a breakthrough

Here it is: last night I MADE GRAVY!
Thanks to Big Emma's gravy making lesson (best friend Emma, and yes, the GHSE bears that name in large part because of her), I came over all cheffy last night with flour and water and hey presto! Rich, brown yummy-tasting gravy, not a gravy granule in sight. (This is despite R repeating "Please can we have Bisto? Please can we have Bisto?")

The bad news is I spent all day walking around in the hot sun and burnt my arms. I have always had fair skin, moles and all, and for some reason I am always hopelessly unprepared when the sun puts his hat on. Why didn't I put my hat on? Actually, I managed the hat, but where was the SPF? The last time I got this burnt was er, about a month ago, after a day's skiing. I cleverly managed to slather my face with factor zillion, but ended up with a red raw turkey's gizzard for a neck.

apologies

I sent a rather bitchy, churlish post last night...never a good idea when pressed for time with a glass of wine inside. Sorry, I was in a funny mood and it's gone now.

I am still enjoying my running glory, and rashly, I've agreed to do a 16k in 3 weeks time. I'm not sure what's come over me as I'm not really a sporty type. I was rubbish at sport at school, and nor was I interested in it either. I spent a lot of time wearing black and reading The Guardian during break, posing as an arty intellectual.

I am feeling very contrite and extremely annoyed with myself as I've missed the deadline for postal voting. For the record, I would've wavered between Labour and the Lib Dems. I thinkI prefer the LD's, policy-wise, but our Labour MP in Tooting was (I think he's retired now) was the most diligent constituency MP ever, writing back personally whenever I sent him the most boring mass-mail postcard protesting about this and that. Emeline Pankhurst, you chucked yourself under the king's horse so I could vote, and this is how I repay you. Forgive me.

Not dead

In case you were thinking, hey, no posts for a couple of days - what if?

I am alive, alive ohhh! alive, alive ohh!

So objective no 1 - kerching. Tick.
Objective no 2 - yess! yesss! YESSSS! I beat my husband. By 10 seconds. The offical website has it on record as a 5 second gap, but I know the truth, no matter what (corrupt! corrupt!) Swiss timekeepers may say. 55 minutes and 41 seconds was my time.
There was some sulking and threats to take away my morning tea, but so far such pronouncements have proved to be all mouth and no trousers.

Objective no 3 - you know where the website is

In other news: we cut Emma's hair in the bath last night. She looks just like Maria in The Sound of Music.

Party dress! (My Yeti hair is back, by the way) 

Party time

Well, we had a high old time yesterday, my Elf and I. She wore her party dress. There was cake. That cake contained an entire jar of Nutella. I am running 10km tomorrow, so that fact doesn't matter to me. All my Swiss friends came. There were 8 of us. We sang Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes. No-one got hurt. We sang Happy Birthday in French and in English. Emma went to bed very overtired, very excited and full of sugar. I call that success.

It's beginning to dawn on me that I have to do this run tomorrow, and I am filled with fear.
My objectives are:
1. To not die.
2. To beat Rob. (I will sulk for a week if I don't. This is childish. I know.)
3. To raise some money for Medair. Sponsor us if you like: www.medair.org

Tonight we are having a carb loading supper. Wish me luck.

Emma Angela

This time last year, I was with Rob at St George's Hospital, waiting for him to have a liver ultrasound.
I was feeling some uncomfortable twinging round my huge belly.
We went home after that, and the twinging got worse. I still managed to have a sandwich for lunch, though.
We watched TV; we had one in those (happy, happy) days. During Countdown, I realised I wasn't concentrating on neither the numbers nor the letters.
At 7.30pm we went back to St George's, under a different pretext. I had gas and air. It sent me straight to Lala land.
At 11.06pm, a wrinkly, purple, perfect little baby came into the world. "Bloody Norah" said Rob, "It's a girl."
Exhausted and very relieved, I stared at the raven-haired little bundle in my arms. "Hello, mini Dad", I said.

One year later and her hair is golden, like her mother's. (I won't pretend that's not extremely gratifying.) She can crawl and stand up. She eats shoes and tissues and is obsessed with the telephone. She waves. She is devoted to monkey, her first love. She hates having her face wiped. She can go "woof! woof!", but not "hello"(I'm not sure how we got into this situation.) And I love her so much I could eat her up, and wouldn't change a single little thing.

Happy Birthday, Golden Haired Snow Elf, 1 year old today 

Nearly One

Phew, arggghh. Back from England, again*. More travelling. I am getting a bit sick of planes, planes, planes. The schlepping of luggage and babyernalia. Hanging Around. The unforgiving, fluorescent airport lighting. The ceaseless eating of junk food to numb the pain. And why, please, are airports the most un-babyfriendly places on earth? All I want is a microwave (a sympathetic person with a hob will do) and a bit of cleanish floor for Emma to scrabble around on. I appreciate market forces, and that most of the available space has to be taken up by the Tie Rack, Accessorize and other shabby outfits I never mean to visit but somehow end up in, staring like a loony. Have a heart Mr Airport Executive, do your bit for the emerging generation and give me what I ask. Throw in some toys, even, it won't kill you.

The Golden Haired Snow Elf will be 1 year old on thursday. We nearly collapsed under the weight of presents in our way home, but we are being disciplined and haven't opened a single one.

*lots to say about above visit, but too early for post-match analysis

bath cuteness (and a frightened duck) 

Things I can't get enough of

1. My dark chocolate Easter bunny. There's not much left of him, in fact only his paws are still recognisable. But (*sighs fatly*) his death was not in vain.
2.24 on DVD. We've watched nearly the whole lot, and my nerves are in tatters.
3. Watching my darling daughter try and clap.
4. Swiss spring time. Winter sports, begone!
5. Jogging. I am doing a 10km run for Medair in 2 weeks time. I quite enjoy it now, and it is my justification for the savage demolition of the chocolate bunny (see above.) So far I have managed 6,5 kn without complete mental and physical collapse.