pushchair.  But then again, in this place, possibly not.

It also reminded me of the fact that The Toddler’s four year old cousin, who started primary school last September, still has his pushchair.  He was in it last weekend.  Now I do hate to judge, and am aware that his birthday wasn’t until August, but still.  He’s at actual school.  And they don’t live miles from town.  They live at least as near as us, if not nearer.  Hmm.  But it is somewhere handy for them to dump the shopping I suppose.

I also remember someone once moaning under her breath while I battled with the stroller through some shop, saying something along the lines of “People shouldn’t be allowed to bring pushchairs into shops!”  Now I admit, pushchairs in crowded cramped shops piss me off too.  They pissed me off when I had the sodding thing.  Shopping is a heck of a lot easier without it believe me.  But what did she want me to do?  Abandon the toddler outside?  Neglect surely.  Or take The Toddler out of said stroller, and leave that alone outside?  Hmm.  Potential risk of theft there.  Or maybe I’m too used to city life.  Maybe such things don’t happen here.  In the centre of town.  Hmm.  But anyway, I just glowered at her and got on with it.  Of all the pushchair/pram varieties out there, we were going with the least voluminous.  At least I wasn’t pushing a four year old around in a giant pram!  The cousin has downgraded to a stroller now that he’s at school though.  And yes, the cousin in question is a member of The Family.

Clothes Sizing? I Need Help!

Ok, I should be thrilled that my size ten leggings are falling down.  It means they’re now too big for me, and the size eights I bought to replace them seem to fit me well.  All good yes?  Grrr!  Not in my world.  I am not a size eight.  I haven’t been a size eight since I was fourteen/fifteen!  I have not shrunk down to the size I was back then.  I have looked in the mirror, and unless I’ve developed some disorder similar to anorexia, whereby I see my body in a distorted manor, I am not mistaken.  I do not think I am fat.  I’m not.  In fact I rarely feel that I am.  Sure I have fat bloaty days, but who doesn’t right?  But fat is something I am not.  Evidently.  I appear to more of a stick than I am.  That said, if I shop at New Look, I appear to be a size twelve, bordering on fourteen.  For tops anyway.  But as I appear to be an eight at M&S and Sainsbury’s too I might add, I might just buy more stuff from there.  I’m sticking with a size ten at next though.  Belts will hold my jeans up.  But if I’m really a size eight, I need to do some serious pigging out.  Mmm, guilt free chocolate.  Lovely.  After all, I don’t want to look skeletal.  In fact, I would sell my soul for the curves that continue to elude me.  Even when I pig out.  Grrr.  I dread to think what my insides look like.

But one big problem I have when trying on clothes in shops, is that I make the mistake of thinking that something fits me, buying it, and then finding out only through actually wearing it that it is too big.  Jeans do this to me a lot.  Grrr.  Am I the only one who has this trouble?  But then I cause myself more problems by being reluctant to try the smaller size.  But clothes sizing in shops is so random these days, it’s impossible to guess what size you are really.  I certainly don’t buy things before trying them.  Not that this helps me much.  Grrr.  At least I’ve finally figured out what sort of things suit me.  Anything that allows me to fake curves as it happens.  Waist cinching belts are my new best friends.

Sales. Grrr!

I made a huge mistake earlier.  I went into M&S during their up to half price sale.  It was not fun.  I could barely move in there.  I can get terribly claustrophobic at times, and this was one of those times.  What is it about sales that attracts people who just stand around being in the way?  Not to mention the people who are completely incapable of looking where they’re going?  Or those who won’t budge an inch, despite the fact that they have more elbow room than me, and I’m hardly a lard monster.  Fortunately I have perfected the glower, and am capable of squeezing through such crowds.  You have to learn such skills in this place, as during the summer months the actual streets are this bad.  Oh how I look forward to that.  I think I might soon agree with our postman, and favour winter.  Despite the ice trap that is our hill.  Joy.  Anyway, some good did eventually come out of my error.  I found myself a new purse, and got my fifty percent off!  Woohoo!  It’s a shame the rest of my sojourn into M&S was such a horrific experience.  Hmm.  Fortunately not all of our shops are hosting such sales.  Yet.

Though I have found that our town is becoming increasingly busy.  It must be warming up.  Hmm.  But my trips onto town are becoming increasingly plagued by the presence of idiots who suddenly stop dead, right in front of you.  There are also those who appear to have no idea where they’re going in town, even though most of the shops are down the one main street.  There are also those who are amazed by the new giant pound shop.  Classy people they are.  Admittedly I haven’t been in yet, so for all I know it could be that amazing.  I do doubt that however.  The ones who really irritate me however are those who just stop in shop doorways.  And then they have the nerve to glare at you if you accidentally bump them as you try and squeeze past, even though you’ve been saying “excuse me” repeatedly for what feels like ages, but is admittedly probably only mere seconds.  But still, what sane person thinks a shop doorway is a good place to stop for a chat/rummage in a bag/decide where to go next?  There is a whole load of pavement outside the shop for such activities.  Or even stay within the body of the shop while you engage in such activities.  Either option is taken by a majority of people every day.  It is not difficult.  For the majority of us anyway.

Shock Horror! Bailiffs!

Poor Psycho.  He’s very hard done by.  Last week, the bailiffs (who have been after him for months by the way) “stole” his two cars.  Of course as he lives in the town centre and works in the town centre, the possession of these twos cars is vital.  Especially for one as concerned for the environment as Psycho is.  Anyway, sarcasm aside, he claims the cars were stolen as the bailiffs failed to let him know that they were going to take them.  I could be wrong, as I have never had cause to make myself familiar with the laws regarding bailiffs and their rights and stuff, but I kind of assumed the letter threatening bailiffs were the only notice you’d get before the bailiffs turned up at your door?  Oh well, not according to Psycho.  I wonder if he reported the “theft” to the police.  Though he really should be counting himself lucky that it took them so long to resort to taking the cars.  I mean, he’s had long enough to hide them.

He plans to get them back though.  He asked The Ex to illegally sign some legal document thing claiming that he saw the bailiffs taking the cars.  I have no idea what purpose this would have served, but for once The Ex had the sense to refuse Psycho’s request.  The next phase of operation Get Cars Back involved Psycho telling The Ex that he wanted to transfer ownership of the cars to either The Ex or their other brother, Sailor Boy.  He planned to backdate the ownership to a time prior to the arrival of the bailiffs.  Not sure if that’ll be possible myself, but we shall see.

He continues to accumulate his parking fines though, but one of his equally bizarre friends claims to have got him off the latest one.  Apparently there’s some random law stating that all the lines for parking bays have to have a particular sized gap between them, and if these lines are not accurately spaced, the parking bay is invalid.  I assume he didn’t display a disk in a disk zone or something.  Of course, this gem means that they actually went and measured the gaps between these lines on the parking bays.  If you have nothing better to do with your time I suppose, than fight such petty little battles.

Of course, the thing that made me laugh the most was when The Ex informed me that Psycho wanted to take out a restraining order on the council.  I’m not entirely sure how that would work, if anyone would sanction such a thing.  Poor Psycho.  He just cracks me up. Bless him.  Though of course he believes he’s winning.  Apparently the council are so scared of him, they won’t let him meet the mayor of a nearby town.  It has absolutely nothing to do with them knowing he’s a bit of a liability, or the fact that he wasn’t allowed to run for council, and therefore is not on the council, or that he actually has no reason to be involved in the meeting in question as he isn’t a resident of the other town.  In fact, aside from an opportunity to fight our own council, he has no reason to be involved whatsoever.  But no, it’s because the council are scared of him.  Hmm.  Not entirely convinced of that one myself.

Though the cause is progressing.  The bailiffs were forced to return Psycho’s friends van, after they “stole” that.  Of course, as the van was required for the friend’s trade they were actually genuinely in error.  Though the fault was not entirely theirs, as it was just a plain white van.  Major victory for the cause though.  Shame it’s not applicable to Psycho’s two cars.  Especially as his shop is only about a five/ten minute walk from his flat.  Pity.