If Your Name's Not Down, You're Not Going Out

Ever since a certain incident last Thursday when The Husband 'forgot' that I was going out, I have decided to install a Family Calendar. About last Thursday - I was supposed to go out with the girls for a curry, but The Husband rang at 7.30pm to say he was running behind schedule and he would be home by 8pm at the latest. The Husband is the only person in the world who can make it from Birmingham to Bedfordshire in twenty minutes, apparently. Anyway he gets home at gone 9pm and had clearly forgotten that I was supposed to be going out. To be honest, I hadn't really been in the mood for a girlie night, but I wasn't going to let him know that. I was torn between just laughing it off or going into one about how he has all the freedom and I am just a caged animal who bloody well can't even go out for ONE SODDING NIGHT. It was only when the girls rang me to say 'where are you there's a poppadom with your name on it' that The Husband cottoned on. I decided to go for the I don't really mind missing out attitude, but we all know that I've got it stored in my brain under "Things To Bring Up In Future Arguments".

The idea is to revolve our lives around the Family Calendar. Which is never ever going to happen because we seem to live in constant chaos, but for the moment I am pretending that we are a functional, organized unit. The calendar is detailed as follows:

MUM/DAD/THE ELDEST ONE/THE TOMBOY/THE TODDLER

So far this week I have listed the below activities:

MUM: buy soap

DAD: working late Wednesday & Thursday

THE ELDEST ONE: football

THE TOMBOY: football

THE TODDLER: whatever Mum is doing plus cutting/smashing/spilling/burning

On one hand, the Family Calendar makes me feel like I am totally in control, the captain of the family ship, the matriarch overseeing her brood and their whereabouts. I'm hoping that when one of my London friends calls and asks what I've been up to, I can check the Family Calender and reel off numerous exciting activities. But on the other hand, it really depresses me because there it is in black&white how dull my life is. I think I'm going to put on there a few made up things so when people come over they get a glimpse of a fun-packed, adventure-filled family with numerous social gatherings for Mum & Dad. But anyone who knows me will suspect that it's bulls**t.

The Family Calendar also has the downside that it may give The Husband an advantage over me. For example last night he said "You know I'm out with a client tomorrow night" to which I had no idea and started to moan about how he never tells me anything in advance - soon to be cut off with his retort "Well, I did put it on the planner". Damn!

But I've thought of the perfect revenge. Next time he suggests any form of friskiness, especially during Glee or Desperate Housewives, I will quick-as-a-flash retaliate "Sorry darling, we can't. It's not on the Family Calendar".

Don't Try This At Home

The Husband is really into Carefree Parenting. Which I think borders on Careless Parenting but who am I to judge when my P-Factor (parenting factor- geddit?) is practically zero. The Husband has enough trust in his children to let them run free. The Husband will happily walk in front of them while at the same time be watching them. The Husband respects his children in their choices of play, however dangerous. The Neurotic Mum (ie me) does not.

Whenever The Husband manages to tear himself away from the business of wheeling and dealing, he likes to do jobs in the garden. This often includes leaving shears within reach of The Toddler who is going through his Freddy Kruger phase and the current favourite of building a fire to burn rubbish. Jobs in the garden have a HUGE impact on my weekend stress levels. The Husband says that I am too much of a worrier and really he has enough experience of cremating leaves within a centimetre of young children to know what he is doing. He is always telling me to BACK OFF because I sound like a broken record which definitely isn't Shiny Happy People but more like Moany Naggy People.

The children LOVE it when The Husband has a garden fire. They have a built-in ability to know that it really winds me up and they think it's hilarious when the score is DAD 1 : Mum 0 especially when it's Dad's fire versus Mum's homework. The Husband believes that Nature is free, fun and better than any teacher (although he draws the line at camping - so do I, you can't be this glamorous and a camper). The Husband likes basic things that entertain the children and can't understand why I think they would rather be in Starbucks.

Anyway, this particular day not so long ago, The Husband decided to set alight the landfill site full of compost which is the bottom of our garden. He made sure that the children stayed as close as possible by giving them sticks to poke at the flames. I was not convinced by the laughter and squeals of delight because all I could think was 'well that's another bloody load of clothes to wash and it's all very well for Fun Dad because he doesn't even know where the soap powder is kept'. After about 45 minutes of joviality, The Husband sent a smoke signal that he was taking them to the park and yes, before you ask, the fire is out. Seizing the opportunity for some rare Peace & Quiet, I snuck into bed with a magazine. Well I must have dozed off because some moments later I came round to shouts of "Helllloooo!!!! Anybody Home????" and a strange crackling sound. I ran downstairs to be met by the next-door builders and what can only be described as The Great Fire Of Garden. There were flames shooting up the trees and smoke bellowing into the sky. And I am not exaggerating - it was mayhem. The builders started shovelling soil onto the flames as I frantically phoned The Husband: "You better get home now, the garden is on fire!". And I can just picture him turning round to the kids and saying "Oh Neurotic Mummy needs Fun Daddy home, there's a match that needs blowing out".

Well you should have seen the look on his face when he arrived back and saw the damage caused by the now extinguished fire. It was a cross between realising that I had been telling the truth and bloody hell I am gonna get it for sure this time.

And also a little disappointment that the children hadn't been within inches of the blaze to teach them about nature at its best.

Food Glorious Food

It is rubbish having to feed three kids. I'm pretty lucky that they more or less eat the same thing but often I have to try to remember who is having peas and who is having beans and who likes both and who doesn't like either.

To be honest, The Toddler is on a strict diet of dirt and stones at the moment which is making things a little easier. He also likes the odd bit of grass. I've looked in my Annabel Karmel book but she doesn't seem to have a Soil & Bean Hotpot in her repertoire.

Actually I am pretty good because I do panic if they've not had fruit or vegetables that day but it's soooo hard especially if you're out&about or feeling lazy.

If I had my way, the Five-A-Day would be:

1) Left over Easter Egg

2) Leaves

3) Pizza Hut

4) Walkers Crisps (any flavour)

5) Anything microwaved

OkayOkay, so I am exaggerating. But I have tried all the Annabel Karmel stuff even bloody Popcorn Chicken and it never goes down as well as jars from Boots and Chip Shop. I find when I have spent hours cooking some Annabel Karmel creation, it's often received with cries of "It's dis-gus-ting" and "I don't like it".

I just googled Annabel Karmel and I can't find anything bad said about her on the internet. That is frightening. She is one of those people that exist (like Gina Ford) who are there to show us that we are doing it all wrong and our goal should be to emulate them. These days I deliberately avoid reading the childcare gurus since it is precisely this modern orthodoxy that is causing the feeling that I am doing a bad job at parenting.

When I first was getting to know The Best Friend, I bumped into her in Morrisons and we got chatting. I really needed to get fruitshoots but wasn't sure if she was the kind of mum who would agree with that or give me a lecture. I was mildly panicking about the way the conversation might go but then I spotted in her trolley Microwave Fries (honestly I'm not that bad) so I knew it would be okay for me to grab my fruitshoots. It was precisely at this point she became a firm friend. We've all had these experiences. There are mums I have come across that really take it to the other extreme. For example, I went to a party once and there was a mum who didn't feed her daughter any sugar, ever. Clearly that child will grow up and gorge herself on sweets and chocolate whereas I find that having them in the house at all times makes my children have a take-it-or-leave-it attitude to confectionery.

What I do try and do is eat with the children. But family mealtimes can be a nightmare. There is the fidgety ants-in-his-pants Eldest One, there is the wild Toddler who flings food around the room and pours juice over his dinner. Then there is the moany Tomboy who whines "He's got the blue bowl, I want the blue bowl". Perhaps those families that never sit down to eat together but stuff themselves with ready meals in front of the telly have got it right?

Oh and can I just say that Jamie Oliver is really getting on my nerves with trying to change the way this nation feeds their children? That man can never be at home! I bet his wife is stressed out to the eyeballs that she's practically a single mum so sneaks the odd McDonalds into the house?

Anyway all I'm saying is surely there is a happy medium where you can feed the kids lovely home cooked food and crap without feeling guilty. Chocolate Casserole anyone?