What was YOUR favourite Christmas present?

Want to know what my best Christmas present this year was?  (Other than, of course, being in the same place as my husband for 2 continuous weeks, reconnecting with family and friends etc etc etc).

Prepare yourself for some serious hard-core glamour...

Well, bearing in mind it was -16degC when we left Moscow just over a week ago and I suffer badly from Reynaud's Syndrome, which leaves me with dead fingers if my hands get too cold (one of the perils of having poor circulation), I would have to say, these:

Other women may long for something small and sparkly in a leather-clad box on Christmas Day and I must admit, I would have been very happy with something like that.  (As it happens, I did also get a leather-clad box but mine was empty except for the two chocolates Husband had put into the travel jewellery case I had also requested).


But on balance, the gloves are my favourite present; it's pathetic how excited I am at the prospect of slipping a chemical heater into the special zipper compartment on the back of each glove and daring the Russian winter to do it's worst. There you are however; that's the rock & roll lifestyle I lead.

Gloves, chocolate, and a little portable luxury in the form of a leather travel jewellery box that fits neatly into my handbag.  Husband more than covered all the relevant bases.  I am a lucky woman.

So come on, spill: what was your favourite Christmas present?

• This post was inspired by one from Expat Mum here, a fellow Brit living in a cold climate...
• Not a sponsored post, btw...

Silent Sunday

I've caved.

It used to be so easy back in the day, commenting on other people's blogs.  You hit the comment button, wrote your message, and bob's your uncle, done and dusted.

Nowadays, it seems you have to jump through hoops to leave a message for the writer of a blog.  Captcha, disqus, comment moderation; wherever I look I see bloggers employing these methods to filter out the spam.    Of course, it was never something that I considered for my own blog, why would I?  The Potty Diaries was too small and insignificant to attract spam, no need for word verification here.

Oh, how little I knew.

About 3 months ago I picked up on a twitter comment where a contact of mine consoled another person that she too got spam in her inbox from blog accounts that she visited - and The Potty Diaries was one of those that she mentioned.  Apparently, even if they don't show in your 'published' comment box, spam comments are still active - and so can access the details of other people who leave comments on your posts.  Horrified, I investigated and did what I should probably have done significantly earlier; I checked my spam comment box.

For the love of mike. (Yes, we have been watching The Polar Express here.  More than once...)

There were THOUSANDS of the damn things in there.  It took what felt like days to delete them all, but I did it and sat back congratulating myself;  this was the accumulated debris of 5 1/2 years blogging activity, I thought, and I should easily be able to keep on top of it from now on.

*heavy sigh*

Not so much.  I've been getting between 50 and 100 comments a day automatically side-lined into the spam box, plus a good few sneaky ones that have made it past the filters and attached themselves to older posts so I don't spot them unless I go looking, and frankly?  I've had enough.  I have much better things to do with my time than run a 'spam search and destroy' mission every morning.  So I have two apologies to make.  Firstly, to anyone who received spam in their email box as a result of commenting on The Potty Diaries; I am sorry.  I'm trying to sort it and hope this now stops.

Secondly, I apologise to anyone who wants to comment on the blog from now on.  For lo, I have turned on the dread word verification tool and whilst I hope it will weed out those annoying comments about duvet coats, viagra, webmaster tools and weight-loss programs (not taking offence at that last one, not. AT. ALL), I also know it makes commenting here more complicated and I totally understand if you now choose not to bother.  (Although, I hope that you do).

I am trying to find a more commenter-friendly alternative, but in the short term I'm hoping this will stop the flood of nonsense on The Potty Diaries.

Or at the very least - the nonsense that I haven't actually written myself...

'Surely we can do better than this?'*

You know, I try not to be contentious on this blog.  I try to keep my head below the parapet, for my family's sake, and mostly that's fine.

But the events last Friday in a small town in Conneticut, and the subsequent reactions of some have driven me to break that self-imposed rule today.  In an attempt to understand how it's come to this, I've been reading a great deal of what has been available online and whilst most of the articles are measured and respectful in their tone, the remarks in the comment boxes from people who are concerned that their precious 'right to bear arms' may be affected by this tragedy have been - well, not so much.

I know I speak as a non-US citizen and as someone who has never lived there.  It could be argued that I have no concept of being part of a society where it's normal to have instruments of death as part of the furniture in a home.  But that wasn't always the case in the UK, and I also speak as someone who's family has been directly touched by the horrific impact that guns can have on a life; my great uncle, aged only 17, shot himself in the face whilst cleaning a gun in the family home.  My grandmother, aged 12, was left to clear up the blood and the part of his eye that remained on the floor when he had been taken to hospital. He died two months later, after a great deal of pain and suffering. Such a waste.

So, you know what?  I think I'm allowed to comment on this.  I'm going to, anyway.

But I'll keep it short. So, for anyone out there who believes that the right to have a gun in their home is more important than one child's life - let alone 20, and the 6 heroic adults who died trying to protect them - I have this for you.

Charlotte, Daniel, Olivia, Josephine, Ana, Dylan, Madeline, Catherine, Chase, Jesse, James, Grace, Emilie, Jack, Noah, Caroline, Jessica, Benjamin, Avielle, Allison.

Those children had names.  Read that list, and then tell me you're not ready to give up your fxcking gun.


*President Obama in his speech at the vigil for the victims of the Newtown shootings.  You can read the full transcript here.

Just once...

... just ONCE, I would like to be able to go to the bathroom when my kids are in bed, and not have to flush the loo before I use it.

Is that asking too much?

I suspect that it is.

Let's pretend...

All over t'internet I keep on coming across posts about Christmas lists.  Lists of presents for your kids.  Lists for the men in your life.  Lists for your mother, father, brothers, sisters, children's teachers, nannies, household help.  Lists for organised shoppers, lists for last minute shoppers (sorry, folks; that one's not relevant yet as far as I'm concerned.  For me, last minute means Christmas Eve, not nearly 2 weeks in advance).  Lists for budget-buyers, lists for vegetarians, lists for carnivores.  You name it, out there in the ether right now, there is a list of potential Christmas gifts for that person.

But you know what I don't see so much of?

Lists of what we want.  And that's a shame, because if we can't shout loud and proud on our blogs what we would love to find in our Christmas stockings then where can we?

So I am dedicating this post to a list of things that in a perfect, un-credit-crunched, unlimited budget world, I would like to unwrap on Christmas morning.

I call it my 'Let's Pretend' list.

Obviously, I'm not going to get any of it.  Neither Husband nor I have played the lottery recently, for starters.    And I will be very happy with whatever I do unwrap (although if it's a recipe book there may be a bit of huffing and puffing).  But let's pretend, you and I, that we could go out and treat ourselves to our own Christmas presents without worrying too much about the price.

Here's what I would be tempted by...

Just about anything from EC One Jewellery (Clerkenwell and Nottinghill), but particularly the Sushilla rings and earrings.  I can only say one thing about the rough-cut gemstones she uses; yum.

Some pretty, totally non-practical clothing from Marilyn Moore on the Kings Road.  Dry clean only, preferably, and completely unsuitable for the school run in the Moscow dirt and cold weather.

Some flouncy girly china from PiP Studio at Selfridges.  No, I don't know when I would have the chance to use it either, but in the sea of boys and Ikea-ness that I currently live in, a few flowers and some pretty colours would make a nice change...

A really unpractical handbag from Smythson.  Something like this one would do it.  I wouldn't take it out, not in Moscow, where it would get mucky and dirty.  No, I would just sit and stroke it quietly.  Actually, scratch that - I would take it out of the house.  Why have these things, if not to use them?

A long shearling coat.  I live in Moscow, for goodness' sake; I've just entered my 4th winter here in the same  knee-length North Face quilted duvet coat I arrived in and that's fine, but in my less pc and chillier moments, I dream about something like this.  I have to be honest, even in my 'let's pretend' moments I wouldn't spend the sort of money you need for an Armani coat, but it's good to have a start point when dreaming, no?

So that's my list.  Extremely modest, I'm sure you'll agree.  What's on yours?


I would love it if you write your own list and link to it in the comments box below (because for some reason McLinky never works for me), but there are some ground rules here. 

1.  This present must be for you and you alone.  No sneaking a luxury holiday for all the family.  A luxury spa break in Thailand with the girls might pass muster, but nothing less.

2.  Cash does not count.  Otherwise, as we all know, it will disappear into the black hole that is the house-hold budget we're all juggling at the moment...

Otherwise, go for it.


And may I just say, this was NOT a sponsored post.  I should be so lucky...

Are you getting enough?

(This is a sponsored post).

Well, ARE you?  I have to say I’m definitely not.  Maybe it’s something to do with the time of year – a busy social calendar, dark mornings, early sunsets – but it seems to me that the entire Potski Familiski could with getting a bit more sleep at the moment. (Oh, sorry – did you think I was referring to something else?).

Both the Boys seem pale and wan at the moment and are never awake for more than 10 minutes after lights out.  They don’t wake before 7am – at the earliest – and they go to bed at around 8pm.  So that’s more or less 11 hours solid sleep every night – and yet I still fret that they could do with more.  I don’t know how the locals here do it, I really don’t.

We run a pretty tight ship on the bed-time front: the Boys usually get in the bath at around 7.30pm and at around 8pm I’m reminding them to brush their teeth and use the loo before they climb into bed.  Here’s a question; at what age does the necessity to issue such reminders stop, I wonder? I should probably just leave them to it but since the alternative is my younger son waking around 10.30pm and shouting ‘I need the LOO!” at the top of his voice, waking his brother in the process and occasionally resulting in the need for a wipe of the bathroom floor when his aim is off, I’m not prepared to forego it just yet...

I suspect that Russian friends regard me as a bit of a control freak on the subject of bedtimes, as their children seem not to go to bed before 10pm and still have to get up for a school day starting before 8.30.  I know that this is because otherwise many Russian children would not see very much of their parents, and I admire the commitment to spending family time together that this shows, but I’m not sure I would be prepared to sacrifice my peaceful evenings and my sons’ well-being (not in that order, obviously...) for the sake of it.

And when I do finally crawl into bed myself – invariably later than I should due to the siren call of the internet / the next episode of Downton Abbey or Homelands or whichever box-set I’m watching at the time / hanging up the laundry / tidying away the nest of shoes that seems to breed by the back door whenever my back is turned, you can bet that I won’t manage to drop off straight away.  Amazingly, it’s not about the bed – although I’m told that for many people it can be.  I was looking at this sleep study here (this is a sponsored post, after all), and it appears I’m in good company in finding other reasons for my wakefulness; lots of us lie there worrying or wondering about our lives before managing to switch off our brains, it seems.

But whilst it’s good to know that I’m not alone in struggling to fall asleep, that doesn’t really help me in my battle to beat the clock.  And by that, I mean the pressure to drop off before my husband climbs into bed himself.  If I don’t, then I have to face the real impediment to managing it which is, I’m afraid to say, the freight train snores coming from the other side of the bed...

This post is sponsored by Silent Night, but all words and opinions are my own...