ENGLISH MUM: never knowingly undercatered

Go on, you know you want to.

http://www.funnypics.cc/media/poke_penguin.php

Post from my Dad whips up a great deal of excitement in my household. This time it was a list of jokes. We knew we were onto a winner when #1, whilst reading through them, spat his dinner out in a fit of giggles. Highlights include:

My friend drowned in a bowl of muesli. A strong currant pulled him under.

A man came round in hospital after a serious accident. He shouted ‘doctor, doctor, I can’t feel my legs!’ The doctor replied: ‘I know you can’t, I’ve cut your arms off’.

Our ice cream man was found dead today. He was lying on the floor of his van covered in hundreds and thousands and chopped nuts. Police say he topped himself.

What do you call a fish with no eyes? A fsh.

Apparently 1 in 5 people in the world are Chinese. There are 5 people in my family, so it must be one of them. It’s either my Mum or my Dad, or my older brother Colin, or my younger brother Ho Cha Chu. But I think it’s Colin.

Police arrested two kids yesterday, one was drinking battery acid, and the other was eating fireworks. They charged one and let the other off.

And finally, an Irish joke just for good measure:

Ireland’s worst air disaster occurred early this morning when a small two-seater Cessna plane crashed into a cemetery. Irish search and rescue workers have recovered 1826 bodies so far and expect that number to climb as digging continues into the night.

Well, well…we always knew that J would do ANYTHING for her greyhound babies, but this? Let me explain…in a rather spectacular coup, this week, J and her ex-racers were featured in a whole article inside a glossy magazine given free with the Sunday Mirror here in Ireland. We’d known about it a little bit before and Hubby had wanted to know whether she was…er…fully clothed. J had explained that it was ‘worth getting my bits chilly for’ and Hubby had been looking forward to this Sunday for weeks. Well, as it turned out she was fully clothed (which was a bit of a disappointment, frankly), but the article reached over two hundred thousand people, which is a spectacular bonus, not just for J and her gorgeous greyhounds, but for the image of greyhounds generally in this country. The article focused on what great pets they make and frankly (with a few points deducted for misbehaviour), I wholeheartedly agree. Go J! Oh, and Hubby says next time the shots should be more…artistic!

Afternoon troops - well, after such an exciting weekend, how could Hubby and I top it but for a trip to the unfeasibly large shopping centre for a touch of Christmas shopping. Leaving B, especially in the mood she’s in at the moment, was more than a little worrying and we had a little pep talk first about not eating anything in the kitchen, and not doing anything unsociable on the floor until we got back. She put her best ‘what, me?’ look on and we fled to the car. The place was heaving and after driving round and round the car park getting more and more annoyed, we eventually parked about four miles from the shops and hoofed it back in the rain.

Basically, after buying half of HMV, Virgin and Game we stopped in MacDonalds for a Big Mac, large fries, chocolate milkshake and strawberry and custard pie (as you do) to lament the passing of our boys’ childhoods. Hubby was devastated that Christmas shopping no longer entails trips to Toys’R'Us to purchase totally unsuitable toys like massive Meccano cranes that he pretends are for the children but really he just wants to play with himself. Mind you, he’s not averse to the odd computer game himself and I noticed a couple of extras being purchased when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Christmas shopping is extra difficult this year as we’re off on holiday with my Mum. Well, we don’t know a soul here and short of shipping our whole family over to spend Christmas with, it seemed easier to go and get a bit of sunshine instead. Hubby’s job makes it difficult to get away in the summer anyway. Trouble is, that means no unsuitable Meccano sets and certainly no ‘Make Your Own Atomic Bomb’ chemistry sets as the customs men wouldn’t be too impressed. Good old Father Christmas will still be leaving things under the tree (oh yes, we’ve still got to have a tree, we’re just having it early instead) but our own pressies will have to be small and x-ray machine proof. No easy task I can assure you.

Anyhoo, five hours later and B’s worst crime was the ripping up of a Lidl carrier bag and stashing the little pieces in her bed, so we were well pleased. She obviously realised that we were pleased because she did her little doggy dance and gave us a full wag, or maybe even two of her spindly tail. You wouldn’t think so but this is the B equivalent of hyperventilating with excitement. We took her out and she did a big poo to celebrate. ‘Ah’, said Hubby, ‘that’s where all the grapes went then’.

Once we’ve phoned J, the jungle drums beat loud and clear throughout the greyhound community and I think within an hour we’d received a phone call from a gentleman in Kells who kept greyhounds and had heard on the radio (organised by J again) that there was a greyhound missing in this area. He’d been called by a friend who had found a fawn bitch wandering near the main road and had grabbed her before she killed herself and put her in a pen. Luckily he put two and two together and called me. I stopped short of telling him I loved him, but it was close. I do, however, love J very much. Within minutes, I had called the Gards and she had called (in her own words):

“The Louth dog warden, The Meath dog warden, Louth SPCA, Meath SPCA, 3 Meath Traveller Halting Sites, Dept of Environment Emergency number, 6 or 7 folks I know in Meath involved with animals, 4 greyhound trainers and LMFM local radio”
..and a partridge in a pear tree. All this while being a very hard working Mum and running a large greyhound adoption agency, oh and holding down a full time job too. Look very carefully and you can just see the wonderwoman costume underneath her shirt.

When we got there she was muddy and shivering, but very pleased to see us (we were treated to a small skippety hop and half a wag) and otherwise unharmed. Hopefully a night in an outside pen will have put paid to her wandering days, but somehow I doubt it.

Ah well, a bath, two dinners and a whole bowl of water later and she’s happily ensconced on the sofa again blowing huge raspberries in her sleep. Happy days…

Well, a quick check of the utility room revealed an empty bed this morning. We’d left the back door open with her bed there then locked the door leading into the house, fully expecting her to be there this morning waiting for her breakfast but there was no sign. We’re really struggling with it, to be honest, because a little part of you can’t help but think: why does she keep running away from us? Are we not good enough as a family for her? I can’t stand to think of her lost and alone out in the dark last night, the poor thing.

The boys are both philosophical and expecting her to turn up any minute, but I’ve got a really bad feeling. I think the reality really set in when I had to phone the Gards this morning and report her missing. I also called the lovely J who was immediately galvanised into action, phoning contacts and putting the word out. I keep thinking about her little pink collar out there in the lane. Surely nobody would take her, would they?

Well, what an awesome occasion it was. #1 sung his Pie Jesu solo like an absolute angel and SO many people came up to us afterwards saying what a good voice he had. Me and Hubby were speechless with pride and a couple of times caught his eye when he was singing to give him a big thumbs up. Actually all three choirs were amazing - they sung everything from ‘Carrickfergus’ to ‘The Wind Beneath my Wings’ and it was stunningly good. #1’s headmaster was there too and was incredibly pleased with him, which was rather nice. We stopped for a swift glass of vino afterwards, then arrived home, knackered, at 10.30. #1 was asleep practically as soon as his head hit the pillow. He’d worked so hard, bless him, he was shattered. Ominously, there was no sign of the dog on our return.

Congratulations are definitely due to my lovely friend, J and her hubby A on the birth of little baby M on Monday - a little brother for their son, J. We’d arranged to meet up for lunch on the Monday when I was in the UK but then J didn’t answer my text about where to meet - I thought it was strange, but ever polite, she sent a text later saying ’sorry I missed lunch, was having baby’, which, when you think about it, was as good a reason as any to miss lunch.

Now usually, dear reader, I try not to post when I’m a bit grumpy because I think it makes for a depressing read, but today I’m so p*ssed off I’m going to break my own rule. Firstly, our usually sweet and good natured B has turned into a furry goblin and no mistake. She’s bloody run off again. Not content with making me want to barf again by trying to wrestle another mouse off me (it was a dead one and I was trying to get it out of the trap, which is a less than pleasant job anyway, but she was just determined to eat it - it was extra nice because it still had the Fruit Allsort I’d baited the trap with in its mouth - kind of the dog equivalent of a stuffed olive I guess) AND sneaking off and doing a big poo on #2’s bedroom floor at 7.30 this morning (thank God for wooden floors), she has now compounded her naughty streak by making a run for it and sodding off when the electrician opened the door. AND yesterday when we came home from the school run she’d managed to open the cupboard under the sink and had shredded an entire pack of brillo pads all over the kitchen floor (and had weird pink froth at the sides of her mouth) plus she’d ripped a brand new pair of rubber gloves and #2’s swimming bag to pieces and she’d knocked Hubby’s electric razor to the floor where it had broken into two pieces and both of those were secreted in her bed too. I tell you, she’s really testing my patience at the moment. It’s almost as bad as having a toddler.

Anyway, back to my whining…so the electrician was here (a nice surprise - he was only supposed to be here two weeks ago) and although he was doing his best to keep doors shut, we were all having a chat and got distracted and she snuck off.

Oh, and tonight is #1’s big night, so if she doesn’t come back by 3.30 she’s had it because we’ve got to go to Dublin to watch him sing a solo (oh yes, really) in a ‘Choral Evening’ at some posh place called Dalkey, which is, apparently where Michael Jackson lives (I mean, we’re not going to Michael Jackson’s house obviously, we’re just going to the place where he lives. So they say.) Their school has a fantastic choir, lead by a very talented choir mistress and he’s been feverishly practising his ‘Pie Jesu’ for weeks now. Weirdly for someone who likes the Foo Fighters and Fallout Boy and plays a mean ‘Ace of Spades’ on the guitar, he really does have the most beautiful voice. Think Aled Jones crossed with..er..Billy Jo out of Green Day (Hubby calls him Billybob to wind #2 up). I’m so excited I think I might pop and I know I’m going to cry. My one regret is that his Grandparents won’t be there to see it - they’d be so proud.

So although we’ve now got an immersion heater, a light in the toilet and a doorbell, we’re down a pack of brillo pads, a pair of rubber gloves, an electric razor and a dog, but I’m sorry, I can’t care because in a few hours I’m going to be too busy telling everyone in the audience that will listen that the little boy standing up on that stage singing a solo is MY son!!!!