Caring For Poorly Little Ones - This Nurse is Terse and Worse....

We have not got back into the New Year groove.  

No sign of the smooth running routine we usually carry out on autopilot, hindered only by my odd peri-menopausal brain farts where my memory is blanker than Perez Hilton's fan book. 

Cuteness abounds - but not at 3 am

And, of course, we have "the bug" - a random collection of germs, possibly viral, probably bacterial and symptoms that would challenge Florence Nightingale who Caitlin is currently learning about in school.

Almost every night at 3 am since the new term started, I have been woken by shouting and muttering (Ieuan), wailing due to a bad dream (Caitlin), sore ears, sore tums, and a gushing toilet flush which the Husband has finally agreed to mend after approximately a month of asking nicely (obviously this has been interpreted as nagging). 

There are bottles of Calpol and Nurofen littering most surfaces.  

We have no less than 3 digital thermometers - none of which I can hear due to my reluctance to wear my hearing aids.  

In fact I now have more plastic syringes than cutlery.  

Ieuan has been running a fever and Caitlin, after we applied Hello Kitty eyeshadow yesterday to which she had an allergic reaction, now looks like she's about to attend a Venetian masked ball. 

When I haul myself yet again into the early morning darkness, I know I should be as I imagine Florence Nightingale would have been - crisply efficient and able to administer comfort and loving calmness.  

In reality,  I find myself a charmless harridan in a blue dressing-gown on the look out for acting up and attention seeking.  

For the first few times I am able to smooth brows and rearrange bedding, to offer water and, if needed, brandish the plastic syringe.  

By the fifth or sixth disturbance I am like a mad, sleep deprived woman who would probably tell you my bank details and sort code if you asked and likely to tell the children to "just ruddy well go back to sleep". 

In the morning 'mummy guilt' strikes and I wish I could have been more Florence.  

The Husband does not do illness.  

He is of the staunch 'no pain, no gain' crew who, deciding they won't be ill, just aren't.  

He also says that the kids play me royally which doesn't help when I'm trying to assess what kind of mother I'm supposed to be and how deep the well of sympathy should be.  

For those parents dealing daily with serious childhood illnesses, I can only stand and marvel in admiration at their fortitude. I wish I had more of their strength and courage.

Everything seems clearer in the morning, doesn't it? 

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I'm just not crafty

I fear I am letting the side down drastically.  Caitlin's favourite pastime is anything that can be described as 'crafts'. Unfortunately,  the only craft I am really familiar with is the cheese manufacturer. 

Caitlin colouring at Cardiff Bay

When I was in school in the 70's, benefiting (I use the term loosely) from a move towards equality for boys and girls in Arts and Crafts, I endured woodwork lessons and metalwork lessons.  All I can remember is the smell of each workshop and the amusement on my parents face when I presented them with a piece of wood with a dent in the middle and a piece of metal with a bend in it.  Both ashtrays for my pipe-smoking father.

I was unable to draw anything which wasn't square or, on a good day, cubed.  My pottery was always too dry and fell apart.  We still have an evil, open mouthed clay gremlin I made, glazed in a haphazard manner in a strange purple.  He lives on my parents windowsill by the front door to ward off cold callers.

Caitlin will sit and draw for hours on end.  Card is cut into random shapes.  Glue is applied to pom-poms and glittery pipe-cleaners.  Posters, door plaques, beads and endless pictures of butterflies adorn the house.  Ieuan is still in his angry artistic phase and has moved from doing violent scribbles with such vehemence that the paper shreds to marginally less angry pictures of Spiderman and Ironman who both wear the expression of someone who has spent 45 minutes on the phone to the Tax Office and has just been cut off.

It's strange really because I used to spend hours telling stories to my niece Emily, now 20 and a budding film-maker.  It's almost a kind of performance anxiety.  The fear of not being good enough.  The fear of having lost my imagination which,  as my comprehensive medical files will probably attest, is just not the case.

Caitlin will sigh and say "Mum, I WISH you'd do some crafts with me" and I shuffle along behind her to the big table and we sit whilst she takes charge and creates whilst I just observe. 

This state of affairs is, of course, not helped by the army of ghostly mummy bloggers who hover constantly over my shoulder whispering "we've just built a fully working model of the Forth Road Bridge out of matchsticks and now we are going to reconstruct Big Ben and the House of Parliament out of sponge mix and a light buttercream icing". 

These women are all Cath Kidston-ed within an inch of their life and have houses so clean that Barry from Cillit Bang is offering them a speed rush on the kitchen table.    I, on the other hand, would frighten Juan Sheet from Plenty and attract nothing more than a very stern glare from his grandmother.

Still,  craft duffer I may be, but I show willing.  I know where our local Hobbycraft is and I also know that hours of amusement can be had by covering your palms with PVA glue and peeling it off like alien skin.  (This was how I spent most of my primary school craft sessions).  I'm hoping this will be enough.

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It's January - rage, rage against the dying of the fairy lights

It is dark, dank and rain spattered outside.  January is here with all its gloom and unspoken chastisement for finishing a huge box of Thorntons and being compelled to finish all the mince pies currently reaching their suspiciously short 'use by' date.

Christmas 2014 - where did it go?

The school run (I walk, the kids run) is an opportunity to study the various shades of grey the sky can muster up and to marvel at the chocolate brown muddiness of the local brook, swollen with heavy rainfall. 

Is there anything sadder than passing houses which were previously aglow with fairy lights and are now shrouded in darkness?  

Some poor souls haven't even taken their Christmas trees down - generally the people who put their trees up as soon as the last firework has gone off at 1 am on November 6th and annoyed all the neighbourhood dogs.

I am really missing the Christmas tree and the twinkly glow of the fairy lights, the heavenly sound of Carols from Kings and candlelight in every room downstairs.  

It's no wonder we're all watching Broadchurch to cheer ourselves up a bit and considering blowing the budget on a trip to Barbados.  

Incidentally, why do holiday companies this year think it's hilarious to make their slogans sound like swearing?  Will your holiday be totally 'beachin'?' Is your holiday 'booking' fabulous?  

Because we all love to sit in Thomas Cooks swearing like troopers, don't we?  Is that the level of sophistication the Brit abroad is considered to have?  On second thoughts, it's probably best if we don't answer that one. I'm not even sure if you can still sit in Thomas Cooks.

Some of us have become "Dry Athletes", some are eschewing sugar and some are relying on hypnosis to make eating chocolate seems as appealing as a week trying to sort out Tesco's accounting problems. 

We can take comfort in the fact that there are a group of highly dysfunctional people, troubled and entertaining to various degrees who think nothing of baring their innermost souls for all to comment and tsk tsk about.  

No, I'm not talking about Prime Minister's Question Time but that paeon to quality television that is Celebrity Big Brother.

In the name of psychological research (cough), I may have to watch the launch night programme I accidentally recorded.  Whilst drinking up my Disaronno Amaretto before it goes off.

Like what you've read?  Why not join me on the Mother Distracted Facebook page, tweet me on @lindahobbis or follow me on Instagram.

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Happy New Year! These are the resolutions you REALLY need to make

Over the last 48 hours, we've all read ACRES of poems, pithy thoughts and witticisms, resolutions, revolutions, advice about ablutions, diets, regimes and the rantings of Piers Morgan.

Just wear the bloody paper hat!

Hopefully you have managed to distil from this copious verbiage those philosophies and ideals which will carry you safely through this new year and out the other side.  

Fuelled by Thorntons Continental and red wine, I thought I'd share some bon mots with you, honed from my odd 50 years (and some of those years have been extremely odd) so that you may gain some clarity about the swirling cloud of Facebook cats and celebrity idiocy that by now will be reaching toxic levels.

1. Don't hang around with people you don't like.  

There are approximately 7 billion people on the planet.  Surely you can find someone else to go for a drink at the weekend?   

This includes those people who specialise in back-handed compliments or who can't resist dragging up that thing you did in school which was hilarious in the 70's but means absolutely nothing to anyone now - but them and you.

2.  Try something different occasionally. 

Obviously I'm thinking of gentle activities here like crochet or anything that doesn't involve lifting.  Or much movement.  

3.  Smile.  

Apparently it's a fact that if you smile, your whole physiology changes and you feel better. Gritting your teeth is a short route to the dentist.  Or in my case, the jaw clinic at our local hospital.

4.  Tell people you love them. 

Life's too short and all that.  I like to tell the husband this occasionally, not least for the look of shock he usually wears, swiftly followed by "what are you after?".

5.  Treat yourself.  

For God's sake, if you can afford that bag and you want it, buy it.  Is it really worth 48 hours of arguing with yourself as to why you should / shouldn't when you know you'll buy it in the end anyway?  

If you feel really guilty about making yourself happy, make a donation to your favourite charity to balance up your karma.

The rest?  Guess what?  You already know what to do.  

The question is will you choose to do it? 

Will you choose to exercise, eat right, not get bladdered every night, be a decent person? 

Unless you have the moral compass of the Marquis de Sade you really don't need ANYBODY to tell you what to do. 

So my last piece of sterling advice (at least today) is simply this.  

When the cracker of life is pulled and the novelty that falls out is either complete rubbish or in someone else's half of the cracker, just put the bloody paper hat on and smile.  

There's always another year.  Hopefully.

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This year I'm resolving to..... ish......

1.  Eat healthily.  I say healthily, actually I mean back away from the biscuit tin and try to remember the existence of fruit.

It's the biggest party night of the year.

2.  Drink less. Whilst this means I will drink less wine, in practice it will mean I forget to drink sufficient water.  Since Jesus turned water into wine, I reckon I'm about 50% there already.

3.  Exercise more.  Unless my back goes, when I will wander through shopping centres shouting randomly like a drunk tramp as the spasms hit, whilst the husband and kids will speed up and abandon me to lurch wantonly through John Lewis.

4.  Listen to more music.  Quietly.  Too much noise is not good for my tinnitus but I miss belting out power ballads at the top of my lungs and scaring the neighbour's cat. N. B. music does not include the shouty Viking rock my husband loves.  If I want that kind of noise I will just put a saucepan on my head and bang it repeatedly with a ladle.

5.  Not read the Daily Mail Online (or the Daily Kardashian as it has recently become).  Some of the grimness of its reporting is really upsetting, but we all know I'll be trying to guess who sent this week's letter to Bel Mooney and wondering if the You Editorial Team would have the vapours if they saw the state of my interior decor.  That's not a euphemism by the way.  In any case,  the NHS has had far too much of my interior decor this year, to the extent that I have "if lost please return to University Hospital of Wales" embroidered on my knickers.

6.  Not watch the same TV programmes over and over again.  I am qualified to be an estate agent for Midsomer and Sykes is the only dog I would ever consider having as a pet.  The death rate in Midsomer Murders would only be a problem if the Council Tax bandings were unreasonable.  

7.  Not buy the latest celebrity lifestyle tome in which rising at 6 am is de rigeur as is straining your home grown green tea through fine denier stockings and doing yoga to salute the sun.  Nobody has seen the sun in Wales since 1976.  And if I bend down, my physiotherapist has to be called immediately.

8.  Be a better mother.  I am not entirely sure what this entails but I believe it has something to do with being higher on the Julie Andrews scale and lower on the Gruffalo in a dressing gown scale.

Do you have any exciting resolutions this year?  Whatever your resolutions are, I wish you all a happy, healthy and prosperous 2015.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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Dating: 11 Ways To Tell They're REALLY Into You

You know, I always find it strange when my girlfriends say they don’t know if a man is really interested in them.  And most blokes seem to remain resolutely oblivious to the most obvious of flirtation signals. Prior to my becoming a respectable married woman (cough), I had quite a lengthy flirtation with internet dating. 

Now I know a lot of people are still quite sniffy about meeting a partner this way, seeing online dating as the refuge of the dateless and socially inept, but I found it immense fun and an excellent way of deciding what I wanted in a man. 

Is your flirting producing results?

A long-time single girlfriend of mine (and I mean years) would love to meet a special someone but won’t try online dating on the grounds that she’d have to have a profile picture.

It’s funny how we’ll happily supply the most ghastly of photos for passports and driving licences but when it’s a question of our attractiveness being judged, nothing less than a photo-shoot with David Bailey will do. She also worries about work colleagues finding her out. Frankly, unless you’re ‘M’ at MI5, I’m not sure this is too much of a problem.

Rather than view my dates as a nerve-wracking experiment, I pretended I was ‘auditioning’ the latest candidate, thus making him the one on trial rather than me.  Possibly a weird mental switch, but try it, it works.

Anyone who works in HR or who interviews as part of their job knows that the first judgement of a candidate is normally made in the first few seconds of meeting and that most of our communication is non-verbal.

Yes, what you say is less important than how you say it and the various signals you give out. I could read body language tomes all day from self-styled ‘sexpert’ Tracey Cox to the grandfather of body language study himself, Desmond Morris.

So, when you are at a party or a date, take a moment to observe your potential partner in action. This is no bad thing because the late Helen Gurley Brown (Editor in Chief of Cosmopolitan Magazine) once said “if you’re doing all the talking, you’re boring somebody”.  Silence is power. 

Here’s what to look for.

Good signs

Prolonged eye contact - particularly if they look into your eyes and then at your mouth.

Proximity - are they sitting close to you or, if not, are they turned towards you? If you are standing in a circle with others, have a quick glance at the floor to see if their feet are pointing towards you.

Preening - I'm sure we all know the classic preening gestures such as toying / flicking hair or licking lips.  Some men will hook their fingers in their belt loops, unconsciously 'pointing' to their groin. Some women will stroke their throat, drawing attention to their breasts.

Mirroring - if you both have a drink, look to see if you both lift your glasses to sip at the same time or if you change your posture, do they change theirs too?

Territory - if you are sitting across a table from each other, try putting your glass or a piece of cutlery down on their 'side' of the table.  If they are comfortable, they'll probably let it stay there.  If not, it's likely to be pushed straight back (whether consciously or, more tellingly, unconsciously).

Conversation - do you both finish each other's sentences?  Are your questions being answered without just a curt yes or no?

Including you in future plans - do they say things like "oh, we must do that at Christmas, or I must take you to see this movie"? Then they see you in their future.  

Introducing you to friends they run into - if you bump into their friends when you're out, watch to see how they react.  If they're keen, they'll be sure to introduce you and use your name.  If they leave you hanging back while they catch up on gossip, that's not a good sign.

Revealing gestures - the inside of the wrist is considered to be an erogenous zone - watch to see if there are lots of palms up / wrist revealed gestures.  Revealing the wrist whilst smoking is a classic flirtation gesture and you could probably write a book about Hollywood's use of smoking as flirtation.

Now such a thing would be not quite Disney and I suspect that trying the same femme fatale routine with an e-cig probably won't have the same effect.  It's probably far sexier these days not to smoke unless you're happy to keep leaving the table to stand outside with other lonely souls and light up in the rain whilst your date eyes up other prospective partners in the restaurant.

Ending the date by planning another  - if they're keen they'll indicate when they'll next be in touch and they'll be specific about it.  They'll want to get a date in your diary as soon as possible.  If, on the other hand they say "it's been great, I'll catch you sometime next week", I wouldn't waste too much time waiting for their text or call.

The Kiss - I don't really have to explain this one but bear in mind that should the evening end on a hot and heavy note, there's still no guarantee you'll get another date.  There are some who are capable of monumental double standards when it comes to sex on a first date.

Bad Signs

Lack of eye contact - that thing where you're dancing and you just know he's checking out other women over your shoulder.

Constantly checking a mobile - be honeset.  If they are checking their email or updating their Facebook status, chances are they aren't that keen!

Pomposity - they sit with both hands behind their head maximizing their physical size and space. This is the gesture of arrogance and superiority.  Him Tarzan, you probably one of many Janes. Either way, you're not considered an equal.

Closed answers - yes / no answers that leave conversation in the air and stunted silences.

Not asking about you - this is a pretty obviously clue!

Talking about the Ex - no, no and once again, no!

Not attempting to prolong the date - if you finish the last mouthful of your dessert and they ask for the bill rather than coffee, not good.  Some women think men should pay on the first date.  I'm more pragmatic.  I think it's OK to split the bill, particularly if you earn more than he does.  But if he starts to quibble and wants to split the bill to the penny, I'd probably run.

Let’s be honest.  If your date is not making every effort to know when they will see you again, then in the words of that famous dating bible inspired by “Sex & The City”, he’s just not that into you.

You may remember the book “The Rules” which was popular about ten years ago which contained rather militant advice such as “if he phones after Wednesday asking for a date on Saturday tell him no”. You were supposed to be a creature of mystery, alluring and just that little bit hard to get. When you get to a certain age, all that game playing is very wearing, decidedly not sexy and, generally, a complete waste of time.

Many women say they just ‘know’ when they’ve met the ‘one’ so if the one you’re with is Mr or Miss Right Now rather than Mr or Miss Right, keep auditioning!

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10 Things You'll Probably Forget To Buy This Christmas

I was going to title this piece "The Mother Distracted Guide to Humbug-ery" and then I thought "best not". 

Anyway, here's my helpful list of things you might want to add to your Christmas shopping list on the basis that I like to be fully prepared for all possible emergencies, medical, psychological and social.  

Image credit: www.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

Most of these items are unremittingly dull.  But nowhere near as dull as trying to find a corner shop open on Christmas day whilst the husband is left to cremate the turkey and the kids dismantle any item costing more than a tenner which needs batteries..... which leads me to....

1.  Batteries.  Best to buy in bulk over the internet if you're organised.  If not, best join the queue in Argos for a pack big enough to power a space shuttle and spend 20 minutes watch the blinking TV screen as your order number takes an age to appear on the glamorous metal racking at the back of the stressed out line of assistants.

2.  Indigestion remedy.  Christmas is the only time of year when we are unnaturally possessed to consume our own body weight in dried fruit.  It ain't pretty.

3.  Plasters.  Fabric.  Waterproof.  The sort that are so strong that pain is involved in removing them. All other plasters float off as soon as they get wet, particularly any featuring Winnie The Pooh / Hello Kitty etc.

4. Wire cutters or very strong scissors.  Even Dynamo would struggle to get out of some of the packaging toys come in these days.  You'll need the fabric plasters to wrap round your fingers after it has taken you an entire festive episode of  Midsomer Murders to free Barbie and her range of microscopic accessories.

5. Tweezers.  After Caitlin's "bead up the nose" incident, I'm taking no chances.  Plus I can't remember the last time I actually scrutinized my eyebrows. And since we've got rid of the carpet and hubby has painted the floors, the risk of splinters in the foot (and even more annoyingly, shredded hosiery) is high. Less micro-pedi and more micro-shreddy.

6.  Bin bags. Just remember that the ratio of packaging to gift for most of the stuff we buy these days is 85% packaging and 15% gift. However, failure to recycle correctly in this here shire may result in heavy tut-tutting from the neighbours and possibly a short prison sentence.

7.  Fuel for the car.  No really.  If you're off to see Aunty Vi in the back of Abercwmtwch, you just know that there won't be a garage open this side of the Severn Bridge on Christmas day. Although come to think of it, that might actually be a good thing. You really don't need a pasty and a copy of What Car magazine either.

8. Enough cream.  Without fail if I buy a small amount, everyone wants some and if I buy it in pints, everyone wants custard.  I'm sure it's deliberate. 

9. A gravy boat.  What has happened to the nation's fleet of gravy boats?  Are we all using Pyrex jugs or those strange jugs in the shape of a cow?  

10. An emergency present.  Tricky.  I find boxes of Matchmakers or Ferrero Rocher chocolates kept for this purpose usually vanish. You'll just have to be strong or invest in a prettily wrapped gift card from somewhere like Marks & Spencer. 

I'm sure you have your own list.  Let me know.  I bet there's loads of things I've forgotten!

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