Brrrring Brrring bring me a decent phone. Please?!

My name’s Hannah. And I am a mobilephone-rage-aholic.

I have, shall we say, a violent history with my latest mobile phone. I threw it in pure, calculated rage and it hit the wall (I maintain, Officer, I was aiming for the sofa, but my aim was off) and of course, it died.  I had to sift through bits of old biscuit and near empty packets of dried out baby wipes in the toy box until I found the archaic nokia we let the boys play with. No, we dont donate our phones to African’s. And it turned up trumps. It was sticky and smelled like feet but it worked. For 3 months. Then that died too, but it was old and had been abused by the children for years so hats off to the little fella. On the off chance I tried the new old phone and I imagined it did this *shrugged at me, called me a few swear words and said “ok i will decide to work again, but just until the contract runs out. I want a phone case, I will turn off whever and whyever I want if I need a rest and you keep those kids away from me”. I agreed to the terms and conditions.

It has a week left to play with me like a cat does with a mouse and then the contract is over.

Todays blog is about phones.

Husband has a half day holiday today so meant I could look for a phone online without hassel from the kids whose only ideas are that it should be “blue”. Alex’s opinion carries no weight whatsoever – he was talking to my Nectar club card today having a good old pretend chat with Grandad.

I can not tell you enough how MUCH I DESPISE searching for new phones. I hope the capital letters will go some way towards expressing it.

I spent more time searching online out of curiosity for the phone I had in 2000 than looking for my new one. Can’t find it. It looked like this.

I don’t remember it looking so cartoon-house-like. But, to be fair that is probably a reflection on my artistic skills and not the phone company. I think it even had a little aerial.

I wasn’t allowed to use it though. It was for emergencies at University. If I used it I got told off. By my mum. I was only allowed to call or be called after 6pm from landline or to a landline.

I get so confused looking for phones – why are the offers all defaulting to a 24month contract?! I don’t want that – I want 18 months. I don’t know if I have to pay for internet access or not. What is an App? (I honestly don’t know – I know to some people that is like saying “where do babies come from?”). What does an android mean and why would I want one?! Why should I choose a HTC over a Nokia Lumus (can’t even be bothered to check my spelling online)?! It got too much and I wanted to have a little cry. I don’t handle stress well. I can cope with wolf spiders, strange noises at night downstairs and discovering what they are (picture frames falling off walls invariably) and hospital stays with children. I can’t handle finding a new phone. Or maths.

So I pottered round the kitchen for a bit…noticed that the left over mexian bean soup in the sink looked like vomit.

I played with the children even though they were playing quite happily with their dad. It all went tits up with this comment from an angry Edward “NO MUMMY! The big green crocodile doesn’t want to be snapped by another crocodile. you are the FISH. THE FISH!! *humphs and stomps off muttering* Green crocodile with the big long teeth is off to fight the big fat bear. OK?!”. I felt like I was drunk. I could start drinking…that would distract me from the phones.

I found it very interesting when husband rubbed the teaspoon on his back after making a cup of tea “check this out, Han. I am utilising the heat” and we discussed uses of other kitchen utensils and how we could save money on utility bills with them.

I made a big huge fuss of exiling the bull dog clip Alex caught his hand in from the house. “WHO would bring such a weapon in to an environment full of children?!” (me). I put it in the bin, in a tesco bag and then even took the bin out. To the big dustbin in the garden. Ie, not throwing the bin bag out the back door where it ususally lands with a farty puff of air on the back step.

I was internet banking when I overhead this;

Ed – “daddy I have two balls you have no balls”. This threw me. We had discussed vasectomies recently but not castration. Until I heard a football, or two in fact, being kicked round the kitchen. I went in to play some football (even though normally I operate a “No balls in the house” policy).

I never clean my car. Ever. It smells like dried mud and here are the contents..sweet wrappers (some intact, some just those annoying corner bits that get ripped off), 6 childrens books, one baby shoe, the bobble off a bobble hat, Michael McIntyre’s biography, one mitten, a child’s monkey hat (doesn’t fit either child and hasn’t since last winter), some children’s artwork (bad mummy), a bank statement, carrier bags, a plastic jug, the lid off a diet coke bottle and 3 lolly sticks.

I went to one of these

Even though I knew that it was 3pm and school kicking out time so we would hit traffic. I didn’t even mind getting stuck behind 3 other cars waiting for the carwash. One even broke down a little bit and there was an extra delay. Didn’t mind.

Went here

Didn’t need to. Items on my shopping list (written out in my best handwriting and in detail) were a bottle of water for Colin (the fish – needs cleaning out) and some stamps.

Didn’t mind when I got stuck behind one of these

This blog entry is a cry for help. Don’t let me suffer anymore. Please help me find the right phone for me. What I want is…touchy bits that whizz around the screen, 300+ minutes of calls, unlimited texts, access to internet and whatever how much mb’s I need (to get facebook, twitter and wordpress), camera and ability to store photos. Think of the little ginger girl who had the ancient nokia and help…

February 24, 2012. Tags: , , , , . Uncategorized. 2 comments.

Is it all in a name?

When Alex was born, he didn’t have his name yet. We hadn’t definately decided on it. He came out, all serene and mellow. In fact, I was so busy chatting to the aneasthetist that they sort of kept pointing him at me “Hellllooooooooo! Mrs Smith! B.A.B.Y!”. He gave a little squeak, then fell asleep. Through the emotion and drugs my husband and I looked at each other….he must be our “chilled out baby”, we whispered smugly.

Flash forward 18 months.

I’m wrestling Alex into his car seat in Tescos carpark, using my knee to bend him at the waist as I grappled for his seat straps, using my firm/verging-on-shouting voice; “ALEX! PLEASE!”. Up pops a man behind me. “My son is called Alex too. Doesn’t get any better, and he is 12!”, he chuckles grimly. Then a woman from 2 cars down (!) pipes up with; “I have a 20 year old Alex. Doesnt get any better then either!”.

Is it all in a name? Alex does seem to have an edge to him that I am sure the Oscars and the Henry’s of this world don’t have. His name has an “X” in it, for Gods sake. It’s all my fault!!!!!!

Flash forward to being at home.

“ALEX NO! That is naughty! mummy will cry and throw away your dummy!”
Ed; “mummy? why are you crying? And why are you throwing away his dummy?”
Me; *whispers* “I’m not, Ed. I’m fine. But I am trying to teach him a lesson”
Ed to Alex; “mummy is teaching you a lesson Alex. She isn’t crying. And your dummy is in her hand”.

Alex is running round without a nappy on, to get air to his blisters from the pox.
“ALEX! NO! Don’t hit Edward!”. He jumps off the sofa, runs over to his soft toy rabbit and rubs his bum on rabbits face, laughing.

‎7.30am. Alex is in his highchair throwing cheerios around “ALEX! If you do that again mummy will get really cross and take you down!”
Husband saunters in to kitchen, in best Will Smith voice “Mama will take you doaaaawn!”.
Alex laughs. This doesn’t help me.

“ARG!!!! ALEX!”, I hear from downstairs. Up the stairs stomps an angry husband who thrusts a trainer in my face, covered in sick. “Look what he did! He got it out the cupboard, threw up on it, then he just ran off laughing”.

In just one hour at the Sure Start Centre we go to Alex managed to…shove an orange felt tip up his nose and got an orange nostril, and interestingly, orange snot. He stole £4 from the entrance fee box. And he managed to twiddle the strings on the singing ladies guitar without her realizing until she went to play and it sounded cack. Tellingly, she looked straight at Alex and said, albeit in a nice way “what have YOU done?”.

We have a double buggy, a tandum one. We were out shopping and Smudge said to me “watch this” as Alex (sitting in the backseat of it) pulled on Ed’s hair then kept hitting him round the back of the neck. “Stop it, Alex!” said Smudge. Alex, without so much as a blink in our direction, stopped mid-smack and turned it into a loving stroke of Edwards hair. Husband turns to me and nods at Alex’s little smack-and-strke routine – “He has been doing that for five minutes”.

He broke my laptop. A week before christmas. No, not a cleverly devised “oh deary me” plan by husband to surprise me with a new one.  Santa almost didn’t come for Alex that year. Well, maybe he would come for him, with a sack, and put him in it and take him back to the north pole. I resisted that request in my own Santas letter.

I wasn’t happy. But I was, if im honest, and in retrospect and yadda yadda yadda im the grown up *blows raspberry and flicks the laptop screen the bird* I was angry at myself. Vomit. Actually, inititally I was angry at Alex. But I was angry at myself for being so bloody stupid and balancing it on the sofa. And for not backing up. So, I am taking this as a lesson learnt. Or learned. Which one is it? Whatevs. I got the lesson. Well, I didn’t really because my new laptop is 6 weeks old and im already breaking my oath and using it balanced on my lap on the sofa. Its warmer in here. Since we had to pay for a new laptop we cant afford heating the whole house. Alex is in the (freezing cold) kitchen eating dried bread.

Alex Alex Alex. If we tell Ed not to do something, he’ll listen. We congratulated ourselves on our brilliant parenting skills and obvious well behaved genetic make up.  I was confused when I walked into the kitchen last weekend, Ed took one look at me, lept off his toy digger and raced in to the playroom and started beating the crap out of his work bench with his toy hammer. I raised an eyebrow at my husband, who replied with “I told him he couldn’t bang until you got up”. Ok then. At least he listens. Ed appears to understand discipline or the need for it…or the brilliance and power that comes from replicating it. He told me off for  “breaking the downstairs loo door” (a crime I deny) and I got sent to the laundry room to “sit and think about what I had done”. The lovely, peaceful laundry room, where no one bothered me for five minutes. And when I shouted out through the door “CAN I HAVE A GLASS OF WINE PLEASE?!”, got one sent in by the prison guard Ed. Result.

I need to try and focus on getting Alex to do things without their needing to be some violence beforehand. I ask Alex for a kiss and he throws a toy car at my head. Then gives me a kiss and says “ahhhh”. I hope I never have to ask him for any money in case he has listened to Ed’s latest obsession about “burning the house down” and tries to fraudulently obtain our house insurance.

Alex is simply gorgeous. He is very cute, loves the ladies, loves a flirt and will make me a Nanny by the time I am 45. I feel it in my bones. Has anyone ever read “Edwardo – The horriblest boy in the world?”. Well, it is sort of like that. I need to remember Edwardo. Everyone tells Edwardo he is naughty but actually, by praising Alex, I mean, Edwardo, he changes his behaviour and becomes a good boy.

So, I don’t think it is all in a name. I think it is all in “the age” and how we have forgotton about the tantrums and tears with our “spirited child” as we called Ed when he was doing pretty much exactly the same thing 2 years ago. Tantrums and paddy whacks and early-to-beds (me, as well as him). Edward is 3 and Alex is 18 months – of COURSE I am going to compare their behaviour and of COURSE I am wrong to do it. I can not expect a 18month old to behave in the same way as a 3 year old.

I do still think, however, Alex will make me a Nanny by the time I am 45. He is just too cute.

February 6, 2012. Tags: , , , . Uncategorized. 3 comments.

Mum – don’t read this one. I used the word *whispers* orgasm.

Why do buxon women called Candi keep following me on Twitter? What can I possibly be tweeting to alert their minxy online tentacles. I want them to go away. I don’t want to see their boobs. I find their offer to help me orgasm a bit forward. And I don’t know how they find me. I tweet about the price of nappies, and gin oclock. I don’t twitter on about how I really want to start an online relationship with a busty blonde who has the same name as a packet of sweets. To be honest, I have my suspicions their photos may not be what they really look like…Shawnee and Brandi have the same photo. I am just guessing, not judging or making assumptions. *taps side of head knowingly and pulls a smug face*.

Maybe I will tweet them back a picture of myself in the mornings with no make up on, in my Tesco’s pjs and ask them if they want to be my friend then. Go away, or I will keep sending these photos and will block your twitter page with photos of me looking like Fizz from Corrie.

My husband was delighted when he found out that the Crystals of this world followed me.

Me; “Oh no. Another follow from another Slutbag.”

*Dishes clatter in to the sink and he scampers in from the kitchen* “whhhaaaaat?! Click on the link!”

Me; “NO!! You never click on the links! They might be voles! I mean moles! I mean trolls!”

So ladies, or gentleman, whoever you really are, please stop following me on Twitter. Tom Herbert sometimes replies to my tweets and if he ever see’s a photo of me, looking like Fizz from Corrie on my twitter feed I will kill you.

January 29, 2012. Tags: , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.