CHANGING ROOMS - BIRMINGHAM STYLE
 
In a house inhabited by three grown men, I've had minor alterations done to the toilet to preserve what's left of my sanity!
 
Click for bigger picture

Thursday 1

Today - April Fools Day - I sent a text message to my partner and all three of my sons.  It read: "Just had test results back from doctors.  I'm pregnant!!!"  My partner responded immediately: "If you are, it isn't mine."  To which I replied: "If I am, its not mine either."  Big Son and Small Son ... no response whatsoever.  Middle son later rang me to say he'd spent the last hour thinking things like "When its 20, I'll be 40," before realising what day it was.  He said it was a very cruel joke.  I just wanted to check they were all paying attention.

Oh, and did the old office trick of putting a small post-it note with "April Fool!" written on it on the underside of my work-colleagues computer mice.  Took them ages to figure out why they wouldn't work.

Well, it passes the time.

Wednesday 7

My dad has recovered incredibly well from his heart  operation - he’s coming home today yipeeee!  I’ve been that stressed about it all that I went out at lunchtime and thought I’d indulge in a bit of ‘retail therapy’ to cheer myself up - I had a whole £5 to spend.  Went into Superdrug, decided I needed a new mascara, picked one up.  £16.  Put it back, picked up one in a cheaper section, bought it, left the shop, didn’t feel any better.  I’m just not a natural shopper I guess.

Oh, apparently I need psychiatric help! (okay, stop nodding sagely back there).  I went for an MOT at my local GP’s the other day and mentioned to the nurse about my ‘commuting problem’ - I feel faint on the bus to work in the mornings, and even when I don’t feel faint I’m so tense about feeling faint that I actually feel faint, if you follow.  She said it sounded like panic attacks and referred me to the centre’s resident psychiatrist.  I’m now drawing up a list of all the things to discuss with him, starting from when my sister stole my doll aged 3.

So, now that everything’s settled down on the dad-front and soon the bus phobia front, my partner and I are taking time out and heading for them thar hills … we’re going to Yorkshire for the weekend, staying in some quaint old pub.  We both need to catch our breath and count our marbles (maybe order some spare marbles from ebay).  The ‘abandoned teenagers’ will have to fend for themselves for a couple of days - we have bets on whether they’ll actually go shopping for food or if they’ll prefer to starve until our return.

Friday 9 – Good Friday

MY DAD, after spending 16 days in hospital, finally came home on Wednesday.  I was going to visit him but figured he’d much rather have some time alone with his wife to settle in, so rang him instead.  His voice was high pitched and excited: “I’m really really really REALLY happy to be home,” he kept saying, over and over again.  “I can’t believe it.  I’m out.  I’m home.  Its SO nice.”  He’s recovering really REALLY well.

I took him back to the hospital today for a blood test.  I pulled up right outside the hospital doors so he wouldn’t have to walk far, then tried to reverse out again.  Except, because I don’t drive very often any more, I couldn’t remember where reverse gear was.  Agonising minutes were spent trying to find it whilst a queue of cars backed up behind me (at one point I almost rang my partner to ask for instructions!). 

Dad shuffled miserably down the corridor then groaned out loud when we approached his ‘old’ ward – “They might keep me in again,” he said, absolutely terrified.  They didn’t, but it took a lot of persuading to stop dad sprinting out the hospital afterwards in case they changed their minds.

Can I just say here how totally wonderful all the staff have been at the Queen Elizabeth Heart Centre in Birmingham and how grateful we are for the care they gave my dad.  They’re fantastic, brilliant people and I have nothing but praise and awe for what they do.

Middle son can be a bit fussy about things sometimes, especially where food’s concerned.  Mooching for grub the other day he came across some sausages in the freezer and asked what they were. 

“Sausages,” my partner said, wondering if it was a trick question. 
“There’s no label on them,” said Middle Son. 
“No, they’re from the butchers.” 
“Are they any good?” 
“Well, we eat them.”

Middle son hesitated for a moment before deciding the risk of eating ‘non brand’ sausages was worth it.  Throughout the entire cooking process he dissected said sausages and kept asking, “Do these look alright to you?  They don’t look like the sausages I normally have.”  I’ve never seen anyone with such a grave expression when eating sausages before.

Out of curiosity, I asked Middle Son how much he spent on grocery every week when he’s at university.  He said about £30 a fortnight, which I thought was pretty good and began praising his budgeting skills.  My partner interjected, “And how much do you spend on takeaways?”  Middle son grinned, but refused to answer.

BIG SON (who lives up in Yorkshire) brought his new girlfriend to see us the other night.  We all imagined she'd be a Goth with black lipstick and buckled boots, but she was nothing like.  I really warmed to her when I asked Small Son something but couldn't hear his answer.  I asked again, and again (because he's in grunting mumbling really-shouldn't-be-expected-to-speak mode) none of us could understand him.  New Girlfriend immediately translated for us and we glared at her in astonishment.  "My sister's a teenager," she said, "She's exactly like him.  They're all the same."   Welcome to the family!

As some of you know, I have congenital anosmia, which means I was born with absolutely no sense of smell whatsoever - never had it, never miss it.  This results in culinary crappiness, though, and the occasional fireball from the cooker.  My partner was cooking dinner last night (he prefers to cook because (a) he’s good at it; (b) he’s guaranteed an edible meal; and (c) he doesn’t have to lie about how nice my carbon offering is).  I was sitting in the living room when, suddenly and for no apparent reason, the living room door slammed shut as if a wind had blown through the house.  This was immediately followed by my partner gasping, “Bugger!”

“What?” I asked nervously (poltergeist activity?).

“I turned the gas on the oven but forgot to light it,” he said, coming into the living room with his hair all singed and his eyebrows gone.  “When I lit it, this fireball came at me.”

“Oh my God!” I screamed, hugging his crisp body.  “Turn the oven off, we’ll order a takeaway, we’ll never use the cooker again.” (note the ulterior motive here?)

I now live in constant fear of one of us blowing the house up.

Monday 12 – Easter Monday

A weekend break in Yorkshire to recharge our batteries.  Yes!

We arrived at the Fox Hall Inn near Richmond wound up like tight springs.  A few drinks and a fabulous meal soon chilled us out.  An elderly couple came in, took a few minutes to decide where to stand at the bar to order their drinks, then a few more minutes deciding which bar stool to sit on, before finally deciding to sit at the table next to ours (despite there being other empty tables).  The elderly woman jumped up almost immediately, complaining about my cigarette smoke (which I’d been smoking when she sat down) and moved off to the no-smoking area … where she proceeded to glare at me for the rest of the night.  Very odd.

We went to bed quite early, but kept waking up at regular intervals throughout the entire night for two reasons.  (1) We live in a quiet grove and aren’t used to the sounds of traffic on a main road outside our bedroom window, so lorries bombing passed every 10 minutes woke us with a scream of “What the hell!”  (2) The pillows were feather filled and our heads sunk into them like quicksand, so we were in danger of being smothered if we didn’t wake, extricate our heads and plump the pillows up again. 

Going down for breakfast was a bit nerve racking the next morning – well, you can’t always remember if you’ve been ‘quiet’ the night before or not, and there’s nothing more embarrassing than entering the restaurant to have fellow guests all staring at you and nudging each other.  Fortunately, they didn’t – primarily because there was a noisier couple a few doors down the corridor who kept everyone entertained for most of the night.

We spent the rest of the day driving round North Yorkshire – what countryside!  What tourists!  People were everywhere; swarming through tiny villages, standing in their thousands beside river banks and plodding relentlessly across the moors like the Yorkshire version of rush hour.  Pheasants were out in their thousands too, standing bright red in the middle of green fields feeling invincible.  They weren’t so invincible on the roads, however, which were lined with their battered bodies. 

Driving down single track lanes, we rounded a corner and found a grouse standing in the middle of the road; my partner veered right, and so did the grouse (my partner swore he didn’t actually chase it down).  We rounded yet another corner and saw a furry unidentified mammal sitting stock still on the centre line – just sitting there.  As we roared passed, it didn’t move.  I wanted to stop the car and go back to help it, but my partner was too busy trying to avoid a partridge, which shot out in front of us like the roadrunner.  Fortunately, we missed it, but the wildlife sure like to live dangerously up there.

Wensleydale was a Must Visit as we’re both cheese fanatics (funny how you can't say Wensleydale without exposing a mass of teeth like in Wallace and Grommit).  Gorged ourselves stupid on the free samples; “Hmm, this is very fruity/mature/spicy, lets buy some, lets buy them all!”

And then my partners long-anticipated moment arrived.  When my partner lived in the picturesque town of Bradford (before I enticed him to Birmingham), he used to 'visit' this road that literally dropped off the side of a very steep hill.  He took me there once and showed me what he did – I never fully recovered.  We knicknamed it YeeHa Hill because that’s what you do when he puts it into top gear and rolls off the edge without the use of accelerator or brakes – you scream YEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAA!  (well, he does, I generally just scream).  Great fun.  By the time you arrive at the bottom, the car’s travelling like a spaceship on re-entry.  Afterwards, I asked my partner if we could go back to the top again.  “Why?” he asked eagerly, “To do it again?”  “No, to pick up my heart, stomach, and probably most of my lower intestines.”

On the way back to Birmingham via boring motorways, I woke from my usual passenger-induced coma to find my partner pulling into a service station.  “Petrol?” I mumbled.  “No, felt sleepy, thought I’d better pull over for a nap.”  He put his head back and instantly began snoring.  We both sat there, heads back, mouths agape (and probably dribbling a bit) for almost an hour.

Tuesday 13

The Guardian Online mentioned Brummie Blogs on their blog of the day on The Weblog today.  It reads “Brummie Blogs.  Blog Pick: This Birmingham woman's often-humorous account of the daily drudgery of commuting, her torturously-long divorce and life as a mother of three sons isn't the slickest blog I've ever seen, but it's a compelling read.".  Quite pleased about that.

Wednesday 14

Argh! Yuk! Spit!  Back to work! (sigh)

Sunday 18

Again, a busy weekend (one day I’m just going to stay in bed from Friday night to Monday morning surrounded only by books and my laptop, and simply not do a thing). 

On Friday, Middle son said he was going back to his uni lodgings on Sunday.

“What for?” I asked, thinking he was meeting his girlfriend there or going to a party or something.

“Usual,” he said, “You know, to study and stuff.”

“You’re going back to university?” I gasped, “Already?  But you only just got here!” 

“I’ve been here three weeks, mom.”

“But we haven’t chatted enough!  We haven’t Done Lunch or anything!” 

I wish life would slow down a bit and let me catch my breath.

Panic stricken to do something memorable before he disappeared, we all went to the cinema on Saturday afternoon, at the AMC that’s recently opened up on the site of the old children’s hospital near Five Ways.  I ordered a medium coke but it still looked like something I could bathe in.  It also leaked, so Middle Son took it back and they replaced it with something that can only be described as an Olympic swimming pool – I had to use both hands to pick it up.

Watched Shaun Of The Dead, which was dead funny.  Afterwards, Middle Son went for his free coke refill and I followed suit, even though I felt as if I’d already drunk my own bodyweight of the stuff.  Held it like an unexploded bomb all the way home, where I tipped a load of whisky into it.  Saturday night was a blur after that!  I was so coked up with caffeine I was practically vibrating, and didn’t get to sleep until after 1am (first time I’ve seen 1am in years!)

Sunday, new smiley face alarm clock stunned me from my coma at 7am.  Yep, that’s right, a whole six hours sleep, and a hangover to boot.  Shaun’s zombies were nothing compared to the way I felt.  Packed up car, grabbed pillow, and off we headed ooop north to take Middle Son back to university.  I slept most of the way, waking only to consider throwing up into one of Middle Son’s bags.

Unpacked, searched for MacDonalds.  “We only serve breakfast until 11am,” they told us.  On a Sunday?  Who rises for breakfast at MacDonalds before 11am on Sunday?  Middle Son and Partner urged me to do what Michael Douglas did in Falling Down, but staff managed to find a lone bacon and egg MacMuffin before violence broke out.

Slept most of way back to Birmingham. 

Wednesday 21

It’s National Secretaries Day today.  We weren't holding my breath.  Good job really.  Despite all the secretaries shouting across the office to each other, “Oi, did you know its Secretaries Day today?” none of us got anything from our bosses in appreciation of all our efforts (cash would have been nice).  So we bought ourselves teacakes from Marks & Spencers and congratulated each other instead.  And our bosses helped themselves to the teacakes!

Went to lunch with the girlies on Monday, courtesy of tokens in The Times (two course meal for a fiver, unmissable).  We went to the Coconut Lagoon down Bennetts Hill.  Very nice.  I managed to keep my mouth shut when the Goan Chicken (in spinach sauce) arrived - I’d changed babies nappies that colour.

My partner sacked someone at work on Monday for skivving (claiming he was sick when he wasn’t - us seeing him in a pub on Sunday didn’t help his case any considering he was supposed to be suffering from mumps).  Today, the person’s stepfather, who also works there, approached my partner and gave him a mouthful of abuse for sacking his stepson.  My partner’s boss promptly sacked him too.

Thursday 22

I’ve had to give up reading books on the bus the last few months because of the ‘bus phobia’ I’ve managed to develop.  Every morning I get on the bus and think: “I’m okay, I feel good today, don’t feel faint at all ... Okay, we’re hitting heavy traffic, stay cool, you feel fine.” [Notice lapse into third person here, not sure why that is, maybe an Out Of Body Experience?] “Right, bus stopped, lots of people getting on.  Lots!  And the traffic is at a standstill!  But nothing to panic about.  Really, nothing to …. Argh! I feel faint!” 

Fun stuff! 

Anyway, you have no idea how BORING an hour’s journey can be when you have nothing to do.  To pass the time last night, I watched the pedestrians as we crawled up Broad Street and tried to imagine what they were thinking:

Tarted up young woman (red mini skirt, knee length boots) stomping furiously across the road: “That is absolutely, positively the last time I arrange to meet him after work.  Some domestic problem at home my arse!  Why do I put up with it?  Three years he’s been promising he’ll leave his wife and here I am, still being stood up because one of the bloody kids has bloody chickenpox!”

Really old pensioner looking thoroughly pissed off at bus stop: “And what will she do when I get home?  Nag, that’s what.  Nag nag nag, all night long.  I should have gone with Alice Arbuckle back in 1952 while I still had the stamina.”

Huge bouncer-type black guy holding bunch of flowers way out behind him: “I am SO not with these flowers, man.”

Incidentally, all the pedestrians reached the top of Broad Street before my bus did.  And, oddly, I never ‘panic’ going home on the bus at night - maybe its just work I’m averse to.  Will discuss this at my psychiatric appointment tomorrow morning (well, its really a Cognitive Behavioural Psychotherapist I’m seeing, but psychiatrist is so much easier to say).

Friday 23

Oh much joy last night.  Went to Smoking Cessation Clinic in Selly Oak after work.  Expected to sit down with a GP to discuss my nicotine addiction or something, but it was actually a hall absolutely heaving with people queuing up for nicotine patches.  I looked very out of place in my work suit, but I got my patches.  They treated me as if I’d already given up, despite the fact I’d just filled out a Newbie form.  I had been planning to give up maybe next Wednesday (well, who gives up on Friday, or over the weekend, and Monday’s just too depressing to give up and Tuesday we usually stop off from work for a drink). 

Anyway, fag in hand, I went to see the 'Cognitive Behavioral Psychotherapist' this morning.  Lovely man.  Felt quite nice to talk about my ‘bus phobia’.  He videotaped the session … I said I’d have had my hair done if I’d known!  He asked about self harm (like I’d have the time!) and recreational drugs (I wish!).  Afterwards he said I seemed very ‘normal’ with a very positive attitude to life, which is nice to know but doesn’t stop me feeling faint on the bus every morning.

Monday 26

Oh how I love Monday’s.  Especially when the weather is FABULOUS and I’m stuck in a stuffy office where you can’t even open the windows.  I sat on a bench by the Floosie in the Jacuzzi at lunchtime, smoking a fag and reading Allen Carr’s Easy Way to Give Up Smoking (tomorrow, definitely tomorrow).

My partner and I were on ‘terse’ terms for most of Saturday (having argued quite spectacularly on Thursday night – we never argue).  In the midst of this miserable silence, and because the weather was gorgeous, I began gardening.  My partner, obviously feeling a bit left out as Small Son raced up and down the lawn with the mower while I tossed weeds over my shoulder with wild abandon, dashed out to B&Q and bought a petrol powered strimmer.  Five hours of soil, sweat and sun later, we were on speaking terms again and the garden looked fantastic.  My partner even built me a long-awaited bird table of GIGANTIC proportions (Big Son joked that low flying aircraft would have to be warned and idly wondered if it could be seen from space.

Took my dad and his wife to a local garden centre afterwards.  It was the first time my dad has been ‘out’ properly since he came out of hospital, and he was positively chomping at the bit with enthusiasm.  “Take it nice and slow,” we told him, “And if you feel tired, we’ll find you somewhere to sit.” 

Some hopes!  My dad - a now-retired gardener - got inside the garden centre and whoosh he was off, list in hand, dashing here and there and even trying to pick up a huge bag of compost!  We had to physically restrain him.

Tuesday 27

I've given up smoking!  I know!  Amazing!  But true!  Even more amazing, I've done it the 'cold turkey' way without the use of any nicotine substitutes.  My only (invaluable) aid was Allen Carr's "Easy Way to Stop Smoking".  This book should be put in a glass case and worshipped for all time. 

Oh, I'm doing a Not Smoking Diary to record this momentous event in all its gut-wrenching glory.

Thursday 29

Still not smoking!!!!!!!  What my partner and I are saving on cigarettes each month is enough to pay the increase in the mortgage!!! Incentive or what!