Happy 3rd Birthday, V!

My darling V,

Happy Birthday!

You are three now!

Can you believe it?  Where did the last three years go?  I get a shock every time I look at you – because I can’t believe how big you’ve become.

I remember the day you were born as though it were yesterday!

Over the last three years you have made me laugh and you have made me cry.  You have made me very, very cross and you have made me so, so happy.   You have made me feel so proud, that I honestly thought my heart would burst.

You drive me crazy – on a daily basis – but I wouldn’t change you for anything.

I love that you ask ‘Why?’ every three minutes.  I love that you can’t stop talking.  I love that you love to read.   I love that you’re addicted to CBeebies and Disney Junior.  I love that you climb into my lap for hugs and kisses during Barney’s ‘I love you’ song.  I love the ‘monster’ noise you make.  I love that your favourite colours are black and brown – and that you tell me so at least twice a day!  I love that you’re a chocaholic and won’t try any other ice cream apart from chocolate.

I love that you are you.

I always want what’s best for you.  Remember that – every decision Papa and I make is for you.

I love you.

Love,

Mama

x

My Hero
My Hero

 

 

AARRGH!

I am so irritated and frustrated!

Seriously, why can’t anything be easy around here?

Beware – this is long and ranty!

Yesterday I had to get some passport pictures for V for his (2015!) school admissions form.  At the place I usually go to, you don’t get the pictures for an hour.  So I went somewhere else – where they ADVERTISE outside that it takes 90 seconds for passport photos.  Great!  This is where I needed to be.

When we went in to pay, I asked the lady how long it would take (just to double-check) and she said ten minutes.  I decided we’d wait.  It wasn’t long.  TWENTY minutes later, I went up to the counter to ask what was going on.  V was, by this time, hanging off my leg demanding to go home and I still had to go to two supermarkets to get a few things.  The lady said it would be another couple of minutes and that there’s a backlog of jobs.  Fine.  I waited five more minutes.  Then I was told there was a network error and they couldn’t print my pictures.  I FREAKED out.  I told them that if there is a delay, that’s fine.  I understand.  These things happen.  But at least f****** tell me.  Then I could have gone to the supermarkets and come back to collect the pictures!

I left and went to the supermarkets.  Got everything I needed in the first.  Apart from one thing – which I knew I’d get in the second.  My mil told me to buy gidamri.  I’ve never bought gidamri before.  I don’t know what it looks like.  And I had no idea what I was looking for.  On the way to the supermarket, I rang a friend and asked her.  She told me they definitely have it at the supermarket and to just ask any of the girls working there – they all know it, and that it looks like black toffee.  I asked her if she knew the English word for it (gidamri is Sindhi).  She said no.

Right.

So in I went.  I looked at the shelves where they have all the spices and seeds.  Nothing was labelled ‘Gidamri’.  So I asked one of the ladies.  She had no idea what I was talking about.  She picked up a packet off the shelf, showed it to me and said, ‘Is it this one?’  It wasn’t.  When I said no, she said, ‘We don’t have it.’  I asked her, ‘You don’t have it?  Or you don’t know what it is?’  She admitted to not knowing what it was.  So I asked her to call somebody who DOES know.  Honestly, the way she sucked her teeth before shuffling off…!  Don’t forget I still had V with me.  And I still had to go back to pick up the pictures.  AND he was whining to go home.  A second lady arrived and had no idea what I was on about.  One of the Indian men came and didn’t know what I was talking about.  I suddenly spotted something – unlabelled – on the top of a shelf that looked like black toffee.  I bought it and hoped it was correct.

It was correct.  And the English word for gidamri is tamarind!  You learn something new every day!

We pulled into our driveway (after collecting the pictures that were finally ready) and I realised I’d forgotten to buy V’s milk.  So off we went again to get that.  As we were getting into the car LagosDad called and said to get his passport and pick him up so we could go get some work done at the bank.

FFS.  All I really wanted to do was have a lie down!

I dropped V off at home first and went to get LagosDad.  One of the problems we have is with our PIN.  Before you can use the card you have to change the PIN from the one they give you.  We’ve tried several times to do this – but it just won’t happen (this has been going on for several years).  Other things we had to do was: transfer some money, register for Internet banking and order a cheque book.

That’s four things, yes?  We had to go to FOUR different counters to do this!  Regarding the PIN, the account manager said there may have been a network error (what the hell is it with this place and network errors??) when I tried changing the PIN last and to go down and try it again.  I went to do that (it didn’t work) while LagosDad went to get forms to order the cheque book and to do the money transfer, etc.

He went downstairs to get the Internet banking sorted while I waited for the money transfer to happen.  He had already given the teller the slip.  This guy sat there, chewing on a toothpick, staring at this slip of paper.  He pressed about two keys on his computer and another guy rocked up.  This second man was filling out a form and needed help.  He stood next to me and he and teller started having a (very loud) conversation about exchange rates or whatever.  I stood there for five minutes waiting.  I cleared my throat.  I drummed my fingers on the counter, I tutted and I sighed loudly.  Both those f****** ignored me.  After ten minutes, I finally said, “Excuse me.  Please can he just finish my work before you continue your conversation?  I’ve been waiting a long time.”  They both just stared at me.  The man filling out the form finally said, “No problem”.  As though HE was doing ME a favour!  Stupid b******.

Today I went to buy V’s birthday present from my in-laws.  Mil and I had already been to the store and chosen  the tricycle.  I only had to go back to pick it up and have it wrapped.

Before I go any further, let me just tell you that there are three ladies working in the store.  And the ‘madam’ (their boss) is away until next week.

Ok, so I asked them if they would gift-wrap it.

Yes.

Is it free to gift-wrap?

Yes.

Did they have the box or a carton to put it in (just to make wrapping easier)?

They didn’t have the box for *that* tricycle, but they’d look for another one.

One of the ladies wandered off to look for a box – and came back (ten minutes later) with one which was about a third of the size of the tricycle.  FFS!  I told her I didn’t think it would fit and let’s just use wrapping paper.

While they ran about the store looking for scissors and sellotape, I spotted a whole lot of bits of wrapping paper.  You know, the off cuts from other presents they’d wrapped.  They were all different patterns and sizes and most of them had sellotape hanging off them.  I wondered if they were planning to use those to wrap my gift, but then figured it wasn’t possible.  They wouldn’t.  Would they?

It turns out…  They would!  I told them that there was no way they could wrap my gift with those papers.  They spent ages choosing different paper and then spent another ten minutes trying to figure out the best way to wrap it.

They tried laying the tricycle on its side.  Then upside down.  I had to intervene and advise them on what I felt was the right way.

The problem is – they used double-sided tape to tape it altogether.  So each time something touched the gift-wrap, it would get stuck.  By the time I got it home, the wrapping paper was all torn to bits.

Now I know I didn’t have to get it wrapped.  And that it probably didn’t make any sense to do it.  But that’s not really the point, is it?

I’ve just tied a ribbon around it now.

I just don’t understand…  You go to any bank in the UK and the tellers aren’t all chewing on toothpicks or yapping away to each other or to their customers.  You also don’t have to go to five different counters to get five different things done!  And, in addition, where else in the world do other people just go up to a counter at the bank while someone is standing there?!

I’ve been here SO many years, and I still can’t get over the way some things are handled.

Why is it like this?  Why can’t some people work efficiently and/or professionally?  Is it because they’re not expected to?  Do they know what’s expected of them?  Are management not keeping on top of it?  Is it the training?  Or lack of training?  Poor pay?

As far as I’m concerned, I’m a client/customer and I expect good customer service.  Is it too much to ask?

Am I looking at the whole situation from the wrong angle?  Am I missing something (apart from a few marbles)?

 

A Toddler’s Rules of Possession

I saw this on Facebook a few months ago and saved it because everything rang true!  Sorry I can’t give credit where it’s due – I just can’t remember who I stole it from!

I don’t know what your toddler is like, or what the ‘situation’ in your home is like…  But if yours is anything like mine, the following rules probably apply in your home as well!

A Toddler's Rules of Possession

Sleeping Nude

Before I got pregnant, I would sometimes sleep in the nude.  You’ve all done it, haven’t you?  It’s very comfortable, right?  Nothing wrong with it either…

Anyway, as I was saying – I would sometimes sleep in the nude.  Since having V, I’ve not really been able to do that.  I haven’t missed it – it’s just one of those things that I don’t do anymore.

Unless, of course, I’ve had a lot to drink!

During my birthday weekend (in February) we’d gone out and had quite a bit to drink.  We then went to someone’s house afterwards and drank some more.  Then we went to a club and drank even more!  When I willingly drink shots of Patron, everyone knows….  I’ve had too much!  The conversation below is proof of that!

drunk1

I heard about how I attempted to do Gangnam Style at the club.  I also heard that I danced on an imaginary stripper pole (I’m so proud).  I hadn’t been drunk like that for the LONGEST time.

The next morning I woke up and all my clothes were in a pile on the floor by my bed.  I couldn’t remember getting home or going to bed.  I was, thankfully, able to get dressed before V came into our room.

The next time I had a night like that, was about a month later.  We went to a club that we used to go to every Saturday night before V came along.  We hadn’t been there in about two years (or since that night) and it was 80s night.  The whole combination just spells disaster, doesn’t it?  What a great night!

The following morning was painful and again, I woke up completely bare.  You’re probably all thinking that LagosDad and I got up to all sorts on both these nights.  He was fully dressed both times when I woke up – so I’m thinking not!  Again, I was able to get dressed before going to check on V (thank God for the nanny, is all I have to say).

So our most recent escapade follows the same pattern…  I just realised – you probably all think I’m an alcoholic or something.  I will just say that this Saturday was my first night out/drinking since May!

On Saturday morning I woke up with a squink.  And I woke up because V came barging into our room.  He was about to climb into bed with us to watch TV when he suddenly said, ‘Mama, why aren’t you wearing any clothes?  Put on your pyjamas!’

Well that told me!  *embarrassed face*

On Sunday morning when he came in, he lifted up the duvet and said, ‘Mama, are you have your clothes on?’  And he did the same thing this morning!

So, have I traumatised him for life?  And is he going to come in and check if I’m wearing clothes every morning?  And will he tell his teachers or friends (when nursery finally starts next week) that his mama sleeps without any clothes on?

He only saw me that one time!

Squink

A squink.

Have you ever had one?

Do you even know what they are?

I had a squink on Saturday, and it was so damn painful.  My eye was watering all day long!

Oh!  Sorry!  I didn’t explain what it is yet.

I can’t remember when I had my first one.  But it was at least eight or nine years ago.

Basically, what happens is…

When I drink too much – not just too much as in I’m a bit hungover the next day – but in too much as a lot more than too much, I get a squink.

The next day one of my eyes (usually my right one) swells up.  Attractive, right?  But that’s not at all.  There’s also the stabbing feeling.  Yes.  It feels as though someone is stabbing me in the eye with a toothpick.  This causes my eye to water and my nose to run.

Needless to say I don’t tend to go *anywhere* when I have a squink.

I haven’t had one since before Vinay was born – so that’s at least 3 years and I’d forgotten how truly painful they are.

Oh well…  Serves me right for drinking too much!