Monthly Archives: March 2013

How to deal with bedslugs?

We have reached Sunday, our week is almost over and again it is a fabulous blue sky day. My Son may not be aware of the improving weather, for him at 16 it is college holidays and he seems to have lost the ability to get out of bed before dinner time.

Teenagers are a strange breed, I know I was one once but I was a different variety. I was goby and forthright, I knew my mind and was not going to let anyone get in the way of me being right, so I rebelled and moved out. By the age of 17 I had three jobs a flat and my hard-earned independence, I partied and laughed.
My teenage years were short-lived but I do look back on them fondly the year I lived by my own means, life before Dan taught me a lot… it is amazing how much you learn when you are determined not to be wrong. But I was never a bed slug, I did not have time.

The teenage bedslug is perhaps a male breed of adolescent. These slovenly youths, loiter under duvets till darkness approaches, late afternoon brings the first tentative movements from their pits, normally heading towards the kitchen to empty fridges and leave a trail of dirty plates and sandwich crumbs in their wake.

Over the years many tactics have been used to handle the bedslug, I recall my mother brought my older bedslug brother the loudest alarm clock of all time. I used to go into his room and turn it off after 10 minute, he was immune to its incessant hollering.

I have tried the bacon sandwich technique, the hope that the aroma of food will prompt them into early surfacing … This has mixed results. Today, food based bribery has won the day. My bedslug surfaced for Easter eggs and the promise of roast lamb at Grandma’s.

Perhaps teenage boys are a lot like dogs, and should be encouraged to modify their behaviours with food treats, now where did I put that clicker?

Happy Easter one and all.

To Blog or not to Blog… I’ve now answered that question

So I will soon be back to working two job, juggling my time, rushing to and fro trying to maintain my domestic normality and assisting my bank balance in regaining a positive standing.

But what has this rude interruption to my employment status brought me?

Well for a start it brought me here. I have hankered for years to return to the written word to find time to think and relay my thoughts on the page, I am a secret writer who like so many others,  fears the rejection of our craft. Fear that what we churn out may only be subjected to ridicule from writers we can only dream of emulating.

“Tales from Tedium” may only be days old, but I am enjoying the toddling phase of this writing journey. The written  word as a shared experience needs to be explored and explored I have. Writing about my tedious existence while reading about others (and there is so much to read) is becoming part of my breakfast routine.

I have laughed, inhaled deeply as I ponder if my keyboard could cope with the openness that some are able to present and yes one blogger has brought a tear to my eye… this is just the start though isn’t it?

For now I have taken that step and found that I have not been hounded off the web for insignificant ramblings there is no stopping me!!!!

When I got back from the morning walk today I sat and pondered what I would share, what would I write about today… and there was so much and nothing all at once. The truth is I may aim to be inspirational, witty, positive and perhaps even a little quirky but I shall only ever be me.

Today I have blogged about blogging, there is no insight into my inner thoughts I am just a person who gets very excited when some out there “likes” what I have produced. So thankyou for reading … thank you for writing ….

To Blog or not to Blog is no longer the question.

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Blue Sky Day

We have made it to the weekend and while cold, today is a blue sky day. My faithful hound snores in appreciation of our early morning stroll and I ponder sipping coffee and re establishing the circulation in my fingers.

blue sky day

I shall post more later I am sure … but hey enjoy the Picture taken in Weston woods …. today is a blue sky day.

Do it myself

It all comes out in the wash.

Yesterday was labelled a good day, I made the most of my positivity by sharing the day with friends, drinking coffee and putting the world to rights. Oh how close companions can debate the facts as they are seen, how we can share an opinion, tell one another the truth as we see it.

I cherish my friendships and probably do not tell my friends often enough how much they mean to me. Between them and my family I am surrounded by walking reminders of my good fortune, even in times of need, times of discomfort.

Today, as I loaded up the washing machine I pulled the dark from the lights, checked the pockets for the remaining tissues that always seem to be forgotten. I mulled over some of the natters that we shared the day before. Words passed between friends can sometimes haunt thoughts, for you know, if a friend has taken the time to tell you this, they the least you should do is examine the why. I shut the door on the washer; tipped in the powder and mulled over “being stuck in a rut” I am living a “safe life” and not challenging myself.

Outside it might be cold but the sun shines down and this near spring breeze will dry the washing. Inside I mull over the choices I made and make, the places I opt to visit and the people who bring so much to the way I live. Am I stuck in a rut? I suppose I play safe now, I found a home and routine that I fear changing. Is comfort making me complacent?

During yesterdays conversation there was much emphasis on me meeting someone, having someone that I can rely on to be part of a partnership. It has been a while since I last dated, but the inclination to “get back out there” is not something I feel. Does society dictate the need to date and to couple up? It is indeed an expectation that my mate expressed to me, for I “deserve to find someone and to be happy”. Why do some friends feel my life is incomplete without an “other half”.

Yet here I am on Good Friday, watching the laundry tumble in the machine quite content in the silence and solitude of my home. Next week will bring a new chapter of my life, a new job, a new focus. I can manage without the distractions of dating to be sure.

So now from the safety of my rut I peer into the unknown, the one thing I can be certain of, my friends while we may not always agree speak with honest intentions and challenge me to be me. What more could I ask. Perhaps someone to assist in re-hanging the curtains in the lounge, to put up the shelves in the kitchen, or a book that explains how I can “Do it myself”.

Clearance to care!

I have been waiting an important piece of post for the best part of a fortnight, which will have a huge impact on my future. It came today. So the 28th of March becomes a good post day. I have had conformation in writing that I am not, nor have I ever been a criminal. I do like to think of myself as a law abiding citizen, while I was sure that I had never done anything wrong waiting for a Criminal Record Check makes you doubt your own past.

I pondered the possibility of identity fraud, could someone has masqueraded as me and committed a bank robbery or worse still a drive through armed raid … yes paranoia had peaked while the paper work was awaited.

The relief I felt when there in black and white I see that I have been cleared to work with vulnerable adults, I cannot describe. Then before I could even place the letter in a file the phone rings. Amanda my new boss, calls up to give me my hours, back to the working world the caring world on Wednesday next week. If I had been asked 6 weeks ago to get up and to the office for 7.30 would have filled me with doom. This is different, I am being given the chance to make a difference to people, to provide comfort and support to those who need to be cared for and 7.30 in the morning is not an issue, in fact it is something I am looking forward to.

As an adult, a Mum a human being who survives in uncertain times, to have a sense of purpose in working life is priceless. To feel that you are able to give back in some way to the community that you live in, to support the people who paved your future with their past is an inestimable gift, which while providing a paypacket will also pay dividens to my soul.

Today is a good day in my house. I have clearance to care for the elderly and the vunerable.

Dr Martens … the delight!

As a teenager years ago, wearing of DMs was something that was a requirement, with skirts long or short, jeans or funky leggings this 8 holed boot became a fundamental aspect of my wardrobe, much to my father’s dismay. “Bother Boots” he called them often insisting they were changed before a family outing or social event. But my wearing of them persisted until at the age of 18 I returned from an all night party … with only one boot, the left one.

 

We had hunted high and low but my right boot was never found. I was devastated and broke so replacing them was just not feasible… My left boot was relegated to the status of paintbrush holder and is still with me today, worn weathered but thanks to the insert of a suitably sized jam jar, perfect for pens, pencils and paintbrushes.

 

Without warning I have become the owner of not one but TWO pairs of Docs in the space of a week, both 8 holed one pair petrol blue the other metallic purple and neither pair cost a penny. This astounded me! A workmate’s clear out brought the first pair to my feet blue and barely worn. Oh what a gift, the regression began and as I left the house the next day my son enquired “which stone circle did you fall out of this morning?” Meeting my friend for coffee the greeting of “Oi Hippy” confirmed that a simple pair of boots had taken twenty years off the age of my wardrobe and morphed me back to the early 90’s.

 

Then yesterday, a purple pair needed a new home, and I was thought of, my size, my favourite colour… this was the best foot forward for clodhopper destiny.

 

When getting dressed this morning I was faced with such a quandary, which pair should I wear? It was a long minute and a half of peering into the wardrobe that lead me to picking the purple pair, I avoided the trace of tie-dye that remains hanging among my garments suitably dressed set about my day.

 

Each time I look at my feet I smile, just a little internal smile and this is for a number of reasons.

1. I am lucky, people I know thought of me and were generous.

2. I have cherished memories, these spring forward at most unexpected times and can be triggered by inanimate objects, sounds and smells.

3. I like being me, self discovery is overrated, self acceptance is the way forward and through this I think I might find growth.

4. My teenage son thinks I am going through a rebellious stage, Oh the irony!

for the love of lentils

On this cold and dreary Saturday morning I headed to our local super market, to buy those things that are required. A simple list to enhance the store cupboard and possibly tempt my teenager into another taste of meat free cooking, this was the plan at least.

 

Now being a sandal wearing lentil muncher, I am not adverse to the odd pulse, from Dahl to Mental Lentil soup (my own recipe) these little spheres of veggi joy are included in many a meal. Much to the teen’s dissatisfaction. Indeed the young man of the house only has to hear pop of the kilner jar to decry “I ain’t eating that stuff” this is normally followed by a mumble about meat, a short compromise later and there are two dishes being prepared, one with the much worshipped flesh that he chooses the problem solved.. or is it?

 

I used to eat meat and indeed I was partial to a rare steak or indeed a good bacon sarni. When almost a decade ago I made the choice to change to a more vegetarian diet (I still eat some fish) Daniel was given the option to, making an informed choice is something that is welcomed in this home.

 

Over the years we have baked and roasted souped and curried cooked all kinds of ingredients in endless ways, but the lentil rebellion persists. Not a pulse will pass that boys lips. I thought I had struck a golden idea some years back when Dan delighted in a good curry. Excellent I thought and set about preparing a fine mushroom dasak for our dinner table… just as those little disks of orange deliciousness were to about to hit the cooking pot in he strolls, the curry phase was over!

 

There does come a time in every mother’s life when you can no longer avoid a fad with down right trickery. The dislike of broccoli cannot be overcome with a swift rebrand to “green cauliflower” and this is the point that we reached about 10 years ago but cooking twice still makes me a little sad.

 

So to today while in my heart I would love Dan to at least try something before he decides it is unpalatable I see him as the man he is becoming and will make a ham pasta bake alongside the lentil gardeners pie … I just hope that as he goes through life he only applies the “bean there done that attitude” to lentils.