And no,it isn't the heat getting to me....even though it is.The shoes are at it again.The ones that I am actually able to buy in my size,at a whopping ogre of 26.5 that is.And by 'at it' I don't mean having loud,multi orgasmic sexual liaisons transforming my genkan (japanese porch) into a carbon copy of Imelda Marcos's walk in shoesRus.Shoes and I seem to rub each other up the wrong way,leaving me grasping for the nearest Ampanman band aid. There was the time,when the twins were small,I was on double diaper duty.To save time and my poor nasal orifices I threw the sweet smelling little bum parcels onto the landing ,only to hear the little stink bombs ab sail down the stairs.No problem,I just picked them up from the genkan a while later.Next morning,there I am,seizing the day,door open,double pram loaded up,friend waiting.As soon as I squeezed my foot into the shoe,I knew the day had gone pear shaped.Or it might have even been a sarcastic love heart shape,a wide gamut of browns lounging in the heel,that instant recognisable pong of Eau de la L'Enfant Bum Bum Bouquet.I could hear my sock screaming as brown molecules began to fuse with fibre.Before I had even had the time to gather myself and act,a shadow fell and my friend gestured for us to get going.My foot hovered for a fraction of a second.The logical thing would have been to make a joke,change sock and shoe but I was a first time mummy of only nine months or so. I hadn't yet experienced the gauntlet of unfathomable occurrences that would leave a seasoned matriarch unfazed. These days,I'd cackle with glee.Hold the little blighter up and shout for the neighbourhood "AWOL poo!" while my mums in solidarity would nod,laughing at the memory of their own AWOL poo experiences.That day,I was humiliated, my mind raced concocting a whole trilogy of explanations."Oh that little lump?Yes,it's new homeopathic cure for Athlete's Foot,you know?" or "Damn! Look I've gone and stood on our new bug repellent.Oh...you've never heard of ExTurdinate? A death sentence for bugs but totally safe for the kids.I can highly recommend it"I can still recall vividly the protests of sock as foot slid into shoe and that was me for an hour or so.
The average life span of a pair of my shoes is weeks.They split,break,rupture,end up stinking so bad that a date with doctor garbage is their only salvation, and rip the skin off my toes with malicious glee.When I've been bothered to return shoes,the sales clerks,in all continents,eyed me warily as a possible heel.
And here we were today.The morning school drop off.Torrential rain.Out come my new tartan design just under the knee rain boots.Co-ordinated with my red poncho,I reckon I cut a dashing figure before 8am. We're on time and cruising.E.T.A 10 minutes to the drop off point,my left sock suddenly feels wet.Well drenched actually and as I lift my foot to investigate,half of the sole flops down.Like some damsel in a the hero's arms from a black and white."Bugger!"I shout out."Bugger!" gurgles The Booby Slayer back in the pram.Remind me to invent a soundproof rain cover when I have time.I manage to make it to the drop off zone by sliding one foot along the ground.Call me Quasimodo but in Japan,my shoe size is far from sub standard.I turn the pram against the tide of begruntled adolescents,skulking along to school,all of whom have instantly spotted the only foreigner and are gawking.Gawking just as my boot utters it's death rattle and the entire sole detaches from the boot,collapsing ,tartan insole and all,into a puddle.A few bubbles rise to the surface and then nothing.Nothing which is now what is separating my foot,apart from a shell shocked sock,from tarmac.I continued to slide my foot as any kind of upward movement would give the boot free reign to slide down my calf and off onto the road in some kind of suicide pact.Never have the words "Stiff upper lip" rung so true in my head.I put my head down and slid all the way home.No brownie points for guessing what half of the local high school kids were talking about today!
Now if it had been the AWOL poo poo,I could have flicked it at them.......
Wednesday 30 June 2010
Tuesday 29 June 2010
I used to love stripping off....
......in the summertime,on the beach that is.And from an earlier life filled with the frivolity and debauchery of youth, a few of my friends back home will testify to grabbing a drunken me off various tables in assorted bars at a strategic juncture.I used to revel in my nakedness. When I was a child,my parents used to take us to Cornwall camping for summer.We loved it.Sand,sea,heat.Early one morn,we ventured onto a new yet undiscovered beach zone.Mum and Dad shook out the blankets,while I and my siblings marauded the nearby sand dunes,water pistols slipped into beachwear bottoms.After an hour,we found something a lot more entertaining and challenging to shoot at than each other. Unbeknown to our parents,we'd camped base on a nudist beach.Probably the only one sanctioned in the UK at that time.I can still vividly remember our squeals of delight every time some man keeled over in shock at a jet of water suddenly drenching his goolies. No mean feat,I can tell you.Those things can swing when playing a game of beach softball. Unfortunately,our merriment was abruptly curtailed by my red faced father,dragging us off to a more 'family friendly' area.
Here I am full circle.A parent myself.I'd swore I'd do 'triangles' or something a bit more exotic like 'octogens' but no,I find myself pausing a second to look at my life and then I realise,I've come about full circle. Onsens (Japanese hot springs) mortify me.I had images of genteel female beings,submerged in water up to graceful necks,steam caressing tendrils of hair,hair artfully piled up over serene faces,as traditional shamisen music ushered in a cool breeze.The actual reality of walking into the onsen only to see a group of old women,hunched over scrubbing at their crotches and armpits furiously left me screaming for the exit in seconds.Where has all that 'devil may care' attitude gone?Supplies of which were abundant in my youth?
Now here I am,researching swimsuits or rather,exactly what I am going to wear at the pool this year. Three knots in a piece of fancy twine seems to be this year's hot trend."Mummy!What about this one,"sings my eldest daughter holding up what looks like a midget's jock strap with braces"It'll look beautiful on you." Oh bless her. Oh yes,I can just imagine. Any sudden movement could cause the Booby Twins to be pushed out into the centre and up to my throat,probably crushing my windpipe.On a machine in a vegetative state as brain was starved of oxygen for so many minutes due to trachea trauma for the next twenty. Or even worse case scenario,the Twin Boobies through sheer velocity are pushed out under either side of the five centimetres straps into my armpit area,taking out any unsuspecting swimmers within a one foot distance.There I am, on death row charged with attempted murder.I could even end up sobbing my innocence on a Discovery Channel's programme entitled "Women That Kill".And that's only if the thong part doesn't penetrate any of my major arteries while I am swinging around on one foot,swearing under my breath,trying to get the contraption on.
" Now this one is lovely,"daughter coos.Holding up a tiny frilly skirt with what looks like a headband hanging above it.........
Here I am full circle.A parent myself.I'd swore I'd do 'triangles' or something a bit more exotic like 'octogens' but no,I find myself pausing a second to look at my life and then I realise,I've come about full circle. Onsens (Japanese hot springs) mortify me.I had images of genteel female beings,submerged in water up to graceful necks,steam caressing tendrils of hair,hair artfully piled up over serene faces,as traditional shamisen music ushered in a cool breeze.The actual reality of walking into the onsen only to see a group of old women,hunched over scrubbing at their crotches and armpits furiously left me screaming for the exit in seconds.Where has all that 'devil may care' attitude gone?Supplies of which were abundant in my youth?
Now here I am,researching swimsuits or rather,exactly what I am going to wear at the pool this year. Three knots in a piece of fancy twine seems to be this year's hot trend."Mummy!What about this one,"sings my eldest daughter holding up what looks like a midget's jock strap with braces"It'll look beautiful on you." Oh bless her. Oh yes,I can just imagine. Any sudden movement could cause the Booby Twins to be pushed out into the centre and up to my throat,probably crushing my windpipe.On a machine in a vegetative state as brain was starved of oxygen for so many minutes due to trachea trauma for the next twenty. Or even worse case scenario,the Twin Boobies through sheer velocity are pushed out under either side of the five centimetres straps into my armpit area,taking out any unsuspecting swimmers within a one foot distance.There I am, on death row charged with attempted murder.I could even end up sobbing my innocence on a Discovery Channel's programme entitled "Women That Kill".And that's only if the thong part doesn't penetrate any of my major arteries while I am swinging around on one foot,swearing under my breath,trying to get the contraption on.
" Now this one is lovely,"daughter coos.Holding up a tiny frilly skirt with what looks like a headband hanging above it.........
Tuesday 22 June 2010
Tonto Rides Again In Asagaya.
Upon opening our door,I am pleasantly surprised to find one of our neighbours making a house call to........ well,our house.The temptation to gush "And to what do we owe this mighty honour?"squashed by the mere fact that my Japanese is sadly lacking in such lexicon.I had to make do with a simple."Good Evening! How can I help you?"only to find a newspaper suddenly shoved towards my face,emitting a most malodorous odour.Reeling back with disgust,I quickly assessed the genkan (porch) area for anything that could be used as a weapon to defend myself.Then remembering that husband was home,I called out to him.
He'd come bearing gifts.Not Myrrh,gold,rubies or even sembai......poo poo was his offering on this clammy evening.Yes,you read right.Poo poo....of the feline variety apparently.My mind quickly scanned it's database for any obscure festivals or rituals amongst the locals involving steaming lumps of poo poo.Summer........Tanabata.......portable shrines.....load of suicidal idiots riding on a giant tree trunk as it slides precariously down a steep hill but poo poo?An image of us all sat in the garden,dousing the newspaper with sake and setting it alight......slivers of blackened paper with you know what mingled in,wafting up to the heavens as we sang some ancient hymn to some long forgotten god cruised hazily through my mind.But,no! The search machine came back blank which as I looked,was the state of my husband's face as he listened on.
Apparently,one specific feline was responsible.Our cat had dared to sneak into his garden and without any planning permission,dug a hole and opened his bowels.Considerably looking at the pile dozing on the newspaper.I almost felt awe."Okay,"calmed my husband,"But how do you know it was our cat?"The villain of the piece was black and white.Our cat is black and white.....along with a hundred other beady eyed critters slinking along the garden walls at any given time."But...but..but...but...burrtt." protested neighbour way too much,"This cat was black and white and doesn't understand Japanese."Thinking that the cat and I had a lot more in common than I could ever have imagined,I looked to my husband who was desperately trying to keep his composure."I tell him to go away and he doesn't respond,"wailed neighbour,"I have to get the hose on him to shoo him out of my garden.Night and day,he's at it." My wee two year old struts past and suddenly punctuates the air with an uproarious bum burp that echoes my sentiments exactly. "Mummy,"shouts out my son from the sofa vicinity,"Tell him we're all bilingual in this house.Of course our cat understands Japanese!" I sigh.I'd always known Cat was bisexual but whether he was bilingual or not,I'd never really thought about it.
"Smell that."Neighbour continues,bringing the newspaper reverently like a giant silk cushion upon which crown jewels lie near to his face."You can tell a lot about someone's diet from sniffing their poo."To which,he ceremoniously takes a huge breath and nose a few inches from the fecal travesty inhales deeply.I've heard trackers say that every footprint tells a story but this is just getting totally sublime now.I check that the metal shoehorn is still within easy reach."Okay,"my husband bows to neighbour,"We apologise profusely for any inconvenience caused."Tonto the neighbour nods,as my husband races to the fridge in the kitchen and starts pulling out a few cans of beer.Don't you dare start without me,echoes around the inside of my skull,we'll all need a drink after this."You will talk to him,won't you?"enquires the neighbour of me."Talk to him?"I ask.Hand groping for the shoehorn."In English,please.So he understands."I laugh nervously,screaming inside for husband to get his gorgeous bottom back over Tonto...sorry pronto.Which he did,pushing three cans of beer onto the neighbour, bowing deeply and then closing our door.......not before I managed to call out "I am very sorry,Kemo Sabe."
He'd come bearing gifts.Not Myrrh,gold,rubies or even sembai......poo poo was his offering on this clammy evening.Yes,you read right.Poo poo....of the feline variety apparently.My mind quickly scanned it's database for any obscure festivals or rituals amongst the locals involving steaming lumps of poo poo.Summer........Tanabata.......portable shrines.....load of suicidal idiots riding on a giant tree trunk as it slides precariously down a steep hill but poo poo?An image of us all sat in the garden,dousing the newspaper with sake and setting it alight......slivers of blackened paper with you know what mingled in,wafting up to the heavens as we sang some ancient hymn to some long forgotten god cruised hazily through my mind.But,no! The search machine came back blank which as I looked,was the state of my husband's face as he listened on.
Apparently,one specific feline was responsible.Our cat had dared to sneak into his garden and without any planning permission,dug a hole and opened his bowels.Considerably looking at the pile dozing on the newspaper.I almost felt awe."Okay,"calmed my husband,"But how do you know it was our cat?"The villain of the piece was black and white.Our cat is black and white.....along with a hundred other beady eyed critters slinking along the garden walls at any given time."But...but..but...but...burrtt." protested neighbour way too much,"This cat was black and white and doesn't understand Japanese."Thinking that the cat and I had a lot more in common than I could ever have imagined,I looked to my husband who was desperately trying to keep his composure."I tell him to go away and he doesn't respond,"wailed neighbour,"I have to get the hose on him to shoo him out of my garden.Night and day,he's at it." My wee two year old struts past and suddenly punctuates the air with an uproarious bum burp that echoes my sentiments exactly. "Mummy,"shouts out my son from the sofa vicinity,"Tell him we're all bilingual in this house.Of course our cat understands Japanese!" I sigh.I'd always known Cat was bisexual but whether he was bilingual or not,I'd never really thought about it.
"Smell that."Neighbour continues,bringing the newspaper reverently like a giant silk cushion upon which crown jewels lie near to his face."You can tell a lot about someone's diet from sniffing their poo."To which,he ceremoniously takes a huge breath and nose a few inches from the fecal travesty inhales deeply.I've heard trackers say that every footprint tells a story but this is just getting totally sublime now.I check that the metal shoehorn is still within easy reach."Okay,"my husband bows to neighbour,"We apologise profusely for any inconvenience caused."Tonto the neighbour nods,as my husband races to the fridge in the kitchen and starts pulling out a few cans of beer.Don't you dare start without me,echoes around the inside of my skull,we'll all need a drink after this."You will talk to him,won't you?"enquires the neighbour of me."Talk to him?"I ask.Hand groping for the shoehorn."In English,please.So he understands."I laugh nervously,screaming inside for husband to get his gorgeous bottom back over Tonto...sorry pronto.Which he did,pushing three cans of beer onto the neighbour, bowing deeply and then closing our door.......not before I managed to call out "I am very sorry,Kemo Sabe."
"Yay! It's summer,"she cries.....
...tanned,lithe legs bound past me,the smell of spearmint toothpaste and Body Shop sandalwood musk warming up in opposite corners of the ring."Yeah."I muster back with as much fervour as someone condemned to death by heat rash can.To be tattooed on my forehead 'Never ever wear a super deluxe push up and shove cleavage bra on overnight during Tokyo summer."I stifle a yelp,as I unceremoniously squirt calamine lotion down my top.
"Aw,come on,"Rose Buddie laughs,"Let me make lunch and you'll feel better!"as she peers deep into my cavernous fridge." What do you fancy eating?"
Lunch? I don't need lunch.I need a complete skin graft over my entire booby region.What do I feel like eating? I don't feel like eating anything but I do know what I feel like.I feel like a slice of bread,forgotten in it's packet.That wee lump of cheese swaddled in cellophane wrap.....the one that came from humble rural origins nurturing ambitions to be used in some kind of fancy salad........... but somehow got overlooked and over the weeks,it got tossed to the back of the fridge........behind the open tin of half eaten baked beans with the sauce that has taken on a rather glassy kind of sheen....next to the empty plastic container that used to house a rather fine specimen of charcoal,devoutly sniffing up fridge farts a few weeks ago.......sigh.
Now if we were talking winter.My old buddy.In winter,I'd have the motivation to pop that bread under a toaster,throw on that little lump of forlorn looking cheese,nuke the beans in the microwave on atom bomb setting and serve it on a plate with the plastic container next to it,filled with flowers from our garden.But it's summer and I feel like I've lost my Tabasco Sauce....sigh.Will have to send out for more calamine soon...
"Aw,come on,"Rose Buddie laughs,"Let me make lunch and you'll feel better!"as she peers deep into my cavernous fridge." What do you fancy eating?"
Lunch? I don't need lunch.I need a complete skin graft over my entire booby region.What do I feel like eating? I don't feel like eating anything but I do know what I feel like.I feel like a slice of bread,forgotten in it's packet.That wee lump of cheese swaddled in cellophane wrap.....the one that came from humble rural origins nurturing ambitions to be used in some kind of fancy salad........... but somehow got overlooked and over the weeks,it got tossed to the back of the fridge........behind the open tin of half eaten baked beans with the sauce that has taken on a rather glassy kind of sheen....next to the empty plastic container that used to house a rather fine specimen of charcoal,devoutly sniffing up fridge farts a few weeks ago.......sigh.
Now if we were talking winter.My old buddy.In winter,I'd have the motivation to pop that bread under a toaster,throw on that little lump of forlorn looking cheese,nuke the beans in the microwave on atom bomb setting and serve it on a plate with the plastic container next to it,filled with flowers from our garden.But it's summer and I feel like I've lost my Tabasco Sauce....sigh.Will have to send out for more calamine soon...
Monday 21 June 2010
Challenging Inlaws? Power Crazy Boss?Exploding Garden Gnome,anyone?
I am pleased to announce the launch of a new and exciting range of products-The Let's Garden Gnomes.Inspired by that quaint Japanese preoccupation of adding 'let's' to a noun and hoping the world understands.Do you have a special person in your life,someone whose sanctimonious smile you'd love to literally blow off their faces?Your boss,..your husband,..a neighbour.....mother-in-law or father-in-law,..a friend who has done you ill???If so please send us a recent photo and we will make your dreams come true.Our artists can produce incredibly lifelike replicas of that vexing personage.Satisfaction guaranteed!!!!
Also,we are pleased to announce our latest talking models.Provide a sample of
the relevant person's voice and we can program the gnome to say a final few words
before detonation.Examples are "I'm so sorry.You were a fantastic DIL.Please
don't kill me"(Mother-in-law model 3245889), "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you I loved you when you rang
me at work"(Husband model 678231) "If you let me live,I promise I won't say shouganai
ever again"(applicable to several types of models).We also have a model which,if you
wish,can commit seppuku(lifelike blood and guts can be added for an extra fee)
just before you gleefully press that button.Choose from our hundreds of delightful
little models just waiting for you to come along and blow their little brains out!!
For those of you who can foresee the need to let off steam on a regular basis
we provide a credit free payment plan which can be extended for upto 25 years.
Whatever your needs,wherever you are,whoever you are,let us take care of you!!
All gnomes are fitted with remote control detonation devices and tested
according to the S and T.B.K standards.
A free catalogue will be available soon for your leisurely perusal or if you wish to visit our website for a graphic demo.(Sorry currently under construction)
Also,we are pleased to announce our latest talking models.Provide a sample of
the relevant person's voice and we can program the gnome to say a final few words
before detonation.Examples are "I'm so sorry.You were a fantastic DIL.Please
don't kill me"(Mother-in-law model 3245889), "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you I loved you when you rang
me at work"(Husband model 678231) "If you let me live,I promise I won't say shouganai
ever again"(applicable to several types of models).We also have a model which,if you
wish,can commit seppuku(lifelike blood and guts can be added for an extra fee)
just before you gleefully press that button.Choose from our hundreds of delightful
little models just waiting for you to come along and blow their little brains out!!
For those of you who can foresee the need to let off steam on a regular basis
we provide a credit free payment plan which can be extended for upto 25 years.
Whatever your needs,wherever you are,whoever you are,let us take care of you!!
All gnomes are fitted with remote control detonation devices and tested
according to the S and T.B.K standards.
A free catalogue will be available soon for your leisurely perusal or if you wish to visit our website for a graphic demo.(Sorry currently under construction)
Monday 14 June 2010
Eau de la Fusty.
There's a definite whiff of 'eau de la fusty' as Mr Rainy Season slaps it on enthusiastically, heralding his imminent 2010 debut.Rainy season,the last stand before the setting on the Tokyo fan oven is zapped up and those hot and humid days stretch out before us,like a pair of old, unwashed,tan tights that are receding fast in the crotch area.I love the rain.I've always loved the rain.My youngest daughter's middle name in Japanese means 'little rain'. My earliest childhood memories are full of being all snug in bed,hot chocolate on the side table,Grandma reading me an Enid Blyton tale,the pitter pattering of the rain on the roof and windows soothing me into dreamland.The only other time I have probably ever felt so safe or snug was in my mother's womb...not that I can remember that far back but there's always hypnosis...when I find the time.
Now I have children of my own,the rain has added a new slant to the positives to be enjoyed of such a day.I can be a total slob.As anyone reading this who has the weighty responsibility of getting the 'halflings' out the door of a morn knows,it can be quite a feat.An accomplishment, I feel should be awarded it's own category in the Olympics.Take today as an example.Just the usual morning grind,the kids staring into space,scratching bums,picking noses,playing the 'who can smell the stinky finger without pulling a face' game...don't ask.Anything than what I told them to do,like get some clothes on.Walking around school naked,isn't going to make you popular ........ well,not for all the right reasons anyway.It's time to leave and while what I call make up was done,I hadn't got round to dressing myself.I could see the pile of clothes I'd picked last night,waiting forlornly on a chair in the bedroom.Eyeing the huge red,rain poncho,I made a snap decision to just flow with the day.I pulled on my tartan rain boots over my PJ bottoms and I could have gone out topless with the poncho on,for anybody knew.An adage my mother handed down to me as I boarded the plane to Narita years ago was "Always make sure you are wearing clean knickers and your boobies are in their appropriate positions before leaving the house...just in case." And with the boobie twins bracketed into their appropriate positions,leave the house we did.Now,I do appreciate that this wouldn't have worked on an actual working from home day or if I'd been wearing the Karma Sutra PJs depicting couples in various couplings bought for me years ago but never yet worn........ but that's why I took advantage.I waltzed around,shopped and was stopped by a few 'older' ladies commenting on the lovely teddy bear design of my trousers. That's the thing here too.The Japanese are really into 'cute'.Home appliances and gadgets with little cute designs on line the shelves in stores.Women themselves aspire to be 'cute' whereas if someone referred to me as 'cute',I'd be horrified.Intelligent,independent,considerate,kind are some of the attributes I hope could one day be bantered around whenever my name is mentioned.Along with graceful,elegant,astounding intelligence of course.......
Yes,I do love the rain.The rain has always been an ally of mine.I'll be tucked up in bed later with a good book and some hot chocolate.I may have moved across the world,literally universes but some things you just can't change.
Now I have children of my own,the rain has added a new slant to the positives to be enjoyed of such a day.I can be a total slob.As anyone reading this who has the weighty responsibility of getting the 'halflings' out the door of a morn knows,it can be quite a feat.An accomplishment, I feel should be awarded it's own category in the Olympics.Take today as an example.Just the usual morning grind,the kids staring into space,scratching bums,picking noses,playing the 'who can smell the stinky finger without pulling a face' game...don't ask.Anything than what I told them to do,like get some clothes on.Walking around school naked,isn't going to make you popular ........ well,not for all the right reasons anyway.It's time to leave and while what I call make up was done,I hadn't got round to dressing myself.I could see the pile of clothes I'd picked last night,waiting forlornly on a chair in the bedroom.Eyeing the huge red,rain poncho,I made a snap decision to just flow with the day.I pulled on my tartan rain boots over my PJ bottoms and I could have gone out topless with the poncho on,for anybody knew.An adage my mother handed down to me as I boarded the plane to Narita years ago was "Always make sure you are wearing clean knickers and your boobies are in their appropriate positions before leaving the house...just in case." And with the boobie twins bracketed into their appropriate positions,leave the house we did.Now,I do appreciate that this wouldn't have worked on an actual working from home day or if I'd been wearing the Karma Sutra PJs depicting couples in various couplings bought for me years ago but never yet worn........ but that's why I took advantage.I waltzed around,shopped and was stopped by a few 'older' ladies commenting on the lovely teddy bear design of my trousers. That's the thing here too.The Japanese are really into 'cute'.Home appliances and gadgets with little cute designs on line the shelves in stores.Women themselves aspire to be 'cute' whereas if someone referred to me as 'cute',I'd be horrified.Intelligent,independent,considerate,kind are some of the attributes I hope could one day be bantered around whenever my name is mentioned.Along with graceful,elegant,astounding intelligence of course.......
Yes,I do love the rain.The rain has always been an ally of mine.I'll be tucked up in bed later with a good book and some hot chocolate.I may have moved across the world,literally universes but some things you just can't change.
Saturday 12 June 2010
The Great Gargle.
My body has joined ranks with my children and is rebelling against me.My brain keeps flashing lights that's it's the same ailment my kids endured very recently.....a non-specific virus.... but I am worried it could be the beginning of complete and utter organ failure.It's not that I am a hypochondriac or anything but a quick google of the Internet hit upon a few diseases matching my symptoms ,all requiring transfusions,dialysis or an emergency operation."You look like that guy off Goosebumps,Mummy,"chirps Bat Boy whizzing the curtains open, sending a torturous beam of sunlight straight onto my bed,which leaves me flailing and squirming around like some vampire from a B movie."You know..the episode where the guy gets bitten by an alien and he turns white and all his flesh starts oozing off,Mummy". Kids.You can always rely on them to tell you how it really is.No frills or delicate handling or side stepping for the meek.Kids...as subtle as a piece of bobbing poo poo in a swimming pool.And on that note,my stomach started up on it's rinse and spin cycle.
Suddenly hubby's disembodied voice "We need to clean your stomach.Get all those nasty germs out." My jaded eyeballs home onto his frame in the doorway,one hand dangling a small glass jar with two rubber tubes sprouting from either side.A seriously disturbing scene flashes through my mind.Surely he isn't going to try and perform an enema with the contraption we use to suck the snot out of the kids' blocked noses."Come on.Up you get.Let's go gargle."hubby almost sing songs. Oh yes.The great Japanese tradition of gargling.Got a cold?Gargle.Headache? Gargle. Having an aneurysm?Just gargle a bit more and you'll be right as reign in a matter of days. In fact, I am surprised it isn't advocated for pain relief during child birth or while passing gall stones.'Now come on,Mrs Watanabe.Women used to give birth in bushes out on the flat lands,you know.Never heard any of them complaining.I am sure you can manage to have at least one little gargle in between third stage labour contractions'.
"Hold it for 3 more seconds.Head back."I am sure my husband takes great delight in all of this."Well done,"he smiles."You'll be better soon.A good gargle cures all.It's just a non specific virus." I really dislike the way folk,who are fit as fiddles like to casually banter to folk,who are in the throes of agony,their whole body committing mutiny,who have just spent five of the last seven hours in a toilet without any decent reading material at hand that 'it is just a non-specific anything'.I know it's just a virus. As soon as my kids got sick,all my mummy friends called apologising in case my lot got it from their lot....basic mummy etiquette.....and after a few hours we narrowed the original outbreak down to a family living in a tiny village in eastern Germany.These things spread like wildfire amongst children.
"Just one more,"hubby grins,"And this time I've added extra salt to really finish off those germs clinging to your throat." I sigh.Some things just aren't worth arguing about.Not that I have the energy anyway."And then,I want to try a little of the octopus and onion soup I made for you"..........
Suddenly hubby's disembodied voice "We need to clean your stomach.Get all those nasty germs out." My jaded eyeballs home onto his frame in the doorway,one hand dangling a small glass jar with two rubber tubes sprouting from either side.A seriously disturbing scene flashes through my mind.Surely he isn't going to try and perform an enema with the contraption we use to suck the snot out of the kids' blocked noses."Come on.Up you get.Let's go gargle."hubby almost sing songs. Oh yes.The great Japanese tradition of gargling.Got a cold?Gargle.Headache? Gargle. Having an aneurysm?Just gargle a bit more and you'll be right as reign in a matter of days. In fact, I am surprised it isn't advocated for pain relief during child birth or while passing gall stones.'Now come on,Mrs Watanabe.Women used to give birth in bushes out on the flat lands,you know.Never heard any of them complaining.I am sure you can manage to have at least one little gargle in between third stage labour contractions'.
"Hold it for 3 more seconds.Head back."I am sure my husband takes great delight in all of this."Well done,"he smiles."You'll be better soon.A good gargle cures all.It's just a non specific virus." I really dislike the way folk,who are fit as fiddles like to casually banter to folk,who are in the throes of agony,their whole body committing mutiny,who have just spent five of the last seven hours in a toilet without any decent reading material at hand that 'it is just a non-specific anything'.I know it's just a virus. As soon as my kids got sick,all my mummy friends called apologising in case my lot got it from their lot....basic mummy etiquette.....and after a few hours we narrowed the original outbreak down to a family living in a tiny village in eastern Germany.These things spread like wildfire amongst children.
"Just one more,"hubby grins,"And this time I've added extra salt to really finish off those germs clinging to your throat." I sigh.Some things just aren't worth arguing about.Not that I have the energy anyway."And then,I want to try a little of the octopus and onion soup I made for you"..........
Friday 11 June 2010
In The Trenches.....
What is it with kids,sickness and the early morning hours? Two does seem to be the magic number...2 am that is. Never 2pm. 2 warm,daylight hours,local chemist is still open, you can call someone for help,all will be well pm. Even if my lot have been ill during the day and I get them off to bed,all snuggled up,thinking the worst is over,the clock hand hits that magic number and hey presto. The various mini orifices of hell open their doors widely and souse any bed sheets and PJs unluckily in the vicinity.2am.....when it feels like the entire universe has conked out,when the darkness seems like a deceitful well wisher peering in through your windows and you can almost smell the peat torches burning as mummies wearing furry bikini type thingies from a millennium ago kept watch over young from marauding predators. Or that's what it seems like after zero sleep anyway.
As I place buckets in strategic positions,I suddenly get a flashback of Grandpa and the Van Dyke guy from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in the scene where Grandpa is complaining about the rain coming through his roof.I wish.....Beloved Bat Boy suddenly sits up in bed,screams something unintelligible and while my sleep deprived brain is trying to translate,an avalanche of what looks suspiciously like last night's Nikku Jagger (Noooo...Not the singer.It's a Japanese broiled meat dish.) launches itself with the velocity of an incoming meteor from outer space in my direction. I grab a bucket and manage to catch most of the torrent. 'Every cloud has a silver lining'.Even ones floating in a dark,dark sky at 2 am in the morning.I'm getting pretty sprightly at this goalie lark.You've got to watch the peas though.They're like metal pellets.Found one embedded in the plaster earlier.When I am in my eighties....maybe even nineties and folk comment on how agile and supple I am for my age,I will reply."It was all those early mornings up with my kids,jumping around the bedrooms,buckets in hands,deflecting rivers of ......"I keep shouting out to my kids "In the bucket,please" but they don't seem to be listening.Never mind,from experience,we've got a few more hours to get it right.
From downstairs,I hear my loyal comrade, the washing machine wind down from her spin mode.She totally understands the 2am factor too.Many a morn,I've lain my weary head across her top,the warmth and motion lulling me away for a few precious seconds. I'd pour a beer into the 'softener' tray if I thought it would ease the poor beleaguered thing.Summers in Tokyo mean that you can hang out your washing in the middle of the night and awake to it crispy dry.
The bedroom soon fills with the sighs of deep,contented sleep as dawn shakes her head and prises open sleep crusted eyes. The lucky so and so......
As I place buckets in strategic positions,I suddenly get a flashback of Grandpa and the Van Dyke guy from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in the scene where Grandpa is complaining about the rain coming through his roof.I wish.....Beloved Bat Boy suddenly sits up in bed,screams something unintelligible and while my sleep deprived brain is trying to translate,an avalanche of what looks suspiciously like last night's Nikku Jagger (Noooo...Not the singer.It's a Japanese broiled meat dish.) launches itself with the velocity of an incoming meteor from outer space in my direction. I grab a bucket and manage to catch most of the torrent. 'Every cloud has a silver lining'.Even ones floating in a dark,dark sky at 2 am in the morning.I'm getting pretty sprightly at this goalie lark.You've got to watch the peas though.They're like metal pellets.Found one embedded in the plaster earlier.When I am in my eighties....maybe even nineties and folk comment on how agile and supple I am for my age,I will reply."It was all those early mornings up with my kids,jumping around the bedrooms,buckets in hands,deflecting rivers of ......"I keep shouting out to my kids "In the bucket,please" but they don't seem to be listening.Never mind,from experience,we've got a few more hours to get it right.
From downstairs,I hear my loyal comrade, the washing machine wind down from her spin mode.She totally understands the 2am factor too.Many a morn,I've lain my weary head across her top,the warmth and motion lulling me away for a few precious seconds. I'd pour a beer into the 'softener' tray if I thought it would ease the poor beleaguered thing.Summers in Tokyo mean that you can hang out your washing in the middle of the night and awake to it crispy dry.
The bedroom soon fills with the sighs of deep,contented sleep as dawn shakes her head and prises open sleep crusted eyes. The lucky so and so......
Saturday 5 June 2010
Think that interview is blown....
"Native English teacher required to teach conversation classes to a diverse range of students........" The advertisement boomed,surrounded with lots of little snapshots of various folk donned in snappy suits, looking very professional in snazzy hi-tech surroundings.
Well...I'm a native...the genuine article from up north- and just ask any of my mates-over a pint or two I can talk the the bum bum of any bovine and you can't get any more conversational than that,....can you? With The Booby Slayer's .....as wee diamond daughter is affectionately known...... attention satisfactorily riveted on the task of editing one of hubby's notebooks with a lip liner and a river of dribble,I feverishly polished my resume details and sent them with a cover letter.
Here I am,two days later with a request for an interview! "Let's go upstairs,Sweetie,"I coo to The Booby Slayer,"Mummy Slave needs to just quickly use the computer!" Just five minutes...I swear that's all it'll take,darling! Come on..just for Mummy. I recite the mantra over in my head as Booby Slayer decides to exhibit her displeasure by falling down on the floor in a catatonic state.All limbs rigid,fixed out at odd angles with eyeballs in the midst of a pretty good Exorcist impression..Marvelling at her muscle control,I eye the stairs and her.I have friends who work in stocks who like to extol about 'damage control' and the importance of being able to make snap decisions.We parents know all about that.With really small kiddies,damage control is everything.Snap decisions are made,quite often under intensely stressful circumstances. Just whisper the words 'supermarket','check out line' and 'temper tantrum' to any parent and watch the sweat break out on that upper lip.If you don't master damage control, you could find yourself on the edge of a Pamper's landfill in a fit of despair. I eye The Booby Slayer again,her mouth now set in a grimace...nope,this battle isn't worth fighting.
The last few functioning cells housed in the lump situated on top of my neck,unexpectedly light up and 'Voile'.I glance at The Booby Slayer who has now added growling sound effects and unbelievably,even more dribbling to the repertoire. "You keep up with the exercises",I singsong in her direction,sitting down on the sofa,"Mummy Slave is just going to send a quick mail out on her cellphone." Feeling self-satisfied,I punch out a reply confirming that I am available for an interview.Move over Fly Lady.Galloping Gal is staging a coup any day now. "Mummy!Mummy!" wails The Booby Slayer as the little warm body hurtles itself at mine,one wee hand inadvertently touching the panel on my iPhone...the panel with the 'Send' key.Well,she saved me a job.Kissing and hugging my little girl,I watch as the message scrolls off into cyberspace and wonder at the marvel of the Internet.
"Dear Ms.......
Thank you very much for your reply and the offer of an interview.Wednesday at 9.30 is most convenient.I look forward to meeting you.
Yours Sincerely,
Sammy the Slave,The Bat Kids & The Booby Slayeress who just won't leave my boobies alone...just like her Dad! "
Shrieking with horror,I stab blindly at the iPhone screen in a futile attempt to stop the mail going out.......'Message Successfully Sent' sticks out it's tongue and I can almost hear the "Nah nah nah naaaaah nah".
The screaming is almost unbearable in the background.I cringe with each acme reached."I am sorry,Darling.Mummy Slave won't be a minute."
"Dear Ms.......
May I offer my most humble apologies. I can assure you that I am not in the habit of signing replies to possible future employers in such an informal manner......................"
Well...I'm a native...the genuine article from up north- and just ask any of my mates-over a pint or two I can talk the the bum bum of any bovine and you can't get any more conversational than that,....can you? With The Booby Slayer's .....as wee diamond daughter is affectionately known...... attention satisfactorily riveted on the task of editing one of hubby's notebooks with a lip liner and a river of dribble,I feverishly polished my resume details and sent them with a cover letter.
Here I am,two days later with a request for an interview! "Let's go upstairs,Sweetie,"I coo to The Booby Slayer,"Mummy Slave needs to just quickly use the computer!" Just five minutes...I swear that's all it'll take,darling! Come on..just for Mummy. I recite the mantra over in my head as Booby Slayer decides to exhibit her displeasure by falling down on the floor in a catatonic state.All limbs rigid,fixed out at odd angles with eyeballs in the midst of a pretty good Exorcist impression..Marvelling at her muscle control,I eye the stairs and her.I have friends who work in stocks who like to extol about 'damage control' and the importance of being able to make snap decisions.We parents know all about that.With really small kiddies,damage control is everything.Snap decisions are made,quite often under intensely stressful circumstances. Just whisper the words 'supermarket','check out line' and 'temper tantrum' to any parent and watch the sweat break out on that upper lip.If you don't master damage control, you could find yourself on the edge of a Pamper's landfill in a fit of despair. I eye The Booby Slayer again,her mouth now set in a grimace...nope,this battle isn't worth fighting.
The last few functioning cells housed in the lump situated on top of my neck,unexpectedly light up and 'Voile'.I glance at The Booby Slayer who has now added growling sound effects and unbelievably,even more dribbling to the repertoire. "You keep up with the exercises",I singsong in her direction,sitting down on the sofa,"Mummy Slave is just going to send a quick mail out on her cellphone." Feeling self-satisfied,I punch out a reply confirming that I am available for an interview.Move over Fly Lady.Galloping Gal is staging a coup any day now. "Mummy!Mummy!" wails The Booby Slayer as the little warm body hurtles itself at mine,one wee hand inadvertently touching the panel on my iPhone...the panel with the 'Send' key.Well,she saved me a job.Kissing and hugging my little girl,I watch as the message scrolls off into cyberspace and wonder at the marvel of the Internet.
"Dear Ms.......
Thank you very much for your reply and the offer of an interview.Wednesday at 9.30 is most convenient.I look forward to meeting you.
Yours Sincerely,
Sammy the Slave,The Bat Kids & The Booby Slayeress who just won't leave my boobies alone...just like her Dad! "
Shrieking with horror,I stab blindly at the iPhone screen in a futile attempt to stop the mail going out.......'Message Successfully Sent' sticks out it's tongue and I can almost hear the "Nah nah nah naaaaah nah".
The screaming is almost unbearable in the background.I cringe with each acme reached."I am sorry,Darling.Mummy Slave won't be a minute."
"Dear Ms.......
May I offer my most humble apologies. I can assure you that I am not in the habit of signing replies to possible future employers in such an informal manner......................"
Thursday 3 June 2010
Walking Munchies For The Mosquitoes.
I only have myself to blame.I take complete and utter culpability for the situation I now find myself facing. A state of affairs so dire that my whole mental stability is threatening to commit mutiny.I don't know what overcame me....how on earth it escaped me but I forgot the mosquito repellent. The life saving lotion my mother dutifully sends over every May in preparation for summer. Forget botox...forget age defying creams that instantly lift the contours of the face to retrieve that youthful look...or Bobby Brown dark circle concealer,I just cannot live without my mosquito repellent lotion.I mean,do you think Catherine Zeta Jones or Kate Winslett would look as gorgeous as they do,covered in red,itchy,swollen blotches -constantly swearing under their breath as they endure another marathon itching session with broken off nails? Where would all that beauty paraphernalia get them then? I quickly swivel my head down in the direction of my calf.A deliciously,tempting piece of bare skin upon which ten and more black intruders now brazenly scoff.I can hear the crackling of radio as more circumnavigate my lower leg on their ascending flight paths. A speedy right palm slap takes five of the rogues out, stunning two as the rest of the cowards fly for the hills,throttles up. I watch as my three kids race around the park,their laughter tinkling along with a glass fish chime hanging in a nearby balcony.Summer in Japan is incredibly beautiful.....experienced gazing through a window,sipping green tea in an air-conditioned room.A room that is mosquito free,I hasten to add.My children are half Japanese and could be outdoors all day if I let them,only to return with two bites at the most.I,on the other hand attract the little fiends by the minions.I have this image of myself,engulfed in one huge buzzing cloud whenever I step outside in summer.One doctor told me that it is due to my blood being so healthy. Well,at the rate I am going I'll need a transfusion soon.Image of a mummified me on a park bench,lips curled back in pain,one hand curled for one last scratch suddenly flashes before me.I eye the UVA/bug net on the child buggy. Maybe if I wrap it around me from head to toe,they won't be able to get at me.Maybe if I wrap it around me and run around screaming,they might give up and go for easier drillings? It's not like I have any street cred left,I have three young kids and a face covered in red,angry blotches.I swiftly deliver a double palm slap to my face making the local drunk on the next bench lurch in surprise.The satisfaction of seeing those red ink blotches on my hand far outweighs the stinging in my cheeks.......plus the immense comfort gained from that quick whiff of Dove anti sweat zone and the knowledge that at least my armpits are still in great shape even if the rest of the exposed me looks like a smallpox victim. Forget the botox,forget the.......
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