I like these quiet days between Christmas and New Year. As a child they were filled with selection boxes for breakfast, large jigsaws, board games, time to read, and old films on the sofa with quality streets, and they are not so different now. No pressure to get out and make the most, just quiet pottering. I will be pleased when the children are big enough to enjoy a large jigsaw too, but am enjoying hanging out with them and their (huge number of) new toys.

We interrupted the peace yesterday for cBeebies Live! at the MEN arena. Lots of very excited (yet very well-behaved: cBeebies attracts a Very Nice crowd) preschoolers headed to Manchester to ingest sugar and wave glowy things at all their favourite cBeebies characters and, even more excitingly, Justin and Sarah-Jane! We sniggered to ourselves when some scally stagehand drove off in Edie McCredie’s bus (shouldn’t have left it unlocked in Manchester) but it was otherwise, and quite properly, aimed entirely at the children. Maggie mostly watched open-mouthed and almost unbreathing, though she did join in with some shouting and singing: Tamsin, who  I had expected not to take much notice, was terribly excited by the whole thing, bouncing and clapping to the music and pointing at everything like crazy, as well as trying to escape to get down to the stage for a good look.

My sister and her family are coming back over today for New Year: it will be the first in some time where neither Suzanne nor I are either pregnant or newborn-wrangling so I wonder if we will manage to stay up? An early night has been in danger of becoming traditional, while Chris and Cameron play video games, but it might be nice to make the effort this year.

After gently joshing Karen about the impeccable neatness of her (and Pete‘s) bag – what, no receipts? – I was inspired to empty mine. All the way to the bottom; I suspect I have never excavated so far in the year since I was given it. I haven’t photographed it, that would scare you.

The bag itself: I was given it by my mother-in-law last Christmas (you will need a big bag now you have two children). I love it. It is large and black and has brightly coloured batik cats all over it: the only problem, if I was looking for something to complain about, is also its virtue: it is so capacious things just disappear into its depths. I use it both as handbag and nappy bag, though when (if) I go out without children I decant* purse, keys and phone into a smaller bag – like Karen, I wonder what I carried before I had children (and went here to find out: links a bit erratic so scroll down to the 18th) – and skip along feeling light and unburdened.

Inside:

• Two hats for Tamsin; one woolly and bobbly and oh so cute, the other pink and jersey and also very cute.
• One nappy: size 1 totsbot, yellow.
• My notebook, full of random scribblings. Lists, recipes, addresses, Japanese vocabulary (I’ve had it a long time).
• Red gloves, mine.
• Fruit knife.
• a brown leather purse, in which I keep vouchers and cash that has been given to me and the girls as presents – in principle, if we are out and I see something they might like (a new toy or similar) I can use that to get it. In practice, I forget it is there.
• Tamsin’s mittens: they match the woolly hat, above, and she will not keep them on.
• My prescription sunglasses.
• A powder compact: Clinique, quite ancient.
• Crabtree and Evelyn comfort cream (for nappies) – rarely used but you never know.
• My purse: fat with reward cards and bus tickets.
• A pen.
• An old to-do list (which, I note, contains “tax return” as its first item. I really must.)
• Two contact lenses – one for each eye, which is pretty good going.
• Keys to my parents’ house. Must give them back.
• A sachet of lemsip.
• An old shopping list (snow-white costume, boots, birthday cards for October birthdays).
• A receipt for library fines.
• Lipstick (I cannot remember the last time I applied it).
• A doll shoe, small and pink.
• Tamsin’s sippy cup, yellow, half an inch of water (recently put in the bag).
• A small tupperware with some cheesy nibbles for Tamsin.
• Happy hippy out and about spray (like this).
• Wipes: expensive eco ones. Like Karen, it worries me that normal branded ones remove pen and paint so well: they are also the best way to clean my stainless steel kitchen bin and make it shiny. I do sometimes buy asda fragrance-free, because they are so very cheap, though.
• One admission ticket, child, to Stockley Farm. I think we went in August.
• My phone: Nokia, 3 years old. If I agreed not to upgrade last summer they slashed my tariff by 2/3. Who needs a whizzy phone?

*what word do I mean, here?

When my sister and I were younger we used to laugh at our mum for claiming she had had such a busy day she hadn’t even had time to go to the toilet. That’s been me the past few weeks and let me tell you it is quite uncomfortable! I bet you all thought I had disappeared into therapy after my previous traumatic post.

The past two weeks have been a complete blur of activity. Mostly pleasant and taking advantage of the glorious autumn (forest walks, farm visits, Chester zoo, visitors, soft play and I’ve even visited the allotment!), some less so (M had her booster jabs; C went to Edinburgh and back in a day for a funeral) and my evenings have included an unseemly amount of actual paid work. Can’t turn it down; can’t find time to do it (before 10 pm). (Look! I made this!) I don’t help myself by insisting on proper home-made soups and stews for lunch and so on: just pile on that to-do list.

I’m here now! Today I find myself at a loose end. Just some household tasks, and a friend coming for dinner, and some cards to buy (oh, and two large manuscripts and a website to work on – but I don’t work during daylight hours). I intended whizzing to the allotment as soon as T showed signs of sleepiness but it is so grey and gloomy (and cold) out there that I can’t find much enthusiasm. I am a fair-weather allotmenteer and not ashamed to admit it. Perhaps I should curl up with seed catalogues; it’s that or the ironing.

The spider situation is getting worse. Last night – and I can hardly bring myself to type this without shuddering and pacing the room jerking my hands in horror – one walked on me.

I was getting the bath ready for the girls, and the girls ready for the bath, when I felt an itch on the back of my neck. Scratched it, didn’t think anything of it then a few seconds later Maggie said Mummy you have a hairy spider on you. The next few minutes are a bit of a blur as I realised what she was saying, flailed my arms wildly until it dropped on the floor, registered the size of it (bloody enormous. Really. Not just fear speaking, it was huge.) and abandoned my children to run shrieking into the bedroom. So much for motherly instinct to protect my babies.

Once in the bedroom I did remember I had children and forced myself back to the bathroom (what is the point of having a husband who is not there on these occasions?) Maggie, who is fortunately not at all bothered by spiders, even those that are nearly as big as she is, told me it had gone under the wardrobe, then I spent the rest of bathtime explaining no no I wasn’t frightened of it, silly, it just made me jump. If Tamsin grows up to be arachnophobic I accept full responsibility.

The spider hid next to the wardrobe for the entire bath – so I am really quite impressed with myself in that it was in full view yet I still got clean children. And to vindicate my reaction, which I know half of you are thinking is completely over the top even while the other half think I was utterly rational and actually very restrained, Cameron agreed it was a large spider when he finally got home and evicted it.

Flashbacks all evening even when soothed with a large glass of wine. Shudder.

Despite the memory lapse that saw Cameron in London on Friday lunchtime rather than here-with-the-afternoon-off, we had a super weekend away (Sara came in my car, we went in convoy with Ian and Nona, and Cameron arrived by train that evening). If you can rustle up 20 friends* I can recommend Plas Glansevin enormously: never have I seen such a well-equipped kitchen (and I mean never, not just never in a holiday cottage). A barbecue in the pouring rain on Friday night; Maggie stayed up until 10.30! She was having so much fun running with the pack (children aged 7, 10, 11 and a couple of 13 year olds, plus a games room with ping pong and table football – though Tamsin’s walker was a big hit too - and a special secret lounge**.) Saturday morning, once everybody was up and dressed and breakfasted, a walk was proposed. Round the Usk Reservoir, “around 3 miles”, no problem, we thought. A bit grey and drizzly but it will be fine. And fine it was – once we’d crossed the dam and out of the chilly wind (that child needs a hat), it was really very pleasant. Maggie did spectacularly well and walked and walked and walked, despite it being significantly further than 3 miles (I reckon maybe 5),  despite nobody having brought any food or drink, and despite wearing wellies. Blackberries is all she (and the rest of us) had to eat en route. She was carried towards the end but nothing wrong with that. Tamsin, of course, was carried the whole way and had a lovely sleep for most of it. On the way home we drove past the red kite feeding station and saw loads of lovely birds! Didn’t stop, which was a shame, but we were engrossed in trying to get a convoy of vehicles (we were like rush hour all on our own) past a sheep trailer on a bend in a one-lane road.

Another barbecue tea and the children went to bed earlier if not exactly early. I have no idea how M survived the weekend (but she has slept until 8 every morning this week so I am not complaining).

Sunday was warm and sunny so we decided to go for a short stroll up the hill. Predictably, Guy with the GPS and the map could not prevent us getting lost (we are not lost we know exactly where we are) and it turned into another 5 mile trek. Interesting, though: we met some farmers, a lady with a chainsaw, and I wonder if the old farmers are still talking about the woman who pulled a baby off her back, perched on a gate and breastfed it in the field while waiting for a herd of sheep to run past – complete with sheepdogs, Maggie was thrilled. More blackberries and one apple between the whole group, we were very happy when we finally found the house and discovered Nona and Irene had lunch all prepared. Could have done without the kitten death in front of some of the children in the afternoon (stray terrier running amok), and it was a shame our second expedition to the red kite centre was mis-timed so they had all been fed before we got there. But otherwise we had a lovely weekend and came back all refreshed. And with bags of laundry, naturally.

*I didn’t rustle, I was rustled.
**I sneaked off upstairs with my book on a couple of occasions: most comfy.

…and there’s sport on. Which will be illegal once I am in charge (and is not normal, is it). So I thought, glass of wine, get on here for a bit of a witter. Is anybody there?

Evenings are fair drawing in – no more popping to the allotment once the kids are in bed (or at all, if this week is anything to go by). I wonder if my sweetcorn will get ripe before the frosts come? It won’t be long. I had to put the heating on this week. Cameron put it straight back off again but that is not the point.

Tamsin did not scream through Maggie’s swimming class this week, which is progress indeed: goodbye and good riddance, separation anxiety*. And Maggie is overcoming her fear of going under thanks to some snazzy goggles.

*for now.

Back from a lovely girls’ holiday in sunny St Ives. We really did have sun and Maggie got to the beach every single day. Tamsin was not at all sure about sand to begin with, but soon got the hang (yum yum). A shame the adults took it in turns to get a 48(ish)-hour lurgy; bizarrely, the children were immune but it meant shifts to the beach in between lying pitifully on the sofa. My mother is now known as “normal granny” (much amused muttering under breath about relativity), which distinguishes her from great granny.

Cameron came home from Texas with new jeans for me (hoorah), a shiny ipod for himself (hoorah also) and the inevitable jetlag (boo).

The spider was no longer in the bath on our return so presumably the cleaner dealt with it.

Back to normal this week: preschool, swimming, rain, good intentions that fail to be acted upon. Hey ho, we did make jam yesterday. (Preens.) Took T to get weighed today so this afternoon I am mostly sighing despairingly at the incompetence and unnecessary-ness (what word do I mean?) of health visitors.

• It’s our wedding anniversary (yay). Cameron is in Houston (boo). They forgot to put his case on the plane (boo) but he was expecting to get it back yesterday (yay).
• I’m taking the girls on holiday tomorrow (yay). I haven’t packed yet (boo) but I have made mental lists (yay) and done lots of washing (enough).
• We went into town in the sunshine yesterday. Bus woes to follow in a long whingy post but we had a lovely time: the Cheshire Regiment had stands set up in front of the library – some promo thingy, I don’t know what – and a band. Not a normal military brassy marchy band, but more like a wedding one. Angels, Everybody Needs Somebody, Mustang Sally, that sort of thing. Maggie and her friend Gwen danced and danced in the sunshine, in the middle of town, in front of something like 100 people! So sweet: I wished I had my camera. (I’ll be rather less keen on her dancing with soldiers in 15 years’ time!)
• Then she was an utter horror in Starbucks. Let this be my public apology to the people trying to have a lovely quiet coffee at the next table.
• Today it is raining again. Of course it is. I haven’t visited my allotment for weeks, it’s always bloody raining. (I must go tomorrow, I need to pick beans to take on holiday. Beans like to see the sights.)
• My granny’s transfer from hospital to care home did not go well. Fingers crossed she settles in soon as my dad has quite enough on his plate.
• Tamsin has three new teeth: one a day Thursday-Friday-Saturday. It was not fun.
• Shelob is in my bath and I don’t quite know what to do about her.  I am toying with asking my next-door neighbour to come and deal, except I would have to explain to Maggie why I haven’t done it myself and I have tried so hard not to make her scared of spiders too. But I cannot cannot go in there and pick it up; even typing that sentence made me shudder. Anybody brave passing through Chester in the next few hours before bathtime?
• Does anyone know where I’ve put my sellotape?

And I note once again I forgot to mention we were going.

A night in a really very good indeed service station hotel (Annandale Water: anyone heading north I highly recommend it. A proper-hotel-quality room – with a big bed a medium-sized bed and a small bed to please any 3-year-olds in the party - and glorious views of a sunshine-glazed lake (ducks, geese, herons) to accompany breakfast); 2 nights in Drymen; then across to Fife for a few nights with Cameron’s parents.

Drymen is (apparently) The Gateway to Loch Lomond, where we had fun eating icecream, cruising the Loch, becoming midge-fodder and feeding cygnets. Made M walk a bit and befriended a fellow hippy mum at a playground; giggled sympathetically at the woman who dropped her mobile phone through the jetty; felt like the Pied Piper in the return boat journey as all the small girls on board came to chat up Tamsin; tried hard (but not very hard) to not succumb to stereotypes as all the ageing Glaswegians in the boat party had a pint before lunch. (I had a coffee.)

Pittenweem was hosting its annual art festival, which we enjoyed as usual while Maggie bossed her grandparents about and demanded (and received) the 110% attention that is her due. Tamsin has come back a different baby: when we left, small toys and hot drinks could safely be left on the coffee table – no chance now, she’s up! Up and grabbing at whatever she can get. I’ve told M she has to move her playpeople onto the kitchen table instead.

Maggie was 8 months and a bit the first time I went out and left her for an evening – I was absolutely ready to do so and had a fabulous time. Tamsin is 8 1/2 months (already!) and, although I have yet to have a lovely dinner out, I am starting to feel like me again. I’m sure all women have their own recovery period: 8 months, give or take, seems to be it for me. I’m reading again; I’m starting to think a haircut might be a good idea; I “need” some clothes; and I am at (very) long last starting to sort out the house. Items that were assigned temporary homes when we moved in over a year ago are slowly being allocated more appropriate locations, and I am even keeping on top of the tidying (mostly). I’m still spending more time online than is strictly sane but hey, baby steps.

Actually: I wonder if I am just feeling better for 3 days with hardly any rain? SAD in July was bad news.

In other news, had a lovely weekend with The Girls, all of whom (plus offspring) squeezed into my house on Saturday. There were people sleeping on almost every available surface while Cameron, Maggie, Tamsin and I occupied the front dorm. For a child who likes to visit at 1 am and again at 6ish, Maggie was strangely unimpressed with being put in our bed.