Missed You

I've been gone....a while...

It wasn't planned, it just kinda happened. I've been around. I've kept up with Facebook and recently started using Instagram like crazy. But I completely have ignored my blog for months.

Things are going well though! At the moment my brood and I are in the USA visiting our family in Charleston, S. Carolina. We've been here for a couple of weeks now. We just returned from Disney World and it was just as magical as the adverts make it seem. With the girls now being at prime Disney age, it was an extremely memorable trip. Kiki was just tall enough to do all the "big rides". Her first roller coaster was Space Mountain (we don't believe on breaking them in easy!) and she squealed with joy the entire ride.

Our next USA adventure will be a 7 hour car ride to visit my grandparents in Chattanooga, Tennessee. I am sure there will be more memories made with all my family there and I'm so excited to see them all. It's been too long since my last visit.

Well, I'm back now! How have y'all been?

Old School

We've all seen it.  We've probably all been there.  Let me set the scene.

Child- "Mom, can I have this.  I will absolutely die without it and little Johnny down the street has one just like it and I need it now! Please, please, please!!"
Mom- "No."
Child- "Pleeeease?"
Mom- "No!"
Child- "PLEEEEEEEASE!!!"
Mom- "Oh all right then!"

Child 1- Parent 0.

Finally I got sick of replaying this scenario every time my kids wanted a sweet, treat or small toy. Their bedroom is crammed full of crap that they don't play with and do not need to add anything else to the pile.  Even one more Moshi Monster.  Now, no means no.  And?  "Because I said so." is a completely valid reason.  As are "Because I'm the parent", "Would you jump off a bridge if Suzy did?" and "You'll rot your teeth out".  Things I swore I would never say.

However, I have figured out, old school parenting WORKS for me and my kids.  I know that they won't be damaged because they already have good self esteem from being told on a regular basis that they are smart, loved and capable of anything they set their mind to (other than getting that particular treat that they see while standing in the supermarket check out queue).  They know that my love is not dependent on the amount of crap that I buy for them. The word "no" also isn't going to kill them.

Of course they still ask for things.  That's fine.  They're kids.  But now I have a handy answer.  "You can buy it with your pocket money if you have it with you."  You see, both my kids have a set list of chores that they are responsible for doing each week.  If they get most of their stars, they each get $5 or 3 quid (depending on where they want to spend their money).  If they have their money, they can buy whatever they would like as long as they can afford it.  I don't spot them money and let them pay me back when they get home.  I wised up to that little trick quickly.

I guess our grandparents might have known a little bit about raising children after all.  Even without books and psychology and all that mumbo jumbo.  Who knew?

I think they look pretty well adjusted.

Silent Sunday

Silent Sunday

Moving House Is Kinda Like Having A Break Up

When you move into a new house you fall in love with it and you over look things that might annoy you, glossing over them like a young lover would do with their new suitor. No dishwasher, no problem. Carpet in the kitchen, eh no biggie. You accentuate the positives like the huge living room and the lovely back garden with no overlooking neighbours.

But after you have settled into the relationship, the cracks in the foundation of the relationship may start to show, as the dodgy windows let your heating straight out into the fenlands and the boiler plays up every night. Then in your head you start toying with the idea of finding a new relationship, scouring estate agents websites, mentally cheating on your beloved home.

Then when the end is nigh, you just stop caring. Bloody boiler. Stupid muddy driveway. Ugly carpets! And you just can't wait until the whole thing is over and done.

Then after a few months, you can start to remember the good times with your house. The memories made with each other. Remembering that you once did love the house, but you never want to go back. Ever.

Silent Sunday

Moving House! At Christmas! Again!

When we moved to the UK four years ago, we got all our household contents that had been shipped from the states delivered to our home on December 22nd. We spent Christmas surrounded by boxes stacked to the ceiling containing the contents of our old life back in Missouri. We are about to repeat this again, only this time 20 minutes down the road, not across an ocean. I'm not exactly looking forward to the prospect. My kids are really excited though.

The new house is in a neighborhood and there is a large park across the street for them to play at when the weather gets a little less....icky (let's be honest the uk weather is awful). They are gonna be able to ride their bikes and make friends with kids who live a couple doors away instead of having to jump in a car just to go have a couple hours of play.

We have decided to keep them in the same school they are currently attending. It is more of a drive for me in the morning, but keeping some aspects of their life stable right now I think is important. Plus I adore their school. I'm sure it will be worth the commute.

Now, back to sorting out the detritus in this home before the packing crew arrives next week. Here's hoping to a smooth move.

Ha! My Crap Luck Returns!!

The moment I decide to start blogging again, disaster struck my poor lovely MacBook.  Well, actually, it happened before I decided to come back, but I thought we had the issue sorted out.  You see my lovely cute adorable bastard of a kitten knocked an entire glass of juice into the keyboard of the MacBook about 2 weeks ago.  I did what I have done after the two previous spills(beer and coke),battery out, computer pulled apart, mopping up the mess, cleaning with a damp sponge and then letting the computer dry for a week, and the MacBook came back to life.  Then on the 4th day of it being alive, although track pad no longer working, the entire keyboard decided to DIE.  Then my OS decided to error.  I managed to fix the OS, but not the keyboard. 

So  here I am typing on my husbands teeny tiny little Gateway Netbook with the dodgy charger.  It's less than ideal, but I am going to have to deal until I can take my MacBook to the Apple store over in Cambridge to see if they will be super duper nice to me and fix my baby without charging an arm, leg and first born child.  Actually they can have the child.  I'm joking*.

*Mostly joking.  Seriously, holy cow, nobody warned me how much 8 year old girls talk.  I swear, she just talks and talks and talks and talks and talks so more.  And then just when you think she has stopped talking, she starts singing.  Also, what in the blue hell with the random off the wall questions?  No, I don't know the answer.  We can google it later.  Maybe.

I'm Not Dead Yet

September turned into October ,then October turned into November and as November faded by, I decided that maybe I should take another whirl on the blog-a-coster.

These past few months I have been really thinking about the direction I want to take my blog.  I honestly thought about scrapping the Bungalow entirely and either A) stop blogging altogether or B) start a new blog.  However, the Bungalow is my home.  It's my baby.  Ultimately, even if I don't know what I want to write about or not write about, it's mine.  So, here I am.

I have decided however that I am no longer going to take reviews at all on this site.  I know reviews and getting paid to write are all the rage right now in the blogging community, but honestly, it isn't what I like to read.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not being all judgey mcjudgerson about it, because I know times are tough and any way that a mum can make a little money to bring into the household is important, but it just isn't something I want to read- or write.

Also, I am only going to write about things that matter to me.  No jumping on the bandwagon and trying to do every linky in the blogosphere.  In fact, I'm killing my own linky (that obviously hasn't been around in a loooong while) Dear So and So.  If I ever feel the need to participate in a linky, it will be because I want to do it, not because her, her and her are doing it.  I've never been one to follow the crowd and I am certainly not going to start now.

Also, I'm not going to pull any punches anymore.  If I see something and I think it is complete bullshit, it might end up here.  Sorry in advance.  If you don't like it, click the X in the corner.

(sorry for swearing, Granny)

I'm Not Complaining But....

This was they layout of the bed last night while I was sleeping....

Purple- Me (knee actually hanging off the bed)
Pink- KiKi
Orange- Lizabeast the overweight dog.
Blue- Mr Tibbs the 2lb kitten.

She's Very Observant

This weekend the bungalow crew and I headed down to the British Museum.  It is actually quite embarrassing that we have lived here for four years and this is the first time that we have made our way down there.  We did however, finally make it down to see the treasures stored there.  And it was amazing.  Absolutely amazing.  I know we didn't even cover a third of all the collections and I am already dying to go back and see the bits we missed. 

But that isn't the story I am writing about, just the setting. 

We were walking around the classical Greece section of the museum, admiring the beautiful statues and friezes, as you do, and my kids didn't even bat an eyelash at all the statues being naked.  I bet you're all thinking "how cultural!" well, yeah I guess.  I mean, it is certainly a bit highbrow for my children and I was really proud of how mature they were acting. 

Caroline in particular was really taking it all in.  Then she turned to me and said very seriously and said "Mummy, he doesn't have a penis!" 

Then out of my mouth popped "Well, he is very old."

Just Like Kids

Imagine this conversation between adults....

Person 1 of a Christian family- "Hi, how old are you?"
Person 2 of Muslim family- "I'm ___"
Person 1- "Cool, I' ___.  My birthday is December 22nd.  Just three days before Christmas!"
Person2-  "Awesome that means you get a Christmas and Birthday presents all at once!!"

And off they go skipping and working together completely uncaring of each others differences. 

Cause that is what I saw the other day between my daughter and a little girl on the playground the other day.  I just wish adults could be so cool. 

It Was An Accident I Swear!

The first thing you all need to know is that I have a major fear of authority.  I am seriously scared of pissing off "The Man"(not as in my husband.  I am perfectly good at doing that on a regular basis) or any sort of person with even the slightest bit of authority over my life.  So when it came time to renew my visa to stay in the UK, I made sure that I started it early so that I wouldn't accidentally overstay. 

So my husband got the forms from the passport/visa office on base and sent them to me and I filled them out and went into the office and they told me that the forms were out of date and that the UK Home Office had changed the forms.  So I filled out the new 23 pages of forms.  While I was filling out the new forms I took a look at the old visa inside my passport only to have one of those moments where my stomach literally shot into my throat and I thought I was going to heave up my dinner onto my ugly kitchen carpet. 

My visa had expired.  In NOVEMBER.  I am here illegally. 

So at this point I did what any sane person would do.  I started panicking.  First I told my husband, who wasn't amused.  He gave me the stern "how the hell did this happen?" face.  Then I called my best friend who tried to reassure me that everything would be fine surely.  Then I called Liz who told me that "We never throw anyone out".  Skyped with Nickie who kinda helped me not panic so much by making me laugh and distracting me by making rude cucumber jokes while she was cooking.  And then internally freaked out until this morning when the realization that I had to go into the passport office and admit that my paperwork and my children's paperwork was immensely screwed up.  The whole time thinking "They're gonna deport me!" 

So I Facebook messaged Liz and jokingly asked if she knew anyone who sold Xanex on the down low.  To which she replied "We're British, we just drink gin." And I told her that I couldn't drink gin because I was going to have to drive to base and didn't need to get nicked for a drink driving offense on the way down to sort out my visa issues because I didn't want to end up as a story plastered across the front page of the Daily Mail.  Which she acknowledged was a fair point.  To be fair though, I bet I could have sold my story for a good bit of money and taken some properly trashy photographs of me with my boobs hanging out and a cigarette in my hand for the front page. 

So I headed down to the passport office still feeling like I was going to be sick on my nice semi new black flats.  I filled out my information on the computer queuing system and when the lady called me to be seen I walked up and said "I have a big big big problem.  My visa has expired and I didn't realize it til I was filling out my visa extension paperwork because..." and then she interrupted me and said "because your orders said you were here for four years and your visa was only issued for three years.  Don't worry you won't be deported."  And that is when the whole situation became kinda funny for me and I didn't feel sick anymore.

Apparently the consulate in New York doesn't know how to read American military orders very well and this has happened a number of times.  Now I don't feel so special. 

But since I am still scared of "The Man" I am going to distract them with cute pictures of our new kitten, Mr Tibbs, until I am legal in about 12 weeks give or take depending on the bureaucracy involved.  The paperwork is in the mail so to speak.

Silent Sunday

From The I Can't Make This Crap Up Files...

The husband comes home from work yesterday, set his things from work down, and then came and gave me a conspicuous inspection.  It was like being seen by a doctor- only this doctor was wearing Air Force camo and had gigantic combat boots.  He was obviously looking for something on my face...

Hubby-  "Did your cheek or eye hurt today?"
Me- "Umm no...should it have?"
Hubby- "Well, last night when I was sleeping I rolled over and elbowed you straight in the eye. It woke me out of a dead sleep.  You didn't seem to notice but it had to have hurt.  Then this morning I checked to make sure I didn't give you a black eye."
Me-  "You elbowed me in the eye?"
Hubby- "Obviously I didn't mean to elbow you in the eye...."
Me- "How in the world did I not feel you elbow me in the eye? You would think that I would at least kinda feel it."
Hubby-  "Dunno, but you look fine."
Me- "Yeah, I think you might have gotten a call at work if I had woken up with a black eye!"

I find it completely weird that if my kid even breaths wrong in their sleep I hear it, but my husband elbowed me in the eye (according to him "pretty damn hard") and I didn't feel a thing.  I seriously was completely unaware that this event took place until The Man came home and gave me the once over.  How bizarre.

Being A Mum is Hard Work

My kids love playing in dirt.  The like to dig in it, build things with it, fill things up with it, shift it around my garden and plant things in it.  I can hardly begrudge them liking to get dirty.  I remember countless hours that my brother and I spent sitting in my grandmothers driveway, next to my grandfathers big white Ford pickup truck, merrily building roads and hills in the dirt for our collection of matchbox cars until we were covered in black silt sand.

However, my kids love of dirt has gone off the rails a bit.  You see they took charcoal bricks, meant for the BBQ and decided to crush them up into an ultra dirty mess on the deck at the back of my house.  Before I had a chance to sweep this pile of charcoal dust off the porch, my dog found the pile, and decided to have a good roll around in it.

My blonde Cocker Spaniel was covered thickly in charcoal.  Charcoal is great for cave paintings, eyeliner, wonderful works of art; not so much for the coat of an overly sweet pooch.  So, off to the tub she went.

As I was wetting down her fur, most of the large chunks of charcoal fell off her and sank to the bottom of the tub, and with each additional jug  of water I tipped over her, the water got blacker and blacker, leaving me with a false hope that really, this wasn't going to be that bad.  However when I soaped her up, the suds were a deep dark grey.  So, once I rinsed her, I let the water out and had to rewash her again, to make sure that all the charcoal was off of her.

I should also mention that the dog is not a fan a bath.  So each time I poured a jug of water over her back, she started shaking off.  Essentially I got as much of a bath as she did.  By the time I lifted her out of the tub, we were both completely soaked.  All I got in return was a look of betrayal out of her puppy dog eyes, for daring to stick her in the bath.

That about sums up all the thanks I get around here most days.  I still wouldn't trade it for the world.

Silent Sunday

Dear So and So....My Mojo Has Gone Missing

Dear Anyone and Everyone,

Have you seen my mojo?  As you have seen, it's been a bit quiet around The Bungalow lately.  It's not that I don't want to write.  I desperately do.  I have opened a fresh blog post countless times over the past few weeks, wrote a couple of lines, then deleted it, and closed out Blogger; not because I don't have anything to say, but I can't seem to find my words.

For a supposed writer, it feels immobilizing.  Almost like a part of me isn't working properly.

Maybe it is confidence.  You see, I start writing a post, then read it back and say to myself "What a load of rubbish.  Even I find that dull.  You couldn't write your way out of a wet paper sack at this rate."  So I erase it and try again.  Then again, what I have written doesn't hold up to my internal standard and then I erase it.

Now I sound like one of those tortured writers; like Poe or Hemingway.  I am far from tortured.  I have in fact done quite a few very fun things like going to High Lodge at Thetford Forest, having coffee mornings with my friends and having a wander about one of the towns near me with one of my photographer friends.

However, when I start to write about these things I feel like I am starting to get repetitive.  Blah, blah, blah, here we go again.  Delete.

Oh, well, we all know that sooner or later my life will give me a story that I will just have to share with the world.  Then magically, my mojo will appear, just as it has always done, and I will write something nearly brilliant.

Until then, I will just have to keep my blog fodder eyes peeled and wait for inspiration to hit me.  It's what us bloggers do.  Just don't forget about me while I am waiting.

Ta, Kat
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Dear Readers,

If you have your own letters, please link up.

Love, Kat
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The British Eccentric

When I moved to England, I thought the term "British eccentric" had to be a falsehood.  Let me tell you, it isn't.  I thought I had seen eccentrics when I was living in South Carolina. The southern United States has a long tradition of eccentrics. We had a man who we thought was an American Civil War reenactor. It turns out he was just a guy with a really long beard who wore a confederate war hat and carried a brief case (containing God knows what), who sat at the local barbers shop to shoot the crap and trade fishing stories with the local folks...cause he could.  Believe me, we're loaded with eccentrics.  Here though, I can't throw a stone without hitting a colorful person.  For the record, by colorful I mean off their rockers and don't give a flying crap.  

When I first moved here we had a neighbor who would mow his lawn while wearing loafers and a tweed jacket...in the middle of July.  Then we had builders of a certain age (above 40 years old) who would blast loud techno music while they were laying bricks at the neighbors house.  There was also the man at the market who had shorts so short that I nearly saw "the twins".  This past week however took the cake.  The entire chocolate cake.

While I was doing my weekly errands in the local town, I saw two older people walking down the sidewalk.  They were the cutest elderly couple ever in the history of ever.  There was a dear old lady and a sweet old man. As they approached I could hear a jingle bell.  Odd.  Then I noticed there was a bell around the older gent's ankle.  Yes, a bell on a rope around his ankle.  He was jingling and jangling as he walked.  No, he wasn't a Morris dancer.  Well, at least he wasn't dressed as one and by my estimation he probably would have broken a hip if he tried to Morris dance.  There was a BELL AROUND HIS ANKLE!!  

At this point I couldn't help but kind of laugh to myself and wonder if it worked like a cat collar with a bell....

"Hush Mabel, Henry is coming.  I can hear his bell."

Diamond Jubilee

The closest thing the USA has to the Queen is The President.

There have been twelve US Presidents in the time that she has been on the throne.  60 years of continuity.

To this American it boggles the mind a bit.  One person, albeit "non political", who has guided a nation FOR 60 YEARS!

A nation who for the most part adores her.  Yes, there are some republicans here (not Republicans, mind you) who are against the crown, but for the most part, everyone respects if not loves The Queen.

I even find myself adopting an affection for The Queen.  She isn't my monarch, but she is a symbol of continuity in my life.  There has never been a moment in my life she hasn't been queen; I have gone through five Presidents though.  In fact, I remember telling my brother when we were growing up to call me The Queen, just because I thought she was the coolest.

I just have to say, it has been an amazing experience to be here in the UK for The Queen's diamond jubilee.  An experience that I will not soon forget.

I wish The Queen many more years of good health and a happy diamond jubilee.