Not clueless

English is a funny old language. There are so many phrases that are grammatically correct, but we just never say them.

Yesterday afternoon, I was musing over (ok, I was being dragged by the arm and being encouraged to think about) what had happened to the playmobile pirate's sword. The boys were looking for it and I was muttering darkly that I didn't have a clue what had happened to the sodding thing but it would be certain to turn up piercing my foot shortly. Luke stopped me in my tracks, excitement filling his little face.

'Mummy! I have a clue!'

Why do we not say that more often? Why do we never have a clue, but seldom have one? I think I prefer the toddler take on it. I shall be endeavouring to have a clue more often. It is much more fun that way.

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Victoria, over at It's a Small World After All, is planning a round the world trip with her three children, they have just bought the tickets and everything. Getting into the swing of this travel thing, she is hosting a travelling with children carnival, complete with the horror stories of getting children from a to b with sanity far from intact, clothes vomited on and not enough time to go for a pee without small people opening the cubicle door. There are some brilliant reads, in an oh please let that not happen to me kind of way.

The Great Work Confidence Trick

An interesting opportunity has appeared. A chance to apply for some short term consultancy work that would be interesting, very useful on my CV, relevant to my own studies, fits into our time scale and pays pretty well. In fact that rare sort of job that ticks every single box.

In the pre-children era I would have been thrilled. I'd have been chomping at the bit, frothing with excitement and desperate to get the job. But today I'm not so gung ho. It would be full time for a few weeks, so the boys would have to go to nursery all day rather than just the mornings. It involves three weeks of being away from home Monday to Friday. Dave has said that he will do the childcare, I am indeed married to a saint, but it is a big ask from me - I'd not be all that happy if he trotted off for that length of time leaving me on my tod. I'd have to miss Luke's 3rd birthday and am having internal debates with myself whether it would be wrong to just move his birthday a few days so it falls on a Saturday rather than a Thursday.

These are all issues often faced by working mothers, and the to work not to work debate seldom seems out of the headlines. Kirsty Young's article in the Telegraph has attracted the most ire recently, but Liz at Living With Kids, Plan B, Blooming Marvelous and Used to be Somebody often muse about the issues of working vs not working and how to achieve some form of balance. It isn't my intention to add to that particular debate here.

What I do want to talk about is a slightly different issue. It's been five years or so since I had a job where someone paid me to do something for them. Since then I have been doing my own research for my studies, but that is all on my own time, effectively for myself and to my own deadlines (although my supervisor may choose to dispute that one). I could be quite flippant and talk about how I'm worried that if I worked in an office now I might try to send colleagues that disagree with me to the naughty step, or how I might hoist anyone foolish enough to raise two hands in the air at the same time onto my hip and wipe their nose for good measure. But the reality is that now I'm being confronted with the possibility that I might have someone paying me to complete some work, I'm scared. I don't know why. The job is well within my capacity. I can do it, not in my sleep for it is more interesting than that, but I have done very similar before. Somewhere in the past couple of years I have lost my confidence in myself outside my role of mother. If truth be known I don't have that much confidence in my role as mother either, but that is best left for a blog post another time.

Pre-babies I had a career. A good one, lots of repsonsibility and decision making. I have degrees (multiple) from excellent Universities. I am doing a PhD for Chrissake! I know that I am totally capable of doing a job. But I do know that most jobs are a confidence trick. Go into them thinking that you can do them and you usually can. Now my confidence is lost, abandoned somewhere between the odd nappy mountain and Annabel Karmel mush making and I am really worried that I won't be able to do a job worth doing anymore.

A big part of me is keen not to go for it, but to take away a warm fuzzy feeling of being asked to apply and then say thanks but no thanks. Childcare and birthdays missed aside, we have a lot to do before we leave in April, without me being pretty much absent for six weeks of that. It would be nice to really enjoy our last few months here, rather than have them whirl past in a manic haze of trying to stay on top of things. But the other part of me is going 'stop being such a wuss! Get your act together and apply for it! It is a fantastic opportunity for you, you won't get another like it'.

After quite a bit of faffing, I did apply for the job (they did ask me to after all). I should hear whether I get it next week. I feel like I'm waiting for the executioners axe to fall.

Favourite Photo of 2009 Meme

The boys on a beach in the Isle of Wight in May 2009. This photo has been my wallpaper on my computer for a long time and I love it because it is so indescribably English. It makes me think of going paddling in rock pools before heading back to the beach hut for tea and lemon cake. Which is exactly what we did.

I'm really sorry but I can't remember who tagged me for this meme but it started with that Tara from Sticky Fingers so blame her. I've also lost the blogging mojo today and can't find the energy to tag a load of other people to do it so if you fancy participating then consider yourself in.

Skiing in the French Alps vs. Skiing in Bosnia

Many of you may be unaware that Bosnia has some really great skiing. Olympic standard skiing in fact. Remember Torvill and Dean in a cloud of purple skating to gold medal success in that sea of perfect 6.0s in 1984? That Winter Olympics was in Sarajevo. There are 2 mountains within a 20 minute drive from the centre of Sarajevo that have some excellent skiing.

Having spent Christmas skiing in Sarajevo last year and New Years in the French Alps this year, I feel fairly qualified to judge the two. And as this is my blog and I can do what I want to, that is exactly what I am going to do.

Accommodation

Bosnia: Really very nice. Newly refurbished, all the mod cons, plenty of living space. Exactly what I'd expect on the French Alps. (Ledena Krajlica in Jahorina).

France: Well, ok I guess. Not sure if I expect more from French accommodation, but really it was quite cramped, nowhere near enough living space having crammed as many people as possible into the chalet. Lots of covered over bits (spare beds and mattresses piled into our room, that sort of thing). Kept running out of hot water. More what I'd expect on the Bosnian slopes if I'm being brutally honest.

Skiing

France: Its the Alps. The skiing is amazing and extensive. Les Gets was good for beginners, with some small nursery slopes with small child friendly ropes to pull up slopes (even a not yet 3 year old Lukey managed this one). They also have a few 'magic carpets' to help save parents arms from dragging really quite heavy boys up the slopes.

Bosnia: Not as extensive, but still good. Jahorina also has a nursery slope with a rope lift to hold onto which small children can manage. Recommended that you stay on the slopes if you don't have a guide though, not all the mountains have been fully de-mined yet.

Ski Lifts

Bosnia - rumoured to be having a much needed update. Last time we went they were the old style 2 man, take out the back of your knees, no padding, freeze in the winds as you head up variety. Probably best described as character building.

France - someone told me that some of the French ski lifts are not only covered but are heated! The Bosnians would fall about in hysterical laughter at such levels of wussiness. Not in Les Gets though, but they are padded making it much more comfortable on bottoms and make for an easier getting on and off procedure.

Ski School Teachers

France: 'You want to be taught? By me? But no, I am here so you can follow my pert bottom down the slopes and zen I can look at you with disdain as you do not know how to ski. I might condescend to wave my hand at you to tell you zat was so so. You want actual instruction? Pah (complete with shrug). But come on, you have more admiring of me to do before the end of ze lesson.'

(actually I am being a bit mean. The ski school for the kids was brilliant, once the boys got into the idea of being left there for a morning they learnt a lot and loved it. I'm really talking about the schools for adults here).

Bosnia: Ski school is cheaper. You can afford one-on-one lessons with the lovely Dragan. This is much better for learning. Dragan's sister (a fully qualified nursery teacher) is also available for teaching small children. Don't know much about the group lessons but judging from the ability some of the groups we saw, put money on a Bosnian skiing star emerging in a few years time.

Apres Ski

I have small children. What do I know about Apres Ski? But, the French bars and restaurants all looked pretty great from the outside. The Bosnian ones have very funky cow hide covered benches and welcome kids. And serve homemade blueberry juice.

Celebrity Spotting

France: None that we noticed.

Bosnia: Paddy Ashdown (who is a really, really good skier) and the ex-Chelsea footballer, Mateja Kezman (I appreciate this may only be of interest if you are actually a member of my family but we found it exciting, although he wasn't that pleased to be reminded of his Chelsea days which were not what you might call covered with glory).


Either way, we have been spoilt. Skiing has proved to be a real hit with the small ones. Adam throws himself down the slopes and can't wait to get back onto skis. Luke, still with that toddler belief that everything will be alright and someone will catch him at the bottom, just stands there as his skis take him down the slope, and amazingly enough someone does always does. It's nice to be 2. Now, just to work out how to afford to take them again...

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First carnival of the New Year is up over at A Modern Mother's and I strongly advise grabbing yourself a coffee and heading over there to see what the rest of the British Mummy and Daddy Bloggers have been up to over Christmas and New Year.

2 days, 6 countries, 1 car, 2 small boys, 850 miles and 1 secret to succesfully enduring the ordeal

We're back. The house is officially a catastrophe and buried under piles of laundry. The dog is furious with being left behind and sulking by the front door. The boys are back in nursery. I'm having my first proper (i.e. sludge at the bottom) coffee in weeks. And, finally, a chance to sneak back into the blogosphere whilst ignoring the colossal number of things that I should be doing to take a chance to wish every one a very Happy New Year.

We had ever such a lovely time. Christmas was filled with great food, good wine (so exciting), excited children and tipsy adults playing games very competitively. Perfect. The boys raced around with their cousins proving the bizarre theory that the more children there are, the less work it is. Secretly wonder whether we should have more children to try and reduce my workload before remembering the exception to the rule, which is that the other children must not be siblings. New Years was dominated by skiing, and having put the boys into French ski school in the mornings, Dave and I had plenty of opportunity to blow the cobwebs away racing each other down the slopes before chasing the boys all afternoon. Somewhat surprisingly, the boys took to skis like a duck to water and Adam was already heard to say to my Mum 'Come On! Catch Up!' as he pegged it down the nursery slope executing a couple of nifty turns on the way. It won't be long before we can't catch them at all.

We drove back last night. 6 countries in 2 days is not to be taken lightly. In no particular order they were

Switzerland: Used to Bosnian prices, Switzerland was quite a shock. We had bought with us a huge stash of Bosnian meat (which is excellent by the way!) which probably halved the cost of the holiday.

France: France. So lovely. So many cheeses to take home with us. Such a smell radiating out from the back of the car. Wonderful. We might have sneaked in a bottle or two of fine red wine and some champagne to offset the pain of going back to drinking Croatian Vranac (red) and Krstic (white) until we go home. Now we just have to decide whether to ration ourselves or to blow the lot in one evening of excess.

Italy: Italian drivers have made me rethink my assertion that Bosnian drivers are dangerous. The Italians take it to a whole new level.

Slovenia: Definite candidate for where we would like to live for when we embark on that dream of buying that old wreck in a spectacular setting to do up. European (in the Euro and everything, with really good motorways too), beautiful, skiing, lots of spectacular national parks, not much coast, but plenty of lakes. Kind of like the best bits of Bosnia without the pain. Yes, we like Slovenia.

Croatia: Sadly not the pretty coast bit, but the bit that goes across the top which is rather flat and not all that interesting.

Bosnia: Hitting Bosnia after spending 2 days driving at 120km/hr (80 mph) was like sticking the handbrake on. The motorways disappear. The top speed is 80km/hr (50 mph) but most of the time is spent at 60km (40mph) trying to avoid the plethora of traffic police out with their speed guns. Seriously, it must have been their New Years Resolution, they were everywhere.


And the secret to success? I've always been against them in a we didn't have them so why should they, it is good for them to get bored, we'll do so much else in the car without them kind of way. But, there is a big difference between a 3 hour drive and a 15 hour one. So, In Car DVD player with screen for each boy, I fall worshipping at your feet. For you kept them happy, not fighting (much), not hitting each other (much) and allowed us adults to do a couple of the 'what do you remember of the last decade quizzes'. It turns out that we don't remember all that much. That's what parenthood and sleep deprivation do for you.

Things I have said to my children: The snowtime edition

It's still snowing here. I hear that it is snowing in England too. With luck, not too many of you will have to repeat what I found myself saying earlier:

- Look at all that snow boys! Lets go outside and play!
- Want to build a snowman?
- Yes we can throw snowballs.
- No, I prefer it if you don't put snow down my trousers.
- Before we go out everyone has to do a wee.
- Because once we have your waterproofs on it is very difficult to get them off. Much better to do a wee now and then we don't have to worry about it.
- Why are you saving your wee up?
- Because you want to make pretty patterns in the snow with it.
- Ok. Right. I think it is probably better if we do wees now. What happens if we were playing where you did a wee?
- Yees, we would be playing in yellow snow. That isn't a good thing darling. We don't like yellow snow.
- Are you SURE you don't want to do a wee?
- Ok, fleeces on.
- Luke - can you hear me? Come and put your fleece on!
- Luke! Stop taking the Christmas tree decorations off the tree and come and put your fleece on.
- What do you mean you don't want to go outside. Look at all that snow! It's brilliant playing outside in the snow.
- I know we played in the snow yesterday.
- And the day before.
- But it was great. We loved it.
- You're bored of playing in the snow?
- You know that it hardly ever snows in England. Think of all those English children who'd love to come and play in the snow right now. (realise at this point I am starting to sound like someone wittering on about starving children in Africa, with Bosnians the over privileged snow wasters and the Brits the snow starved charity cases - decide not to pursue this tactic any further)
- We are going to go outside.
- Luke, STOP pulling the lights off the tree.
- Where's your fleece gone Adam?
- Adam?
- Is that my bra you've got on your head?
- No, we can't pretend to be aliens and caterpillars. We are GOING OUTSIDE TO PLAY IN THE SNOW
- LUKE! Have you just fed one of the Christmas decorations to the dog?
- COME BACK HERE BOTH OF YOU!
- Ok, you have your fleeces on. Now lets put on our trousers.
- Luke, stop hitting Adam please.
- Oh just put your trousers on - both of you.
- Adam, don't hit Luke.
- Boots.
- Stop chasing each other, stop screeching, stop laughing at me and once I've put something on you DON'T TAKE IT OFF.
- You have to wear gloves. Your hands will freeze otherwise and they are best put on before your coat so that they keep you nice and warm. (oh sweet jesus, I have had enough of this. Shall I just let them go out without gloves and freeze their little paws off?)
- Who's just walked through the house with muddy boots?
- No, you are right, I did tell you to keep your boots on but I didn't tell you to go and get your Tractor Jigsaw.
- The Tractor Jigsaw is not going outside.
- BECAUSE IT IS NOT.
- Hats!
- Because it is -5C out there and you will freeze.
- I'm hot too. That is because we are still (bloody well) inside. If we ever manage to get out of the (f*cking) door then we'll be the right (f*cking) temperature. (deep intake of breath, forced smile and slightly weird manic staring eyes)
- We are going outside because playing in snow IS FUN (said through gritted teeth and with clenched fists)
- No we are not going to go to the Yellow House Pizza Place.
- Because we are going to play outside in the snow and because the roads are ice rinks and all the cars are slipping around all over the place and I don't want to drive ANYWHERE.
- Daddy wouldn't drive either.
- Ok, everyone ready? Phew it is hot in here with all our winter stuff on, lets get outside and play in that snow! (hmmm that wasn't great, but it is better than last year when Luke was still in nappies and he'd always do a poo just when we were ready to go out.)
- What do you mean to you want to do a poo?
- Um, no I'm not bashing my head against a wall. I'm just resting it a little.
- Have you been in the laundry basket?
- No we are not playing caterpillars and aliens with the one nice bra I own. Because we are not. Because it is mine and the one of the only things left that is sacred from the Before Boys era - only apparently no longer sacred - relegated to being a caterpillar head.
- Why have you taken your boots off?
- ARRGHGHGHGHGHHHHHHHHHHHHH Some one come and rescue me! I'm losing my mind - it is a form of Chinese water torture but worse because I have to keep on trying to be nice.
- That's a record boys. Only one hour from deciding to go outside to actually making out the door. (note to self: The boys do not understand sarcasm. It may make you feel better but it isn't big or clever. Grow up, act your age and rise above it.)
- See! It is such fun outside. Aren't we having a nice time.
- You've had enough of playing in the snow already? No, I do believe that you have to stay outside for at least as long as it took us to get ready to go out.
- Yes I like the summer too. Only a couple of months to go now.
- I can't wait either.

Enjoy the snow, you Brits.

(with thanks to Millenium Housewife who invented the Things I have said genre and writes them so much better than I ever could!)

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Spare us a thought this weekend. We're off on our Christmas trip which involves an estimated 15 hour drive (in good conditions) through 6 countries. Current forecast: Snow. If it takes us less than 3 days to get there I'll be amazed. But we are passing through countries with good food on the way so we may get diverted to stuff our faces with all the things we can't get here.

Anyway, I probably won't be doing much on the blogging front until after New Years, so have a good one, all of you and try to stay sane. x

A post in which it is obvious that I am English

Guess what?

(I'll have you know that these photos were taken at about 11am. It was snowing and really was that dark, has been like this for days. Continued snowing for quite a while as well. Above is the garden. Below, the view from the front door - when I say we live next to a mosque, you can see that we really do live right next door to a mosque... and have grown to love the call to prayer, even at 5am!)

IT SNOWED! And not a light namby pamby dusting of snow either. There's a good foot and a half on the ground and that was from one day of snowing. The forecast for today: Heavy snow. Tomorrow? Heavy snow. Friday? Heavy Snow. That's a whole lot of snow coming our way.

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Being British and therefore not used to snow, I find this fantastically exciting. It looks so pretty! It is proper white fluffy snow, a powder dream for a skier and a snow ball dream for small boys. Although getting ready to go out is a real palaver, what with waterproof trousers, hats, scarves, gloves, snow boots and all, the boys want to spend all afternoon outdoors. So it is snowmen, sledging, snow balls and glowing red cheeks for us all the way. When they tire of that there is always a path that needs clearing or snow to be swept off the car, activities that could have been invented especially for small boys. And there I was thinking what was I going to do with them all winter.

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The Bosnians are not so keen on the snow. They walk around huddled darkly in their coats, hands thrust deep into their pockets, muttering 'zima' (winter) and tsking. They know that snow is a total nightmare in reality. The roads are treacherous, the walkways become ice rinks and it is going to get COLD (max temp forecast for Friday, a balmy -6C). Their kids love it as much as mine do, there were a whole load of them going to nursery on sledges this morning, but the adults know that snow looks pretty for about a whole day before it just becomes a wet, cold misery.

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They know how to deal with it though. There may have been 2 foot or so of snow, but all the buses were out this morning (as opposed to London's efforts in the snow fall last year), every single car has got winter tyres on (by law) and Tuzla, being the city built on salt mines, is never ever going to run out of grit to salt the roads with.

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No doubt, by the end of the week when we are totally snowed in and the boys are bored of being wet and cold, I'll be fed up with it too. But right now, I'm loving it for being so pretty, so Christmassy, so indisputably winter.

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(ps sorry about the lack of gaps between paragraphs, Blogger being a pain and not letting me do it and I've got bored of trying to make it...)