Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Cats

If it was up to my children, by now we would have accumulated a whole zoo in our already cramped house - as if there aren't enough smelly beasts here for me to clear up after.
I am a cat person. I loved our dog but not the digging, pooing or vital walkies come rain or shine. I was not happy about the snails or rats and frankly am baffled as to why people find fish interesting. But I love my cats.
My family has always had cats and when I met DH he recalls being given a thorough once-over by my cat Mortimer who liked to get in between us like some disapproving maiden aunt.
During our first year together DH got me a kitten, a female I named Ratzenburger (after John Ratzenburger from Cheers) which soon got shortened to Ratz. She was the dumbest cat I have ever encountered. A complete bimbo.
Mortimer died when I was pregnant with DS#1 - I was distraught! The vet warned Ratz might succumb to the same disease but she went on to live 19 years before dying quietly in her sleep in front of the fire one evening.
We acquired a couple more kittens, practically feral, rescued from a scaffold yard. So feral they didn't last long as house cats!
DS#3 with Badger
Last year I saw a message from a friend of a friend on Facebook begging for someone to take their cat as they were due to emigrate very soon and couldn't rehome him. Badger looked cute in the picture so after lengthy discussions we agreed to take him.
A week later a scabby, skinny, runty animal looking about 100 years older than his picture was dropped off. Poor Badger seems to be allergic to everything and, we since discovered, has had a lifetime of treatment at the vets which all proved fruitless. We renamed him scabby cat.
Then a few months later after a couple of cocktails we call an Aldbury Bitch (Ameretto and cranberry juice) I heard myself offering to take another couple of mature cats from my friend's sister who needed to rehome them.
When I sobered up I reassured their owner I really did want her beautiful cats and a few weeks later they came, looking every bit as lovely as their picture.
She watched them wandering round our large garden which backs onto fields and remarked that it was the cat equivalent of moving to Tuscany. Oscar and Tilly certainly settled in right away with no issues with Badger.
 Amazingly for some reason within days of their arrival Scabbycat Badger's skin started to improve, his scars healed and although he still looks about 100 even his mood has lifted and he's a cuddly, happy cat now!

Truths about cats according to Madmumof7
l-r Oscar, Tilly and Badger
They will demand you stroke them then some (not mine) without qualm will bite or scratch you without warning when they have had enough.
They are like the playground bitch. Its all purring and flirting one minute and drop dead "do I know you?" looks the next. They are cutting with their disdain at times.
They are like the fussiest child ever. You can buy the same cat food as they have always loved and this week it won't be good enough. Some cats even refuse "cat" food and their doting humans cook them fresh fish and chicken. If you are one of those humans can I be your cat?
Cats are clean. Everyone knows this. They bury their poo in the garden. Unless its raining or they can't be bothered in which case they will happily crap on your favourite cushion/T-shirt/foot. Then "bury" it so you walk round the room sniffing and wondering why your whole house smells awful.
They bring you presents. Some owners think this is endearing. If any human bought you a cat style present however you would be seeking an injunction. Santa;" What do you want for Christmas?" Me:" A mangled bird/vole/field mouse please." No, it wouldn't happen would it?
Cats are independent. Well yes. But when they want your attention it's a brave owner who tries to ignore their demands. Many a time I have had to abandon work as the cat has decided to sit on my keyboard to teach me a lesson. Or sat behind me on the sofa licking my hair.  Or sat on my chest in bed to stop me watching TV. Oscar even tried to sit on my lap on the toilet the other day.
Every night a selection of cats joins us on our bed (bear in mind we never allowed the children to sleep in our bed with us!) and we stupid humans make room for them. DH and I confessed to each other the other day that we stay in uncomfortable positions in bed to avoid disturbing the cats. Who is in charge here again.....?
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Monday, 17 June 2013

Madmumof7 is going to Britmums Live! A bit about me for bloggers.


Name - Afra - child of the 60's who had hippy parents. At least its memorable!

Blog - www.madmumof7.  'Cause I have 7 chldren. And am slightly mad.
Twitter ID - @madmumof7

Height - 5 ft 3ins ( well more like 5ft 2.5ins but my BMI works out better if I call it 3 inches.
Hair - medium length heavily assisted light blonde. Which may be in an elegant chignon or a train and tube travel-induced sweaty tangle.
Eyes - blue
Is this your first blogging conference? - yes - I've only been blogging since January this year.


Are you attending both days? -  Yes though very much wishing I could have afforded a hotel as not looking forward to schlepping to and from Euston both days!
What are you most looking forward to at BritMums Live 2013? - putting faces to names and hopefully learning stuff to improve my blog. And maybe meeting some Brands who like my blog?
What are you wearing? - think maxidress and denim jacket and havianas on friday and skinny white jeans and a  tunic thing on saturday. Along with one or two of my Cath K bags
What do you hope to gain from BritMums Live 2013? - knowledge,friends and potential commmercial contacts.
7 children (pic taken 3 yrs ago)
Tell us one thing about you that not everyone knows - I lost my two front baby teeth in a fairground accident when I was tiny  and damaged the bones in my gums so the adult teeth grew in wonky- hence the (unfixeable) gappy, rabbit-tooth smile. 

I gabble quickly, swear too much and crack inappropriate jokes when I am nervous so I apologise in advance.

- See more at: www.madmumof7.com

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The Spa of your Nightmares

English: Stoke Mandeville Hospital.
English: Stoke Mandeville Hospital. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
On Twitter this week a well known comedienne asked for her followers to share their craziest experience.Well I've actually had quite a few but I thought I would write about the one I shared with her for you lovely people in somewhat more than 140 characters.
So it was 7 years ago. My second daughter (6th child) was due in just over a month. I had a routine hospital appointment at Stoke Mandeville hospital (where all my children were delivered by CS Section) so me and DS#4 toddled off expecting a couple of hours touring midwives and consultants followed by maybe a sneaky McDonalds and a nap.
I had been suffering with a bit of a pain in my side occasionally and it turned out my urine test was a bit iffy. The consultant decided to play it safe and told me she wanted to admit me. And she didn't want me to go home first - I had to head straight for the ward.
Insert big sigh here.
So I called a friend to come and fetch the small child I had with me and bring an overnight bag. Called my sister in law to ask her to pick the other children up from school and then I lurked in the car park and we hefted DS's car seat from my car to hers. And with a cheery wave I waddled to the ward.
For some reason I didn't call DH to let him know  - I think I figured his sister would update him when he got home from work. No point worrying him.
I was shown my bed. Unpacked. Knocked back some painkillers for the growing pain and let the midwife wire me up to the inevitable monitoring machine.
Hmm. Baby's heartbeat seemed a bit slower than normal to me. I queried it with midwife who reassured me. Which would have been great if she'd not immediately walked round the corner and yelled;"We need a consultant in here ASAP!"
It all goes a bit blurry after that as a variety of people in scrubs poked and prodded then I found myself being wheeled towards the lifts. Mildly curious I asked where we were going. The midwife pushing me answered:"You are going to have your baby, Dear."
WHAT!
DS#2 aged 1
I asked her to call DH but obviously couldn't remember his mobile number. I gave her my home number and hoped his sister could find his mobile number and get him to race to the hospital.
Meanwhile I was transferred to a bed on the delivery suite to be prepped for surgery. It was here I had one of the most surreal experiences of my life.
Now I'm not sure if you know this but if you have a caesarian section you have to have your lady garden area shaved, and you can't be wearing nail polish as  medics can tell a lot about your oxygen levels from the colour under your nail.
So, lying on this bed, I looked down to see a small army of women prepping me for the emergency section. I had one on each foot frantically scrubbing nail polish off. The same on each hand. Meanwhile someone was trying to ram a line in one hand while someone else tried to do the same on the other elbow. Further down a  tiny (or kneeling?) woman was using a small yellow razor and about 1ml of water to shave my....well you get the picture.
Most weird thing about all this were that all these women looked to be Thai, or some similar ethnicity, so I remember chuckling to myself (slightly hysterically) that it was like a spa - although what with the needles and dry razor it was like the spa of nightmares!
More blurry moments and I recall being panicky and nauseous on the operating table as it turned out they thought my placenta had come away which put my baby in very real danger of death.
Then a small timid voice came from the doorway behind me:"Am I meant to be in here?"
No, not the surgeon but DH who made it for DD's birth just in time! Apparently the hospital had left a non-urgent, "keeping her in but get here at your leisure" type message but luckily he decided not to stop and have a coffee with his sister or drop into Tesco for some magazines for me before coming over!
It was all a bit touch and go for a while and we got to experience the amazing care from the Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU) who nurtured our tiny daughter through her breathing issues. My placenta had not come away and we never did find out what was causing the pain but long story short DS is a bright, happy beautiful girl who shows no signs of trauma from her early and rapid entry into the world!

Moomoo aged 7
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Sunday, 16 June 2013

Silent Sunday


Friday, 14 June 2013

Housewife or Domestic Engineer?

I hate those forms where you have to choose your occupation. It usually gives a choice of employed, self employed, unemployed or other.
I have raised 7 children, worked long, often unsociable hours. I, like most mothers, am cook, cleaner, taxi driver, personal shopper, event organiser, counsellor, referee, educator, and many many more things. "Other" doesn't really cover it.
domestic engineers strategy meeting
 I met with my usual partners in crime yesterday for what felt like a naughty breakfast in a local pub. One friend left her breakfast cooling as she cut up her daughters meal, did an emergency toilet run (toilet training - what a joy!), and constantly picked up pencil crayons and answered many many of the sort of inane questions that only a small child can think of. She did this while joining in a complicated discussion on how the three of us were going to juggle childcare (not easy with 15 children between us) meals and transport for a couple of days next week where we basically need to be in several places at once, many miles apart. Basically with some mutual swapping of babysitting, a pile of pizzas, two cars
wife and mother -
celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary in 2012
and a bus we think we have sorted it!
I posted on Facebook that I had just attended a succesful business strategy meeting with my fellow domestic engineers- and it really had felt like a business meeting!
I have heard many titles for my "job." Domestic engineer, housewife, mother, SAHM, wife. I sometimes miss the days when I labelled myself "journalist."
Next week signals a big step for me. I took up blogging on New Years Day this year determined to make the most of my love of writing. I was a journalist and news editor for years before childcare costs became prohibitive and although I have dabbled with mum-friendly jobs in a supermarket, pub and school I really wanted to have a go at making writing a bigger part of my life again. And next week I am attending Britmums  Live- a gathering of bloggers and guest speakers from all over the country sharing experience, knowledge and support for what seems to be a growing industry.
new business cards
And industry it is - reviews, sponsored posts, commercial blogs - the world seems to be cottoning on to the fact that bloggers, via social networking, have a big voice which is getting louder.
So hoping to add my "Home counties with a hint of Black Country" accent to that growing voice I have even gone as far as having business cards printed to hand out to potential clients and new friends.
I pondered long on how to describe myself on them. And settled for "madmumof7 -blogger". 'Cause at the moment that seems to sum me up!

You can find madmumof7 aka Afra Willmore aka @madmumof7 on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest & Instagram, blogging here (obviously!) and at www.letsunlimited.com and generally lurking on the WWW!
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Thursday, 13 June 2013

Meatball Football Match



When people see my family out and about one of the first questions they ask me (after the inevitable;"7 kids! Haven't you got a TV?") is;"How on earth do you feed them all?"
Feeding a family the size of ours on a budget can be a nightmare and largely I achieve it by cooking army-sized portions of traditional favourites like shepherd's pie, roast dinners, spag bol, Toad in the Hole etc from scratch. Which is economic but time consuming.
But as you can imagine our family life is hectic - choir, youth club, Brownies and so on - so I always have a few frozen quicky meal ingredients to throw together a tasty but speedy meal.
So I was interested when I was invited to try out Richmond's Mini Meatballs- I picked up a bag of 50 frozen in a packet with handy meal suggestions and clear cooking instructions from my local freezer centre..
anyone for meatball footie?
When grumpy toddler came home from pre-school starving hungry today, I decided a quick meal was definitely in order before he ate my leg or the slowest cat. I'd been challenged to create a fun and interesting meal so excuse the elaborate arrangement- I don't normally go to these lengths to display the children's food though if you have a fussy eater or an ill child you are trying to tempt feel free to copy it!
So - I popped a potato waffle into the toaster on full heat - leaving that to cook I shook a handful of frozen peas and sweetcorn into a bowl, covered them and hurled them into the microwave (800w) on full for 2 minutes.
Leaving them to cool slightly I took five meatballs out of the packaging, clipped the bag and put it back into the freezer for another day, and again, covered and cooked for the recommended one minute. Yes - one minute!
happy Grumpy!
While they were cooking I squirted some tomato puree (you could use ketchup) into lines as if the oblong plate was a football field then arranged peas and sweetcorn as spectators along two sides then cut the waffle in half and placed half at each end to look like goal posts.
I took one meatball from the bowl and placed it on the "centre line" then put the rest in a ramekin for Grumpy to replace the "football" when he had eaten it.
yum! in under 5 mins!
Well he was delighted! Even though I was dubious about my artistic skills he understood straight away that it was a football field and delighted in eating the ball and spectators.
So to prepare the meal - two minutes. Cooking - under five minutes. Eating the meal -five minutes!
The other children asked to have spaghetti and meatballs for their main meal today so I plan to just microwave the meatballs while the pasta cooks then hurl a jar of tomato pasta sauce over the top - DH can have that too with some cheese over the top and doughballs and it feels like I've had a day off from slaving over a hot stove! Thanks Richmond!




Disclaimer; madmumof7 was sent a voucher to buy meatballs for the purposes of this review.
This post is an entry for Britmums' Hungry to Happy challenge sponsored by Richmond Mini Meatballs - check out http://wp.me/p3bVJd-5wB


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Tuesday, 11 June 2013

Suicide Blonde

Today I gave in. I couldn't take it any more. I had tried and I fooled myself I was happy about it. But I wasn't. So I committed hair suicide - and dyed by by own hand.
madmumof7 before the need for bleach
It all started in April when I debated whether to colour my hair to cover the greys before or after my holiday. Past experience has taught me it's usually better to wait until after holidays as sun, sea and chlorine tends to render it a mucky yellow colour. So I left it.
Ten days in Cyprus au naturel left it beachy, streaky and quite on trend and I didn't even mind the odd grey and white hairs peeking through.
DH said he liked it and pursuaded me to delay the post holiday bleach job and embrace the grey- "grow old gracefully" he said.
The media is full of glamorous greys - even young models on the catwalks this year were apparently sporting silvery locks. My mum's hair has faded to a light blonde with hints of white so with a good amount of sunshine I hoped mine would follow suit.
Two weeks later I was back in Cyprus for another week. My roots were really showing but still more browny-grey than white so I hoped another week of sunshine would help my transformation.
But if anything the roots looked darker and the remaining blonde looked more yellow and today, faced with my image in the mirrors at Dunelm Mill I commented to my friends that I was really not sure about the progression of my dignified ageing .
Bleached Blonde
And because they are my friends instead of giving me cheery but false reassurance they told me that it was fine and lovely and I was rocking the glamorous old lady look, but in their opinion I was no old lady and they felt I should return to my Abba-esque dancing queen image, complete with pale blonde locks. As soon as possible.
A couple of hours later I was back to my usual groomed and root-less look and felt younger, smarter and happier for it. Though that might have been the bleachy fumes affecting my brain.
Typically my husband didn't even notice the change and so far none of the children have commented on it either.
But that main thing is I notice, every time I pass a mirrored surface and as I have said before being blonde for me is more than a hair colour so excuse me while I turn up the Abba and sing:
"I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair 
I wanna sing it out to everybody 
What a joy, what a life, what a chance! So I say 
Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing 
Thanks for all the joy they're bringing 
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty 
What would life be? 
Without a song or a dance what are we? 
So I say thank you for the music (and the hair dye)
For giving it to me"
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