Who me?

OK Giddy Kips
Sorry have developed a weird habit for either shortening or lengthening names.
Not sure how this will translate in the written word....
but maybe more successfully than my recent habit of shortening the written word so much that I have written nothing at all.

So.... Giddington Kippingtons
I really have surpassed myself this time and taken so long to write an entry I actually not only couldn't remember how to log-in, I couldn't even find a bookmark on my own PC to my own Blog.
I had to Google Giddy Kippers and was not prepared for how much fun I had looking at my fellow GKs listings:
In my HO (Humble Opinion for those not Down With It or DWI) - the least appropriate use for Giddy Kippers is for a Kids Playzone.... ?!!
Maybe they mean a different interpretation of Giddy?
Maybe they are referring to the twelve gin and tonics that I want to consume every time I've been to a "Fun Fun Fun Play Place".
(My fave Google Giddy Kipper listing is for a 6 piece cover band based in Queensbury, Bradford.)

Anyway, speaking of names that may or may not belong to us - the other day I received some junk mail in the name of Vera Plamkbottom.
Oh how I giggled.
I even showed it to Reg so impressed was I with the rubbishness of the choice of names and the bad-spelling.

But I am now a little bit tired of VP.
(and you just know if she does exists she has a VPL)

Every day I get a new piece of shite junk mail addressed to Vera Plamkbottom.
Today it was from SunLife Direct explaining how I can "Relax in the knowledge you're helping loved ones"
"Applying is simple and easy" and "peace of mind is important - especially as we get older"
Thanks for that.

But I think for "peace of mind" I need to face the harsh truth that Vera may not be so much an Older Giddy Kipper looking out for her offspring but some twat using my identity?
Is that a bit Paranoid Pauline?
Or should I kick Vera's Plamk Bottom?
And how?

Answers on a postcard correctly addressed please.

One last thing - apart from Vera, things are going Pretty Good interspersed with "What on Earth? Women can have it all?!.... "
//hysterical laughter//
(sorry, about my inappropriate use of //. My standards are slipping. I blame Vera)

I am currently staying afloat with a piece of wisdom I learnt many years ago but I often find invaluable. It came from the husband of my good friend, Pearl (who currently works in a fish factory.)
It's simple and it works and it goes like this:
whenever you can remotely apply it - you have to say:
I'M HAVING A GOOD TIME RIGHT NOW
(you don't have to actually say it out loud cos you may be on your own, walking down the street or snogging or buying shoes or eating cake)
Just think it, log it and store it.
(don't feel the need to blog about it as that would be taking it a bit too far....)

Right am off to wrap up Reggington's birthday present as he turns 40 in two hours!!
And we get to go to the seaside and eat cake at the same time

Good night
Vaneshkapushk Lawtoningtonshire

Did you hear the one about hindsight?

Ok, I admit, this year was not the best year to start this blog.
Yes, I am clearly learning that my actions have consequences...

I mean, who's idea was it to name the blog Giddy Kipper?

Yes, I am aware that was Me.

And this is a recurring theme of being a grown up.
(what a drag to find "blaming the parents" eventually means me?)

I have been a Giddy Kipper for as long as I can remember - but DOH... nobody briefed me on 2009 before blogger.com and I had our virtual naming ceremony.

with hindsight -
WhatTheBloodyHellIsGoingOn.blog may have been more appropriate
or - SickOfTheWholeDamnShootingMatch.blog (copyright Mr Jagger) would have made my entries flow easier...
Or even,
Don'tEvenGlanceAtTheExtraStoneRoundMyMiddleIHaveBeenComfortEatingGodDamYou.blog

2009 has been a BeeAtch.
I officially declare it the most tricky of my adult life - and I have avoided being a grown up quite successfully up until now.

So, no, I have not felt Very Giddy Kipper... (and goodness, that's hard to admit, my fingers typed it all on their own)


I would like to leave you with the wisdom I learnt from my six year old son Cole... ok, I learnt two things - one, that he is funnier than J**** in his class and two, that he was due a haircut:

Cole: Mum, J**** in my class called me a Fat Girl.
Me: Really? What did you say?
Cole: I said, "But am I a Pretty Girl?"

Apparently, this fantastic line is c/o SpongeBob.
Thank you Sponge Bob, I knew those hours of tele watching would come in handy.

And if you can be a six-year-old-boy-being-called-a-fat-girl and still crack a joke then the fact that I called my blog Giddy Kipper THIS YEAR is pretty bloody Hilarious..

For a while there I took it all too seriously.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

Hmmm

I've been feeling a little blue.
A little small.
A little like I'd like I'd like to go home now please. Except I am home.
A little like I would rather like a grown-up to tell me I'm doing Ever So Well, or to gently suggest areas of improvement.
A special star or sticker on my chart would help enormously.

And a little reassurance on the modern relationship would go down well.
Is it normal that the man I love and have done 11 years with can be Very Annoying sometimes?
What with his habitual being SO laid back and not stressing or worrying.
How bloody inconsiderate.

The nuggets of brightness in my day today were Cole and I spotting a tree that looked exactly like a bottom and over-hearing Ro say to Reg at bedtime...
"Dad, five more minutes and you're out of here, back down-stairs, lights on, ok?"

If you find my mojo, please send it back to me - or it may well arrive tomorrow with my new IPhone... fickle? Moi?

Mr Roberts and the Pancake

My mother in law lives in Chapeltown.
Yes, Him Indoors is a Chapeltown Boy born and bred.
Believe it or not, he doesn't own a fire arm nor deal drugs.
We do manage to make regular visits to Chapel Town without selling the children into slavery nor having the car-jacked....
(ok the fact that our car is shit has Nothing To Do With It... they've tried to nick it several times at home in Roundhay)

One of the things I love about Reg is this Chapel Town Bad Ass neither, drinks nor smokes, nor contaminates his temple/body with neither caffeine nor tannine.
This Bingley Girl is by far the Bad Boy in Our House.
His home-turf is a peaceful community where the guy at the corner shop knows who I am and my children's birthday's. I know that we sensible types know this, but Stereo Types are Not Always True.

So... Reggie's Mum (aka Josie/Granma) still lives in Reg's child hood home in the Heart of the Hood (aye)
The first time I ever visited Reg there, he took me to his old bedroom and proudly told me - wait for his killer line:
"You can see St James's Hospital from my bedroom window."
I looked out and could not disagree... you could indeed.
And still no spliffs nor reggae music.
(My sweet full circle came three years later after giving birth to our daughter Romany at aforementioned St James's Hospital... Reg had just visited us and left to pick up supplies... Ro and I stood on the ward looking out the windows and I told her: "We can see Daddie's old bedroom window from here...")

Anyway, throughout our many years of visiting Josie/mother-in-law/grandma - when we visit Josie, as reliable as St James
Hospital in the distance; is Mr Roberts Who Lives Next Door.

Mr Roberts has lived next door since before Time Began. And every day this smart West Indian man has worn a suit. And I have never seen him without his tie and hat.
Mr Roberts has educated me and Cole and Ro in the art of the West Indian accent.
Since the children were born - in particular Cole who he took a shine to - Mr Roberts comes out to have a chat.

For the first few years we could only make out the odd word Mr Roberts said: Beckham! (Cole is blonde and plays football)
And Pancake...
(maybe Mr Roberts knew that Cole came into the world on Pancake Day)
As consistently as Chapel Town gets bad press, Mr Roberts greets us over the fence with - and these days I am Ever So Down With The West Indian Accent.... "Beckham... Where's me pancake?"

It's become a theme. A reliable topic which I enjoy more than the usual "weather" debate. "Where's me pancake Beckham?"
"I will be tossing in my grave thinking of that pancake."
Mr Roberts is at least 403.

Today, I found out something I didn't know.

We were having Sunday lunch at Granma Josie's. Our beloved Auntie Natalina was at home with us taking time out from her globe trotting and SuperNannying Royalty and Generally Showing Us All How It's Done to have dinner with us.
Cole sat still long enough to eat 47 plates of dinner then had to go into the front garden to jump up and down/shriek/play ball/work up space for perhaps one more roast potatoe?

Enter stage left Mr Roberts.
The kitchen windows were open so we all strained to hear what had become a guilty habit.... ear-wigging Cole and Mr Roberts conversations.
It began as normal.
Mr Roberts: "Beckham... where's my pancake?"
Cole: "I posted it through your letter box."

I looked to Reg or Romany or Josie/Granma/SheWhoUsuallyKnowsWhatOnEarthIsGoingOn...
I say: "Why is Cole saying that?"
Then Reg informs me.... "Oh yes... we did... we were making pancakes and Cole wanted to give Mr Roberts one. We wrapped it in silver foil and posted it through his letter box."

So then we all pay great attention to Cole and Mr Roberts in the garden out front.
The penny (and the pancake) clearly drops for Mr Roberts...

"Aah... my days, I was readin my paper.."
actually sorry, I really can't even write the West Indian accent convincingly...
but it turns out that:
Mr Roberts was at home reading his paper.
Mr Roberts found a tin foil parcel drop through his letterbox.
The note that Romany insisted on writing to accompany the parcel remained stuck in the letterbox so it was anonymous.
Mr Roberts looked up from his paper and felt suspicious about the soft parcel that arrived.
He removed a portion of his newspaper to wrap the parcel in.
Then, in order to refrain from touching the parcel used a mirror to view the parcel from various angles.

All in all Mr Roberts decided the pancake was Bad and Wrong and Not To Be Trusted and it was, at arms-length, wrapped in newspaper and dumped in the outside bin.

At approximately 3.30 this afternoon Mr Roberts realised that the soft parcel was indeed a six year overdue request for a pancake and nothing more.

Thus began a half hour of us trying to apologise for worrying him.... whilst Mr Roberts was mortified for not accepting the gift and I think even more, for - his words - "Throwing away good food."

We all had to go out in turn to reassure him that we would have all done the same had an unidentified pancake come through our door.... I told him I would definitely have done the same thing though not sure I would have thought to use a mirror for protection.

Bless him.
He was genuinely, touchingly gutted that he'd missed out on our pancake.
Whilst we were genuinely concerned and gutted that we had inadvertently scared or worried him.

After half an hour of going over the finer details of the confusion he left only to return with £10 for Romany and £10 for Cole - not accepting his money was simply not an option even though we tried.

We are now planning what we can bake or make for Mr Roberts next and how clearly we can mark/deliver the goods. Whatever we do, it's gonna be ace and lovely and from our hearts.

As we digested the afternoon's discovery, Natalina said to me, "That's one for your blog!"
And I thought... nah, I can't write this - how on earth can I convey the different strands and levels of this over-the-garden-fence hoo-ha?
(by cleverly using words like "hoo-ha" obviously)

Maybe it was my 47 glasses of red wine but the whole thing to me encapsulated family and history and multi-cultural-ness and communication and the Little Things being the Big Things and how it's important for six year old boys to chat to old West Indian men about, pancakes....

If it all got lost in translation, all you need know is -
Mr Roberts you are a true gentleman.
(and if I was Cool in da Hood I would say some Street lingo about flippin but I'm not. So I wont. It's for the Best.)

Tum ti Tum

Ok... so it's been a while.
I've been Very Busy You Know.

Did you not catch my stadium tour?
Or my book-signing at good book stores throughout my house...
I mean, throughout the country?
Did you not attend the event where I read out loud every other page of Pippy Longstocking (ok.. very select audience of Romany and I - and she shared the vocals... )

The horrible truth is...
I am easily distracted.
I am a bit fickle and if Come Dine With Me looks especially interesting, I may well ignore my clear future as blogger/writer/mummy who is able to make everyday problems and child-rearing hilarious/relatable-to/interesting without appearing smug nor boring...
OK, so you never noticed those talents...

So... you can breath easily again.
Cos I am back at the blogger dashboard.
I am going to attempt to refrain from cutting off my nose to spite my typing skills and write my blog again.
I am after all a Very Talented Typist.
(it really is true. I am Freakishly Fast.. thanks to my teacher Mrs Popple - was she really called that or have I made it up? I had an uncanny skill for repeating asdf over and over.)

I have learnt a lot since I last posted.
I have learnt that if I don't update my blog no-one else will.
I have learnt that my ironing pile could really take over the whole of my house.... and I need to address my rebellion towards it.
I have learnt that you can buy a Wii Fit but unless you stand on it, it's bloody useless.
I have learnt that very few people are impressed that I can play all the chords in You've Got a Friend... which narrows down the number of people I intend to play it to.
I have learnt that I may value the fact that Cole can do a faultless Australian accent but when he gets 4 out of ten in his spellings his skills can be overlooked.
I have learnt that primary schools give No Points for spelling forty like this: 4ty.
I thought he was being clever.

Anyway... rest assured... this Giddy Kipper is Back.
Trick or treat?
And remember - I can type that faster than most.

Two weddings, a funeral and a moonwalk off the planet

This time I really have been absent from my beloved GiddyKipperHome due to attending Rather Glamorous Events.

Two weddings in two days - a weekend that will be hard to top.

I got so into the swing of things that I have taken to wearing sky-high heels, silk dresses and flowers in my hair for the walk to school.
I like to propose a toast about 3pm to anyone nice close-by, whilst swigging from a bottle of bubbly.
The kids are a little tired of my insisting on a "first dance" everytime we put some music on.

My DNA is made up of love-hearts, confetti and poetic license.
I would like to attach ribbons to my car, hug everyone in the room and tell stories about how we first met.

Yes you, dear Internet...
Ahem... your attention please...

Dear InterwebSuperHighway
It's been many years now and we have stuck together on our journey, which could be described as virtual.
You have taught me so much: Like, How to be patient.
You minx you - so often you wouldn't be rushed... you'd download when good and ready baby.
I know now your vast knowledge is worth the wait -
How to remove hair extensions?
(if you ever find yourself unable to go back to Toni and Guy to have your wag hair removed due to catching nits from your kids) You know how to do it. Without judgement.
Unsure as to how to actually spell judgement? You informed me.
When do school children go back after half-term? You tell me.
Is Britney ok? You let me know. Sort of.
Where can I buy an orangutang costume? You find it for me.

Of course, there has been hard lessons that I have not always understood... yes, I admit, I held a grudge over the Stevie Wonder tickets that never arrived - a year on I am beginning to be able to talk about it.
Hmmm....
Actually, think I do still hold grudge...............


Probably a good point to stop writing a marriage speech to the Internet.
Cos that would be a very weird thing to do... only really geeky bloggy type people would do that.

Moving swiftly on...

Mr and Mrs Nomie and Stupot - your wedding was everything I knew it would be. Any bride that dances down the aisle with her funky bridesmaids to Fat Boy Slim's "Praise You" is starting out her married life with the right idea if you ask me.

Claire and Gordon - only you guys could get away with an Alice in Wonderland theme, a bride who can wear a black dress SO wide it's a good job we were in a stately home in which to house it - accessorising with a random white parrot shows style and initiative.

Big love to you who tied the knot and big love to all of us lucky enough to share it
.
You almost managed to distract Reggie from his mourning of the King of Pop. In fact, I definitely saw him smile several times and was pretty concerned that that would never happen again.

X X X X

How to feel like a rubbish Mum

Children's bedtime at our house:

Me - Do you need your inhaler again?
Romany - Yes, but I thought you would tell me off.

Ouch
Thought she knew the difference between extra snacks or stories and life-saving medicines.

I blame the parents. (who's parents exactly does this phrase refer to? cos they responsible for a lot...)