The middle of last week DHs dad phoned up and asked if they could come and stay Friday - Saturday this weekend. We said sure, got nothing on, and promptly cancelled DHs Saturday overtime! (DH has had to work the last two and will be working Saturdays most of the winter.) Anyway, they arrived 2pm Friday and left Saturday evening. Turns out they were concerned about their son and wanted to give him the chance for a father & son chat.

On Saturday morning we decided to go to the cinema and see Ice Age 3 (this time we pre-booked) - all except FIL who opted to stay home and read his newspaper! We had great fun, despite sitting in the very front row because we were late like last week and that was the only way 5 of us could sit together!

Then in the evening, with some trepidation, we walked to the main town park for the firework display. I say trepidation because we first took Emma when she was 3 and put DHs work ear defenders with us for her. She lasted 3 minutes before sobbing and screaming & we had to leave. The next year Sophie had just been born. We had tried standing outside while neighbours let off their fireworks and she loved it (DD1 is noise-sensitive and is still scared of balloons now, but at 3 she was terrified of any noise she didnt control). So I dropped her & DH off, without ear defenders (forgot) and they lasted approx 2 minutes - I had to load the baby back into the car immediately and go and retrieve them. The NEXT year, when Em was 5, we stood OUTSIDE the park, figuring that paying £13 for a total of 5 minutes in two years meant they owed us a freebie, and we could at least leave easier if she freaked again. Anyway, she coped, just! Last year we were away, but this year we felt sure Em would cope. But what about Sophie? She is not as noise-sensitive as Emma, BUT....

DH forgot the ear defenders again, so we relied on lots of pep talks, and waited.... The diplay started while Sophie was in Grandad's arms. Immediately she wanted to come to me (no surprise - she's very clingy to me at the moment). She then clamped her gloved hands over her eyes and stayed firmly hidden from all the noise and flashes. After about 15 minutes she decided that mummy was not enough and asked to move to daddy! Perhaps while mummy is more comforting, daddy feels safer? Anyway, her gloved hands continued to hide her until the end of the display (approx 30 minutes in total). She then emerged and we made a fuss of how brave she'd been - no tears, no asking to go home. So all the way home she kept repeating proudly "my so brave... my so BRAVE!"

Tomorrow DH starts shifts at work. I am not looking forward to this. Neither is he! But they have a late Project and the consequences of not turning it around could be serious, so it is finally all hands on deck, with 3 months to go (DH has been warning for a long time that they would be late, but no one seemed aware of the BIG penalty clause hanging over their heads until a few weeks ago....). So now he is to work longer, less family friendly hours, 6 days a week (and only be paid overtime on Saturdays - grrrr). In essence, mostly I will have to give the girls dinner and put them to bed on my own, which with my two is quite a challenge. I will also have to cook several evening meals while being "Mum's Taxi" - whereas at the moment I deliver and he collects, which is easier to juggle cooking around. And the poor guy will soon be getting up at 4.45am when he starts on the early shift - and he is so NOT an early bird! So it will be a tough winter. And I am not even thinking of what might happen in the Spring.... Today has enough worries of it's own without thinking about tomorrows too!

At the moment Emma's behaviour is not so good. She has had two full blown tantrums at bedtime in the last week. When she was 3, that was normal. Now it is usually fairly rare, unless she is tired, which she certainly is. She even had a major strop for Grandma on Saturday afternoon, which is unheard of. Grandma, bless her, decided to go on strike from brushing Emma's hair because Emma was being rude, stroppy and bossy. Neither she nor Emma would back down (too right too, Grandma) so Emma had to finish her own hair in her bedroom, and emerged with a broken hairbrush, snapped off at the handle, and a story about dropping it. Oh yes?! Born yesterday, was I?

Sophie by contrast is being rather a drama queen, having hystrionics at the slightest thing, and being almost impossible to calm down on some occasions. She had one at breakfast on Friday, all because Emma wanted to watch Dangermouse and she wanted Pingu. I said because Emma was off to school shortly she could choose first, and Sophie could have her choice after the school run. After all, Sophie does enjoy Dangermouse, even though most of it sails over her head. So she cried all through breakfast, finally calming down and drinking her milk just before we left half an hour later. She ate her toast when we got back, and watched Pingu. Then she had another major cry soon after getting back from Preschool in the afternoon, and no-one could distract her, not even her newly arrived grandparents, so we just left her to it. Not like Sophie at all. She's also tired and has been waking at night, usually around 2.30am, most nights in the last week. This has kicked off several days of headaches in me, and DH is pretty tired too. Kids - who'd have 'em, eh? Don't worry, we do love them lots and wont be sending them back, but sometimes....!

I don't make a habit of copying emails onto my Blog, but I thought this one was different, especially considering the rough few days the British Army are suffering at the moment.


The average British soldier is 19 years old.....he is a short haired, well built lad who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy.  Not yet dry behind the ears and just old enough to buy a round of drinks but old enough to die for his country - and for you.  He's not particularly keen on hard work but he'd rather be grafting in Afghanistan than unemployed in the UK .  He recently left comprehensive school where he was probably an average student, played some form of sport, drove a ten year old rust bucket, and knew a girl that either broke up with him when he left, or swore to be waiting when he returns home.  He moves easily to rock and roll or hip-hop or to the rattle of a 7.62mm machine gun.

He is about a stone lighter than when he left home because he is working or fighting from dawn to dusk and well beyond.  He has trouble spelling, so letter writing is a pain for him, but he can strip a rifle in 25 seconds and reassemble it in the dark.  He can recite every detail of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either effectively if he has to.  He digs trenches and latrines without the aid of machines and can apply first aid like a professional paramedic.  He can march until he is told to stop, or stay dead still until he is told to move.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation but he is not without a rebellious spirit or a sense of personal dignity.  He is confidently self-sufficient.  He has two sets of uniform with him: he washes one and wears the other.  He keeps his water bottle full and his feet dry.  He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never forgets to clean his rifle.  He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes and fix his own hurts.  If you are thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food is your food.  He'll even share his life-saving ammunition with you in the heat of a firefight if you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and regards his weapon as an extension of his own hands.  He can save your life or he can take it, because that is his job - it's what a soldier does.  He often works twice as long and hard as a civilian, draw half the pay and have nowhere to spend it, and can still find black ironic humour in it all.  There's an old saying in the British Army: 'If you can't take a joke, you shouldn't have joined!'

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and he is unashamed to show it or admit it. He feels every bugle note of the 'Last Post' or 'Sunset' vibrate through his body while standing rigidly to attention.  He's not afraid to 'Bollock' anyone who shows disrespect when the Regimental Colours are on display or the National Anthem is played; yet in an odd twist, he would defend anyone's right to be an individual.  Just as with generations of young people before him, he is paying the price for our freedom.  Clean shaven and baby faced he may be, but be prepared to defend yourself if you treat him like a kid.  
He is the latest in a long thin line of British Fighting Men that have kept this country free for hundreds of years.  He asks for nothing from us except our respect, friendship and understanding.  We may not like what he does, but sometimes he doesn't like it either - he just has it to do..  Remember him always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.  

And now we even have brave young women putting themselves in harm's way, doing their part in this tradition of going to war when our nation's politicians call on us to do so.

When you receive this, please stop for a moment and think what our armed forces sacrifice  for your freedom, if you are so inclined, feel free to say a prayer for our troops in the trouble spots of the world.

Emma took her Promise and officially became a Brownie just before Half Term. Bless her, she managed to memorise the Promise and Law, then froze up and couldnt remember the Law at the right moment (it was the opposite an hour before at dinner time - ah well). Anyway, she was given her badges and necker (scarf?) and Brown Owl instructed her that Mum could sew on most of them but she should do one of them. While Emma has a fairly sizable rebellious bone, it is usually reserved for mum & dad, so of course what Brown Owl says is Law! We finally sat down on Sunday and I showed her what to do, and she was off, enthusiastically tackling her first ever sewing job. She got half way around the biggest badge then asked me to finish it. That's it, I thought. But no, she wanted to do the other three. All I had to do was finish them off each time. While she was sewing the last one on, I grabbed the camera.

My mum was never much good at dress making (I still shudder at the memory of some clothes she did make) but MIL was a good dress maker in her time, back when making your own was both the norm and necessary. Maybe Emma has inherited her talent? I know I have inherited my mum's inability - I gave up needlework at school after two years and did metalwork/woodwork instead (as I was less awful at them) before I could give them all up!

Below are some photos from the last few days.

On Friday the girls decided they wanted to get outside and do some skating. Here they are posing:

And inevitably, this is what happened moments later LOL! Ooo I'm mean, snapping them before I ran in to pick them up, arent I? Well, I could see they weren't really hurt, despite the NOISE!

Sophie decided she had had enough and went and sat by the newly planted up pots. Here she is telling me she likes the pansies best.

DH is having to work quite a lot of Saturday mornings at the moment, so this time I thought I had it sussed - take them to the Movies for Juniors at the local cinema for £1 each to see Ice Age 3. Sadly by the time we arrived, not only had the screening started (onloy adverts, no worries) but they had sold out - noooooooo! I didnt dare risk it with the Spiderwick Chronicals as it is a PG and both of mine are easily scared (Emma decided she couldnt cope with Sleeping Beauty for the first time today and had to be distracted til the Bad Fairy had gone away). So we milled about the town centre, had a drink, bought some pens and books, and promised ourselves we would try again next Saturday if it's on!

In the afternoon, I asked Emma if she wanted painting ready for the Alernative Halloween Party at church that evening. She chose a "Fairy" out of my book, with some additions of her own. Sophie, who was too young to go, overheard and asked to be a Lion Cub, again! I had no lion cub in my book, but this Tiger Cub sufficed!

Below you can not only see Daddy being more scary than the Tiger Cub, but also a line of "Sophie Growing Up" photos along the top of the picture rail behind him. Sophie loves to see these in chronological order.

Above and below is Princess Emma, all ready for the party! The high heels are a size 2 (she is still just size 1 on her big foot, barely) and it is the first time she has been allowed out in them. We were passed them by her cousin, and they went in the dressing up box. Now they nearly fit for real! Oh, the wings are because she was a Fairy Princess! She had a great time at the party, and I stayed and helped out too.