mothers on the verge

Heading off to ...nowhere as The Prince, Rabbit and I are joyfully staying planted this Labor Day weekend on our staycation ! Hope you enjoy yours.

Spent a hideous three hours in Peter Jones today to get the Small(er) One's new school uniform. Yes, I always leave it too late... the upshot is that at least she won't be going to school naked, but she will be going to school minus a tie, school badge and wearing a hat that's so small it has to be fixed on to the top of her head with bobby pins. If only I could be one of those mothers who manages to buy everything BEFORE the only store that stocks the required uniform runs out of the essentials... but then that would probably make me a (s)mother. Guess I'll stick with the slummy mummy tag after all. It could be a lot worse though. It could be that the Small(er) One wouldn't have to wear a school uniform at all. If this were to be the case then we'd have to cope with an impassioned What To Wear debate every single morning, as we have over the summer holidays. In fact, this daily debate quickly escalated to Changing Clothes At Least 15 Times Per Day - and prefe...

So, now with the Democratic convention underway, we're starting that deeply American tradition called the Presidential election. How much do I hate this time? I'd rather watch pre-season football. From 1997. No, not anti-American. Just have a really hard time stomaching one bad speech after another meant to rile what I like to believe are thoughtful, independent-thinking people into a herd mentality. The Rabbit understands that something is going on about voting. She understands that mommy and daddy have not exactly agreed in recent months about something, but that things seem to be calming down. But now, as The Prince believes he's won the battle, he is trying to turn The Rabbit into his own little cheerleader. Last night, after prompting her for a bit with some chanting and so forth, (while mama read quietly in the other room) I heard him ask her the following: The Prince: "So, WHO are we going to vote for honey?" A pause. The Rabbit: "I'm going to vote...

The Rabbit, having the first suntan of her tiny life, is itching as her skin, well, sheds. No, I had no plan for her to tan while we visited friends last week. Yep, not a little evil parenting monster who thinks her child should soak up UVA and UVB rays to set off her sunkissed hair. That would be The Prince. But I digress. So, The Rabbit, who has eczema, is discovering the joy of the AFTER effects of sun. What happens after she rubs her body in piles of sand (fun), making sun angels (gross, but okay, fun) and rubbing sand across her face (bizarre, gross, and not really sure how fun) and then having her father not decide that rubbing sandpaper across her skin just MIGHT wipe off the 2-inch think coating I had slathered on her before he declared himself her afternoon play date in the sun. Last night I spent 2 hours with her in the middle of the night -- rubbing aloe vera, cortizone, vaseline and shea butter on to her skin. And then finally, when I realized that I would never sleep again...

So, we're back after a gruelling six-hour drive yesterday from France to London, livened up by Alpha's effing and blinding, plus a few memorable incidences of him displaying his "naughty finger" (as Firstborn calls it) at passing motorists. Why is it that human beings of the male gender are incapable of driving for longer than 20 minutes without having a tantrum and abusing the drivers of other cars? Quite exhausting. The exploits in the back seat undertaken by Firstborn and the Small(er) One paled in comparison.

Just been flicking through yesterday's Guardian and found this article . For those who can't be bothered to click through, the gist of it is that Babyshambles singer Pete Doherty has been banned from playing at a music festival in Wilshire. The reason? Not because he's a mad druggy who needs a good carb-laden lunch and a thorough scrub with a nail brush, not that he's a Scourge on the Nation and A Danger To Our Impressionable Youth. No, that would all be far too direct. Pete D. has been banned from mounting the stage because his fans have a tendency to get a touch too excited for the liking of the authorities. Yup. It's all about Health & Safety. Apparently. This quote, however, from local Plod Paul Williams is a worrying glimpse into the hearts and minds of the British authorities. Read and weep; "Experts are telling us that the profile of fans that follow Pete Doherty and Babyshambles is volatile and they can easily be whipped up into a frenzy, whereas ...

We've been a bit concerned over the past couple of days here at Chateau On The Verge. Large numbers of strange animal droppings have been sighted in tidy heaps behind the barn. Could we have foxes? Wild dogs maybe? It's been quite a puzzle. We mused on the problem over several glasses of wine. Set up a watch at night to catch the culprits. All to no avail. Not a whisper, not a sighting of a bushy fox tail or anything else except the usual squeaking of bats and rustlings of hedgehogs. Not a whisper, that is, until I walked around the barn in search of the feral child pack to discover the two smaller ones with their pants off, squatting, fresh loo roll on the grass between them. When asked why they were committing such a heinous act, they responded, "Because we're dogs, of course." Dogs? Using loo paper? The world must surely be coming to an end.

B*llocks to all that special parent-child one-on-one time nonsense. All children really want during the summer holidays are a brace of cousins to go crazy with (and to egg on to even greater forms of uncivilised behaviour) and a posse of slaves to deliver approved snacks (chocolate, ice-cream, biscuits, nothing green) on the hour, every hour. Examples of uncivilised behaviour experienced at Chateau On The Verge this summer: 1) Two of said brace discovering my fake tan supply and applying it liberally. Firstborn is still sporting a fine pair of orange eyebrows. 2) Fighting with large sticks. 'Nuff said. 3) Pulling all my clothes from their hangers and using them to make a nest in the bottom of the wardrobe. My Marc Jacobs sundress will never look the same again. 4) The utterance of "You're not in my club" and "You're a stupid-head" by one of the cousins (whoever happens to be at the top of the pecking order at the time), followed by outraged bellowing fro...

Finally have found a Tabac that opens for longer than 5 minutes on alternate days of the month and only in a leap year. The relief is stupendous. Have also discovered a bakey with the best chocolate eclairs known to man. All is well with the world. One question: why do 80% of French men dress like chavs? Thought Les Frogs were supposed to be a stylish nation? Pshaw.

It's only been a few weeks and already I am haggard and exhausted. As I type a small child is literally hanging off my arm and shouting a progressively violent array of threats at me... oh, and now has resorted to pinching. The other one is wailing in the garden while an assortment of cousins alternately taunt, bellow, scream and holler. They're just being children, but frankly, normal childlike behaviour could try the patience of a saint. Some important questions: 1. Why do all children suffer from selective deafness? Unless they hear the word "sweets" mentioned of course, which could be a whisper uttered 10m away but somehow always registers... 2. At what age exactly does the show-off gene come into play? 3. Why do all children act as if they are future City workers-in-training - where the bullies always rise to the top and those who shout loudest end up ruling the world? 4. Why do children misunderstand the meaning of the word NO? Is this really universally recogni...

I HATE stickers. Sadly, Firstborn and the Small(er) One love them. They love them so much that they will sticker anything. Our house is plastered with stickers. We're knee deep in stickers. Walk across the carpet and you're guaranteed to get at least one stuck between your toes. Sit down and there'll be a sticker somewhere on the sofa. Stickers lurking on lampshades, skirting boards, bedsteads, mirrors, the i-pod. Stickers sneakily stuck on picture frames, toys, books and once, memorably, on the ceiling. But the worst is when the stickers are attached to me. A few months ago I went in to a fairly important meeting. I had dressed the part, squeezing myself into the black suit that usually hibernates in my wardrobe, a shirt and heels. I think I even brushed my hair that day. All in all, I was feeling pretty damned hot and in a ball-breaking frame of mind. In I went to the meeting and indeed I was sizzling (in the professional sense). The only thing that irked me during the wh...

1. Because my lovely family live there and I feel a sense of belonging when I am with them that I rarely experience elsewhere 2. It's HOT, hot, hot... and dry - the perfect climate in my humble opinion. Which means there is rarely cause for a bad bouffy hair day in Fresno 3. Shopping malls, lots of them (and a superb exchange rate, like a mega-discount sale every day of the week) 4. People are so friendly it almost makes me suspicious. Not like London where people are just suspicious, only friendly if they've known you for the past decade and/or have read your Debrett's entry 5. The tomatoes taste like tomatoes, not like watery pulpy seedy things. Ditto melon 6. The cars people drive are an endless source of hilarity. I mean, who really needs a huge pick-up when they live on a manicured lot in suburbia? Takes the much-maligned Chelsea tractor to a new extreme 7. Because my grandpa has oranges, avocados, tomatoes, figs and walnuts growing in his garden. Lunch is there to be...

So, been in France for a week. Finally got internet and the relief is enormous, feel like a woman marooned on a desert island for a year just let loose in Selfridges with an unlimited credit account. And I thought my only addiction was nicotine. WRONG. Alpha left to go back to London yesterday. Am suffering from the realisation that kids let loose on holiday in company of cousins and adoring grandparents equals diluted effect of mummy threats. Chaos reigns. Head is aching from sunup to sunset (if I could see it in the constant drizzle that is). Having an insight into what the rugrats are going to be like as teenagers. Not pretty. Am going to google boarding schools as a priority. Am in very bad mood, intensified due to having just been told I don't have a hope in hell of sourcing cigarettes on Mondays as lazy frogs in region have day off. Am reduced to smoking father-in-law's pipe when he's not looking. Can't even look forward to 6pm glass of rose without ciggie in hand...

A very needed (so needed you have no idea) escape starts tonight. I'm likely to be in radio silence for a few days as we're heading off to Big Sur. I love this part of the universe, and can only barely wait until we're sleeping under the redwoods again. It's even more bittersweet this year as so much of the area was hurt by the fires. While the tourist sections seemed to survive fairly well, the owner of our very favorite place, Big Sur Bakery and Restaurant , lost his home from the inferno . We'll be there next week every morning - doing our part to help him back by drinking cappuccinos, eating mountains of ridiculously delicious baked goods, and kicking back while The Rabbit plays in the Garden Gallery next door. (We'll probably be there for at least a pizza or two at night as well!) If you see us, and figure out who we are, I'll buy you a latte on me!

As you'll recall, we've taken hits on the dreaded Croc here and here . Then, the company's stock took a serious hit . And now, finally, national vindication.