Chickens in a box

Hard to believe a whole year has gone by since we booked in to have Number 2 Son. We celebrated with Grandpa at Finkley Down Farm surrounded by a menagerie of small, furry animals. Birthday lunch was a timeless classic; chips with ketchup followed by cake. James attempted to eat his candle before gnawing the icing off the cake, shredding it and throwing the discarded crumbs over as much of the carpet as possible. William, Grandpa and I rose above the carnage and sang 'Happy Birthday', much to the amusement of the rest of the Finkley Down Caff's occupants.

Funny to think that a few years ago we were small children manically cycling around the show eating candy floss and zipping down the helter skelter. In our teenage years we graduated to the Members Enclosure and spent the show drinking as much as was humanly possible, waking up on day two fresh as daisies and ready to do the whole thing again. Now look at us - responsible parents with our two little boys, the very model of respectability. At least future shows won't hold any surprises when Will and James get older...

At last! Closure on a 'will she, won't she' return to work situation and a firm 'she won't' was the final call. It's been dragging on since the middle of June with Vodafone trying to find me a flexible, part-time role which would mean I'd have enough time to do my job but still give Will time to go to his pre-school. Unfortunately part-time only seemed to run to 4 days a week and there was no one to job share with. HR finally offered me my old job back - talk about the wheel turning full circle. There was absolutely no way I was prepared to do that again so I confirmed that I would not be returning. It's then taken nearly 3 weeks, an email and two phone calls from myself to finally confirm that I won't be coming back and that the team will finally be told. A farce. 7 years I've worked there and had some of the happiest times of my career. I always knew that underneath it all I was just a number, but the way I've been treated over t...

...another bunfight. This time a trip to Newbury in the torrential rain; wrestling with double buggy, rain cover, tons of shopping and grumpy offspring. It would have been relatively quick and painless had I not made the fatal error of going into Laura Ashley to get a spare duvet cover for William in honour of Great Uncle David's impending visit this weekend. I got to the doors and found them shut - teeth gritted the only way through was via the time honoured and highly technical (double) buggy-reverse and then, if successful, make a break for the lift without knocking anything twee over. So far so good until we got upstairs to find the entire boys section buried under a heap of boxes. Fortunately the lady in the shop was very helpful and found a lovely train patterned duvet which William approved of. Having paid we turned tail and fled, leaving a trail of white, fluffy towels, linen throws and a few random scatter cushions in our wake.

Tuesdays are my day off, and yet by mid-afternoon I always seem to feel adrift and counting the hours until I can pick the boys up. Polo in the morning is a permanent fixture and I love it. Got home for a shower, lunch, the ironing and hoovering (God, I loathe hoovering) before heading into Marlborough for a bit of a shop. Typically it chucked it down with rain and there was NOTHING worth investing in. So I spent the whole afternoon plodding mindlessly round town before heading back via Hungerford Somerfield and then to nursery to scoop up my two angels. Hmmmm... I scooped James up with no problem and then it was onwards to the Toddler Room to find Will. Number 1 son was indisposed and when he eventually emerged from the bathroom it was to announce "I wet myself". After finding his spare trousers and wrestling them onto my squirming son, I set off to find his wet jeans. It only took 10 seconds before James erupted into screams, William having opened the Emergency Exit, James ...

I try so hard not to lose mine, but have to admit that today I failed miserably. We're a bit topsy-turvy this week because I had to attend a Speed Awareness course yesterday afternoon to avoid uppping my points to 9. A hideous waste of a day and the boys had to go to nursery. So today I had the brainwave of going along to playgroup. A bad move. Two hours spent carrying round a miserable James who hated all the noise, whilst trying to stop other children from either slapping William or trying to steal whatever toy he happened to be holding. Home to what should have been a simple meal of fishfingers, peas and cheesey mash, which turned the kitchen into a food-encrusted bombsite. Followed by a tantrum by Will because he didn't want a wee wee and whilst wrestling him onto the loo, James made a break for freedom, upturned Molly's cat bowl and began stuffing handfuls of cat food into his gob. I cracked. Yelled my frustration at the kitchen furniture, counted to 10 and put ev...