Lucky, lucky, lucky

A day or so after I last posted I put a load of laundry through and hung it out to dry.
On taking the laundry in and folding it ready to be put away I noticed that a gull had left a message on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

So I really should be a lucky lady as I've shaken hands with a sweep and had a bird poo on my laundry. Or perhaps it is only lucky if you are actually wearing your jumper?

Why is there a connection between poo and luck?

Is it lucky when the Baby C poos in the bath? Perhaps? At least luckier than her pooing on me. Or my laundry.

I should be so lucky

We have been having an indian summer here in Devon, but last weekend I noticed that the trees in the park were losing their leaves and autumn was on its way.

Come the first of October the weather changed and we have had some proper misty and rainy days. Another sign of the season's change is that I saw a chimney sweep visiting a neighbour.
Anyone that has seen Mary Poppins knows that shaking a sweep's hand will bring you luck, so feeling in the need of some luck I duly shook the sweep's hand.

Later that day I noticed that I had rolled the pram through dog poo. Horrid, but who knows it is supposed to be lucky if a bird poos on you so perhaps rolling your buggy through dog poo is lucky too? Or perhaps it is just smelly and nasty.

Still I am hoping if it is just plain old bad luck then it doesn't cancel out the good luck my chimney sweep gave me.

Its a hard knock life

I'm adjusting to lone parenthood and it seems you just keep doing what you've been doing. Looking after the child, doing the shopping, maintaining the home; everything you did before but now with a slightly different tint on it.

It is more often than not the small things that bring you up and bring you to tears.
Another form to fill in that asks your marital status - married, single, partner, divorced, widowed. I feel like adding my own box "dumped".

The frustration that to get a takeaway you have to wait two hours for delivery on a busy Friday but if there was someone to stay with the sleeping child you could go and collect it and have your supper in half an hour. So no takeaway and have an omlette instead.

Then of course there are the larger stresses.

That the benefits you need are held up because your child doesn't exist to this agency until they have a number from that agency, when that agency are within their eight week limit and can't tell you more than your form is being processed.

To have to explain to the estate agent that you will pay the rent but not until Monday as this when your benefits will be paid in, yes you know it is late but there is no more you can do.

But in all this you have your child and she is your joy every day. To watch her learning and developing day by day and moment by moment.

Cried and gone to Devon

I do apologise for the quietness but I've been a little pre-occupied with moving house, again. Perhaps I could start a career in relocating, after all I've done it so much these last couple of years I should be pretty expert.

So here we are in Devon. Not without a few tears but also with some small measure of hope and optimisim.

Baby C and I are installed in our new home. And that is what it is, a home. Thanks to lots of help from family, friends, friends of friends, and the second hand merchants and charity shops of Devon.
I would particularly like to introduce you to the wonderful people that run Trade and Donate in Honiton. Their warehouse is full of all kinds of everything that you might want or need for the home. Thanks to them I have a comfy sofa, a cosy chair, a very pretty bedroom set and more. All sold, delivered and hefted about with a friendly smile as well as a good price.

The Devon Air Ambulance shop has also been a rather good source of bits and bobs.
All that is really left to do is to make up the soft furnishings to pretty the place up. After a month of mooching round the local fabric shops I still haven't decided on any fabric so this could take a while.

Happy Birthday Baby C

Today is Baby C's birthday, a whole year old. Well she will be at 7.25 pm GMT.
It has been a busy year for her, aside from moving countries and living in three different houses she has also been busy with the never ending task of being a baby.

In the last 12 months she has mostly been occupied with the following;

• Growing.
• Feeding.
• Sleeping - but not always when I would like or as long as I would like.
• Growing hair.
• Growing teeth - four so far.
• Sitting up.
• Rolling over.
• Crawling.
• Standing.
• Learning to feed herself, messy but fun.
  
• Making all kinds of sounds.
• Learning to say Ma Ma, my favourite sound, other than the snuffling of her sleeping.
• Trying to make friends with the cat by pulling her tail, not one of her most successful endeavours.
• And generally being outstandingly cute, though obviously I am biased on that.

I look forward to the next 12 months with her and finding out what Baby C did next.

The Ministry of Frenchness

For all the trials and tribulations it has been a blast living in France. After eight months I have come to the conclusion that there is a Ministry of Frenchness whose job it is to ensure that each town complies with a certain set of standards and maintains an appropriate amount of Frenchness.

Boulangerie per street quota - at least one on every other corner.
Baguette quotas - the number of people carrying a baguette under their arm must never fall below a critical mass.
Accordion quota - at least one busker per town per day, more on market days and fetes.
At least 90% of cars should be renault or citreon and at least 1% should be 2cvs or those citreon vans driven by farmers.

Should a town fall below these standards they run the risk of having their Frenchness revoked and their name removed from all tourism literature until such measures are in place to ensure standards are met.

And in these last months, despite my slow progress with the language, I have found myself turning native.
I now wear sunglasses in winter and summer.
I can carry a baguette under my arm with no hint of self-conciousness.
I have a scarf of some description with me at all times.
I no longer have a mop, I peg a floorcloth around the broom to clean the floor.
I no longer have a kettle, I use a pan to boil water.

Floor mops and kettles do exist in France, I've seen them in the supermarket, but we have got stuck without them. I shall be buying mop, bucket and kettle in England so that no-one can report me to the Ministry of Englishness.

If its not bling its blong

In my last trip to England I bought a packet of these jewellery polishing cloths. I only recently got around to using them and they are fabulous, I now have lovely shiney earrings, necklaces and bangles, and a satisfyingly grubby cloth.

I do like a nice bit of bling and Baby C is showing signs of following in my footsteps as she can often be found modeling the plastic rings from her ring tower toy. Mind you her little arm soon fills up if she has more than two on. She really does rock the chunky accessory trend.