Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Meet the Dobbys

I'm presuming that is how you spell it - rhymes with a Scottish word for poo, so that is my best guess as how you would write it down. Six-year-olds are not very forthcoming with details of the mundane type.

Anyhoo, I had always thought that the language-inventing was a multiples thing until I had a bizarre conversation with one of Youngest Hobbit's classmates today.

Seems he has introduced my boys to his world where everyone is classed as Dobbys, but only if you are good and a friend of ETs, well a friend today at least. So Eldest Hobbit is in Dobby world a 9-year-old Dobby, but in Dobby language that is said as nine hundred and ninety-nine.

"Aha," says me acting like I have a clue, "So then if you were a 7-year-old Dobby you would say seven hundred and seventy-seven."

"No," says ET looking at me as though I am some kind of idiot just arrived today, "it would be four hundred and eighty-two."

Okay then.

His grandmother explained that this is something ET and his older brother had made up, including a Dobby language. The Hobbits went through a year of speech therapy to encourage them to communicate with other people, and to speak English; their idea of communication was to teach their friends their language when they first went to pre-school nursery.

I have a list of their words, for when they are older, see if they remember any of it. (one of my favourites was when they were about 18 months old they would call dogs "puppy gone big." They could say dog alright but no, it had to be puppy gone big.)

Now where did I put that nosgabby, oh right, it is over by the gabbygab.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008


Hazelnuttin, Our Girl In Chicago, sent me a link to this eBay auction.

Not only a psychologist's wet dream (think of the meaning behind all of those doodles!) but an interesting insight into some Famous People's mindsets and artistic talents. All while earning dosh for charity. A good idea and I would love to see what some Famous People here would come up with - do you go for an actual doodle or try and impress or perhaps a mixture of the two?

It being an American auction there are quite a few names I don't recognise but some I do and it is amusing to see who is earning the greater amount, is that to do with fanbase or wanting the artwork itself?

I'm also glad to see that I am not the only person whose doodles become pictures, although being a humble civilian my doodles are not worthy of auctioning.

Friday, May 09, 2008

Pinkie Promise

So I've broken the pinkie on my right hand. In an accident involving a lightswitch (yes, really) there was a meeting of bone against corner and a rather sweet little snappy sound.

I then spent a good while swearing every word I know while Hobbits stared wide-eyed, for once bad language was not pointed out. I think they could see this was not the time. As though they don't hate me enough I am now sure the neighbours will think me completely mad.

Now I know it is broken yet I haven't gone to hospital. Most people would scoff and say how could I, a mere mortal, know that it is broken for definite and why wouldn't I go to hospital. There are reasons, I do have them.

A while back I broke the ring finger of my left hand, so badly it had swollen before I could get my wedding ring off. In an act I now see as prophecy of some kind the hospital had to cut the ring off, which was more painful than the actual break itself and which left my finger with burn marks. Even worse was, as they were cutting the ring off they had to pull at the broken finger. I didn't pass out but it was a near thing.

So I know what a broken finger looks like, I know what it feels like and I know how the hospital treat it. For my ring finger I had tape, yes plain old strapping tape, holding broken finger to the finger next to it. No splint or anything. Rather than go to hospital this time, wait around for about 3 hours to hear what I already know and all for a piece of tape, I just went to the local chemist. One roll of tape later and it is sorted (not the whole roll at once you understand, I need the rest to change it once it gets manky.)

Still hurts now and again but the swelling is down and the colour is back to a sort of normal shade, it is interesting that although probably considered an insignificant digit, having the pinkie strapped defenseless against another finger proves its worth.

You've got to laugh.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Single Mum On Benefits

A title like that would have certain parts of the press foaming rabidly at the mouth in delighted rage. A title that sweeps a large section of society together so the rest of the people can form an orderly line to stick the boot in too.

I'm not going to provide a link to the odious article, 'tis what Google was made for. I would love to know who it is that they use as the guideline to judge the rest of us though because she must be really well off.

The majority of single mums, sorry I am going to say single parents as it isn't just the mums y'know, are not simply sitting back and racking in a fortune in benefits. Most of us have never been on benefits before and are using them in the way the are supposed to be used. As a step up, as a helping hand during bad times. Not as a career choice. Not to wickedly take money from tax-payers.

Certainly there is a minority, the kind of people who have parents and grandparents on benefits, who have children outwith a stable relationship and who have no intention of changing the status quo. They are indeed a minority, though the lazy journos who like to write sensationalist bullying stories wouldn't care to point that out.

Instead we are all thrown together. In one big heap. Signed off as useless.

Single parents, of the type I refer to - on benefits now but not forever - are dealing with a lot more than the meeja care to understand. We deal with the effects of broken relationships, we try and steer our children through the mess, we cope with feelings of failure at not making a marriage on long-term relationship work and yes, we feel guilt and humiliation at having to ask the state for help. If they think it is easy they should attempt to comfort a 6-year-old child, or two, crying at night or asking for a new daddy in a way that would break a heart of stone. And during all this we have to read pathetic headlines that the big bad single parents are so much better off than the nice working families.

Guess what, I know plenty of families on benefits. Plenty of two parent families where at least one parent could work. Funny how you never hear of them. Or of the large amount of 18-25 year olds who leave school and can't see the point of getting a job which I think is a scarier and more interesting prospect for a story. I suppose though, it is better to wait until one of that group pops out a baby and joins the already formed pariahs of society.

Easy targets. We have them.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Today I...

...surprised someone.

Someone who only knows me from the past few years. Therefore only knows the watered down, diluted version.

The phone rang during a conversation. Wrong number. I told friend that when I was younger I used to get fed up with wrong numbers, if the person was stupid enough to be unable to dial correctly then it wasn't my problem to deal with. I took take-out orders, taxi requests, told people that the person they were looking for didn't live there anymore.

I was evil. I was a teenager at the time though but that isn't an excuse and nor would I offer one. Tolerance levels were...actually they are pretty much what they are now.

Wicked TIBS, says friend with what I hope is admiration that I am not what everyone thinks I am.

I aspire to Nigella, I am in reality closer to Lucille Ball.

This Time Ten Years Ago

It was at this time, ten long years ago, that I blissfully ignored warnings from friends long since departed (from communication with me that is, not the world as a whole, they didn't die or anything...I digress.) In 24 days I would become a Mrs. still unaware that I was marrying on a lie manipulated from what I possibly wanted to hear.

How do you undo ten years worth of damage?

The divorce trundles on with amazing slowness. The sun shines and the Hobbits are getting used to that unusual glowing orb in the cloudless sky. I don't have much of a life but I am getting on with it.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I want to don a kilt, paint my face blue and run around the nearest glen screaming "freedom" at bemused tourists.

But I don't.

Because that would be stupid. And at the moment I have reached my quota for stupid, in fact I think I am also using someone elses.

(And bliss, someone thinks what I write is good. Not this, no, other stuff. Stuff that gets marked and I even got a smiley face on the last one, not this rambling nonsense. Is this how confidence is built? Inch by inch?)

Tomorrow the Hobbits return to school after the bank holiday and today's inservice day. I had inservice days when I was at school, I don't know what they are, not then and not now and perhaps one day I'll be interested enough to find out.