glowstars

Am I Getting Through?

Glowstars — Thu, 09 Sep 2010 15:52:54 +0000

People say it’s the black dog, presumably because of the darkness, of the way it relentlessly follows you. I say it’s more like the mythical werewolf: most of the time it’s a regular person just like you or I but on the night of the full moon it rapidly transforms into a snarling beast leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

But unlike a lycanthropy sufferer, a sufferer of this kind can’t rely on the certainty of the lunar cycle. The beast strikes when you least expect it, when you’ve decided not to submit a post to the carnival of mental health because it’s been so long since you wrote about depression that any post you submitted would no longer be relevant.

It strikes when you think you’ve finally found your balance, when life has settled down into a pattern you can work with. It doesn’t creep up slowly or silently, it makes itself known in any way it can. A day or two before you think it’s tiredness, you’d feel better if only you could get some sleep. But then that day comes and you know deep down that it’s more than tiredness, that the change is upon you. As the day progresses you sink lower and lower into the quagmire, further and further from being able to pull yourself out. You try to remember the tablets; you took one this morning, and yesterday, but you can’t remember past that. At least it’s not your foolish forgetfulness that’s brought this on.

In the end you have to ask: am I getting through? Will it pass or is there something else, something more you can do? You contemplate whether you should get your meds upped? You’ve got an unrelated doctors appointment next week, would they do it then? But there’s no reason to, it’s a phase, it’ll pass. Or so you hope.

And so you crawl into bed, get some sleep. Maybe in the morning, once you’ve shaken off your exhausted slumber, things won’t seem to bad.

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Bad Blogger

Glowstars — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 08:32:53 +0000

My name’s Vic and I have a confession to make: I’m a bad blogger.

I started blogging when a comment system was something you signed up for at Haloscan and the idea of community was a few bloggers leaving you the odd comment now and then. Blogging wasn’t backed up by forums and social media and there certainly wasn’t the obsession with stats that there is now.

I spent over a year letting my blogging habit have free reign and pursuing it with vigour. A job that gave me little to do each day left me with ample time to read my blogroll which held the regular musings of over 200 different people. Little Mister came along and I had to cut back somewhat but I still found a way to combine blogging with family.

Then I returned to work. I looked forward to expanding my blogroll once more, to finding out about all the new writers that were appearing amongst UK parent bloggers and spending some much needed time on my own blog.

But things don’t always work out the way you plan.

Through unintended but perfect timing I’ve ended up in a role I love, one that may even see me stop floating in the near future and settle down in a permanent position. What it doesn’t leave is time for blogging. I’m lucky if I can manage to refresh twitter four times in a day. Posts are something I write on the train and copy and paste from Word docs to wordpress. My blogroll remains largely untouched.

I’m trying to read your blogs. In rare spare moments I open up greader and feel so overwhelmed by the treble or quadruple figures that I mark most posts as read. If I see a link on twitter I’ll click on it and maybe even try to comment. It seems though that the blogging gods are conspiring against me. I have an outdated version of IE at work with no option to upgrade or download another browser. I can’t view anything with Flash and disqus doesn’t work. Every time a page with disqus comments on loads I get an error message and there goes my blog reading.

The 3G (or even Edge or GPRS) connection on my route to work is so patchy that I’ve given up trying to read blogs on my phone and I’ve come to the conclusion that a mobile broadband modem would be of little use. My time at home is limited to three hours in the evening when I get the boys into bed, eat and sort my things for the following day at work. I wouldn’t have a spare hand to type a web address in a browser if I tried.

I need a system. I’ve categorised the blogs in my reader but I need to do more. I can’t cull, the idea alone breaks my heart. I’ll have to rank in order of importance. Know that if I don’t make it to your blog to comment it’s not that I don’t care – I do – but I just haven’t figured out how to balance yet.

So what do I do?

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Transcending the Language Barrier

Glowstars — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 20:36:33 +0000

The summer holidays are long.

Being at work all week I wouldn’t have a clue about that, but from both the husband and TB’s moaning at the end of the day, I know it’s as true now as it was when I was at school. In an attempt to stave off some of TB’s boredom, we invited a friend to stay for a few days. L is the son of one of the husband’s family friends and is roughly TB’s age. We were in for a few days of peace and quiet, right?

Yeah, not so right. Because L only speaks German. He understands Spanish, which the husband speaks, but English – not so much. The boys bonded over football and mischief in their first days together and then once back at our house, over the Xbox. The real moment of understanding came when TB presented L with the Power Rangers RPM Motorbike that was in our Toyologist’s box. With a Green Ranger, Elena from Ben 10 Alien Swarm (£12.99) and two motorbikes, the boys were quiet for hours.

Even TB’s cousin, M, and Li’l Mister got in on the action. At only 18 months M is still a little young to understand the intricacies of a relationship between the Green Ranger and Gwen but she happily played with the MegaBloks Play ‘N’ Go Table. And Li’l Mister? Well Li’l Mister thinks MegaBloks taste very yummy and make excellent teethers. I’m sure he’ll grow into them.

Another activity that kept them quiet was shaping dinosaur mosaics (also from the Toyologist’s box). Sure, there was noise – both boys kept trying to communicate with each other in their respective languages – but it wasn’t so much noise as constructive sound.

The sticky dinosaur mosaics are addictive; there’s something about repetitively searching out the right coloured piece and laying it just right upon the board. In fact it’s safe to say that it will probably keep adults even quieter than kids. The boxes (which also come in unicorns, jewels and fairies) cost £14.99 which, whilst they make a really nice present for a kid’s birthday party, is probably more than I would pay for a product which, in the end, is disposable.

The mother in law is already talking about taking TB out to see L in Germany over half term. Maybe then there’ll be more toys for them to bond over.

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The Friday Fictional: Certainty is overrated

Glowstars — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 07:31:31 +0000

I found myself napping a lot. After all, there was little else to do in this strange building that I supposed was some sort of hospital ward. I’d explored although there was virtually nothing to see; the nurses station across the hall from my room; the empty rooms. If not for the nurses’ continuous presence and Doctor Hodge’s sporadic appearances it would have felt like a scene from an apocalyptic movie.

I woke up and stretched sleepily, sliding along the chair’s plastic-backed cushions as I moved. I didn’t notice them at first, the two men standing in the doorway. The men in black. As soon as I did I shrank back; they were imposing.

“Ms McKie” the bulky, more intimidating one asked, although it wasn’t really a question, more of a statement. He sounded like he never had to ask anything. “I’m General Becker.” He walked forward and offered his hand. I reluctantly took it. Firm handshake, just like the man. “My assistant and I would like to ask you a few questions.”

I nodded; it didn’t seem like I had a choice. I didn’t get up and neither man gave any indication that they would sit on the hard plastic chairs that waited at the side of the room. Instead General Becker widened his stance and clasped his hands behind his back whilst his assistant drew out a tablet and started tapping away.

“Do you know how you got here?”

I didn’t. But it all came flooding back.

The forest. I’d just gone into the forest to find shade whilst I ate lunch. I was thirsty; I’d brought water out with me but nowhere near enough for the sticky heat that hung in the air that day. I’d knelt at the mossy bank of a river and filled my canteen, knowing that being below the last intake wall I would quite easily pay later for drinking the water. Still, better that than dehydration and heat stroke.

I heard the animal before I saw it. At first I thought it was another person but I’d ventured on to well defined tourist trails as I’d come out from the sun; there was no reason for another person to be creeping through the undergrowth. I turned slowly not wanting to startle what I hoped was a small creature, although I knew from the sound of vegetation being crushed that this animal could not be small. In my head I ran through all the threats I could think would reside in this Scottish forest: bear, wolf, lion, tiger, leopard, puma. I was sure none of them lived in the wilds of this country anymore.

There was barely time to register what it was before it attacked; a monstrous combination of animals finished with the vicious muzzle of a bear. There was no chance to run before it was upon me, its claws tearing at my skin.

I fought though it was futile: what did I have at my disposal beyond fingernails and a mean right hook? Certainly nothing that could fight a monster. I took a particularly vicious swipe to the neck and then nothing. I must have blacked out, because the next thing I remembered was lying in bed, Doctor Hodge calling my name.

“Yes. And no.” That really didn’t answer General Becker’s question and he urged me to elaborate. “I remember being attacked but not how I got here. Did the army pick me up?” I didn’t remember being in an army training area. There wasn’t one for miles beyond where I’d planned to hike.

“Not precisely. We’ll go over who found you later.” Expert avoidance from a man who didn’t seem like he’d try to avoid anything.

“The animal that attacked you, do you remember what it was?” I nodded. Both men waited expectantly for my answer.

“This might sound crazy, but it had the head of a bear and the body of a lion. A tail like, maybe, a leopard’s.” I waited for laughter but none came; neither man seemed surprised. The General pulled across one of the orange plastic chairs and sat down in front of me.

“Ms McKie.” He paused to check he had my attention. “You were attacked by a panwere, a vicious man who my men have been tracking for months.”

A panwere. Well that made sense.

“What the hell is a panwere?”

“It’s a creature similar to a werewolf.” Great, we were on to the mythical and mystical. “Except that instead of taking only one form a panwere can take many, in turn or at once.” Well, at least I wasn’t crazy or, if I was, we’d both be heading to the looney bin. Maybe we were already there.

“Now, Ms McKie, I need you to remain calm.” I nodded, sucking in a deep breath and biting at my lip. I could hardly tell him that I was on the verge of freaking out. “We have reason to believe that you have been infected by the panwere.” I looked at him blankly. ”That at the next full moon you will change form.”

I stared at the General but I didn’t really see him.

Change.

“Change into what, exactly?”

“We’re not entirely certain. A lot depends on the strains of lycanthropy you’ve obtained, and which form the panwere was in when you were infected.”

Well that helped a lot considering what I remembered of the beast. The General sat back whilst his assistant raised the tablet and began to show me a series of diagrams and images, trying to explain the basic science behind lycanthropy. It was like explaining calculus to a five year old and my shocked brain just couldn’t begin to comprehend.

I had a question: “Will I be just one animal? Or could I change into anything?”

“We can’t be certain until after you’ve first changed” the General replied. “Once that’s happened, we have a team of lycanthropes here who can help you master the changes in your physiology, learn how to shift at will and in time, maybe even how to prevent shifting at all. They’ll be able to help guide you into whatever form your body chooses to take.”

“It seems you’re not certain of much.” I sniped. On the outside I was being tough but inside my world had shattered.

“We’re not, Ms McKie. We’re not. Around here, you’ll come to find, certainty is overrated.”

Did you take “certainty was overrated” and create something amazing or wonderful? Link up; you never know, you might find a new blog to read.

Each Friday I’m challenging myself with a writing prompt and the following Friday I’ll come back and show you what I’ve done. All comments and constructive criticisms will be gratefully received. You’re invited to play along too because it’s more fun when we do these things together. Include the prompt in astory or use it as inspiration – the choice is yours. You can grab the code for the badge and leave your link in the linky.

Come back next Friday to see how I got on, share your story and find out what I’ll be writing about the week after.

And my next prompt is

Nothing could hold him back. Nothing, that is, except this…

See you then.

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Baby-Led Weaning

Glowstars — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 20:53:00 +0000

(Otherwise known as ‘how the hell do I explain BLW to my Nan?’)

Most Sundays we have dinner at the mother’s. It’s a bit of a tradition really; as kids we always went to Nan’s for lunch and in the absence of enough place for us all to sit at their new house, we all head to the mother’s instead. Usually we eat a roast dinner – even in the merciless heat of the summer – except when the sister complains that we always eat a roast. Then the mother cooks something different and we all complain we wanted a roast – we only do it to needle the sister.

This Sunday was roast chicken. As the mother served I popped a few bits on a plate for Li’l Mister; a potato; two carrot sticks; some chicken and some runner beans. I decided red cabbage* was probably not safe in the hands of a seven month old. The mother reckoned I was giving him a lot of food. She was possibly right, but I knew what I was doing.

We sat down to eat and by the end of the meal, Li’l Mister had fed himself and probably only 10% of what I’d given was left. I would say on his plate but we’d given up on that idea only moments after we’d sat down. The leftovers were on the highchair tray, down his front, wedged along the sides of the cushion. Surprisingly enough, very little had actually made it to the floor. Yup, this is what BLW is all about.

The next day the boys and I popped over to Nan’s. She asked when I’d start feeding Li’l Mister with a spoon. I explained that we did sometimes; he devours porridge and will quite happily eat purees or chopped foods from a spoon. But when will you start totally spoon feeding, she asked. So you know how much he’s eating.

Knowing how much the kid is eating is not a problem. We all saw how much food he wolfed down on Sunday at dinner. Much like his parents and his older brother, knowing how to stop him eating would be more of an issue. The boy likes his food. Regardless of whether he’s being spoon-fed or feeding himself, he always seems to be getting enough to eat; he complains loudly if he doesn’t. And you only have to look at him to know he’s not starving: he’s a big boy, already at the extent of his six to nine month clothes.

So I tried to explain that he was doing ok, that total spoon feeding wasn’t necessary. I’m not entirely convinced I’ve turned my Nan into a BLW champion, but she now, at least, understands that it’s all ok.

Have you had BLW battles with your family?

*Yes, we were eating red cabbage in August. It was frozen, left over from Christmas. Quite possibly Christmas Eve 2008 when the mother asked me to buy red cabbage as the local supermarket had run out. She didn’t say how many she needed so I bought three, just in case. I swear we’re still eating that same cabbage. The family never let me forget it either.

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Park Life

Glowstars — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 21:21:05 +0000

Despite much of my complaining, there are definite advantages to working out of the home all week. I change a pooey nappy on average once every two to three weeks, I’m not often the one deliberating over what to feed the kids and having to clean up afterwards, I don’t have to deal with many of the nap time battles.

But I do miss the simple things, like deciding on the spur of the moment to take a quick walk down to the park. So that’s what we did today whilst the husband nicked off to take photos and film for his new documentary.

There’s a whole load of photos if you follow the link; you might even find a Li’l Mister A video here.

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The Friday Fictional: Sex Red Female

Glowstars — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 23:03:58 +0000

I’d wanted to stay inside and wallow. Once the exhaustion had passed – and boy was I exhausted – I wanted to be by myself, to hide in my shell and not emerge until the next full moon forced me to.

The guys apparently knew better because I was trussed up in red and wobbling on heels, about to learn how a group of supernaturals really partied. Or so they said. All I could do was tug at the short hem of the scrap of scarlet material they’d called a dress and hope it would cover my arse when I inevitably fell over. Sure, I’d looked in the mirror before we’d left. There was no doubt about it; I oozed sex. That didn’t mean I was comfortable.

The smell hit me as I walked through the door; the rancid, sour stench of too many bodies pressed together in too small a space. I gulped and tried to breathe through my mouth, hoping that it wouldn’t seem so bad, but the taste was even worse. I stumbled to the bar and tapped my fingernails impatiently upon the glass counter as I waited for my vodka, lemon and lime to appear. It had barely hit the bar before I’d drained the glass, hoping that it would go some way to masking the sticky air from my senses.

“Whatever she wants tonight.” Hunter appeared leaning over the bar. The bartender nodded as Hunter’s hand gripped my elbow and steered me towards the table the guys had found. My jaw dropped as I counted the array of bottles littering the table. Surely they couldn’t expect the five of us to get through eight, no, nine catering-sized bottles of spirits in one night?

“Pick your poison kid” Sketch called out over the thumping bass.

I shook my head. “Just had one.” There was no point getting hammered in the first hour when it looked like this would be a long and very drunken night.

“Have another.” There was no point arguing; I rose to head back to the bar.

“Not that watered down piss you were just drinking.” Hunter clearly didn’t like my choice of refreshment. I nodded knowing that at least amongst all the change I could take a little comfort in clinging to my old ways. Hunter’s face told me that he didn’t entirely agree but he waved the bartender over and only moments after he’d whispered in his ear, a bottle of vodka arrived, its neck stuffed with lemon and lime. What a concession! The service was one of a kind inside the club; the other patrons were lucky enough to get near the bar it was so cramped, but I guessed that was one of the perks of being a high spender, and the guys clearly were.

Jaws artfully arranged five shot glasses on a tray and poured the vodka out. Well, at least they were all going to join me as I drunk myself into oblivion. Not likely. As Train set to work draining the sambuca from its bottle, Jaws pushed the tray towards me. “Down the hatch Don.” He was kidding, right?

“You have got an ambulance lined up? Doctor Hodge waiting outside?” I swear they were trying to give me alcohol poisoning. They all laughed.

“The Doc didn’t tell you?” Jaws asked. “That lot will barely even give you a buzz” he gestured to the shot glasses. “In fact you’d probably have to drink the table to get drunk.”

“And even then it’d only last half an hour or so” Train commented before grabbing for a bottle of tequila.

Well then, I thought, eyeing the shot glasses. “Bottoms up.” I grabbed the bottle instead and swigged.

Did you take “sex red female” and create something amazing or wonderful? Link up; you never know, you might find a new blog to read.

Come back next Friday to see how I got on, share your story and find out what I’ll be writing about the week after.

And my next prompt is

certainty was overrated

See you then.

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Nutella Brekkie

Glowstars — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 14:23:07 +0000

I’m all for public service, so whilst everyone else was tucking into the Nutella during last Thursday’s Nutella Brekkie at Legoland, I was busy filming what Nutella’s three expert guests had to say. Seeing as the milk content meant I couldn’t eat Nutella myself, I figured it was only fair that I made everyone else suffer and get them on camera.

And now for a little nutritional information*. It seems that Nutella is a better option than butter and jam on your toast! Something I’d never actually considered before. It’s also not chocolate – the cocoa content is too low – so you can eat Nutella without guilt.

Spread (per 15g serving)	Calories	Saturated Fat
Nutella	80 kcal	1.6g
Butter	108 kcal	9g
Sainsbury’s Olive Spread	81 kcal	2.25g
Sainsbury’s Raspberry Jam	38 kcal	trace
Bovril	30 kcal	0.6g
Peanut Butter	88 kcal	1.7g

^{*Info taken from a variety of random internet sites and the backs of packs in our cupboard. Please don’t rely on its accuracy.}

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Cyber Bitch

Glowstars — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 19:47:35 +0000

Cybermummy brought the blogging world to life. Despite any criticisms bloggers may have had, we all seem to agree on that point. After the bitching and nastiness of the previous weeks everyone seemed to come together and get along; there was a real sense of friendship amongst us.

But no sooner than we had all gotten back behind our computers the bitchiness was back. Some of us who had spent that day being nice to everyone were back to sniping and back-stabbing. Whilst most bloggers are fab people, and grown-ups too, the playground mentality has clearly stuck. When we’re together we all get along. The moment someone’s back is turned they’re no longer a friend.

I wrote that, amongst other things in the weeks following Cybermummy but never managed to finish it into a blog post. Now I need to because, after this weekend especially, I feel the need to say my bit.

With a few small exceptions I’ve had enough of bloggers. I’ve had enough of the infighting, the bitching and the bullying. I’ve had enough of reading posts about quitting and others about begging bloggers to carry on. There’s over seven hundred of us listed for the Tots alone. Why is it so difficult to stick to your corner and avoid those people who you don’t get along with?

I can cope with the bitching behind closed doors; we all do it, of that I’m sure, but there’s little need for it to spill into public forum. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that there are bloggers out there who bitch about me behind my back – I don’t consider myself a particularly likable person at times – and you know what, I really couldn’t give a shit. I’m not expecting those people to hang around if you don’t like what I’ve got to say. There are people who probably consider me a whore for doing sponsored posts and reviewing so many products that I’ve had to create a breakaway review blog just to stop boring readers. So what? At least I’m not whoring my body (and I’m not suggesting that any particular bloggers may be, although I bet it would make for an interesting read).

My issue is that there are a number of bloggers out there who seem incapable of walking away from controversy. In fact, they not only invite it but seem to gravitate towards it. You wouldn’t chase after a bully in the playground so why do we chase after trouble on our blogs?

In school I never had to worry about who liked who, who could stay in the same room and who not to invite to a party for fear of upsetting someone else. We were all grown up enough, even in our young teenage years, to deal. The other day we had a barbecue and we invited bloggers. Some of the guest list was easy but it got to the point where we were saying we can’t invite X because she won’t stay in the same room with Y.

If you don’t see me around other blogs too much in the next week it’s because I’ve had enough. If you genuinely need sympathy over a blogging situation then I apologise in advance – you won’t be getting it – you have other bloggers to blame. My heart has become hardened. Maybe by the time I feel like getting back into other blogs everyone will have learnt to get along.

Now bring on the lynch mobs. I’m sure I’ve upset someone in the past few minutes.

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The Sunday Review

Glowstars — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 16:42:34 +0000

Writing the Sunday Review can be time consuming, and unfortunately time is not something I have a lot of since going back to work. I’ve decided to shake things up a little bit my leaving a linky for all your reviews and giveaways. Add your link, use up to 200 characters for a description and away we go.

And before I forget, the winners of the Weetabix Chocolate are Jenny, Michelle and Jo Bryan. Send me your details and I’ll get the boxes sent out.

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