New Year's Eve, R is at the office and Emma is having her afternoon nap. We are all knackered and didn't sleep much..then R was woken at 7am to say that the team's drilling equipment was stuck in Customs in Colombo. It's sorted out now, I think.

I needed some frivolous activity to lift the gloom, so this morning we had a baby fashion show. I changed Emma in and out of all her new Christmas outfits and took photos to use as thank you cards. I loved it, but E - who can't stand getting dressed - squawked alot, so she looks a bit fierce in some of the pictures. Or maybe that's just her look. I was a fierce-looking baby, like a nightclub bouncer in miniature.

Tonight we will have Chinese fondue and a DVD at home. At least that's the plan. Happy New Year, all.

can't think of a title today

Sorry if you tuned in for a bit of light relief, but I'm still some way off my usual chitter chatter: the pictures and the stories are too harrowing. Some very good friends of ours and their children (their daughter is my godchild) narrowly escaped with their lives. They work for Medair in Sudan and had gone to Sri Lanka for a holiday. All their belongings were destroyed.

I keep looking at Emma with a fresh sense of how fragile life is. I wish I could capture every time she giggles or blows a raspberry...and I will try and freak out less when one of those raspberries pebbledashes me with Weetabix.

Rob has been working alot and will go in tomorrow, New Year's Eve, though it's a holiday here in Suisse. The good news is that today, they managed to get 4 WHO health kits on their way to Sri Lanka, one of which provides for 10,000 people's health needs for 3 months.

I am so proud of him - and I don't care how cheesey that sounds, either.

Why we're in Switzerland

Rob went to work yesterday before it got light and came back just as I was getting into bed, about 10pm.

The phones and emails never stopped all day. But by the end of it, a team of professionals from engineering and medical backgrounds were on their way to Sri Lanka with money, equipment, supplies* and a plan. This is just the beginning of a very, very big task.

*for example, they spent $10,000 on water purification sachets. They cost $1 each, so this is a drop in the ocean.

If you've enjoyed reading my blog, if you like you could show your appreciation by giving Medair a donation www.medair.org, or just have a look and see what they're up to.

Normal mindless wittering to be resumed soon.

This one's not very jokey

Happy Christmas, everyone.

Sorry for the lack of posts, but we were doing the Christmas thing in England.

There was a tree with beautiful lights, and turkey at both sets of parents, presents twinkling with expectation. There was Emma, who got lots of attention from her cousins, but most enjoyed rustling and munching at discarded wrapping paper. My Dad said my blog was "too jokey" and my Mother asked whether a bottle of pear liqueur given her by my Catholic aunt was actually holy water. My mother-in-law got a nasty nosebleed. We went for a magical walk with my sister and her family across a big field with purple sky, where a blood red sunset met the moon on the rise. We played Monopoly. I lost. The Queen talked about tolerance, and looked small and frail.

We had a good time. Emma even slept on the plane. And yet, and yet. The gaps and the silences, where so much is not said, where solace is taken in the washing up, the clearing away, the TV. The voice inside repeating, "something is missing" and the beat of a heart that longs to connect in a place beyond the leftovers and the afternoon film.

Far away, the next day, there were children on a beach where the breeze was warm. They were looking for shells or playing 'it'. Some boys might have stopped to poke a jellyfish with a stick. And in a terrible moment, all that was over. And my world is so small, my worries so trivial when I think of the grief and the shock and the rage and the simple fact that I am here and they were there.

It was never meant to be like this.

Wedding anniversary

It's our wedding anniversary today! Ahh..

Rob brought me flowers and took me on a mystery weekend to the mountains, where as you can see (trying not to crow) there was lots and lots of snow! Oh yes, the Swiss put the "ha ha drizzly and miserable Britain!" into white Christmas.

Emma celebrated by bloodcurdling, inconsolable screaming three times in the night, for which I apologised to all the other guests at breakfast.

Heaven and a long spoon 

Yodellayee, yodellayee, yodelleeoo! 

home alone

So here I am blogging, when in another, childless universe I would be tucking my napkin under my top button thus leaving my hands free to applaude the arrival of turkey and all the trimmings onto my oven-warmed plate while friends giggle and toast each other with a glass of champers, if there were any schnapps in the house mine would be a Bellini.

Our babysitter cancelled at the 11th hour.

We had a row about whether to take Emma with us. I got my way (Emma Stays In Bed) and am facing the consequence: pasta with courgette on top, orange squash.

She is much better, by the way, and busy with her new hobby - chewing through electric cables.

In fact maybe tonight I should babyproof the flat? That would be a productive use of a husbandless, partyless evening. Sulk? Babyproof? Sulk? Babyproof?

Sulking wins.

thinking 'bout my baby

I am worried about my Bubs. Yesterday she vomited in spectacular fashion all over Daddy in his work shirt, and then again on the floor at home and again all over Mummy's shoes (not her dapper little heels, her only beloved pair. The Birkenstocks got it this time.) She slept through the night, which would've been great if I hadn't got up every 2 hours to check she was OK.

When Emma is ill I am not nursey-nurse, capable but calm-in-a-crisis sort of gal. I run amok screaming "Shall I take her to hospital?" to anyone bold enough to pay me some attention.

She has not been sick today, she doesn't have a temperature, but she is not her gurgling, bouncing, fat-cheeked little self. Instead she's been staring into space alot and whimpering.

My plan of action: encourage drinking. watch her like a hawk.

Still glowing from my parcel. Got JoJo's CD playing at the mo and having a disco jiggle here in my office chair. Have prepared a return parcel that I am not optimistic will arrive before Christmas. It's not the work of art I received, not by a long shot, but it's packed with love. Feel the love, people!

couldn't help myself

We opened it, and all the cards but not the presents.

THANK YOU. You know who you are.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ye Holy Angels Bright!!

I've just had the best - and the worst - visit to the post office. Got a little note saying I had a parcel waiting, so off I scampered on a very chilly afternoon. There was a long queue. Eventually, my turn came.
"Bonjour, Madame!" said the yellow-clad post office employee.
"Bonjour, Madame!" I replied, before noticing my addressee was a very tall man, and bearded. (Giggles from the queue behind.) "Oh, err, sorry, je'mexcuse etc etc"
"Yes, zare ez a parcel, but eez really for you?" said he (we are quite matey incidentally, I go to this post office a lot.) "Eet say on front, "FRAU BOSOM."
I know exactly what he's talking about and try and mumble something indiscriminate. "oui,oui, er...c'est un...c'est un" before failing to explain in French it's a nickname from my Tooting parentcrafters (by the way I LOVE YOU ALL!) to do with breastfeeding and bosoms and so on. (Goes bright red.)
"Oui, BOSOM? BOSOM? Ah, "BOSOM!" HAHAHAHAHAHA!" (more giggling from the queue behind.)

I scuttle out, very pink and flustered, but with the biggest, fattest, juiciest-looking parcel ever and a very big lump in my throat when I think of their blummin' reckless generosity and loveliness.

I haven't opened it because it's not Christmas yet and that would be wrong.

back in Suisse

Hello, hello, hello again, puff, pant...just back from a weekend in Blighty where we went to a lovely wedding and a lovely reception where we met 2 very lovely gentleman, Harold and Tommy and their dog, Homer. Every time the canapes threatened to go to a different part of the room, Harold stuck his hand up and said "Excuse me? We have a nursing mother here..." and they would duly trot back and offer us all YUMMY YUMMY miniature oat/salmon-y/dill things.

I am writing alot about food these days, it's because I get excited whenever I eat something apart from my normal diet which looks like this:

Breakfast: whatever Emma spat out or couldn't finish
Lunch: "
Dinner: toast and marmite if R's not around, otherwise something delicious cooked by him

We were Emma-less for an entire afternoon, too. I expected her to be traumatised, at least visibly missing us in some way, but her reaction on our return was total contempt for our half-cut buffoonish attempts to get her to smile.

Sunday we saw lots of friends, ate some YUMMY YUMMY ROAST GOOSE, dashed around some more, bought a natty baby rucksack and a warm coat for me, got on a plane, the plane was delayed, the plane was full of gruff-looking businessmen, Emma screamed on the plane, the businessmen huffed and puffed and it wasn't stressful at all. No.

all fixed

Phew, saved just prior to full Hulk transformation, by young, floppy-haired heating engineer. It could've got nasty. Green and nasty.

Just got back from first time at local groupe de mamans. They all seem a very nice crew, and they had some verrrryy nice biscuits de noel, lots of cinammon and very crumbly. (The Siropwaffeln still hold the number 1 spot, mind.) They don't half yabber fast, though, which made my head hurt. By the end as I sat nodding and grinning like a fool, not understanding what on earth they were talking about. When it's all in English, I quite enjoy groups, being an all-round loudmouth and extrovert. This time I barely squeaked, which made me wonder what it might be like to be shy.. I also found the 'talkers' a bit domineering, which made me think, gee am I like that, and then think, yes, a little, which made me think, shut the old cakehole more often then. And even use your ears once in a while. Eh?

Not good

No, I slept extremely badly, thanks for asking. For once, the source of my nighttime woe was not 40 inches long and pink with big, blue eyes. There I was at 2am, decanting manky radiator water from one of my finest saucepans into the butler sink. And then again, at 5.30, when my husband had to get up and go to Brussels. The Chubby Queen slept through it all.

Not in the best of moods, I rallied my French and my most assertive manner, and called the geronce at 8.30am (they manage the building, I mean 'manage' in the loosest sense ever in the history of the world. Loose like Jezebel.) Anyway, three phone calls later - watch the assertiveness teeter, then plummet full tilt into naked aggression - and I am still at home, it's dark, I have waited in all day, my baby is crying, the radiator is still leaking and I am passing the time looking up things like "lazy", "timewasting", "incompetent", "idiots."

ominous dripping

I hate things when they break. I hate them even more if I can't fix them myself (which is most often the case. Sadly.)
I hate them most of all if water is involved.

What is it with water? Why can't it just stay in its pipes? Or come out of taps, but only if you instruct it thus?

We have a leak from one of the radiators. This afternoon it went Drip. Drip. Drip. Now it's going dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip. The largest saucepan we own is underneath it, but in an hour or so it will be full. What are we going to do tonight? (wrings hands) (Then wrings out flood-sodden tea towel.)

writer's blog

Sorry about bloglessness, I could claim I was too busy but there might have been witnesses to my novel-reading / choc-eating sesh I had yesterday while E had her nap.

I have got some news, though.

WE WENT OUT!
WE WENT TO A RESTAURANT!
THEN WE WENT TO THE CINEMA!
WE SAW BRIDGET JONES, THE EDGE OF REASON!
IT WAS FUNNY! (not much plot; who cares)
I HAD A GIN AND TONIC! (or as they say here, "jinntonique"; sexier)
IT MADE ME SLIGHTLY DRUNK! (since pregnancy; no tolerance)
WE GOT A BABYSITTER! (very expensive; it's only money)
WE DIDN'T GET HOME TIL MIDNIGHT! (normal bedtime; before 10)

Now it's back to the usual blur of screaming / puree / washing up / the park.

We are not buying that car, by the way. Or indeed any car, as it stands. I am very fickle about such things.