You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.

A paper Easter basket filled with mini Lindor chocolate eggs, made by my little sister.

The Easter holidays are upon us, which usually means time off, free chocolate and some kind of religious festivity. Though I am somewhat excluded from all three, in consideration that I don’t work in the education sector, am an atheist and not much of a chocolate fanatic. DS naturally falls into my latter three, being a baby and not having much of a choice himself.

I am aware that as he grows older, he will gain interest in the things I try to shield him from (i.e. Easter eggs). But the thought of giving my baby boy an Easter egg, or anything else sugary coated, horrifies me. Children have the rest of their adult lives to eat, or do, whatever they like; it seems ridiculous to give a baby chocolate just because it’s mean not to. He doesn’t think it’s mean, because he doesn’t know any better.

DS has only tried chocolate once or twice, because nursery had slipped up, and he is not overly crazed about it. Honestly, he would happily devour an apple and not think I was cruel. My line of thought is that all children are inquisitive and it is our job as parents to guide them down the right path. If we start as we mean to go on, children will trust their routine, take comfort in the rules set and hopefully grow up not being all that phased by the junk that is constantly shoved in their faces.

So now you know my stance on the matter (though you could have probably guessed), rest assured any chocolate presented to DS will not be wasted, it will be thoroughly enjoyed by DH and I.

Don’t Go Knockin’ on my Door.

Halloween has been and gone, I must say, despite my initial fears, it has been rather painless. All because of a little sign I created and hung on my front door, DS was able to sleep in peace and I did not have to spend my evening distributing fruit, only to explain that we do not keep sweets in our household.

I was a little wary at first, fearing the little tykes who would purposely play knock down ginger on my door. I thought long and hard about how to make my sign nice and happy to avoid that kind of situation. ‘knock on my door and I will smite you’ would probably not have gone down very well with the crowd.

I am so pleased my sign worked a treat and our evenings were saved. This is definitely going into storage for next Halloween. Perhaps I will magic another sign to divert those pesky carol singers.

*My apologies for the Britney Spears lyric in my title, I just couldn’t resist..

Witchful Thinking.

As Halloween is approaching in the coming week, I am dreading the swarm of children and greedy teenagers that will inevitably be knocking on my door. With the exception of living in my family home many years ago, I have never personally received any trick or treaters. Previously, I was very comfortable to forget Halloween even existed behind my flat door, and by another external door just to be safe.

I have a very bah humbug attitude towards Halloween, if you had not guessed. I was not allowed to trick or treat as a child because my mother said it was like begging. This was also coupled with it being dark and dangerous to knock on strangers’ doors. All this bundled together with my paranoia that someone might give me some kind poisonous concoction in a wrapper, lead to my dislike for Halloween. DH was not allowed to trick or treat either, so there are no qualms in this household about whether DS will be permitted.

Lets be honest, if it was hardly safe to knock on random doors when I was a child, it certainly isn’t now. No longer is it about supervising small children around your friendly neighbourhood, unless you live in a small middle class village where a special selection of Mr Simms is thrusted to you, along with a homemade toffee apple.

I remember one year when I was younger, we had the same group of thirteen to eighteen year olds knocking on the same doors repeatedly on my road. They would swap masks, as if we couldn’t tell the difference, and smirked as they walked away with more ‘goodies’. Assuming they were the local chavs, we were too frightened of getting a brick thrown at our window, so we would give them a little something each time. You see, we saved our out-of-date chocolates and crisps specifically for this type of rapscallion.

Hopefully this year in my little house I can avoid all of the above. I don’t think having people pointlessly knocking on my door throughout the night will bode well with a sleeping DS, and inevitably, it will be pointless because I have nothing to give them. I plan on making a sign and placing it strategically on my door to ward off the little tykes. I will let you know how it goes…

Busy Bee.

I apologise for my lack of posts in the past week; since becoming a worker, my free time has dramatically reduced. Student Recruitment Assistant by day, super mum by night.

Having spent seventeen years of my life in education, my first week in full-time work was a shock to the system. My choices of ammunition to kick off the day are fizzy shoelaces and bitter coffee; black, two shots, no sugars, straight to the point. A flask in the morning and a not-so-secret stash of sweets in my drawer, what more do I need?

After a long monotonous day of filing on Thursday, I was pleasantly surprised to find DH holding a bunch of roses outside my building. Then he whisked me away for a quick drink and a game of pool like old times, leaving DS to happily play at home with his auntie and cousins. This spontaneous gesture has got to be the most romantic, unprompted thing he has ever done. Whoever said romance dies when you are married obviously married the wrong man.

The weekend was very welcomed, despite DS crying in the early hours of Saturday morning. He is teething, so it was to be expected. Away from work, I was able to embrace my mummy role once more and reacquainted myself with the ironing. I am ashamed to say, I have hung creased clothes and have not engaged in any form of ironing, unless it is the odd shirt or dress for a formal occasion, since we moved into our previous flat in July 2009. I remember it very well, because I had wanted all items of clothing to be ironed before they were placed neatly in our new wardrobes. I spent six hours solidly ironing with only toilet breaks. Crazy pregnant women, eh.

Reverting back to my mummy role was not my only endeavor for the weekend; on Saturday we made a trip to Bluewater, indulged ourselves in a light lunch at Nandos and lots of shopping to celebrate successfully completing my first working week. We have had numerous causes for celebration and I think we are milking it now, but who cares when there is good chicken.

I am now refueled from the weekend and am raring to go! Hopefully the updates will be more frequent this week, but no promises. If you subscribe on the top left, you instantly receive email updates when I publish a new post.