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Balloon Boy 2

After my last post on Balloon Boy, I felt a pang of guilt as I had judged the family without any evidence. It didn’t help that a Christian channel had portrayed them as innocent- at least they didn’t suggest that The Heenes were guilty of fraud. Afterall the only thing we had to go on was the body language experts analysing of the size of the sweat beads and how fast they fell from Mr Heene’s forehead.

Well all my fears were laid to rest today (or was it yesterday?) when Mrs Heene admitted to the incident being a hoax. I still feel sorry for them for as Michael commented they were driven to desperation. I agree. Desperation can drive one to do all sorts of things which is why as I raise my kids I enforce boundaries around them. Even on days where they are perfectly well-behaved, I don’t say yes to everything they request- harmless requests included. Like today child #3 asked for cookies. There was nothing wrong with the timing, it was midday. He was neither full-up nor hungry but he had eaten so it was actually prime time for cookies. Plus he was well-behaved (relatively).  But I said no. He asked why and I explained to him that in life you don’t get everything you want.

He did get the cookie later, but only after I had made sure there was no sulking and he was happy not to have received it. It is very hard to pull that one on toddler J. He would scream the house down and I hate noise- all kinds. Perhaps what I should do is say “no” and run outside so I don’t hear his cries.

My prayer is that I raise my children to have a realistic view of life and an unwavering faith in God. That way the chance of ever being analysed by body language experts remains nill to nada.

Empty Vessels

I have missed Pawpaw and Mango. It has only been 4 days since I posted but it seems so much longer. In the last four days I have:

Built a website for my dad, dealt with enquiries and orders from Greece, the UK and the States, went through the bureaucracy of the British customs agency and all their fees and forms for importing goods, begged a friend to come around and work for peanuts, “returned” the kids back to school and had a killer migraine.  Writing pawpawandmango has revealed to your’s truly, the things that matter to her. Food and comfort. I make a lot of reference to food and I hate discomfort. Hence my previous whinge about my sore throat and my upcoming one about migraines.

I had a migraine. I can ususally smell this from afar and have reinforcements ready and waiting before it hits. This time was no different, only it lasted four days. On the evening of day three I went in search of a late night pharmacy for some real medication. Not the Mickey Mouse stuff like Paracetamol, Ibuprofen et cetera, but something with some strength. After selecting my drug of choice, the pharmacist suggested I try Imigran. I was made to fill out a questionnaire and I started to get really excited about this super-duper drug. Especially when the till came up with £8 ($14). It better start to work before I even open up the pack. Imagine my horror when I found out it ony had 2 tablets in it? I nearly drove back with the intention of ramming my car through the glass window of that nice smelling pharmacy. This Imigran had better start working before it gets to my throat; I thought as I gulped down my Tango. My drive back home was peaceful and serene as I listened to an audio book by one of my favorite authors- Valorie Burton.  I wondered what was going on behind the walls of the homes I drove past. I thought of happy and sad relationships, tasty meals and burnt dinners, children who were being abused and those who were having a childhood that the other group could only dream about. This drug better kick in or else I’ll kick someone’s behind! My thoughts turned to my dear friend JK who recently started blogging. She insists it has something to do with me, I’m not so sure. My thoughts go to her because she recently put up a post about Scrabble. And I’m thinking of Scrabble because it was a major part of my childhood. I am blessed to have had a happy one.  Jk is talented, a naturaly gifted writer and I hope she knows it.  Just as soon as she gives me the go ahead and teaches me how to do the blogroll thingy, I’ll direct you to her blog!  The pharmacist said not to use Imigran and the other painkiller together. What he should have said is; “don’t use Imigran. GlaxoSmithkline however accepts your donation of £8, with thanks”.  After all the filling of forms and dancing through the hoops, it was all for nothing. They say empty vessels make the most noise. Nuff said. Thankfully my headaches have ceased and I’m back to normal. But I ain’t sharing that info with hubby as I risk losing the pampering, or as Valorie would say pamperizing! Thanks as always for reading.

The Lady, Du Pain & The Perfect French Manicure

So there I sat on the Eurostar excited about my very short break away from normal life. The last time I was in Paris was on my first wedding anniversary. Hubby and I were so shocked and disappointed that everything was actually in French. The knowledge that they are French people did nothing to soothe us as we listened to the 60th re-run of CNN in our hotel room- the only TV channel in English. It annoyed us to see blockbuster Hollywood movies voiced-over in French. How dare they? Eventually common sense reigned and we agreed to enjoy our holiday so we did. Lots of french bread (du pain), ham and cheese, but we did.

Fast forward 12 years and I wasn’t too keen on the sights, I just wanted to see my friend whom I hadn’t seen in 2 years and enjoy my VERY MUCH needed break. Alone. Deciding I would need a dictionary, I wondered why Costa Coffee didn’t sell them, it was the only shop without a queue. I ignored the fact that the French customs sign at St Pancras Station in London was written in French first and then English. I even pretended not to notice that the announcements in the train were in French and then translated into French-English. What I could not deal with was the newsagents who had a section for foreign publications, aka English. That was way too much to bear. All was forgotten though when I checked into my hotel, kindly assisted by Ganiyu, the cheerful Nigerian who spoke Yoruba (yo-hu-ba) with a French accent.

I had asked for a single bed- when they said single bed, it meant single-side-of-your body only. But it was my room and mine alone. It was blissful, clean and smelt nice. All TV channels were in French without the luxury of CNN this time. But it was fine. I had an attitude as I went for a walk to the market and in search of MacDonalds, wondering why I felt so superior to the French that I was unprepared to sample their cuisine. For some reason I didn’t even try to speak the language, I couldn’t be bothered and had a strange feeling they should concede to me. I guess it was my irritation at the bewildered look on their faces when I asked where the nearest MacDonalds was. It’s no wonder they are not fond of the Brits. Or the Americans.
At the nail bar the entire pricelist was in French. Surely a French Mani/Pedicure cannot be that pricey, they are the originators. Wrong! these folks charged me 67 Euros! That’s $95 dollars y’all. When she told me the price I quietly prayed she meant 16 Euros. My prayer was ansered, answer- “No, it is 67 Euros!” The mani/pedicure was PERFECT.

On my way back to the hotel I decided against listening to music so I could soak in the sounds, scenes and culture of Paris. I enjoyed doing so. It felt surreal that I was in another country, surrounded by strangers yet was so peaceful and filled with joy. I thought it’d be nice to have some French food for dinner after deciding there may be French word for Chinese which I didn’t know. On my way to the French restaurant, the smell of something familiar wafted up my nostrils. Minutes later I was in the hotel room, watching a movie on my phone and eating the best kebabs ever, served by the friendliest Turkish guys… oh well, French cuisine will have to wait!
And then Shade and I met up, but that’s another story 🙂

Thank you very much Lord.

A little while ago I thought to myself what a blessing it would be to have a people-in-business think-tank. Small business owners cannot always afford the luxuries of having key professionals in place. Experts that will no doubt propel your business forward while building you up. An SEO expert, Tight-Wad Accountant, Knowlegeable Legal Team, The Talented Copywriter, Organised Administration, Red Hot PR, The Big Marketing Firm, etc. I don’t remember praying about it but I thought about it. A few of us getting together to share our knowledge without the price tag would be of tremendous help to each of us- A few days later I got a phonecall from a dear friend, she wanted a date to meet up with another friend in business. In a nutshell, our little think-tank was born.
Years ago, I was lamenting to a friend that I hated wearing glasses. At the time laser surgery was probably still a concept in someone, somewhere’s mind. He said; “do you believe God can heal your eyes?” My evasive answer, “er…yes”. That was it. Maybe he prayed for me, maybe he didn’t but the reading on my eyes began to improve. The word says delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. God gave me the desires of my heart without my praying for them. I just desired, and He granted. This warms my heart so much, the knowledge that the Lord loves me the way He does. And to add to that, He lets me know daily. Like the day asked the Lord for direction with PP. I was spreading myself thin and every task was as equally important as the next so the word priority was useless to me. I got a call from an organisation appointed by the government to give help to small businesses- for free! Or the other time when I prayed and asked the Lord to help me get organised. I did not inherit mum or dad’s organisational skills, LOL! I was overwhelmed with work and ideas and about to purchase my 6th notebook, I think that was the “marketing ideas” notebook. And the Lord promptly blessed me with a filofax.

Lord I thank you so much for loving me the way you do. I thank you that I never have to worry about my needs being met, ever, you are always faithful to deliver. So today I sit back and watch expectantly as you make my life so beautiful that it becomes a song of praise to you.

Personalised Birthday Cakes for Cats & Whatever else goes on in Harrods

Still on my the-sky-is-the-limit-and-I-can-SO-reach-it quest, the boys and I took a trip to the Natural History Museum- and ended our day out in Harrods. I explained to them just how expensive this store was- simply because they love to amass facts and I wanted them to be more knowledgeable. What I didn’t plan for was Child #2 to ooh! & aah! very loudly at the price of EVERYTHING. “Aaron, come and see this!!!! Mom, just look at the price of that”. My efforts to try and blend us in as regulars failed miserably. Especially when #1 and #2 started their loud squabble about who knows what. They wanted the cute kitten that was going for £750. They went on about the lift- saying it’s made from “real copper man”. But we all had fun on the 4th floor. Even baby J was facinated by the life size stuffed animals. I had no answer for them when they asked why any one would bake candy-stripe sugar cookies for dogs and personalised celebration cakes for cats. Its not like dogs can tell colours or cats can read.

All in all, it was real good fun and my morale for the day to the kids was; “regular shoppers in Harrods are just like us, we just won’t spend £500+ on a miniature sleigh bed for a dog or indeed shop at the pet deli counter”. I said we can, but we wont. Amen.

Verbal Dyslexia

I get that from time to time but tonight it is because the 9 year old is asking me questions such as “What happens if I drink food colouring?” , “Have you heard of a banana slug mum? What would you do if you saw one?” Did you know that snails are not slimy, they are slippery and slugs are slimy? He is telling me such interesting facts like the breathing hole of slugs, what DNA stands for, etc.
While this is going on, the 6 year old is going on about the plane he’ll be building. He has changed his mind, it will now hold just 4 people. Himself, his best friends Daniel and Kiki and spidy- the 16 month old teddy who never wears his spiderman outfit.
Lets not forget the baby saying “wap-wap, wap-wap”. If you have not figured, that is baby-speak for Wrapper- I want to get on your back. The 8 year old is quiet. That’s never good. Especially as he’s just got a new experiment kit, he’ll take things beyond the kit.

So with all of this going on simultaneously, how would I not have verbal dyslexia? I am somehow supposed to respond to each child articulately at the end of their questions or comments instantly, and without being partial. As usual I have about 4, no 6 thoughts unrelated yet by default going on in my head that need to be sorted out and acted upon. We haven’t even talked about the mutating laundry basket, I swear I saw it’s new arms move.
The Lord is indeed my strength, I’m still smiling and i’m genuinely happy.

Why My Rice is Never Soft

Today’s dinner was Jollof Rice, Turkey, Fried plantains, Coleslaw/Potato salad and a glass of coke. I tend to cook my rice just done, not soft. I like the grains separated and chewy, not sticky and …whatever the word is- you know what I mean. I wasn’t raised on chewy rice. On the contrary mum’s rice is quite nice and soft.
It all started in boarding house when Toyin and I went with Mariam to visit her mum. Mariam’s mum made this yummy jollof rice with carrots, all separated. Each grain of rice was coated in its own sauce, same as the carrot pieces. So if you’ve ever eaten at my home and wondered if I simply couldn’t cook plain old rice, be rest assured, I can. It all started years ago when I visited Mariam’s mum…