(Otherwise known as ‘how the hell do I explain BLW to my Nan?’)

Most Sundays we have dinner at the mother’s.  It’s a bit of a tradition really; as kids we always went to Nan’s for lunch and in the absence of enough place for us all to sit at their new house, we all head to the mother’s instead.  Usually we eat a roast dinner – even in the merciless heat of the summer – except when the sister complains that we always eat a roast.  Then the mother cooks something different and we all complain we wanted a roast – we only do it to needle the sister.

This Sunday was roast chicken.  As the mother served I popped a few bits on a plate for Li’l Mister; a potato; two carrot sticks; some chicken and some runner beans.  I decided red cabbage* was probably not safe in the hands of a seven month old.  The mother reckoned I was giving him a lot of food.  She was possibly right, but I knew what I was doing.

We sat down to eat and by the end of the meal, Li’l Mister had fed himself and probably only 10% of what I’d given was left.  I would say on his plate but we’d given up on that idea only moments after we’d sat down.  The leftovers were on the highchair tray, down his front, wedged along the sides of the cushion.  Surprisingly enough, very little had actually made it to the floor.  Yup, this is what BLW is all about.

The next day the boys and I popped over to Nan’s.  She asked when I’d start feeding Li’l Mister with a spoon.  I explained that we did sometimes; he devours porridge and will quite happily eat purees or chopped foods from a spoon.  But when will you start totally spoon feeding, she asked.  So you know how much he’s eating.

Knowing how much the kid is eating is not a problem.  We all saw how much food he wolfed down on Sunday at dinner.  Much like his parents and his older brother, knowing how to stop him eating would be more of an issue.  The boy likes his food.  Regardless of whether he’s being spoon-fed or feeding himself, he always seems to be getting enough to eat; he complains loudly if he doesn’t.  And you only have to look at him to know he’s not starving: he’s a big boy, already at the extent of his six to nine month clothes.

So I tried to explain that he was doing ok, that total spoon feeding wasn’t necessary.  I’m not entirely convinced I’ve turned my Nan into a BLW champion, but she now, at least, understands that it’s all ok.

Have you had BLW battles with your family?

*Yes, we were eating red cabbage in August.  It was frozen, left over from Christmas.  Quite possibly Christmas Eve 2008 when the mother asked me to buy red cabbage as the local supermarket had run out.  She didn’t say how many she needed so I bought three, just in case.  I swear we’re still eating that same cabbage.  The family never let me forget it either.

Despite much of my complaining, there are definite advantages to working out of the home all week.  I change a pooey nappy on average once every two to three weeks, I’m not often the one deliberating over what to feed the kids and having to clean up afterwards, I don’t have to deal with many of the nap time battles.

But I do miss the simple things, like deciding on the spur of the moment to take a quick walk down to the park.  So that’s what we did today whilst the husband nicked off to take photos and film for his new documentary.

There’s a whole load of photos if you follow the link; you might even find a Li’l Mister A video here.

I’d wanted to stay inside and wallow.  Once the exhaustion had passed – and boy was I exhausted – I wanted to be by myself, to hide in my shell and not emerge until the next full moon forced me to.

The guys apparently knew better because I was trussed up in red and wobbling on heels, about to learn how a group of supernaturals really partied.  Or so they said.  All I could do was tug at the short hem of the scrap of scarlet material they’d called a dress and hope it would cover my arse when I inevitably fell over.  Sure, I’d looked in the mirror before we’d left.  There was no doubt about it; I oozed sex.  That didn’t mean I was comfortable.

The smell hit me as I walked through the door; the rancid, sour stench of too many bodies pressed together in too small a space.  I gulped and tried to breathe through my mouth, hoping that it wouldn’t seem so bad, but the taste was even worse.  I stumbled to the bar and tapped my fingernails impatiently upon the glass counter as I waited for my vodka, lemon and lime to appear.  It had barely hit the bar before I’d drained the glass, hoping that it would go some way to masking the sticky air from my senses.

“Whatever she wants tonight.”  Hunter appeared leaning over the bar.  The bartender nodded as Hunter’s hand gripped my elbow and steered me towards the table the guys had found.  My jaw dropped as I counted the array of bottles littering the table.  Surely they couldn’t expect the five of us to get through eight, no, nine catering-sized bottles of spirits in one night?

“Pick your poison kid” Sketch called out over the thumping bass.

I shook my head.  “Just had one.”  There was no point getting hammered in the first hour when it looked like this would be a long and very drunken night.

“Have another.”  There was no point arguing; I rose to head back to the bar.

“Not that watered down piss you were just drinking.”  Hunter clearly didn’t like my choice of refreshment.  I nodded knowing that at least amongst all the change I could take a little comfort in clinging to my old ways.  Hunter’s face told me that he didn’t entirely agree but he waved the bartender over and only moments after he’d whispered in his ear, a bottle of vodka arrived, its neck stuffed with lemon and lime.  What a concession!  The service was one of a kind inside the club; the other patrons were lucky enough to get near the bar it was so cramped, but I guessed that was one of the perks of being a high spender, and the guys clearly were.

Jaws artfully arranged five shot glasses on a tray and poured the vodka out.  Well, at least they were all going to join me as I drunk myself into oblivion.  Not likely.  As Train set to work draining the sambuca from its bottle, Jaws pushed the tray towards me.  “Down the hatch Don.”  He was kidding, right?

“You have got an ambulance lined up?  Doctor Hodge waiting outside?”  I swear they were trying to give me alcohol poisoning.    They all laughed.

“The Doc didn’t tell you?” Jaws asked.  “That lot will barely even give you a buzz” he gestured to the shot glasses.  “In fact you’d probably have to drink the table to get drunk.”

“And even then it’d only last half an hour or so” Train commented before grabbing for a bottle of tequila.

Well then, I thought, eyeing the shot glasses.  “Bottoms up.”  I grabbed the bottle instead and swigged.

---

Did you take “sex red female” and create something amazing or wonderful?  Link up; you never know, you might find a new blog to read.

Each Friday I’m challenging myself with a writing prompt and the following Friday I’ll come back and show you what I’ve done. All comments and constructive criticisms will be gratefully received.  You’re invited to play along too because it’s more fun when we do these things together. Include the prompt in astory or use it as inspiration – the choice is yours. You can grab the code for the badge and leave your link in the linky.

<a href=”http://glowstars.net/category/the-friday-fictional” mce_href=”http://glowstars.net/category/the-friday-fictional”><img title=”The Friday Fictional” src=”http://i856.photobucket.com/albums/ab123/glowstars1983/friday-fictional.png” mce_src=”http://i856.photobucket.com/albums/ab123/glowstars1983/friday-fictional.png” alt=”The Friday Fictional”></a>

Come back next Friday to see how I got on, share your story and find out what I’ll be writing about the week after.

And my next prompt is

certainty was overrated

See you then.

I’m all for public service, so whilst everyone else was tucking into the Nutella during last Thursday’s Nutella Brekkie at Legoland, I was busy filming what Nutella’s three expert guests had to say.  Seeing as the milk content meant I couldn’t eat Nutella myself, I figured it was only fair that I made everyone else suffer and get them on camera.

And now for a little nutritional information*.  It seems that Nutella is a better option than butter and jam on your toast!  Something I’d never actually considered before.  It’s also not chocolate – the cocoa content is too low – so you can eat Nutella without guilt.

Spread (per 15g serving)	Calories	Saturated Fat
Nutella	80 kcal	1.6g
Butter	108 kcal	9g
Sainsbury’s Olive Spread	81 kcal	2.25g
Sainsbury’s Raspberry Jam	38 kcal	trace
Bovril	30 kcal	0.6g
Peanut Butter	88 kcal	1.7g

^{*Info taken from a variety of random internet sites and the backs of packs in our cupboard. Please don’t rely on its accuracy.}

Cybermummy brought the blogging world to life.  Despite any criticisms bloggers may have had, we all seem to agree on that point.  After the bitching and nastiness of the previous weeks everyone seemed to come together and get along; there was a real sense of friendship amongst us.

But no sooner than we had all gotten back behind our computers the bitchiness was back.  Some of us who had spent that day being nice to everyone were back to sniping and back-stabbing.  Whilst most bloggers are fab people, and grown-ups too, the playground mentality has clearly stuck.  When we’re together we all get along.  The moment someone’s back is turned they’re no longer a friend.

I wrote that, amongst other things in the weeks following Cybermummy but never managed to finish it into a blog post.  Now I need to because, after this weekend especially, I feel the need to say my bit.

With a few small exceptions I’ve had enough of bloggers.  I’ve had enough of the infighting, the bitching and the bullying.  I’ve had enough of reading posts about quitting and others about begging bloggers to carry on.  There’s over seven hundred of us listed for the Tots alone.  Why is it so difficult to stick to your corner and avoid those people who you don’t get along with?

I can cope with the bitching behind closed doors; we all do it, of that I’m sure, but there’s little need for it to spill into public forum.  It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that there are bloggers out there who bitch about me behind my back – I don’t consider myself a particularly likable person at times – and you know what, I really couldn’t give a shit.  I’m not expecting those people to hang around if you don’t like what I’ve got to say.  There are people who probably consider me a whore for doing sponsored posts and reviewing so many products that I’ve had to create a breakaway review blog just to stop boring readers.  So what?  At least I’m not whoring my body (and I’m not suggesting that any particular bloggers may be, although I bet it would make for an interesting read).

My issue is that there are a number of bloggers out there who seem incapable of walking away from controversy.  In fact, they not only invite it but seem to gravitate towards it.  You wouldn’t chase after a bully in the playground so why do we chase after trouble on our blogs?

In school I never had to worry about who liked who, who could stay in the same room and who not to invite to a party for fear of upsetting someone else.  We were all grown up enough, even in our young teenage years, to deal.  The other day we had a barbecue and we invited bloggers.  Some of the guest list was easy but it got to the point where we were saying we can’t invite X because she won’t stay in the same room with Y.

If you don’t see me around other blogs too much in the next week it’s because I’ve had enough.  If you genuinely need sympathy over a blogging situation then I apologise in advance – you won’t be getting it – you have other bloggers to blame.  My heart has become hardened.  Maybe by the time I feel like getting back into other blogs everyone will have learnt to get along.

Now bring on the lynch mobs.  I’m sure I’ve upset someone in the past few minutes.