It's finally happened. I had a dream about cleaning up poo.

Specifically, I couldn't stop it coming out of Verity's rear end and couldn't clean it up fast enough.

I know it's something that I do every day, and it's perfectly normal for me to have a dream about my daily activities, but, euuugh, yuck!

Dil, the drummer in our Punjabi band, got married yesterday. We don't know the full details of the arrangments, but it was almost certainly an arranged marriage, and he had to go all the way to Peterborough for the ceremony.

However, it being a Sikh wedding, that means that there's about a week of family parties and ceremonies and rituals beforehand.

On Friday night there was the mother of all parties at his house in Fishponds, Bristol. And his Dad had invited our band to play a few tunes to add to the celebration.

The party seemed to take up two houses - a bouncy castle in the garden of one, and next door a huge marquee full of turbaned men. The women, who were far more colourful in the most amazing array of saris, veils, and jewellery I've ever seen in my life, were mostly in the house - quite a few of them cooking in huge great big vats. You couldn't move for people. And there was a guy whacking a dhol out the front of the house as we pulled up.

We found a place to pitch up, and H - our clarinetist and Northumbrian piper - got into his gear and started wandering about. The kids openly stared - didn't have a clue what to make of him. The adults looked a bit more politely amused.

The idea was to start with the pretty Scottish air that we've been practicing - but while playing it one guy insisted that we were playing Christmas carols (admittedly we do - due to the sheer amount of brass in the band - sound on occasion like a Sally Army group). So, after convincing one of the guests to play dhol for us (the groom being nowhere in evidence, going through some wedding preparation rituals upstairs apparently), and we launched into Dharkan.

It was like flicking a switch. Suddenly the place erupted. Older, rather portly, Sikh men started dancing and throwing bangra shapes in the middle of the garden. Women came pouring out of the house and danced too. There was joyful shouting, and someone joined in on a tambourine. At one point there were so many people dancing that our music stands nearly got knocked over.

Dhakan, it seems, was a big Bollywood film of the early 70s, and there are several big well-known (to the Indian community anyway) songs from it. I don't know which one of them is the one we play (we just know it as "Dharkan"), but it certainly worked.

We did a couple of other numbers, and then the party just sort of took over - with statement and repeat stuff in Punjabi and more "Hai Hai" shouts and hands in the air dancing.
It was bloody ACE!

After our previous non-gig I'd half expected us to go down like a damp squib, but instead the crowd seemed to like what we were doing and that lifted it all to heights I hadn't dreamed of.

Once done, Dil's Dad introduced himself, and oftered us some food. There wasn't an awful lot for veggies, but I got given some fantastic aloo gobi and some aloo brinjal, and some chapattis and some rather sickly sweet carrot and yoghurt stuff. All of which, bar the latter which I didn't like much, rivalled the Bangaldeshi curries I had at a Bangaldeshi Women's Day when I was 15.

The food, unfortunately, had to be eaten off trays on the train, as both S and I had to get the last train back home - as it would have been amazing to stay a bit longer.

But yeah, if that's what it's going to be like playing for Sikh weddings, bring it on!

Date:	2008-08-06 19:01
Subject:	Phew
Security:	Public
Mood:	tired

Child has not had a nap at all today.

We tried twice - once, after lunch, when I put her up in the cot, she moaned for a bit, then it all went quiet until I heard "adadadadadadadadadadad" *bang bang* about 30 seconds later. And I went upstairs to find her stood up in the cot, banging bits of wood (large, not dangerous) and grinning up at me. Little monkey.
So I gave up and brought her downstairs.
About two hours later she was whining, rubbing her eyes, and clearly overtired. So I tried rocking her on my shoulder, to no avail. In the end I prepared a warm bottle of milk, and administered that in my arms in the living room. She took the milk and started playing again.
Strike two.

By five she was lolling her head on the carpet and but still not prepared to sleep. So I shovelled some food down her neck, read her a couple of books, threw her in the bath, and Nick arrived in enough time to put her to bed. She was asleep before 7.

I, in the meantime, am collapsed knackered. Not used to doing it all without some sort of break.

Facebook continues to astound and intrigue me. And sometimes swear in disbelief at the screen.
Quite apart from the people I vaguely remember from primary school who seem to be on there (is it me, or does everyone from that era of my life now seem to be dyed blonde and really fake looking?) who invariably in their "favourite books" category list magazines or say "Haven't read a book since school" (surely these people must be too illiterate to work a computer?), it's the audacity of some people that makes me goggle.
In the past month I've had friend requests from KD, who was in my tutor group for five years and a complete bitch to me, and SG, who was also in my tutor group for five years and a complete bitch to me, but had the added bonus of being thick as two short planks and cornered me at her 12th birthday party to tell me that she didn't like me and I'd only been invited because I was a friend of Chez, who was giving the party with her. Pleasant people the pair of them, and if there happened to be a rabid dog in the vicinity I'd rubbing pedigree chum on their legs if I saw them again.

However, this weekend's friend request really took the biscuit. Only bloody PP has tried to friend me. PP was the world's biggest arsehole. He was squat and ugly and his face was one big zit by the time we left secondary school (he was in primary school with me too, but I don't remember him being such a problem back then), so much so that I once told him that his face looked like the map of a conurbation area after he'd been particularly mean to me. He didn't know what a conurbation was. He was a calculating bully - he knew every button to press with me, and press them he did regularly in front of everyone and incited them to join in too. Whether it was my flute, my glasses, my red hair (it was at the time, rather unfairly, as it naturally went blonde after I finished school), my academic achievements, my school uniform, the fact that I didn't shave my legs at the time (he told everyone I'd had my legs carpeted by some firm or other). It was all fair game to him. Gods, even when I had a hair cut he said "is it a wig" and then called me "Wiggy" for the remaining time we were at school together.
He was one of the biggest reasons I turned damn near school-phobic during Year 11, and used to shake uncontrolably at the thought of having to go to science lessons with him in the class.
And I'd rather hoped he would have conveniently fallen under a double decker bus by now.

And NOW he wants to "friend" me on Facebook, 16 years later. He might have forgotten about it all and be on a nostalgia kick, but I bloody well haven't. He (and others) made my life a complete misery during my mid teens, and if I never see him again it'll be too soon.
I wished Facebook had a "you've got to be joking, sod off and die horribly" button. I thought about typing him a harsh "piss off" message and signing it "Wiggy".
In the end I took the grown up way out and just clicked "Ignore" on the friend request. It felt wimpish, but was the best way to handle it in the end.

Now I've seen it all though - PP wanting to be my "friend". Gordon Bennett.
What next for Facebook? Is Teresa Coles going to crawl out of the woodwork and apologise for sniggering behind my back every time I did sanything in games lessons? After PP I wouldn't put anything past the 'engroverrrrrs.

Back at work two days a week (Thursdays and Fridays).
's all right. Nothing really much to write home about. Quite refreshing to not have to constantly worry where Madam's got to and what she'll put in her mouth next. I don't half miss her all day though.

What a difference a year makes.



One of the first pics of Verity. I love the bug eyed look she has.

( pics from today under the cut )

I promised you lot my birth story once Nushie was asleep, didn't I.

( Well, here goes. )

Date:	2008-07-22 08:31
Subject:	Happy birthday Nushie!
Security:	Public
Mood:	accomplished

Today, as of 7.25 this evening, I am the mother of a one-year-old.

There's a pile of presents for her in the other room, but the girl in question isn't up yet. This may have something to do with the fact that she only had a half an hour nap yesterday (because some evil woman banged into the buggy when we were in Tescos, and woke her up, and after that there was no way she was going back to sleep because she had things to do).

If my little darling does sleep today, I might get round to posting my birth story - as I've been meaning to do for the last year. But don't hold your breath - Nushie is currently like the Duracell Bunny in the way she can keep going and going and going and going.

Happy birthday, tode

All the love in the world.
Us xxxxxxxxxxx

I braved Mamma Mia tonight at the local cinema (think jerky curtain and possibly the most un-surround sound imaginable). Went with one of my mummy friends, and a couple of her mates.

And I'm in no way an Abba fan. When they're played at weddings I usually roll my eyes and head outside.

It's... not half bad really. Not half good though, either. Just very, VERY silly.
And the sight of Colin Firth in full length Spandex is worth the entry price alone.

Had band practice last night. Yet again our drummer didn't turn up, and we were also minus the tuba player. Which meant that it was hard to practice properly, so in the end we gave up and went into the pub instead.

Over several drinks I got adequately loosened up enough to sing. And gods was it liberating.
I treated the others to a rendition of Three Jolly Rogues Of Lynne. Lovely to just let rip again and use my voice. I do love to sing, and I've missed it since the Inntinn days.
There are times when I do wonder how Punjabi this Punjabi band is going to be - we seem to be disappearing into the realms of folk quite considerably now, despite the 6 Punjabi tunes that remain at the core of the band. But if there's no drummer it's really hard to get the feel of it all. Plus we really aren't Punjabi, so music that is more from our backgrounds just settles better.

******************

In other news, Nushie had another bad teething episode this evening. There was one in the week when one of her top front teeth made an appearance, so I'm guessing that tonight's screeching was its pair. Bless her - she goes bright red-faced, and screams, and tears run down her face, and she's totally inconsulable. And there are times when you have to put her down to do things (like run her bath), and she just stays in the middle of the room, on hands and knees, and screeches her little heart out.
Today, though, realising finally that was what was going on (she got her bottom two front teeth at 8 months, and then nothing else until this week, so I'm not really practiced at this) she got given her first dose of Calpol - which, at 11 1/2 months, is pretty good going. It did work, in the end, but it was hard work getting her there. She eventually calmed down enough in the bath to stick foam letters in my mouth for me to spit out across the room (latest game), so we'll employ that trick in future.

This entry brought to you by the fact that I'm currently lying trapped on my bed by a sleeping Nushie, and can't even reach my book. We were going to meet Nick at the pub, and there's a desperately needed cup of tea with my name on it downstairs waiting for me. But I'm stuck. Hey ho, though, that's motherhood.

The rules and Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday.

( And finally, pics from Tuesday )

The rules and Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.

( Roll up, roll up for Monday's pics )

The rules and Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday.


( here be pics from Sunday )

The rules and Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.

( Saturday's pics )

The rules and Wednesday. Thursday.

( Here be Friday )

Rules and Wednesday

( Thursday's photos )

Swiped a photo meme from r_scribbles

Was going to do this next week, but then I found myself looking for things I could snap today, so thought "sod it" and went and got the camera.

THE RULES...

1. You must take between 6 and 8 new photographs per day.
2. Your WITL must be consecutive. No skipping days.
3. You must post your photographs at the end of that day, sometime after the last picture is taken.
4. Each photograph must have the time taken beneath and a title, with no other explanation.

You must post these rules at your first entry, then link back to it for the other six days so that people will know wtf you're doing.

Your post must say "A Week in the Life of [your name/username], Volume [whatever day you're on]."

( And here we go with Wednesday )

My dad came over yesterday and installed our stair gate for us.
This was starting to be urgently needed, as Nushie has learnt to open doors, and a closed one just won't keep her contained for very long - and I'm loathe to use the play pen (yes, I have one. Get over it. My parenting choices.) unless its for real emergencies like having to nip upstairs to get a nappy or go to the loo or whip washing off the line because it's raining, etc.

Seeing as Nushie's absolute favourite thing in the whole world at the moment are stairs, and she wantst to climb them all day every day, I was expecting a full-on "you're murdering me, Mummy" screech when she realised she couldn't climb them any more.

So, after her nap, I brought her downstairs and let her go on the floor. Off she trots, all excited, towards the stairs. I followed, camera in hand, to document the face falling and the general grumpiness I thought would occur.

Nushie gets nearer and nearer to the stair gate, and her face gets even more excited, which I thought was odd. Until she got there, and used the bars to pull herself up to standing, bent her knees, and bounced up and down.
She's not bothered that we've blocked off the stairs in the slightest. Because we've provided her with further provision for standing up. Which is really exciting too.
So much for knowing my daughter well!