tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51755628678221113892024-02-19T17:06:02.985+00:00The Potty DiariesFrom bog to blog via 2 growing boys, London to Moscow, and back to the UK...Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.comBlogger1347125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-57450682859067895512021-09-25T16:58:00.000+01:002021-09-25T16:58:08.573+01:00Rinse & repeat<p><span style="font-size: medium;">So, I've signed up for another course. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Before I did so, I asked myself whether this would be like the others that I've taken over the last few years. There was that selective write your novel course; I finished that, but then had to rewrite the novel. I got about 60% of the way through before Covid - and home schooling - arrived. You might think that now the schools have re-opened more or less properly, I would be able to pick it up where I left off and crack on with the remaining 40%, but still I don't feel I've regained my creative mojo. Or at least, not enough to actually get on with the book - currently I can't bear to even open the file. And that with an open invitation from a literary agency to send them the finished MS. Pathetic.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Then, I signed up for an online course on learning about and how to manage the various forms of social media. It held my attention for a while but the overwhelming enthusiasm of the other participants, all of whom - not entirely unexpectedly - were at different life-stages to me, became so off-putting I dropped out. Well - that, and the fact that I wasn't entirely sure where it would lead me; did I, at 54, really want to commit myself to a role where I would constantly need to stay up to date with all the latest social media trends and be almost permanently online if I wanted to stay a) current and b) employed? I probably should have thought it through before I signed up, to be honest. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Since then, I've picked up various other roles, all of which are unpaid. They're rewarding, sure, but I'm not yet ready to say farewell to the world of paid jobs. Shoot me if you must, but leaving aside the fact that every little helps, it's also about feeling valued; a pay cheque certainly helps with that.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So this week, after I returned from a dog walk where the unbearable lightness of being hit me once again (my kids are getting older, I am so completely bored with being 'at home' and mostly out of paid employment for the last 16 years, there must be more to life than this - you know the drill), I decided I needed to take action.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This time, though, I thought I would be a little more thorough in my approach. Before I did anything else I took a couple of tests, to see where my skill set might take me. Astonishingly the answers came back and did NOT include 'You're not fit for anything, go away and stop wasting our time', and even included a couple of job sectors that I was interested in.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I dug a little further. What sort of jobs might this course lead to? Would I enjoy them? Would I be qualified? And, once I had satisfied myself that, at present at least, there <b>are</b> jobs out there in this industry, I <b>would</b> enjoy them and hell <b>yes</b>, I would be qualified (on paper, if not in my imposter-syndrome ridden mind), I signed up.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Watch this space for how it turns out.</span></p>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-56162792631278255042021-07-02T17:04:00.006+01:002021-07-02T18:11:53.235+01:00BritMums Expat Round-up; Roll Up, Roll Up!<p><span style="font-size: medium;">I've picked up a new role; hosting the BritMums Expat Blog Round-up. I know, I'm British, and I now live back in the UK, but hear me out...</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Clearly, I'm not an expat blogger any more. We arrived back home six (SIX!) years ago and my days of battling with Moscow traffic, minus twenty degree temperatures, and intransigent security guards are long behind me. And yet.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">They changed me, those years, and I'm not sure that their impact will ever truly disappear. I loved it, you see, in all of it's glorious extraordinary-ness, even as I panicked whilst being pulled over by the police officer with the white stick, or as I tried (and failed) to convince a passport officer to let us catch a flight when one son's visa was a day overdue and there had been a misunderstanding at the embassy. At the time, of course, it was scary and frightening and I cursed my husband to high heaven for putting me in that situation, but I came through it all and was stronger for it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Expat life in Russia, for me, resulted in lasting friendships and a deep and abiding fondness for a country that those who have never visited might struggle to understand. I don't pretend to understand it either, and am certainly not an apologist for it, but it will always have a place in my heart. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Throughout the six years we spent abroad I was supported by the expat blogging network. No caps here - it wasn't official - but it was there all the same; women (mostly women) like me who had found themselves lifted out the life they had previously assumed was their normal, into a maelstrom of packing, unpacking, and transitory situations. Many of them had been living this life for far longer than me, and some of them still are. They wrote in their blogs about their trials and triumphs in a way that made me feel less alone, no matter how different our day-to-day lives were in actuality, and they helped me through it all.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My distance from all that now makes me feel a bit of a fraud, hosting a BritMums Expat Round-up, but when the opportunity came up it seemed like a natural fit. Even though I'm not an expat any more, in many ways I still feel that disconnect with my surroundings, and I suspect that I always will.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If you are an expat blogger (or are even an ex-expat blogger, with something to say about your experiences abroad), and would like the opportunity to be included in the BritMums Expat Roundup, post a link in the box below before Saturday 10th July. I'll put a post up here and on Insta etc when the RoundUp goes live. Comments are also welcome, not only here at The Potty Diaries but - I'm sure - on any participating blogs that you might read, as well.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
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<!--end InLinkz code-->Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-21982789874892035292021-07-02T14:48:00.004+01:002023-02-22T15:43:56.918+00:00Handbags at tea-time<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Husband and I are walking the dog when he tells me.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'You won't believe the ad that popped up next to my emails today. A targeted ad. It was outrageous.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Really? What was it for?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He's tall, my husband, but right now he stands - if possible - even taller. I wonder why he's adopting that posture; elongating his neck, lifting his chin. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'It was... an ad for a neck and facial exercise regime. To help you get rid of jowls.' He's affronted. 'Jowls? I don't have jowls!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He's right, he doesn't, which makes it ok to laugh. 'You're not serious?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He pulls out his phone. 'Yes! Look, I'll show it to you...'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I cut him off. 'God no, please don't. I believe you, of <i>course</i> you got the ad. I meant, are you seriously surprised? We are in our fifties, after all.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He's incredulous. 'Yes, but that doesn't mean they have to send me that shit.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Now it's my turn to be affronted. 'OK. This is yet another difference between men & women. I get that crap in my feed every day. EVERY SINGLE DAY. I could show you a long list of ads that are offensive about the concept of what I, as a 50-something women, am expected to look like, care about, deal with - so many in fact, that I've stopped registering them,'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He seems surprised. 'Like what?.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Oh god. The list is endless.' I think for a moment. 'So just before we came out, a repeat offender popped up. Promoting an app for a keto diet.' I describe the infographic that shows a woman in different decades; teens, twenties, thirties, forties, fifties and sixties. (Apparently there's no need to show the woman in her seventies because obviously she'll be in a home with a zimmer frame by then and not offending the world with her continued aging process. Or dead.).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'It's all fine until they picture what a woman in her fifties is supposed to look like. Portly, flat-footed, slightly hunched, stocky-legged, wearing her hair in a ruddy bun, and-' by now my voice is so high with indignation that it's possible only the dog can hear me - 'with a fucking handbag looped over her arm like the queen. Or a nana, about to hand you £5 as special treat on your 21st birthday. At fifty. I'm fifty four. Do I look that?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Both husband and the dog wisely stay silent.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-80247588404916888262021-02-26T18:38:00.000+00:002021-02-26T18:38:02.832+00:00Snacks, Lockdown style<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Husband walks into the kitchen as I'm measuring 50g of cornflakes into a bowl already containing 350g of porridge oats.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'What's that for?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'I'm making flapjacks*'.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'What? I thought they were healthy!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'What on earth do you mean?' I'm bemused.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Well, cornflakes.' I look at him blankly. 'They're processed. Not exactly healthy.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Are you serious?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Yes.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Ok...'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He leaves the room, whilst I consider the 100g golden syrup, 175g soft brown sugar and 175g unsalted butter that I'm about to melt and add to the mix.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">On balance, I decide, it's probably best not to mention those ingredients. Instead, I'll leave him to enjoy the chewy deliciousness of the finished product without having his illusions of healthy eating completely shattered....</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">* UK flapjacks, not the US stacked pancake version. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Disclaimer:</b> Not a breakfast food. Not a diet food. Not healthy, as such. But ruddy gorgeous, and essential in our Lockdown home.</span></p>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-31446190511218972762021-02-09T14:26:00.002+00:002021-02-09T14:26:38.384+00:00Pride and (snow) falls<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Parenting. It's a roller coaster.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">One minute you're blow away by your teens' maturity and grace in the times of Covid. You thank your lucky stars that they have adapted reasonably well to the ridiculous times we find ourselves living through, and even congratulate yourself - a little - on the fact that you must be doing something right.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The next minute, you're standing in your garden late at night waiting for the dog to deliver, and you notice that one of your children has walked the outline of a huge penis onto your snowy lawn - and that it's in a location clearly visible to all your neighbours.</span></p><p><br /></p>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-21083238594979052282021-01-14T15:32:00.002+00:002021-01-14T15:35:19.841+00:00Walking with dinosaurs<p><span style="font-size: medium;">As Lockdown #3 begins I walk the dog through our local woods, trying to pin down an elusive thought. There's a scene from a movie that sums this situation up, I think. Somewhere, rattling around in the back of my memory, it's there - but I can't quite touch it. It floats elusively on the edge of my consciousness, just out of reach. A child - IS it a child? - commenting on the fact that he - I <i>think </i>it was he - was back where he started. Was there a car involved?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I can't quite grab it. It'll come to me, eventually. For now, I try to focus on the beauty of my surroundings, on the sunbeams angled through the empty branches, the patter of the dog's feet through the leaf litter under the bushes and the crunch of gravel under my feet, but instead am swamped - again - by anger.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It's distressing to consider how little progress has been made by the UK over the last ten months, and how many opportunities to learn have been ignored in our encounter with Covid19. That's not to discount the herculean efforts and sacrifices that have been made by so many, the fortitude of even more. and the astonishing speed with which individuals and companies have marshalled themselves to battle both circumstance and this pernicious virus. But just as this situation has brought out the best in some, it has highlighted where our government has come up short. Their lack of foresight or interest in learning from their mistakes, the shocking cronyism that has seen good money thrown after bad, their absence of confidence that the majority will follow sensible rules and, of course, the lack of accountability when they are caught ignoring their own advice; all of the above have brought us to the current parlous state of affairs. Again.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Those are the thoughts I have as I stomp crossly along, wrapped up warm against the cold snap. Eventually though, the calm of my surroundings works it's magic and I start to focus on simply breathing in, and out, in, and out, and begin to look forward to a cup of tea and a flapjack (because, Lockdown) when I get home.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As I reach the gate at the end of the fields my brain has cleared enough and finally, the memory I was grasping for comes to me. When I get home I check and - even if I do say so myself - I was right. This scene, from a movie that is nearly 30 years old, perfectly sums up how I feel about where we in the UK are right now.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FDk_NpZrJ6E" width="320" youtube-src-id="FDk_NpZrJ6E"></iframe></span></div><br /><p></p>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-5338429913107535632020-12-01T12:09:00.001+00:002020-12-01T12:09:16.360+00:00Scores on the Doors, please!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguh6Ud20pwNMFxY7o2fkkmVPWbBRcM8o_TFneW6TX3J1QcAja3h8yKQ3Tm8dZvhPLjYegeWXm8qOfSsoP6r0Y0yCl0LnbT3YDLFZAGarWDnZlTufoW-clfSUlvYtI-UL-tCDWJLMCasFD6/s640/IMG_1134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguh6Ud20pwNMFxY7o2fkkmVPWbBRcM8o_TFneW6TX3J1QcAja3h8yKQ3Tm8dZvhPLjYegeWXm8qOfSsoP6r0Y0yCl0LnbT3YDLFZAGarWDnZlTufoW-clfSUlvYtI-UL-tCDWJLMCasFD6/w194-h259/IMG_1134.jpg" width="194" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> So Advent is finally here. All across the land families are opening Door 1 on the calendar and rejoicing in the wholesome Christmas-related images that lie behind it (unless you're my sister, who is currently wondering what on earth a pig on a skateboard has to do with the Holiday Season, but that's a story for another post).</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm a fan of an old-fashioned advent calendar myself, loving the nostalgia of the process. Who doesn't enjoy the hunt for the right number hidden in an overly-crowded design, the subsequent battle with the inadequate perforations around each door, or the jolt of recognition as you discover a candy cane or a toy train pictured behind it? (Both of which still seem to look the same as they did 45 years ago, which shouldn't be a shock, because how many ways are there to draw a wrapped present, after all?) And let's not forget the joyful surprise of the inevitable discovery, a couple of hours later, that the glitter from the calendar has somehow transferred itself to your cheek. Twelve year old me liked to pretend it was make-up. I always have loved a bit of sparkle.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Consequently I've been fighting a rear-guard action against the inevitable march of chocolate advent calendars since the Boys were tiny. Mainly this was down to my reluctance to give them a sugar rush before breakfast each day, (what's the point of making them eat Weetabix rather than sugared cereal if they've already been snacking on milk chocolate or, nowadays, Percy Pigs?). But this year? This year I couldn't be that cruel. This year, after all, is 2020. Normal service is currently suspended.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This, it turns out, is the year I finally caved and bought each of my sons a chocolate advent calendar.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I didn't tell them in advance, simply presenting them with their calendars when they came down for breakfast this morning. Boy #1 - the junk food king - was delighted, and had ripped open the card and gobbled down the milk chocolate bunny behind Door 1 in 2 seconds flat. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Boy #2, however, doesn't like milk chocolate. Do you know how difficult it is to find a dark chocolate advent calendar at the end of November? Or at least, how hard it is to find one that doesn't cost £40? (I love him, but there are limits). Nevertheless I managed it eventually, returning home in triumph with a 70 percenter for less than five quid, only to find - after he tried what lay behind <b>his </b>Door 1 this morning - that there is yet another brand of chocolate for us to add to the list of those to which he is allergic.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Oh well. My intention is that my Husband will benefit from his younger son's misfortune. But I'm home alone, and you know what they say; the road to hell and all that...</span></p><p><br /></p>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-63733397764418611392020-11-05T12:46:00.000+00:002020-11-05T12:46:55.060+00:00Ground Hog Day: Lockdown Mark #2<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> It's Ground Hog Day...</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Well - it's not, obviously. But on the first day of England's second national Covid19 lockdown it sort of feels like it. Some things are different, of course. My sons are still in school (and thank god for it. Frankly every day of face-to-face education is a win, from my perspective. More space at the kitchen table and fewer demands for snacks, for starters). Husband is - for now - still allowed to travel for his work (the positives here are surprisingly similar; more space at the kitchen table and fewer demands for snacks. Huh.).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Oh, and there is still loo roll on the supermarket shelves. At least the shopping public (and I include myself in that number) seem to have learned that any shortages last time around were caused by people buying enough toilet paper to fill an entire wall of their bathroom, rather than there being a shortage in supply. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The feeling that this whole situation has been incredibly badly handled, though. The knowledge that more could have been done earlier, to avoid necessity of these measures being implemented. The disillusionment with a government who have wasted valuable time prevaricating and ignoring the obvious, who have thrown good money after bad and refused to accept the situation soon enough to make a tangible difference to keeping the numbers down. All those things. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">All those things? Exactly the same.</span></p>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-17947050451606082532020-09-01T18:07:00.001+01:002020-09-01T18:07:19.104+01:00Shoes & boys.<p><span style="font-size: medium;">In town with the boys, I look at my oldest son's feet. 'Your trainers look very tight. Aren't they uncomfortable? We're walking past the sports shop in a moment - shall we go in?'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He shakes his head. 'No, don't worry. They're fine.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Are you sure? They really look as if they pinch.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'No, Mum. They're really OK.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I give up, and then happen to glance down at Boy #2's feet. 'Your trainers look tight, too. Should we get <b>you</b> some new ones?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Boy #2 tuts. 'Mum. They're fine. Don't worry about it.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Two days later, on holiday in the middle of nowhere, we walk down a hill. Well, I walk Boy #2 runs. When we get to the bottom...</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'You were quick.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'I know. I had to run - my shoes were pinching.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Wait - what? 'But you told me they were fine!'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'They are - unless I'm walking downhill.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Well, that's it. We're going to get you new ones - though not until next week. There's nowhere here to buy any.' </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Boy #1, who has been standing quietly by, pipes up. 'Actually - can I get new trainers too? Mine <b>are </b>a bit uncomfortable, now I think about it.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Give me strength.</span></p>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-51598369521979517132020-07-06T11:17:00.002+01:002020-07-06T11:19:52.660+01:00Lockdown Dogwalk Conversations<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><i>Apologies - laundry features in this post. Other stuff does happen in my life, I promise...</i></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">I'm out walking the dog with my sons. It's the early afternoon and warm enough for t-shirts but as we walk I notice that my younger son - who likes the formal look - has paired today's shorts with a button-down collar shirt. It occurs to me that this is a style he has adopted more often than not since Lockdown started, and suddenly the pieces of a rather perplexing jigsaw slot neatly into place.<br />
<br />
That look, right there, is the reason why the ironing pile has doubled in size since the boys have been home schooling. As someone who takes the non-iron label on an M&S school shirt literally, I've been wondering why the workload has increased since the boys have stopped wearing them.<br />
<br />As I look at my smartly-turned-out younger son I make an executive decision; the extra ironing has to stop.<br />
<br />
Me: 'Boy #2, I just realised you're wearing a proper shirt every day.'<br />
<br />
He starts, looks guilty, immediately anticipating where this is going. 'I like to look smart.'<br />
<br />
Me: 'And that's fine. But could you maybe look smart in a collared polo instead? It's just, you know...'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">'The ironing?'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">I nod.<br />
<br />'But polo shirts are not as good. I'm comfortable like this.' He looks at my raised eyebrows. '<b>I'll</b> iron my shirts..'<br />
<br />I'm sure we've had this agreement before. 'Really?'<br />
<br />
'Well...'<br />
<br />
I decide to capitalise on his sort-of-willingness, and go for a compromise. 'Alright. If you iron them yourself, that's fine, wear as many shirts as you want. But from now on, I will only be ironing 2 of your shirts each week. OK?'<br />
<br />
Boy #1, a more typical teen in that seeing him in anything other than t-shirts & shorts is only ever the result of a sartorial three-line whip, nevertheless stops in his tracks and does a dramatic double take. <br />
<br />
'Mum! Do his OWN ironing? Where's your humanity?'<br />
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Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-88902279503398311982020-06-16T11:39:00.012+01:002020-06-16T12:10:15.150+01:00Lockdown Home-schooling - What Have We Learned?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font face="inherit" size="5"><i>(Before I start, apologies for the ENORMOUS text. I'm not trying to shout - this post's settings are just screwed up...)</i></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font face="inherit" size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font face="inherit" size="5">
So. Here we are in Week 14 of Home Learning. (Well - Wk 12 if you deduct the two week holiday in the middle. I don't. Because it didn't really seem like a holiday, what with all the fretting and worrying etc). What have we learned, parents?</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font face="inherit" size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><font face="inherit" size="5"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Back at the start of this, you may have set up work stations to help everyone get their work done in peace. Cue hollow laughter. We've always known it, and Lockdown has confirmed it; the kitchen table is magnetic. It draws in people, pencil cases, clutter, bowls of fruit, old receipts, unread books and laptops like some kind of domestic Death Star. To top this off, the chairs around it will be festooned with charging cables, earphone cords, dog leads, cardigans and sweatshirts like the cobwebs in the cave of Shelob the spider in The Lord of Rings, and all of them - ALL of them - are directly in the dog's path when the doorbell rings and he goes from snoring noisily in the corner to a one hundred mile an hour dash though the house. And as he races, barking crazily, towards the front door to defend his territory from the evil postman, you and your kids will have to throw yourselves across the whole set of wire spaghetti to stop your precious electronics crashing to the floor like a sea captain and her crew trying to protect their charts in a heavy squall.<br /><br /></span></font></li></ul></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><font face="inherit" size="5"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And whilst we're on the subject of the kitchen table (that you and your children sit at all day, every day, Every. Ruddy. Day. FOR EVER.), sooner or later books will be lost, pens mislaid, cups of tea and glasses of water knocked over and you - YOU - will have to a) clear it up and b) not lose your shit about this because c) this whole situation is ridiculous and frankly, not your childrens' fault and d) if you don't it's </span><i style="font-size: x-large;">your</i><span style="font-size: x-large;"> phone that will get soaked (because your kids' phones are, of course, in their hands).<br /><br /></span></font></li><li><span style="font-size: x-large;"><font face="inherit" size="5">Speaking of your phone, it goes missing, about twenty times a day... <br /><br /></font></span></li><li><font face="inherit" size="5"> <span style="font-size: x-large;">... and it's always exactly where you left it, in the first place you looked but couldn't find it, as if some malicious house elf has been messing with your mind.<br /><br /></span></font></li><li><span style="font-size: x-large;"><font face="inherit" size="5">You can never find though, until you ask one of your kids to call it for you and it reveals itself nestled in the leaf-litter on the kitchen table, tucked safely between a Domino's pizza flyer and the text book one of your children last opened on Lockdown Week 2 and which - despite repeated requests it be put away - has somehow mysteriously made it's way from table to counter and back again every day for the last 12 weeks <br /><br /></font></span></li><li><font face="inherit" size="5">B<span style="font-size: x-large;">reathe. Deeply.<br /><br /></span></font></li><li><span style="font-size: x-large;"><font face="inherit" size="5">Furthermore, and I can't believe this will come as a surprise to most parents, children can be impressively sneaky when it comes to online learning. (MY children, at any rate). They will wait until your attention is directed elsewhere and then toggle across from whatever they are supposed to be looking at online to something way more entertaining. And should you dare ask questions about what exactly they've been working on, or ask to see the work they need to submit, you may be treated to an Oscar-winning performance of hurt and disappointed indignation that you could ever doubt their actions. (This is usually where I point out that they're not fooling me - I was once a child, too).<br /><br /></font></span></li><li><span style="font-size: x-large;"><font face="inherit" size="5">I don't blame them, having been known to flip my screen from browsing through holiday porn to that VERY IMPORTANT E-MAIL when I hear them about to enter the room...<br /><br /></font></span></li><li><span style="font-size: x-large;"><font face="inherit" size="5">Last, but most definitely not least, time spent alone outside for odd huff, puff and - possibly - scream is an underrated form of therapy.</font></span></li></ul></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div>
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<a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=Lockdown"><font face="inherit" size="5">For more Lockdown-related posts, click here</font></a></div>
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Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-460261341093560922020-06-11T12:26:00.006+01:002020-06-16T11:44:56.842+01:00Lockdown Teen Wrangling - or is it Lockdown Parent Management?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqeP0p1yuXRf8tMEyICmEYdoPG853irBxxjBiVSKSvII6hRvRTUaqDVlRAH3pshc5jfVVOOs1CcaXNEPQmVZsDRR5O5ojnNAAJsUZPmlhyphenhyphenPOoy0koCdyOjSUbQCLCqF78qdsMg8e1gRjMc/s640/IMG_0187.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font size="5"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="446" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqeP0p1yuXRf8tMEyICmEYdoPG853irBxxjBiVSKSvII6hRvRTUaqDVlRAH3pshc5jfVVOOs1CcaXNEPQmVZsDRR5O5ojnNAAJsUZPmlhyphenhyphenPOoy0koCdyOjSUbQCLCqF78qdsMg8e1gRjMc/s320/IMG_0187.jpg" /></font></a></div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">Lockdown is pretty crap, there's no doubt about it, but it's certainly giving me the chance to work on some of my parenting skills. I've always been a 'You've started so you may as well finish' kind of mum, but it's finally dawned on me that perhaps this is an approach I need to keep unspoken since - who would have thought it? - sometimes kids can work that out for themselves. For example:</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">Boy: 'I'm so bored. I think I might go into town.'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br />'OK.' <i>(Don't ask him if he's finished his schoolwork. Don't ask him if he's finished...)</i> 'What are you working on?<br /><br />Boy: 'Imperialism in India.'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">He starts to collect his books and I busy myself with making a cup of tea. I have been drinking a LOT of tea during Lockdown - such a useful prop... </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">After I judge enough time has passed for me not to seem too invested: 'Right. Imperialism. Is it interesting?'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">Boy. 'I don't know. Maybe?'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">Me. 'How much more do you have to do until you finish the bit you were working on?' <i>(Note use of past tense here: '<b>were</b> working on'. Very important. Don't let him think you have any expectation he's going to finish it right now. Softly, softly...)</i></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br />Boy: ' Not sure. I'll take a look.' He flips open his book. 'Not much. Probably ten minutes.'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">Me: drinks tea.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">Boy: 'I'll go when I've done it.'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br />I wait until his back is turned before I do a quiet fist pump. But then, oh then...</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">'Don't do that, Mum. It's so not cool. And you were doing so well, too.'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5">Busted.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=Lockdown"><font size="5">For more Lockdown-related posts, click here</font></a></i></div>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-67086124090235177192020-06-09T11:09:00.003+01:002020-06-11T11:50:39.060+01:00Things that no longer happen in Lockdown<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>A more reflective post today. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things I have let slide since Lockdown started:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Wearing earrings.</b> In fact I'm not wearing much jewellery at all. Why is that? It's not as if I'm usually blinged up to the max, but right now most days even putting on my engagement ring seems a bit over the top. Unless I'm off to the supermarket, of course - well, one has to keep up appearances. Note to self, however; it's no big deal if you don't wear rings from one week to the next, you just slide them on when you want. Earrings, though. Ouch. OUCH.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Wearing make-up.</b> There have been a few evenings recently when I've begun to take off my mascara only to realise that I never put it on in the first place. Not quite there with the keeping up appearances, then.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Doing laundry every day. </b> I have no idea how this one's working, but somehow there is less laundry to be done. I don't THINK my sons are re-wearing dirty-clothes - with the exception of the shorts I mentioned in <a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/2020/06/lockdown-teen-wrangling.html">my last post</a> - but somehow there just don't seem to be as much to wash. Maybe I've gone noseblind?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Congratulating myself on keeping a lid on the amount I spend on supermarket shopping.</b> As in, I don't congratulate myself any more. Because it's gone through the roof. With a husband home full time (he usually travels 4-5 days a week) at home and two teenage boys eating lunch and snacks here rather than in school will do that. Every time I open the kitchen bin there's yet another empty digestive biscuit wrapper in there. (And yes, they eat fruit too. Particularly the fruit that I've bought thinking I will eat that instead of the biscuits. So when I reach for the fruit and there's none there, guess what's left? You got it. Biscuits. Oh well. Elasticated waists rule).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Planning a trip abroad.</b> Oh, alright - I AM planning. Just not expecting to actually be allowed to go. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sigh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=Lockdown"><i>For more Lockdown-related posts, click here</i></a></span><br />
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Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-8493708526327895042020-06-05T11:20:00.002+01:002020-06-05T11:21:18.082+01:00Clothes shopping for teens in Lockdown<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsamFMXc_TefsFVbezZ6VZAP_obYVWIhZiLVMA-SOUrRpaVZJ6aBMSXK4Tagr7jzDtiK8PzuY2j6OsXCpy1ieTH87nAsNEXXgrd7NuMA7TPuaylJraTZY4ohEAl3SymZvrrOc7CfBpZgZu/s640/IMG_0148.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsamFMXc_TefsFVbezZ6VZAP_obYVWIhZiLVMA-SOUrRpaVZJ6aBMSXK4Tagr7jzDtiK8PzuY2j6OsXCpy1ieTH87nAsNEXXgrd7NuMA7TPuaylJraTZY4ohEAl3SymZvrrOc7CfBpZgZu/s320/IMG_0148.jpg" /></a></div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Boy #1 has grown - they do that, I'm told. This is a problem; he's grown so much that none of last year's shorts fit. Well, I say 'none'; what I actually mean is that only one pair fits - and they are of the quick-dry sports-related variety. He loves them, obviously. I detest them, but have been putting up with them because there's no alternative until the two pairs of replacements ordered online reach us.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">The new ones arrive, and he tries them on.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Boy #1: 'Oh.'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Me: 'Quite.' </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">We watch them slide off his hips and onto the floor.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Me: 'So when you said you wanted that size, what were you basing it on?'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Boy #1: 'The trousers I have upstairs. You know, the only trousers that are long enough.'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Me: 'The ones with the elastic adjuster in the waistline?'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">He nods.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">We send them back.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Three pairs of new shorts </font><span style="font-size: large;">in a smaller size </span><span style="font-size: large;">arrive 5 days later</span><span style="font-size: large;">. I have grown heartily sick of his wash & wear shorts in the meantime, in the main because he refuses to hand them over for the wash part. Even though the weather has now changed and he could be wearing trousers instead, still the shorts make a daily appearance.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">At my insistence Boy #1 tries the new shorts on soon after they arrive (if it was left to him they would stay in the bag for the next week). Much to both our relief, they more or less fit (although he's still able to slide them down off his hips without undoing them, I note. Obviously, for a teen-aged boy that's a bonus, but I make a mental note to suggest he wears a belt. I am a mum, after all). </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Me: 'Why don't you change into one of the new pairs now, and put your old ones in the wash?'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Boy #1: 'No.'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">I'm taken aback. 'No? Why on earth not? They're disgusting!'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">'Because I want to go for a run later, and if I put a new pair on now then <b>two</b> pairs of shorts will need to be washed, when I only really need to sort one. '</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">I'm speechless (and not because the incidences of him doing his own washing are less regular than I might like). He has managed to come up with just about the ONLY reason I would let him get away with continuing to wear his quite frankly filthy shorts.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">He knows it, too: 'Yeah, Mum. Boom. Mic drop.'</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">We leave it there. I know when I'm beaten.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><i><a href="https://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=Lockdown">For more Lockdown-related posts, click here</a></i></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div>
Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-68787493628247419742020-06-03T12:35:00.005+01:002020-06-03T13:57:02.272+01:00Lockdown Stretches<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZwJj42mgpQyw8OsbtI5FQ0eVuYcr3SMV3b0hOAWmYdTFlBP4bHQO8mOQIuRVH6XD_vJYqHQxVIQmTuLZQiN5H5lhtgW2R1bEUeGig6vdxVdvELxbxR2l_YybS8ZxEuO_p557V1o5gl24/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="490" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZwJj42mgpQyw8OsbtI5FQ0eVuYcr3SMV3b0hOAWmYdTFlBP4bHQO8mOQIuRVH6XD_vJYqHQxVIQmTuLZQiN5H5lhtgW2R1bEUeGig6vdxVdvELxbxR2l_YybS8ZxEuO_p557V1o5gl24/s320/IMG_0145+2.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<font size="4"><span style="font-size: large;">We do a stretch every school day at 10.00am, my sons and I. We put aside whatever we're working on, get up from the kitchen table, and spend five minutes jumping around. The dog tries to join in, we all bumble around in an effort to escape him (shorts weather offers no protection from his too-sharp claws), and we finish by properly Shaking It Out. It lifts our spirits, wakes us up. It helps. Then we make ourselves a cup of tea, sit down, and get back to whatever we were working on before.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I started The 10.00am Stretch (yes, more capitals. Get over it) back in the dark days of the third week of March, we were new to homeschooling. We were also new, like everyone else, to Lockdown, and the whole complex combination of awfulness, relief, dread and - dare I say it - spasmodic sense of peacefulness that comprise it. We - or I - hadn't yet realised how much it was going to mess with our heads. The constant low-level fear of what might happen next seemed likely to be a temporary condition.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, it's now Lockdown - or a version of it - Week 11. I wish I could say that the cocktail of feelings I described above has changed significantly but it hasn't, not really. Of course, boredom has been thrown into the mix, along with frustration and despair at how badly the response to Covid19 has been managed in the UK, and a guarded sense of acceptance that other than by wearing a mask whilst shopping, I can make very little difference to that. And obviously there's yet more fear. Not for me personally, but for my children; what will this mean for them, long term? For my parents; will they have to stay in isolation forever? For the world at large; for those still unable to venture out due to health conditions and who consequently can't support themselves and their families, and finally yes, I'm going to say it, the horror of being a distant witness to the unrest - and the causes of it - in the US and elsewhere. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But, we have to keep on keeping on. Time and tide wait for no man and all that, so we need to push through this the best we can and hope it all comes out alright in the end.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For me and my boys, keeping on means jumping around the kitchen for The 10.00am Stretch, even when we (or, increasingly, I) don't particularly feel like it. Because, even if the dog's claws are sharp, and my shoulder hurts, and we're feeling a bit meh, we're doing it together and it makes us feel better. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It helps.</span></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;"><font size="4"><br /></font></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=Lockdown"><i>For more Lockdown-related posts, click here</i></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></font>
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Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-52195459470560516052020-06-01T10:35:00.014+01:002020-06-01T10:59:30.165+01:00Lockdown Laundry. Or, I'm Spartacus.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">Husband and I are on our way to a socially-distanced drink with good friends when he glances down and tuts.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">'My shorts are a bit mucky. I need to get them washed.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I blink. This is too good. 'Get them washed?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Husband realises his mistake and tries to backtrack. 'I only meant-'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">'<b>Get</b> them washed? You make it sound as if you're planning to send them out to the laundry.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">'I didn't-'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm laughing and so is he. 'That's very grand. Are we people who send our washing out now? To a laundry? You do know that the laundry is standing next to you. <b>I'm</b> the laundry.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He's apologetic. 'Yes. I know. Sorry. God, I'm not going to live this one down, am I?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">'I don't know what you mean...'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When we reach our friends, I am proud to say that I manage to keep the above conversation to myself for all of fifteen minutes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=Lockdown">For more posts on Lockdown Life, click here<br /></a></span>
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Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-3617102861072677612020-05-30T11:49:00.013+01:002020-05-30T12:03:43.383+01:00Lockdown Creativity #5<font size="4">So here we still are in Lockdown - sort of. Being stuck in something of a perpetual Groundhog Day can get a bit wearing, so here are a few links to lift your spirits.</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">First off, Sam Neill has kept busy making a series of shorts from home. Covering everything from learning the ukulele to feeling inadequate, this gentle humour is a great antidote to what can sometimes seem like the all-pervading grimness surrounding us. Here he is with Helena Bonham Carter in Das Fone Hell:</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">https://youtu.be/yOWoHPpQv1M</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="4"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yOWoHPpQv1M" width="320" youtube-src-id="yOWoHPpQv1M"></iframe></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Then, for something completely different, take a look at this. An archeologist (Dr Jean-Loup Ringot) demonstrates a prehistoric lithophone. Our ancestors would have listened to this music - astonishing.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">https://youtu.be/PZ4hEubvWE4</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="4"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PZ4hEubvWE4" width="320" youtube-src-id="PZ4hEubvWE4"></iframe></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">And finally, in case you missed it, here's a link to the trailer for Taika Waititi's reading of James & The Giant Peach - with friends - to raise money for Partners in Health. Friends, in this case, including Benedict Cumberbatch, Cate Blanchett, Sarah Paulson, Nick Kroll and Chris & Liam Hemsworth (I thought that might get your attention).</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">https://youtu.be/PZ4hEubvWE4</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="4"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EJNSg_oMrOQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="EJNSg_oMrOQ"></iframe></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Happy weekend everyone!</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=Lockdown"><font size="4">For more posts on Lockdown living, click here</font></a></div></div>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-28182343172691971812020-05-28T11:02:00.001+01:002020-05-28T11:02:08.562+01:00Lockdown Admin<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueDX6gEI2wnc3rsjDuvvLxa1vzPY6OubuvRE8JlncSLnZ9HOViPTUpYVT8wYR-GXaJMTUUa-vLJIH6QjR6OIhCelAaPnDYUX81CZ9LfqlyqsC4fywR5FhBLxXWuycP3mqROy4eYDlzwkr/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueDX6gEI2wnc3rsjDuvvLxa1vzPY6OubuvRE8JlncSLnZ9HOViPTUpYVT8wYR-GXaJMTUUa-vLJIH6QjR6OIhCelAaPnDYUX81CZ9LfqlyqsC4fywR5FhBLxXWuycP3mqROy4eYDlzwkr/s320/IMG_0085.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><font size="4"><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div>'Are you going to return that?'</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Husband gestures at the cardboard sleeve on the table. It contains a mobile phone case that was too large and which needs to go back to the vendor.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">I nod, irked that he's reminding me. I'll get round to it - sometime. 'Yes. Of course.'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">'Because if you don't do it soon, you won't be able to.'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">'I know. I've got until July to send it back - it'll be fine.'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">'Well, just so you know....'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">We stand in silence for a moment, then Husband grins. 'You hate me sometimes, don't you?'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">After a pregnant pause I say 'Of course I don't.'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">'But you paused.'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">'No, I didn't. I was just thinking.' <i> (Specifically, I was thinking; '<b>Oh it has to be returned? No shit, Sherlock... '</b> but that doesn't seem a helpful thing to say out loud. Particularly because I've already had it a week and haven't yet got around to it.)</i></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">'Thinking what?'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">I turn away so he can't see me smirk. 'I was just wondering if you can read my mind.'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Husband considers this, perhaps trying out his - thankfully - non-existent telepathic skills. 'No. No, I have to say I can't.'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">'Huh. Well, that's probably for the best.'</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">We snort companionably at the horrific thought of being able to read each others' minds, and the </font><span style="font-size: large;">cardboard sleeve remains on the kitchen table.</span></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=lockdown"><font size="4">For more posts on Lockdown living, click here</font></a></div><div><br /></div>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-77882906425476535132020-05-25T10:40:00.001+01:002020-05-25T10:42:15.530+01:00Lockdown Life Skills<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdey7r8Rs5Hq5DM-REs9WrJWAABHjkcpBegJx0LHLIj3ERrbzTGhcxymEkf0iBRwnQ6l7RXewvLMSUOvm8-Fz6rLoAvvN5XSf2-5VQLauPmoUOpf7idNfU31Hiia8Bd9MgC3DBWPt7YQJX/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="560" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdey7r8Rs5Hq5DM-REs9WrJWAABHjkcpBegJx0LHLIj3ERrbzTGhcxymEkf0iBRwnQ6l7RXewvLMSUOvm8-Fz6rLoAvvN5XSf2-5VQLauPmoUOpf7idNfU31Hiia8Bd9MgC3DBWPt7YQJX/s320/IMG_0067.jpg" /></a></div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">I'm trying to take advantage of this prolonged period of Lockdown Togetherness with my kids (yay!) to teach them life-skills. Nothing extraordinary, just how to make a bolognese sauce, pick things up from where they dropped them, putting the breakfast bowl inside the dishwasher instead of on the worktop above it. So yesterday, after one of the boys had (on request) put a load of clothes in the wash...</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">
Me: Can you empty the washing machine, please?<br />
<br />
Boy: Me?<br />
<br />
Me: Yes, you.<br />
<br />
Five minutes later...<br />
<br />
Me: You know you emptied the washing machine...<br />
<br />
Boy: Yes?<br />
<br />
Me: And now the damp clothes are sitting in the laundry basket on the floor in front of the machine?</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Boy: Yes?</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Me: Now, you need to actually hang the clothes up to dry.<br />
<br />
Boy: Me?<br />
<br />
Me: Yes, you.<br />
<br />
Boy: But I put them in the machine.<br />
<br />
I look at him blankly.<br />
<br />
Boy: And I took them out.<br />
<br />
Me: And...?<br />
<br />
Boy: And now they need to be hung up?<br />
<br />
Me: Who'd have thought it?<br />
<br />
Boy: But why?<br />
<br />
Me: Well, because, if laundry isn't hung up, it won't dry properly. So the clothes will smell.<br />
<br />
Boy: No, I meant, why me?<br />
<br />
I look at Boy. He looks at me. Luckily - for him - I don't need to say out loud what I'm thinking. <i>(Although, if you're interested, it involves the total number of washes I have put on, taken out of the machine, hung up to dry, and then put away since he was born. Yes, I have done that maths. That's what Lockdown does to a person.)</i></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;">He takes the clothes basket and and goes to hang up the laundry.</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><i><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=lockdown">For more posts on living in Lockdown, click here</a></i></font></div>
Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-20637128398952285692020-05-23T14:58:00.010+01:002020-05-23T15:08:19.435+01:00Lockdown Eating<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_x-20T4dmJSDRYXdPlGlXtrOlrynKJsnjUr2pXTwDNQGMxd8bH8X9OoKoi9yZP5dpWKLUKNB-nXf1wNFS5PBoYzUCNr9HRF_ut2psOvLn-gF9PGfhyUXdImHwo7oG9zEIH_HTopp0RUGd/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1905" data-original-width="2807" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_x-20T4dmJSDRYXdPlGlXtrOlrynKJsnjUr2pXTwDNQGMxd8bH8X9OoKoi9yZP5dpWKLUKNB-nXf1wNFS5PBoYzUCNr9HRF_ut2psOvLn-gF9PGfhyUXdImHwo7oG9zEIH_HTopp0RUGd/s320/IMG_2995+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><font size="4"><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div>Is it just me who's default reaction to the stress of the constant onslaught of bad news is to reach for the snacks? For example;</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><i>The UK runs of out PPE</i> : Oh, a second helping? Don't mind if I do</font></div><div><i style="font-size: large;"><br /></i></div><div><i style="font-size: large;">Struggling to help my kids stay on top of their schoolwork :</i><span style="font-size: large;"> That last piece of cake looks a bit lonely, doesn't it?</span></div><div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><i>Infection rate climbs: </i>Yes, I'll have one of those biscuits please. Oh, go on - make it two. Dammit, pass me the packet.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><i>Death rate continues to rise: </i> Pass the crisps. And the dips. Don't bother to put it into a bowl - we all know there's going to be nothing left in that pack in five minutes time.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><i>US president decides to take unproven (and possibly fatal) medicine to guard against Covid19d, and to publicise that fact widely:</i> What the hell happened to that chocolate stash? It was meant to be MINE.</font></div></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><i>UK's key government adviser blatantly flouts lockdown rules and appears to think he's not subject to the same restrictions as everyone else:</i> FFS. No, those are not my teeth marks in that block of cheddar.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Like I said before folks; I'm only trying to fatten the curve...</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><i><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=Lockdown">For more Lockdown-related posts, click here</a></i></font></div>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-30240663518154781882020-05-20T09:24:00.004+01:002020-05-20T18:55:05.853+01:00Lockdown house-elves<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCha5NUM1-3dExB8ksfrimx61AyhNLDjQGnw41h38WspCI_m9go-YITRZH712HKsyIKGcp81UDU4A-JSlCrZ1jOj1qQw_ULWyDdV7uhCQzTpUTxP4butZk_0u2d1D_Yr9LooZq8et1-r7X/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCha5NUM1-3dExB8ksfrimx61AyhNLDjQGnw41h38WspCI_m9go-YITRZH712HKsyIKGcp81UDU4A-JSlCrZ1jOj1qQw_ULWyDdV7uhCQzTpUTxP4butZk_0u2d1D_Yr9LooZq8et1-r7X/w150-h200/Dobby.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><font size="4"><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div>This is Dobby. He is a house-elf. (You may recognise him.)</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">This morning, Mum looked up from the sink where she was using her good shampoo to scrub the results of a nosebleed out of Boy #2's sheets, to ask Boy #1 to clear away his cereal bowl. The house-elf was not working today, she said.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Boy #1 complied, muttering, before handing her a sweatshirt.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Since it was not Mum's sweatshirt, she handed it back.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Ha-<b>ha</b>! said Boy #1. I'm free! You gave me clothing.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Mum and Dobby were confused, until they realised: Boy #1 thought she meant HE was the house-elf!</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Oh, how Mum and Dobby laughed. Dobby, perhaps, laughed harder than Mum. He was not the house-elf, either.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><i><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=lockdown"><font size="4">For more posts on life in Lockdown, click here.</font></a></i></div></div>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-30935153749060272832020-05-18T09:16:00.000+01:002020-05-18T09:16:20.273+01:00Having it all in Lockdown<font size="4">There are a lot of mixed messages regarding Lockdown floating around in the UK right now. Lockdown is over, but it's not. You're allowed to see people, but only one at a time. If you want to see both your parents you can, but only outside and one at a time; if you want to see both you should leave a ten minute gap in between. We should wear masks - but only in confined spaces, not necessarily in all inside spaces, and they may not help much anyway - but they might, so you should.</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Most people seem to be navigating their way through this host of confusion quite sensibly. But if you look online - and take it seriously - there's a whole other mess of Lockdown advice, most of which seems expressly designed to make us feel bad about ourselves.<br /></font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Lockdown, it seems, is a chance for us not to power-down and get through it, but rather the opposite. Leave aside working from home and holding onto a job, we're supposed to be getting more sleep, more exercise, eating better, learning new skills (masterclasses, anyone?), and generally re-organising our lives for the better. Our homes are supposed to be cleaner than they've ever been, the shelves tidier, the freezers organised, the annoying little rats' nests of change, clutter, keys and receipts tidied up, once and for all. Our wardrobes are supposed to rationalised, though quite where we're supposed to take those clothes that have been outgrown etc, I'm not sure. Oh - wait - they can be repurposed into NEW clothes, that you make on the sewing machine you've unearthed at the back of one of those cupboards you just organised. Oh, and sourdough! (Fabulous; sourdough starter - something else to kill. I can't even keep a house plant alive...)</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Well. Bollocks to that lot, frankly.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">If I can stay on top of my children's home learning schedules (their school is still running to time-table. So that's fun), put a wash on and remember to take it out again, go through the surreal experience that is visiting the supermarket once a week or so, and occasionally remember to run a hoover around the place to avoid our needing to wade through drifts of spring-time moult from the dog, and <i>still</i> be talking to my family in complete sentences by bedtime, then the rest can go to hell.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">That's <i>my</i> version of Lockdown having it all, anyway...</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=lockdown"><font size="4">For more posts on Lockdown living, click here</font></a></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><br /></div></div>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-43154253342604549662020-05-15T12:10:00.001+01:002020-05-15T12:10:38.252+01:00Lockdown Ageing; Facebook, how very DARE you?<font size="4">This morning Facebook decided to offer me the option to see their screen differently via a beta layout they are providing. It was going to be easier for me to navigate, they said. Things would be easier to find, they said. The text would be BIGGER, they said.</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">I became instantly suspicious; were they making this offer because of my age? At 53 am I now considered to be so old that I need the interweb to be made more accessible to me? Has Lockdown impacted on me even more visibly than I previously thought?</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">It wouldn't be so bad if there was no merit in their suggestion, but I'm aware that the last couple of months have not been kind to me, physically. There is the unavoidable fact of my jeans becoming noticeably tighter on the one day of the week I force myself into them - the result of too little exercise and too many fxck-it glasses of wine - and let's face it, I need a haircut. Not tomorrow, not yesterday, but about a month ago. Has fb been snooping and drawing it's own conclusions? </font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">If they have, there is the remote possibility that they may have heard me muttering about on-screen images getting harder to see. They may have noticed I have increased the size of the font I use here, or that the best time of day for me to look at images on my phone is in the evening, just before I go to bed, when - crucially - I have taken my contact lenses out. They may even - gasp - have seen the photo I sent to a WhatsApp group of girlfriends yesterday, showing my in-dire-need-of-attention too-long and increasingly-grey hair...</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Obviously, I took a look at the new layout, and it does what it says on the tin. Bigger text. A simpler layout. Easier to navigate. You know, <i>accessible</i>.</font></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">But none of the above is of any interest to me because </span><i style="font-size: large;">I am not old. </i><span style="font-size: large;">I have no need of this</span><i style="font-size: large;"> </i><span style="font-size: large;">new dashboard. I have, therefore, declined their offer and reverted to Facebook Classic (the one that has smaller text and a more complicated layout. No, of </span><b style="font-size: large;">course</b><span style="font-size: large;"> it isn't only because of the principle of the thing). </span></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Even though, deep down, I suspect I have cut off my nose to spite my own face.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">'Rage, rage, against the dying of the light' and all that...</font></div>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-38964223277612768652020-05-14T15:05:00.019+01:002020-05-15T09:22:03.721+01:00Lockdown Creativity #4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>It's approaching the end of Lockdown Week 8 in the UK. The restrictions here are easing, a little obscurely perhaps, but distance learning continues for now. Which brings me straight to my first suggestion for a hit of Lockdown Creativity, and the reason why I'm hitting publish on this post on a Thursday rather than a Friday (as over the last three weeks).</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><i>(Note: if you can't see the embedded videos, I've attached a link at the bottom of each paragraph)</i></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">The English National Ballet have put together a temporary and free programme of online masterclasses <a href="https://www.ballet.org.uk/enb-at-home/?gclid=Cj0KCQjw2PP1BRCiARIsAEqv-pSboR5bw_vzUhnFRQnCrpFwBgOGJtlSj-Tw1oD6KHqOdPeIZKhhld8aAhZsEALw_wcB">(click here to access those)</a> which in themselves - if dance is your thing - are worth checking out. However, the reason I'm publishing this week's Lockdown Creativity list a day early is so that if you have the time and inclination, you can check out their Wednesday Watch Party before it is taken offline tomorrow. Each week they are putting a performance from their archives online where it can be viewed for free for 48 hours. This week it's the strange, other-worldly and ethereal 'Fantastic Beings'. Well worth a watch, and if you miss this week's don't worry - there should be another performance available next Wednesday.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><a href="https://youtu.be/mrXu8Ha8Mhw">Click here for link if you can't see the embedded video</a></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/mrXu8Ha8Mhw" width="320" youtube-src-id="mrXu8Ha8Mhw"></iframe></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">For something a little less highbrow, take a look at Andrew Cottar's zoom meeting with his two labradors. If you've not already come across them Olive & Mabel have become Lockdown internet stars since this all started, due mainly to Andrew's inspired racing commentary of his dogs' behaviours. This one's a little different, but still hilarious.</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><a href="https://youtu.be/fqfWuuyT2co">Click here for link if you can't see the embedded video</a></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fqfWuuyT2co" width="320" youtube-src-id="fqfWuuyT2co"></iframe></div></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4">Finally, <a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/2020/04/lockdown-creativity.html">three weeks ago</a> I mentioned ITV's series of 4 short plays 'Isolation Stories' and how much I was looking forward to them. Whilst they can't (yet) be viewed online, if you're interested in the challenges presented by producing new tv content during Lockdown, here's a fascinating insight into that from the BFI, also filmed in isolation. Artists commenting on art, as art imitates life...</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><a href="https://youtu.be/F3jKkU0GBIk">Click here for link if you can't see the embedded video</a></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/F3jKkU0GBIk" width="320" youtube-src-id="F3jKkU0GBIk"></iframe></div></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=lockdown"><font size="4">For more posts on Lockdown Life, click here</font></a></div></div>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5175562867822111389.post-53171648278575024372020-05-11T09:34:00.001+01:002020-05-11T14:30:47.070+01:00Lockdown Haircuts...<font size="4">It may be that you are one of those organised people who, when Lockdown started to loom on the not-so distant horizon, organised hair cuts for everybody in their family. </font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">I am not that person.</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Or, it may well be that you already owned - or placed an early order for delivery of - haircutting scissors and clippers, to do the job yourself. Guess what? I'm not that person either. </font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">You may, instead, be someone who has an admirably relaxed attitude to the whole Lockdown Hair issue, and has shelved it until the world returns to some kind of normal. What's a little long hair, after all? But no, that's not me.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">I am, instead, the person who didn't think about haircuts at all before Lockdown started, and then continued not to think about them for another couple of weeks after that. Although the odd <i>'Boy #2's hair is looking quite interesting'</i>, thought crossed my mind there was so much to think about with home-school etc it took yet more time before I bit the bullet and tried to find now almost-impossible-to-get hairclippers online. Throw in long delays to promised delivery dates, cancellations and reorders, and by the time they arrived the men in my life had begun to look 1970's throwbacks - or the hair-bear bunch.</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Thank the lord, the hair clippers finally arrived on Friday. </font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Boy #1 was first to the slaughter. Except, it wasn't - a slaughter, that is. I had decided that some prep would be a good idea and thanks to my bloggy mate Toni Hargis <a href="http://expatmum.blogspot.com/">(aka Expat Mum)</a>, I found <a href="https://youtu.be/54K9y6T73lM">Nevsy Zee</a> on YouTube. I can recommend taking a look (not a promotion, I promise) since as a result I didn't make too much of a hash of Boy #1's hair when we tackled it yesterday. Not saying that anyone should pay me for my efforts, mind you - he looks a little bouffant around the edges - but still.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Unfortunately that led to an excess of confidence - for me, Boy #1, and my next victim. Our learnings from this experience are set out below, for the benefit of all...</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: large;">Whatever your husband and son say, it is <b>not</b> a good idea to give your 16 year old a set of hair clippers and let him 'have a go' on his father's head. (Actually, I suspect that you already<b> </b></span><span style="font-size: large;">knew that). </span></li><li><span style="font-size: large;">Once you wrest back control of the clippers to try and repair the damage, be aware that for some reason the less hair a person has, the more difficult it is to give them a presentable haircut. (Just saying).</span></li><li><span style="font-size: large;">Fun fact: if a person has greying temples and you cut their hair really short (perhaps as requested or perhaps - ahem - by mistake) then it looks like they have bald spots on that part of their head.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: large;">Finally, it is important to always - ALWAYS - check the length setting on a set of clippers. This will ensure that when you pick them up again after a fit of panicked hysterical laughter at the previously-mentioned looks-like-bald-spots, the setting is the same as it was before you put it down. Otherwise you may end up using a shorter setting, and giving them </span><b style="font-size: large;">actual</b><span style="font-size: large;"> bald spots where their hair is a different colour, where this misfortune shows up even more clearly.</span></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">You're welcome.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">(Needless to say, Boy #2 has passed on the home haircut. Smart boy).</span></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><a href="http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/search?q=Lockdown">For more posts on Lockdown living in the time of CoVid19, click here.</a></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Potty Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04751869800592294891noreply@blogger.com3