Not Happy :-(

Not happy at all.
Made myself an appointment at the hair dressers on Saturday. Thought "it would be nice for some colour over the emerging grey and a tidy", so in I went. First there was the girl who put the colour in my hair; sploshed it all down the back of my shirt, which wasn't easy considering I was wearing one of those flattering robes they put on you! So now I have a lovely dark stain all down the back of my shirt. Then another girl came over to cut my hair. "What will it be today then?" she asked. "Trimming to just passed my shoulders, full fringe and layering please". I said happily. That happy manner did not stay for long however.

As the girl began cutting at the back, I could not see how much she was cutting off. Once she started on the side of my hair, I was horrified. She took off at least 4-5 inches. "It's a bit short don't you think?" I said worried. "oh don't worry, when I straighten it it will reach your shoulders". Yeh, thanks, so the hair cut that I wanted just past my shoulders turned out to be just passed my ears! Now I am left looking like a cross between Uma Thurnam in Pulp Fiction, a Japanese Lolita and Olive Oil from Pop Eye!

Well what could I do? The poor girl was so upset at the thought of cocking up I couldn't say a thing. But what now? Do I go back and ask if there is anything I can have done to rescue it that won't make it even shorter, or do I just let it grow out?

So self centered as it may be, I hate my hair and so am not happy at all.

On the plus side, Chris rescued a wounded Pigeon. Poor thing had been attacked and was in a bad way with a big hole in its back. Hero Chris managed to scoop it up with a towel, carry it back to the house, then went on to talk to the RSPCA for an hour organising to get it taken care of. All respect to the people of the RSPCA though, it was past seven at night, yet an hour and a half later (they had told us it would have to be next morning) a man turned up to collect the bird. A big well done to my Christopher, a lot of men would have just left it to die in the bushes (because it was just a Pigeon), so glad my husband has more honour than that!

On another happy note; Gabriel has been accepted in to Central. It was his first choice school so he is very happy, really hope he has a good experience of school.

Pye house right now:Happy that we tried to help a bird, very happy that Gabriel got his place in school, however Chris is getting fed up with me whining about my hair, Christian's getting rather fed up altogether, Gabriel's addicted to his X Box and Nathaniel's so clingy that he has begun to cling to my leg while I walk. Venting needed by all I think.

Half Term Shenanigans.

Just had maybe one of the wettest half terms ever, OK maybe not that bad but still moist! We had no plans of where to go so decided as the days went by.
First up was swimming: A torturous task of navigating shallow pee-infested waters, keeping hold of a overzelous 4-year old and attempting to subdue the urge to dunk the annoying fat kid who keeps splashing! Always fun until we left the pool and attempt to make ourselves presentable. Gabriel decided he didn't want to be on his own and so joined Nathaniel and me; then got all embarrased when I had to change infront of him and spent the whole time facing the wall like a naughty todler. Nathaniel being Nathaniel, decided to have a mini panick attack because he was so tired. Lots of crying and panting later I managed to get him dressed with the promise of drying his hair with the hairdryer. All this while I could hear Christian (in the neighbouring cubical) talking to Chris about how loud his farts were! Over at the hairdryer is where I realised there was no getting away from the fact that my hair closely resembled a birds nest, after a big storm, which had been abandoned due to structural hidiousey. The fact that we then went to lunch with said haircut is currently being forced out of memory!

A family trip to Bolton Abbey was a fun day. I managed (after a few made up swear words at the sat nav) to navigate my way there, and was even lucky enough to find a parking space! The boys had been looking forward to it all week, I had described the ruins to them, the dips and secret rooms, they couldn't wait. Until we got there and I realised I had taken us to the wrong abbey. I had been thinking of Fountains Abbey in Rippon! So, we trudged around the little abbey, walked allong the long paths that we soon realised were just too long for Christian to manage and went back to the car. Never mind, trip to Fountains Abbey for a sunny Saturday is planned.

I would have to say the worst place of all though, is Blackpool. I realised that Sunday was forcast to be dry, so for a last day trip we searched the web for ideas. Most places just wouldn't do. We usually have a problem finding places to suit Christian and the other two, but in the end we setteled on Blackpool tower. It looked great, we could go up in the tower; Gabriel would love that, then we could go in the circus; Christian and Nathaniel would love that. Now anyone who has ever been in a car with me will know that I am a very confident driver, until I get to an unfamiliar city centre; then I crumble. So upon reaching Blackpool, I parked in the first available parking space on the front. Unfortunately this parking space happened to be a good 15-20 minute walk from the tower. Never mind I thought, It's sunny, we can go for a walk and see what shops we see.....What a mammothed sized mistake that was!  For the first ten minutes all we passed was battered hotels which looked like they were in fashion during the groovy period and not been cleaned since. Then we reached the tourist, or should I say truly seedy area. I felt like I needed a shower just walking through it. Every other door was a strip club, with paintings of thrusting 'dancers' to entice the punters. Walking faster, we pass the passed the remainder of the 'exotic' clubs in a blur. Finally (after having to divert through an arcade due to road works) we reach the tower. "Two adults and three kids please" I said to the bored looking girl in the kiosk. "Towers shut, circus opens at 2:30pm and the play area's open". All I could do was stare at her open mouthed. I had checked the web site, trecked all the way down the dog feaces-infested street, had three boys who were now quite uncomfortable with their surroundings and it was only lunch time, we couldn't stand here another two and a half hours! Sucking the annoyance back in I asked "is there an age limit for the play area" as I said this I nodded to the big two. "Oh yeh, it's just for little'uns". Great! No play area, no tower, no circus and now we had to walk back along the poo street! By this time the boys were not happy at all, so the cure for all misery as always was: food. We found the closest (and sanitary) foodie place wich happened to be a KFC... Blergh.  After filling up on heart attack inducing stodge we went in search of entertainment, which we found at the Sea life centre. We oohed and ahhed at the fishies, Nathaniel freaked when he saw the sign for 'scary fish', I freaked upon seeing a spider crab move (it actually looked like a horror film spider, horrible) and then we unanimously voted to just go home.
So, we discovered that Blackpool is definetely not for us and if we are fed up and want somwhere to go for the day, we would probably have more fun staying home away from the poo and stripper dominated streets.

Overall the half term wasn't that bad: the boys had fun swimming, going to the cinema, Bolton abbey was fun even though tiring and Blackpool can now fade away as a 'been there, done that don't need to go there again' memory. So now we're all back at college and school. The boys getting back into the early-to-bed routine, Chris and I already snowed under with assignments and I'm already stressing about upcoming work.

So living in the Pye house this week is: fun times, hard work and the return of normality. Happy.

Upsets, revelations and food!

Been dieting for the last week, not happy with it, all I want to do is eat a cow. For some reason eating soup and fruit is not the same as burger and chips. I do however desire the body of a super model, or at least a super model who has let herself go a little! The diet therefore is a necessity. Unfortunately I am a person who eats when worried and upset, and with the last two days, I am back off the waggon (the food waggon that is).
A phone call on Monday made me realise just how important our friends are. No matter how many times you see a person, how close a friendship you have, I would never have dreamt of a friend in danger. I would always and will always strive to help all of my friends, and I wish I could help him now. My thoughts are with you.
On a lighter note, we had a meeting with Nathaniel's specialist. Which came as good timing as he has just started having panic attacks! Panic attacks, he's only 4, who has ever heard of a 4 year old boy having panic attacks?! Well apparently the specialist had, in fact they're common for children with autism. I never knew that. I also never knew that children with autism have a lower tolerance for pain, that would have been nice to know a little sooner!
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about my life. I love my husband, I love my three boys. We are as disfunctional as they come, but we like it that way. Sometimes however, as I don't really drink, food is the only answer to a little stress and worry. So, today I have been very happily stuffing my face with chicken paella. And, because I'm feeling friendly, I will share my yummy recipe with anyone who is bored enough to read my blog. Enjoy!

Big pot of happy inducing paella.

3-4 Big chicken boobies.
2 onions.
2 peppers (orange & red. Avoid the green, they're too bitter and not good for cheer up food).
Garlic bulb, fresh not the wimpy dried stuff.
Big manly handful of mixed veg.
2-3 Big manly handfuls of paella rice.
Family sized jug of chicken stock.
Big dash of soy sauce.
Tin of drained chopped tomatoes, for some reason they are more tomatoey than the real thing.
Desired amount of Parmesan cheese. In my case, a whole block of the yummy stuff!

Simmer it all together in an industrial sized wok and you will be in calorie heaven. If you are in dire need of cheering up, home made garlic bread makes a nice comfort blanket.

Now just to invent a recipe for pudding!

Writing and understanding the art of grunts.

I want to be a writer. True, I'm not very good at it, I don't particually have the most comical of personalities, but it's the only thing I enjoy that I have a chance of doing. so, what does a person do to become a writer? They enroll at university of course! Not long ago I got my acceptance letter from the grand and convenient university of Cumbria, all I need do is pass my access course and I'm in! Happy times, I've been working hard, gaining merits and even a distinction.
However, a thought came to me like a bolt of lightning.....Maybe I should read (as in properly read) the course outline, you know, the course I've already applied for and been accepted.....the one that costs £3650 a year....the one that I originally glanced at and thought  "ooh English and creative writing, that'll do". Yeh.... Maybe I should have looked first!
Now, bearing in mind I left school at 14, have no GCSE's to speak of and have rolled from one hobby to another in hopes of finding something I can do at home, you would think I would have more brains than to enroll on an academic university course more or less blindly. The course is set out in a hoard of investigative assignments, assessment by peers and lots and lots of creative work to in the end create a portfolio, full of poetry, short stories and articles.... Mmmm, not sure about that. The only writing I've done is my book (which still needs polishing) a story which I didn't continue with, and a host of short stories and ideas. No poetry and no articles! I only write fantasy fiction! Safe to say, I need to brush up on study and get some creativity flowing!
 Maybe if I bring in cake to every class, they may just feel sorry for me and love me through the art of cake!

Anyway, lets move on to the whinging about the house. More viewers cancelling at last minute, more days spent cleaning. Never mind though, still in the mood for a damn big drunken doo... May have to give the house a good send off when we finally do sell it!

From my title you may be wondering what the hell is "the art of grunts"?
Christian, now almost fourteen, is at the teenager stage and, as when you have a baby, you recognise the different cries, I think I have now perfected the understanding of the teenage grunt language.

A deep grumble with a semi tone higher at the end = Frustrated, go away.
A deep grumble with a semi tone lower at the end = Angry, I want to hit you.
A monotone grumble = Can't be arsed answering your question.
Quick sharp grunt = I can't get my own way, so I will see if I can get away with grunting at you.
Grunt that turns into a loud growl = Brothers are in his room.

I will have to study this new language further and look into copywrite. Or maybe not, that would mean hanging round teenagers!

As it's Valentines, lets reminisce.

It was January 29th, 2005. My best friend Charlotte was holding a house warming party, so me being me, had to turn up early in my attempt to take over the organising. What a lovely house she had found, a little terraced cutie that was fast becoming occupied by dozens of half cut friends, postmen and acquaintances. As a newly single lady, Charlotte had (unknowing to me) told a fellow postie that I would be there, so glad she didn't tell me this fact until afterwards! Turned out, I never did talk to that bloke!

The party was swinging. Drinks flowing, snacks squelching into the carpet and conversations shouting across the room. I somehow had been cornered by a 'lofty' bloke and was being bombarded by historical facts; when like a whirlwind, the door opened and two guys flew in, straight through the living room and into the kitchen, I didn't even get to see their faces!
 I continued to talk to the room when I saw this young looking blond bloke laid out in the middle of the room, tummy showing as he laid back, looking nervously relaxed and wearing the worst pair of brown shoes ever created, not talking to a soul. Me being me, had to drag him in to the conversation. Turned out he was a fellow workmate of Charlotte's and not talkative at all! But, as luck would have it, we found a common ground, he loved the same music as me (being into rock indie, not many people do) and within half an hour he somehow ended up sat right next to me and we forgot everyone else in the room (including the lofty history bloke).
The night went on and conversation was unending. When some one (no idea who) announced we were going into town, and safe to say we weren't happy. However it wasn't my party, so off we went. My poor new postie friend, he didn't like being out at all! The entire night out was filled with comments of "I'm going home".
Safe to say, he stayed and lasted to the end of the night, most of it spent standing in a corner alone talking. We walked back up to Charlotte's house and I gave a running astronomy lesson all the way (I was rather hammered by this time).
The time came when everyone was going home. I was forced to get a taxi when I wanted to walk! But, drunk as I was, called my brother who was walking home with my new postie friend, and asked him to see if the postie liked me! As I said, I was absolutely hammered!

Two days later, we met for lunch. One month later, he moved in. Four months after, he proposed. Three months later, we were married! Today we are still as happy as ever, and have just as much fun as day one. My Chris is a great Dad, a loving husband and the best friend I have ever had.

I love you always Christopher!

Wall paper, the 80s and the Batmobile.

So, it's been a week since that innocent phone call "can we come look round your house on Thursday"? 
During that time we have decorated three rooms, taken two full car loads to the tip (bear in mind we have a Galaxy, so big car loads), hired and filled an entire room at Big storage, some how crammed all items of clothing into drawers, organised the garage/musical sanctuary, and eventually made the house look somewhat respectable. In completing these tasks we have however neglected college, so are now playing catch up with assignments!


 As soon as I realised we had to decorate, sheer dread penetrated my spine. Images of childhood decorating attempts flooded my mind; the paper sticking together, then when you finally untangle it, it slaps you in the face, oozing paste down your cheek and mingling into your hair. Usually in this situation I would call a decorator, but alas, there was no time. So here was me, measuring, cutting and what was this? 'Paste the wall' paper? What an invention! I read it twice before I could believe it, no soggy face slapping paper to cart around the room, I just needed to paste the wall! Fantastic! Christian made it easier by putting some music on for me, which was good for the first two hours, but you can really only listen to Bat out of hell so many times before you become a Cher impersonator and start wiggling your arse to the music on top of the ladder, which if done while hanging paper does not end well. However, two days, three rooms and a growing hatred for hair rock later, the house was decorated. Now just to get it clean!


Thursday came. We spent the morning polishing taps, washing down skirting boards, cleaning carpets and over all sprucing. The house was shiny, beautiful and in fact looked nothing like our house whatsoever. We were ready. 4pm the estate agent arrived and we leave the house to walk round the park, happy in the thought that the house looked good, smelled good and was ready to be sold. 
We didn't even get to the bottom of the street when the phone rang. "The lady who wants to look round your house is a doctor, and I'm afraid she's just been called out on an emergency". Brilliant! We've just spent a whole week cleaning, decorating, missing college and generally going grey haired....and she's not coming! Given I'm hopeful that she was able to help whomever needed help, but couldn't they have called someone on duty and not my potential house purchaser? 
So now we have a lovely clean and tidy house. More viewings are booked for next week, so lets see if we can keep it respectable!


This week has also been a week of fun discovery. Friday tea time, just picked Christian up from his after school club and was sat in the ever present and predictable Lancaster traffic. For some reason that only my lovely husband can explain, there were no extra Cd's in the car (apart from Nine inch Nails which is not quite appropriate for children's ears). So after sitting in silence for far too long (being over two minutes in my case)  I decided to attempt the radio. What a load of crap! How do people really listen to the repetitive tone deaf crap that is in the charts? I was in middle of having a tantrum with the stereo, when I discovered it. Absolute 80s. A channel dedicated to the 80s. It couldn't be more perfect, I turned it up and yes, Prince's Let's go crazy was playing. I could have cried (by this time I had gone over three minutes without music). It must have looked quite amusing from the outside as I'm sure the car would have been bouncing around with the vigorous dancing Chris and I were embarrassing the boys with. 80s music, it is superior in every way!


Speaking of cars.... Parked up today, off to see Yogi bear (which I won't bother to blog about as I really can't be bothered rehashing that film again, watching it once was enough!) and what parked right across from us..... the batmobile!  And who got out?  Not bat man, but two Goths looking super cool in their New Rocks and leathers. Of course I had to chat to them, so I wandered over and sparked up a conversation. Turns out, they go to the Whitby Goth weekend every year, and are going to the same one as us this year. What a small world! This is where I got a little jealous however, when the woman informed me that they are not bothering to see the Damned this time as they have seen them countless times before, AND she didn't need to see Wayne Hussey last year as she is already friends with him on Facebook and has met him on countless occasions... Suddenly I lost all warm feelings for this woman! I felt like sticking my tongue out at her, but felt like this wouldn't win the cool contest. So lesson learned, never get in to deep conversations with a long time Goth, as they know all your childhood heroes better than you and let you know it!


Moving forth from this weeks hectic chaos; need to keep on top of the cleaning; need to catch up on college work; need to build myself a Batfink mobile (not that I am competing with the super Goth couple!) and finally better get planning the half term with the boys.


So, who lives in the Pye house this week?      80s hair rock, Goth envy, and shiny appliances. Diversity!

Antics of the Pye house continue! What a week! 


The house still looks like a giant bomb made entirely of toys has exploded, leaving every available floor space a new home for one of the many hundreds of Christmas presents! The task of cleaning without breaking an ankle would be a worthy task on the Krypton factor. College work has become an all consuming occupation. I find myself waffling on about adjectives and sociological theories when all I was asked was if I wanted a cuppa!


English assignment back (finally) and happy (more or less) to get a Merit. Was knocked back from a distinction for a silly mistake, but as the E-Mail from University of Cumbria told me (yay) I just need to pass the HE Diploma to get in! So, as from September, providing I can pass the all annoying sociology, I along with my Christopher, will be full time university students! Not quite sure how different that will be from being full time college students, but we will get discount cards, so, happy.


Fun day meeting with Charlotte, Peter and Liz. With the amount of coffee consumed I'm surprised we weren't buzzing round the ceiling! Lots of fun gossiping, concerning Liz's party, Chris' party, getting our feet done at the weird fish nibbling place and overall putting the world to rights. It's amazing how sitting on your backside drinking endless cups of coffee talking rubbish can be more fun than sitting at home working on assignments....


The most difficult day by far was last Thursday. Christian had been bullied by a boy at school and so was understandably refusing to get up and go to school. Bullying! I hate the word, there's nothing worse than being a target for some lonely child who think they can solve all their own problems by hitting you (Yes some pent up feelings there).  Took a few hours, but super cuddly Mummy and Daddy saved the day by organising for the boy in question to get a severe telling off by the class teacher. Christian was very impressed that "The teacher raised his voice!".  So hopefully lesson learned is, never pick on a child whose parents were once bullied, they won't back down!


The stress of this week however, is two, two thousand word assignments and a house viewing. Saturday morning, relaxing with a cuppa, comfy pyjamas on, browsing Facebook as usual when the phone rings. Chris lazes up to the phone and talks with the formal voice that lets you know it is someone official on the phone and not my sister calling for a gab. "Yes Thursday is good for us, see you then." He put the phone down and looked at me with THAT look. "Some one's coming to view the house on Thursday" he said. There is only one response. Shit. 
The house is full of toys, Christian and Gabriel's rooms need decorating before a viewing, the kitchen needs painting and the garage looks like a musical car boot sale! How on earth am I supposed to get all this AND two assignments done? So, after jumping off my chair, getting dressed faster than I thought myself capable and burning rubber to B&Q, within five hours I had decorated Christian's bedroom (round of applause here). Given the room still looks like a bomb has hit it (scrap wallpaper bomb that is) and I have legs so achy that they refuse to hold me up, but I can go to bed tonight happy in the thought that I only have two rooms to decorate, two assignments to finish and the rest of the house to get into order... Shit.


So, who lives in a house like this? At the moment, stress does! But we're happy with it.......

Where to begin?
I've never blogged before, however with all the strange happenings of the Pye house, I thought a place to tell the tales would be fun.
Following this initial blog, I will attempt to reiterate the wonderful (?) antics of a husband who has to be the worlds most clumsiest man, a son with Cerebral palsy who can create the most hilarious swearwords, a son who can find a complaint in any given situation, and a son with Autism who basically runs the whole house! Then there's me, the sole female in the house, and so of course, the boss!
Let's hope the following tales of misbehaviour and daring antics are as entertaining as they were embarrassing.