Things I have said To My Parents Today

• I'm fine
• No I'm just eating a sandwich so I sound a little muffled
• No really I'm fine
• I know I shouldn't eat on the phone
• No don't call me back I'll put the sandwich down
• Peanut butter
• I don't have a nut allergy
• Why would I need an adrenaline pen if I don't have an allergy?
• But I don't need one
• Shirley's daughter has one because she's allergic to nuts
• I'm not allergic to nuts
• There's no could be about it, I'm not allergic
• OK I'll go to the doctors tomorrow and ask her for an allergy pen
• She'll laugh at me you know
• I know she wouldn't be laughing if I went in dying of a nut allergy
• No thanks you don't need to come with me
• Yes everything else is fine
• How many times do I what?
• Sorry, I thought you asked how often I was mating
• You did
• What kind of question is that?
• I don't care if Oprah said it was a good indication of the state of a marriage
• It's just not something you ask
• I'm not telling you
• This conversation is not happening
• la la la la la la la
• About three times a week
• Well I'm glad Oprah thinks that's healthy
• I'm really not interested in how often you and dad mate
• I said I wasn't interested
• Please stop discussing dad's mating habits
• In the shed?
• I really wish you hadn't told me that
• No don't put him on I really don't want to know
• Hi dad
• I really don't want to know
• I don't care whether you were alone or not
• Well Mother gets these weird ideas
• Just stop her watching Oprah that should do it
• Yes I'm sure you are missing a good night's sleep
• It's just a phase it'll be something else next
• Yes hopefully something to do with growing tomatoes

Ask Millennium Housewife!

It has come to my attention that a lot of you need help. A lot of you need a lot of help. Due to the credit crunch and the lack therefore of ready cash I am offering a brand new service on this blog called Ask Millennium Housewife! A cheap alternative to the therapy you all so obviously need every month right here.
Now, I don't claim to be qualified in any way, or indeed be more able than you are to solve your problems but having spent years solving my own problems I thought I'd give yours a shot. So how about it? Free advice from someone of thirty odd years of experience? Not to be sniffed at I tell you.
Anyway, in true Blue Peter style a few Facebook friends have been asking advice for a while so I'll start with them. I don't know that they meant their problems to be solved quite so publicly so I'll use initials, you know who you are.

K. from Newcastle writes:
Dear Millennium Housewife, my two year old daughter appears to be more popular than me and it's worrying. Help!

Millennium Housewife writes:
Dear K, you are right to be worried, no one likes being upstaged by a two year old, there's plenty of time for that when she turns eighteen and you realise she's the one everybody is wolf whistling at and you're the haggard old woman reflected in the shop window. However, all toddlers are popular, so I doubt that the problem lies with your daughter being more popular than average. Oh, no, I think the problem may lie with you being less popular than average. It may be time to have a long hard think about things. For instance, when looking in the mirror are you simply relieved to see at least one friend? Do you fore go deodorant? Toothpaste? A daily shower? Do your eyebrows knit in one long loo brush like shape? Do you, perchance, have a penchant for growling while walking, swinging one arm madly while hunching over a pine cone? Think about it, a 'yes' to any of the above may be the answer to your problem.
If you have an 'other half' (a real flesh and blood one, not the one you talk to loudly between growls in the park) you could ask him/her to watch out for any of the signs I've mentioned and try to correct them
When you've established the cause of your unpopularity and taken steps to remedy it, take your toddler to the park and attempt to make friends by smiling and nodding to people. Don't forget to put down your pine cone and tie your arm to your side, you'll look a lot more approachable this way.
When people smile back at you, attempt a light conversation along the lines of the weather or what day it is (make sure you know what day it is or this bit may fail). Smile and nod a lot, but you're going for friendly and approachable remember, not friendless and worried you might be unhinged, even though that appears to be true.
Hope this helps. MH

J from Solihull writes:
Dear Millennium Housewife, I have a friend who runs too fast, what can I do?

Millennium Housewife writes:

Dear J, I know you, and I know the friend you are talking about. You may find that this friend's Husband is dangling a large bottle of Chardonnay in front of her to help her run fast, the old donkey and carrot trick rarely fails. Simply remove the wine from in front of your friend and all should be well. Better still dangle the wine behind her and watch her reverse. Hours of fun. MH

B from Warwick writes:
Dear Millennium Housewife, I am finding myself less and less inclined to go to the gym, but when I don't I end up putting on a lot of weight. Do you have an answer for me?

Millennium Housewife writes:
B, I think you just need to see this in a whole new light. Surely there is a way to eat a lot, not put on weight and not go to the gym? There is, and I'm going to share it with you.
Let us first look at the whale, a large creature admittedly, but perfect in proportion to what a whale should look like. But do you ever see a whale at the gym? Do whales ever congregate in the park for a spot of exercise? Do whales write to Millennium Housewife worrying about such things? In a word no. And why? Because they eat krill. That's right, they eat tiny tiny things all the time and never get fat.
So that's what you've got to do. Eat single celled organisms only and maintain that waist line forever. I suggest you start with amoeba and move on to other organisms as and when you feel your digestion can take it. Start in your neighbour's pond if you haven't got one yourself and swim slowly and gently around with your mouth wide open at all times collecting as much amoeba as you can. Repeat this everyday to prevent hunger pangs and try to keep it up in your sleep too. If whales can do it, you can. Good Luck MH

Things I Have Said To My Husband Today

• Yes I know you try, I just thought we could make it a rule
• You're very good at putting your suit ready for the dry cleaners
• And checking the pockets, yes
  
• It's just that today at the dry cleaners your underpants flew out of your trousers and hit the dry cleaning lady in the face
  
• Followed by your socks
  
• It was not her lucky day it was really embarrassing
  
• Well could you check your clothes for underwear before putting them in the dry cleaning bag?
  
• And while we're at it could you put your underwear in the dirty washing basket
  
• It's in the laundry
  
• Next to the kitchen
  
• In the kitchen there's a door, behind it is the laundry
  
• I'll show you
  
• No I won't take your underwear while I'm at it
  
• What do you mean Camilla wouldn't make you pick up your underwear?
  
• Camilla's your secretary
  
• I know she thinks you're great but that doesn't prove the underwear thing
  
• No we're not calling her to ask
  
• Put the phone down
  
• I said put the phone down

Things I Have said To Camilla Today

• Hi Camilla
  
• Yes I know
  
• Sorry he called
  
• It wasn't a row I just wanted him to pick his underwear up
  
• You would make him if you lived with him I swear

Things I Have Said To My Husband Today

• That was really embarrassing
  
• No not as embarrassing as the pants hitting the dry cleaning lady in the face
  
• Yes nearly as embarrassing as you mentioning vibrators in front of My Mother
  
• She still asks about that you know
  
• About what it is
  
• And how one might use one
  
• And where one might buy one from
  
• And whether my Dad might like one for Christmas
  
• I know you said they were fun
  
• Well she thinks it's some kind of hand warmer
  
• And that maybe Dad could use one at the football in the winter
  
• Well yes it does get quite chilly
  
• You're missing the point
  
• You've opened a whole Pandora's box
  
• One where My Mother uses the word vibrator liberally and without restraint
  
• Not just at Church
  
• At the supermarket in front of the cream cakes
  
• Well it put me off cream cakes for a start
  
• Maybe you're right
  
• OK, get her one for Christmas and let her solve it for herself
  
• Just don't let Dad take it to the football

Things I Have Learned When Running Your First Ever 10km Race

1. You are there to do your best, not win, so run as slowly as you can, in fact walk if you feel like it.
2. If older/fatter/greyer people finish before you it's because of the drugs.
3. You can alleviate some of the boredom of long distance running by mentally calculating how many calories you will have burned once you reach the finish line. Don't forget to add an extra 200 onto the tally for luck.
4. Other people's bottoms wobble, don't laugh and point.
5. Never, ever announce you're going to do a Paula Radcliffe and pretend to drop your drawers by the side of the road, your running buddies won't find it funny and may run off leaving you behind with half your bottom hanging out and a salvation army man approaching with a Stern Look.
6. When running past official race photographers remember to watch where you are going rather than trying to angle them your best side, they also don't take kindly to requests for another shot in case you angled that one badly.
7. The refreshment stand does not serve ice cream.
8. Race marshalls who shout enthusiastically that you can do it should not be punched in the mouth.
9. Any questions regarding an alleged punching of a race marshall in the mouth can wait until the end of the race, whatever the policeman says.
10. If your friend finishes 10 minutes ahead of you ignore her for one week. It's her own fault for doing more training.
11. At some point if you really feel you're ready to quit, imagine the pain and humiliation of handing Husband the £10 he bet you.
12. Short cuts will not be tolerated. Nor will attempts to bribe the race marshal.
13. Organisers will not stop the clock for you if you decide to have a bit of a sit down. Even if you cry.
14. Do not say beep beep in a condescending way to someone you are overtaking, they will overtake you later and laugh.
15. Do not be discouraged when being overtaken by a large, vertical armadillo.
16. On the final 100m it is futile to try to claw back 10 minutes by running really fast.
17. Never, I repeat, never question the accuracy of the Official Clock, they can take your medal away.
18. There isn't any chocolate in the goody bag.
19. A muesli bar does not make up for lack of chocolate.
20. The medal isn't made of gold. And isn't worth it.
21. The fish and chips, plus donut, on the way home really, really is.

Things I Have said To my Sat Nav Today

• Ah, let's see
• Errr is this the right button?
• OK I think that's it
• Take me home you honey
• I would have gone left there but hey ho
• Are you sure?
• Right?
• I think it's left
• Right I'm going left
• Yes yes yes you recalculate away my dear
• Still recalculating? Ah well
• Please don't use that tone with me
• I'm telling you it isn't straight on here
• I don't care what you say it isn't straight on
• I saw that look
• I'm going right
• You can recalculate as much as you like, it'll pass the time while I'm getting us home
• Ssh please I'm trying to think
• That's it I'm turning you off
• Ahh much better
• Err, hello again could you have a look at your map and see where we are?
• Which way now?
• Well you're the one with the map, you figure it out
• If you'd just concentrate on where we're going rather than constantly pointing out where I'm going wrong you might get better results
• You'll be starting on my driving next
• Don't give me the silent treatment you know it drives me mad
• Right, you sulk away while I try and get us out of here
• Which way?
• Stop sulking
• Do you want to drive?
• I said Do. You. Want. To. Drive?
• Right that's it, you're driving
• Hurry up I'm not standing here in the cold forever
• Oh I see, too chicken
• Perhaps I could have a bit of respect for the rest of the journey
• Now which way?
• Right you say? OK, but you'd better be right
• Ah yes I see where we are now
• Yes yes well done
• But you are quite annoying
• Well done for getting us home
• Please stop talking now we're here
• Yes I know we've reached our destination, I'm pretty good at recognising my own home
• Now you're just rubbing it in

Boxing Clever

OK, so in order to tell you all about this I'm going to have to mention Unmentionables, those things that perhaps one might perchance enjoy as a way of keeping a relationship alive (a married respectable one you understand). Things that, once children come along are removed hastily from convenient bedside drawer to The Box At The Back Of The Cupboard and dusted off on anniversaries and Christmas, ok then, just anniversaries, sorry anniversary. So if you're easily offended move your eyes downward to the *.
So my friend, we'll call her Claire, and her Husband has such a box of Unmentionables, and it was an anniversary recently to boot, so you could imagine the scene here to be set the morning after the night before. As indeed it was. Sunday morning, bleary eyed, Husband and Claire woke from a slightly drunken sleep grunting and aiming kicks at each other to see who would cave first and go and get the children. Rubbing his shin and mentioning something about her going down to get the tea he lolloped off in her dressing gown to allow the children to get out of bed. And here is where the fatal error was made. He brought the children into the bedroom, failed to reawaken her to demand tea and set off downstairs himself to make it. I mean how selfish? How long would it have taken him to scan the bedroom floor for a hint of Unmentionable action left out from last night before heading down to make her tea? As Her Mother says, staff these days aren't what they used to be.
Anyway, cut to ten minutes later and the family are sitting in bed enjoying Sunday morning, tea in bed, a bit of play before getting up and starting the day. A scene you could have taken from the Waltons had they shown everyone saying good morning to each other rather than goodnight. Except of course I doubt within that scene, Ma and Pa had a live box of Unmentionables on the bedroom floor (now Grandpa on the other hand...). Just as they're finishing the last gulp of tea Five year old daughter decides that Now is a good time to get up and leaps off the bed straight into the path of The Box. Oooh she said, who got this down (Husband, she swears) it's the box from the back of your cupboard isn't it mummy? She paused and stretched her little hand out to open the lid of the box.
Husband and Claire turned almost imperceptibly towards each other, the world stopped for a brief, agonising second, birds muffled silence in the trees, a startled dear lifted her head, curious. The air stayed solid around the scene, no movement allowed in or out as they waited, waited for the Earth to intake a breath, and as she did ravens cawed around the roof, ominous in their calling. It was Parent verses Child: Parent's ability to think quickly and concisely verses a five year old's dexterity fuelled by curiosity. They had milliseconds to act, to formulate a thought, form it into a sentence, wait for it to travel across time and space, enter the ear of a five year old and (here comes the tricky bit) register strongly enough to stop said five year old opening the box and beginning what they could only imagine would be their toughest question and answer session to date. This, unfortunately would probably climax (sorry) at five year old choosing a choice item from the box behind their backs and taking it to school for show and tell.
Claire was just about to yell No! in an authoritative I'm The Mummy And You Do As I Say kind of voice which rarely ceases to fail, when in one second of pure unadulterated panic Husband yelled out No! don't open it, it's got your birthday presents in!
Five year old's hand quivered, then stopped, she turned to them, eyes shining, mouth grinning: really? she squealed, is this where Santa keeps my Christmas presents too? Husband turned to look at Claire, the realisation dawning (slowly) upon him as to what he'd done. The sense of pride and acheivement he had been wearing for the briefest of seconds sloughing off his face like a hot wax mask, only to show the horror and confusion underneath. Claire sat there, unswallowed mouthful of tea sitting on her tongue and began a slow hand clap at the effort. Five year old's eyes were positively dancing with delight as she considered what she thought she had unearthed. Not only was this the Mysterious Box At The Back Of The Cupboard, the one where even on a chair and on tiptoe she could only tickle with her fingers, but this was also a Magical Box, a Mysterious Box, the box which held her presents, the box that Santa Himself used to store her Christmas presents.
They could see her thoughts sparking out of her head, cue circus music: de de de de di di di as laughing, dancing clowns came out juggling Barbies, elephants wearing frilly skirts snorted sweets all around, dancing bears and trapeze artistes whirled about the room, the marvellous, the magical, the invincible Box bore witness to all fantasies a five year old treasures. A Box of Delights.
Claire told me this story behind her hand (knowing full well that I was taking mental notes for this blog). So, dutifully I have blogged it, I hope her Husband recognises himself. Well done Husband, you have just managed the unmanageable; made an innocuous and pretty much invisible cardboard box into The Most Exciting Box In The World. Hurrah. To be fair though, he's right whatever he shouted, it did do the job. Though there'll be a fair fewer of those on offer around there for a while.



*you can start reading from here

Things I Have Said To My Husband Today

• Here's your honey and lemon
• Of course I blew on it
• You think I'd say I blew on it when I didn't?
• Look, here, blow blow.
• There, it's cool now
• I know you're ill
• And I am being sympathetic
• Yes you're right, I would have made a rubbish nurse
• Because I just don't care enough
• Of course I care about you, just not your cold
• Yes, I'm well aware you might die without proper care
• Well I'm willing to take the chance
• Of course I'd regret not taking better care of you, it's just that no one to my knowledge has ever died of a runny nose
• What's that you're writing?
• We've already made a joint will
• What do you mean you're leaving it all to the dog
• You mean if I was nicer I'd get everything?
• Well I bought you a book up
• It's the sequel to Mister Bump
• I know how much you enjoyed it so I bought you Mister Tickle
• It's really good, he's got long arms
• See I do care
• Will you leave me the house?
• No, you can give the dog to my Mother

Where There's a Will There's a Way

So have any of you been thinking that I've been a little silent of late? Just a little? Go on, you can admit it, you've missed my comments, my neediness to be read, my general presence in the blogospehere. Or at least I hope you have. I have, for me at least been a little silent of late, not that I haven't been reading you all you understand, just not commenting. It's my own fault, ten days ago I spilt Olive Oil on my laptop, all over the letters hjlkuionmbgt, which as you can imagine are pretty integral to composing a post. I managed to fob you all off a little by reposting a hitherto unread post, but in reality I was stuck. I managed a few messages, hammered out with much frustration, before giving in (I've never been much of a grafter) and allowing you all to do the work and allowing me to sit back and just enjoy. It was quite pleasant really.

Anyway, it's felt like an age, and life is moving on. So what's been happening? Firstly I have a shiny, pink, new laptop, complete with ability to type hjlkuionmbgt which is pleasing. Secondly, I believe Husband and I have finally, painfully, slowly, reached what could possibly pass for adulthood. Forget buying a house, forget having children, forget even consolidating your debt for the first time, we have the ultimate test of adulthood: a will. And we made it ourselves, from a do-it-yourself will pack from WHSmith, in the kitchen. But no empty yogurt pots or double sided sticky tape were used so it looks pretty authentic.

It was quite good fun to start with, we opened a bottle of wine and sat thoughtfully, seriously, thinking about the Big Grown Up step we were about to take, of lives that would be touched, at the thought that our untimely demise would warrant such planning, such preparation, due of course to the importance we play in everyone's lives. It was a sober(ish) moment; one of contemplation and reverence.

Until of course we realised we could write anything we liked. Anything at all! After all weren't we grown ups? Sensible and mature enough to make our own decisions? Yes of course we were, we had all the other grown up things: kids, house, car, nintendo wii fit (unused), so what should we write? We contemplated a couple of scenarios; firstly simply putting All to Edna! and signing it. What fun to watch from the other side as everybody tried to figure out for the life of them (rather than the life of us) who on earth Edna was, and why was she getting our millions, (sorry, thousands, ok then hundreds)? Regard with mirth the Hunt For Edna, the scouring of the birth/marriage/death records for a likely match, the heated, enraged conversations at the dinner table about Edna's whereabouts and likelihood of her handing over the goods to the rightful next of kin. Ah, what a legacy to leave our beloveds; a never ending treasure hunt.

We also contemplated confessing that the jewel heist was hidden at Husband's best friend Matt's house so that we could watch the police prepare their raid, barge the door at dawn and rush in yelling, police! stand back! The icing on the cake of course (although we couldn't state this in the will, it would give the game away) would be Matt caught, boxers down, mid coitus, shaking violently and whimpering innocent, innocent as a stunning woman whom he'd been courting for years looked up, removed herself from the clinch and silently dressed, never to be seen again. Years of courting down the drain. Excellent.

Obviously, we didn't put any of this, why bother when we're not sure at all that we''d get to watch it all? We did though have to make all the surreal decisions about what happened to whom in the event of us passing. It was a pickle I can tell you, the opportunities to offend were everywhere. Every corner we turned presented us with another what if? case scenario where someone we loved/tolerated would be incredibly offended at our decisions. Until that is (cue second wide eyed revelation of the day) we realised that it didn't matter; we wouldn't be there to offend anybody. Ha! What a way to cause trouble with our relatives and get away totally scott free! The opportunities were endless. Pick a relative, any relative and say whatever you like, they can't ever ever answer back! Now that's what I call entertainment value.

In fact, thinking about it, I could have more fun than I ever imagined. I could admit to anything, (anything!) and get away with it. What was My Mother going to do about it? Ground me? No! Ha! No more grounding ever! For me or Husband. At last! A way to rid myself of my sins, cast out the fire of wrong doing and start again, clean and renewed. I would tell her about the time Shirley the-Competition criticised her flapjacks at the Church fete because she'd found a plaster in the middle of one. My plaster. Put in deliberately. Or I'd tell her how I'd always secretly agreed with dad about the kitchen wallpaper - it did remind me of slime, or about the time she found an image of our dog Barry in one of her chrysanthemums and sent me to the post office to send it to the readers section of the Daily Mail. I never sent it. I was too embarrassed to write chrysanthemum with image of our dog Barry on the contents section of the parcel label. My Mother stopped taking the Daily Mail after that. Every cloud.

I could even, even, (huge gulp at the posiibilities of life after death) haunt her, appear in her dreams as a phantom voice, wake her in the middle of the night as a ghostly apparition floating ghoulishly at the end of the bed. Crikey I could even swamp her in ectoplasm a la Ghostbusters and watch as she lamented ever discussing my first period with Dan Hutchin Crush Of All The First Years.The possibilities stretched out like a long, glitter filled road, of redemption, revenge, and best of all no consequences. Life, it seemed was finally worth living. What a bargain; life lessons, revenge, redemption and a new appreciation for the Joy of Living. All for £2.94 from WHSmith.

Losing It*

My friend from school came up to me this morning, and before you laugh, yes, I have a friend, we've bonded over finding the whole talking outside the school thing quite challenging. So in true friendship fashion we sit each morning in our respective (warm) cars and ignore each other and everyone else until we absolutely have to get out. Only then do we chance a quick smile and chat as we usher in our children.
Anyway, she looked worried. Just this morning, she confided through the corner of her mouth, she'd lost it with her boys. Shouted. Screamed. And get this she whispered, thrown all their toys out of the window. The fear was palpable, the light sweat on her forehead belying the cool exterior of the mummy-out-and-about.Fair enough this was good going for before 9am, but really, toys out the window? That's nothing! I've torn heads off Barbies, thrown perfectly good princess tippy toe shoes in the bin, thrown toys out of the car window (there's a lot of throwing it feels really good), made an Easter egg sandwich and thrown (yes) it onto the table shouting 'there's you bloody dinner, happy now?' And before you phone social services, I don't know any mother that hasn't done similar things.It's just what happens, it doesn't do the children any harm (well none that they can't see a therapist about later on), in fact, we tell ourselves, it's good for them to see that mummy has a line (a good line in throwing especially).
I was listening to an awful, pompous man on the radio the other day and he was chatting to a woman who was worried about losing it with her sons, apparently she shouts at them. Shouts. Okaaay, I was waiting for the next bit but there wasn't one. Shouts? That's nothing! I've.. (see earlier list). Anyway the point of this bit is that the pompous I've-never-stayed-at-home-on-my-own-with-the-children-day-after-day-while-other-people-get-to-be-citizens-of-the-world man asked her is if she would ever lose it public, say in Boots? No, she replied, well then he said, you can control it. Sorry? The taste of chalk and cheese stuck painfully in my throat. Boots? But there are so many more options available in Boots. Shelves and shelves of things to accidentally sweep to the floor (I've managed a whole aisle), shopkeepers to smile at as you drag your child away from the teletubby bubble bath into the corner for a good shouting at. In fact you can feel like a good mummy in Boots (and it doesn't have to be Boots either, I've done it lots of times in Thorntons). Look, you are saying as you raise you voice without embarrassment, I'm a zero tolerance mummy, I stand up to my children and Lay Down The Law. Hoorah for me, you won't be seeing me on Super Nanny, (though you're hoping that they didn't see last Summer's episode that you starred in, and have obviously failed at miserably hence the Boots/Thorntons tantrum).
You see, when you're out in public it's not other people that stop you losing it and carrying out bizarre and, let's face it, pretty stupid punishments (it took me ages to glue Barbie's head back on, and Easter egg sandwiches have had to become part of the weekly menu), it's that other people mean company, freedom, space. A good disciplining can be admired, taken note of, I'll try that shouting-in-the-corner-thing myself you can hear people thinking, I'd look really good doing that. At home there is nobody around to admire your handiwork, and nowhere else to go but bizarre. Four walls leave you with no option , when you've tried everything else, sometimes you have to lose it, let it go, take it out on Barbie (you never liked her anyway), do whatever it takes to lose control without actually losing control. It's the only way. And if you don't agree then you don't have children.
My brother in law, Alec, has been staying with us for the last few days and I haven't lost it once. Not because I'm being polite, we know each other far too well, but because I've had some company. I don't mean to insult Isla and Jack here, they're lovely company, but it's been nice to have some that I didn't also have to feed/wipe/bath/nappy (although it's been close, he's not that domesticated). He's been someone to chat to (at), he's played with the children while I 'got on with things' (oh how blissful to actually get on with it all), he's played with Jack to stop him crying instead of me holding him in one arm, pushing the dummy in with the other and stirring the sauce with my toes. He's even read stories, made mud pies, tickled, played 'you can't catch me' for two hours and generally entertained in the manner of Koko the Klown all day. It's been great, everyone should have a visitor that isn't child-jaded (it took him going to South Korea for a year but still). It has, in a nutshell, been blissful. And it's going to carry on for sometime, I've hidden his passport.

*Reposted for Fiona, with love

Cutting The Ties That Bind

So it's new year, new start, new decisions. And we're still at that old chestnut of a dilemma about Husband's forthcoming vasectomy.
It's not a dilemma for me obviously, it's the natural, easy decision to ensure our child rearing is restricted to the two we chose, but it seems that Husband is still undecided. Actually, undecided doesn't really do the situation justice, denial is probably the best way of representing Husband's state of mind; denial and procrastination. Excellent.

The thing is, it's almost impossible to discuss it with him. Bring the subject up (in all senses of the word) and he cowers in the corner, whimpering like a damp dog confronted with the hair dryer. He then recounts excuse after excuse as to why he should be left intact and as nature intended him. I always point out that he's ginger and nature probably didn't intend for him to reproduce at all, so he's damn lucky he got me and my willingness - within reason - to mate with him.

Anyway, the worst is that his boss had it done last year and has spent the last twelve months regaling Husband with tales of cow-pat-like scrotums and John Wayne walks to the off licence for a ball numbing beer. Husband's fear stems from hearing about the injections where nobody should ever be allowed to inject. I point out that he's very keen for the dog to have it done, and even teases him about how he should make the most of being virile before the vet loads his syringe. But Husband says that dogs were born to have it done, it's responsible, whereas removing his own virility may affect the future population's ability to include ginger in their gene pool. I'm considering conducting a survey to establish whether this is a primary concern for the local community. I'm guessing it's probably pretty low on the agenda, at least behind the spaceship landing area someone has proposed for the local park.

Anyway, Husband has been trying to find alternative ways to ensure us a two child only future but I can only suggest tying a knot in it or abstaining completely, I've Kindly offered to take a lover should he choose to do this, as a way of assuaging his guilt. 

The thing is, there really isn't anything he can do that isn't ultimately up to me. He came home on Friday in a state of high excitement however. Helpful Boss, of the cow pat scrotum,  had told him about the male pill and suggested this as an alternative to the looming scrotumectomy he was about to have inflicted.

Damn.

The male pill is something I've been keeping under wraps as much as possible. The male pill involves a certain amount of personal responsibility from its imbiber, at the very least a memory capable of, you guessed it, remembering to take it daily at the same time of day. That's three things to remember: Take it daily, take it at the same time each day, and remember that you actually have to take it. No chance. This is a man ladies and gentlemen who was told by the dental hygienist that he has an infected gum and needs to do a salt rinse every night. He was told this three months ago. He's remembered his salt wash, ooh about zero times, even with a bloody, swollen gum to remind him. How on earth is he going to remember the Pill except perhaps at a time of heightened ardour, when I promise you I at least will remember it, and also remember the fifty two pills he's forgotten in a row.

This is a man who routinely leaves one or both of his children strapped in the car on arriving home. Only discovering their absence after he has entered the house, made himself a cup of tea and realised there's nothing on TV. So would I trust our family planning to this Man. In a word, no.

So we have to discuss it sometime, but he won't even let me use the word Vasectomy in his presence. It's been hard going trying to think up an alternative name that is acceptable: your little procedure results in squeals of denial about there being nothing little or procedure like about the Major Testicular Surgery I am trying to get him to have. Lopping your balls off lasted for about five seconds I thought it was good: precise and to the point and most importantly hilarious. To me.
I can't use snip because it's what Isla likes to do with scissors and evokes visions of child-surgeons and blunt nursery scissors. So I've plumped for when you go for your third child prevention surgery which has been reasonably successful. I think because it reminds him of the logic behind the little procedure (it's my blog I'll call it what I like, and besides compared to childbirth it is a little procedure, crikey the needle's tiny!). It really is the only assured way to a safe, easy, small car owning, two child future. Put it like that and it makes sense, it's the sensible, the sane, the downright responsible choice for sensible, sane, downright responsible families. Wonderful, decision made. Oooh I can't wait to lop his balls off.