Magpie Monday - NCT Round Two

Part two of my Magpie finds from last week's NCT sale insanity.  My bruises have just about healed, I almost considered a second run at the Albany Road charity shops over the weekend (common sense & bank balance won out in the end) and I can now get my head around the all-important question "errr, what the heck did I buy then?"

First out of the starting stalls today, a pair of grey Next skinny jeans.  I'm a sucker for skinnies, and La Squeak is all length and no width, so they look better on her than chunky trousers.  There's a bit of a grass stain on the left knee, it's faded now after a wash with the Vanish, but hey, even if it hadn't, for £1 I'm not about to argue. There'll be grass stains on both knees by the time Squeaky's finished wearing them.  (I left the price stickers on the first couple I took photos of, then decided it was too much work to take sellers' names off & just took the whole tag off the others, in case you were wondering)

Nothing special these, I broke one of my golden rules - check the labels. They're only Tescos, but again they were only £1.  It's so much easier for nursery and when Daddy's on Squeaky Wrangling Duty to dress her in trousers, they're more practical than skirts & tights (much to my dismay), and these are in good nick, a sensible colour to hide the dirt, and have lots of pockets.  Squeaky has just developed an obsession with pockets.  She doesn't tend to put anything in them, but she likes to have them, and look inside them a lot.  Maybe I should hide small but interesting things inside them to surprise her?  Raisins, perhaps?

And while I'm breaking my golden rule of label-checking, I spotted these in the boys section while I was in the queue to pay, and to quote Little Bo Peep on Show Me Show Me "Oh My Woolly Word, I just gotta have it!"  We had a pair of khaki cropped trousers last summer, which turned out to be a wardrobe staple for ages, and these are just FABulous.  I have absolutely zero qualms about dressing Squeaky in boys' clothes, if they fit & look cute, I don't care.

Then I grabbed this very festive stripy t-shirt. The photo doesn't do it justice, there's a sparkly gold thread in amongst the stripes there.  I'm looking forward to dressing her up over Christmas in this, it's so soft & cosy, and it'll hide cranberry sauce stains nicely.  That's right, I have a child that refuses to eat dinner, but will eat yorkshire puddings, gravy and cranberry sauce. Hmmmmmm...

I foolishly ventured upstairs to the toy section.  I was actually very good, they also have bedding & things upstairs & I resisted the temptation to grab an In The Night Garden sleeping bag, partly because it was £8, which was WAY over my budget, and mostly because the last 2nd hand one I bought cost me 50p and I'm spoiled now.  I did grab this noisy shape-matching game though.  The puzzle is a bit (OK, lot) simple for Squeaky, but the noises are very entertaining & she's enjoying learning what the animals are, and copying the noises.  I'll probably get sick of this very soon & donate it somewhere, but right now it's doing OK.  (I also bought a Waybuloo Fuzzy Felt set, but that's upstairs in my wardrobe hiding out with the Christmas presents, so no photos for you just yet.)

And a last minute, bonus entry to today's bargain bonanza!  We went to the carvery for Sunday lunch, and when I took Squeaky for a change, through the connecting doors into the Travelodge next door, I spotted a table of books, on sale raising money for Cancer Research.  Well, internet, you know me by now, I'm not one to turn down a book.  There were 3 or 4 Enid Blyton books there, all short stories, and in varying conditions.  Squeaky actually chose this one, and I asked her if she wanted any of the others as well (I was feeling generous), but no, she only wanted the Watering Can book.  The stories include such gems as "The hole in the mackintosh", "Mr Binkle's Boots", and the intriguing sounding "Mr Pink-Whistle and Santa Claus". I'm not sure I want to find out how Mr Pink-Whistle got his name.

Well, if you've got your breath back, that's all from me for today. See what everyone else has been finding, over at Missie Lizzie's place. 

Silent Sunday 27/11/11

DDH - the journey continues

If you remember way, way back in October last year, after a selection of typical NHS cock-ups, we got to see the paediatric orthopaedic specialist, way down in the Vale of Glam, who said that after worrying, fretting & double-nappying, Squeaky's hips were "just within the normal range", but that they'd send us another appointment for 6 months time to check again once she was walking.  6 months came and went.  No surprises in the tale of missed dates that this whole saga has been, and to be honest I was torn between harassing the doctor to find out what was going on & shrugging it off thinking they'd said things were ok.

And then last week we got one of those letters addressed to "THE PARENTS/GUARDIANS OF MISS SQUEAKY BABY" in big capital letters.  Telling me to phone Llandough & make an appointment to see the orthopod for a follow-up. 6 months has become 14.  I umm & ahh for a week, forget to phone them because the appointment line is only open silly hours & eventually get round to making an appointment for 15 December.  Happy freakin Christmas.

I know in my rational brain that all will be well, she doesn't appear to have any issues with walking.  Part of me doesn't even want to bother going.  But I know I'd never forgive myself if something wasn't picked up.  So now we have another round of me fussing, fretting and generally getting into a state, a trip to Lovely Old Out-Of-The-Way hospital, and a trip to somewhere nice on the way home as a reward.  Hobbycraft? Ikea? The drive-thru Starbucks?  All of the above?  Who knows.

Music Therapy

I was challenged to Mammywoo's Music Therapy meme by Him Up North, and after having spent a fair number of years in the wilds of Ilkley & Leeds, I've learned not to argue with a Yorkshireman.

For those of you as out of touch with the memes of the moment as I am, it's a simple premise.  Three different artists, three different songs, three sets of lyrics that mean something to you. ARGH. It sounds so easy, but it's so difficult. My entire music collection is boxed up and either in the attic, or in a storage unit somewhere the other side of town, my mp3 player is upstairs next to a sleeping SqueakyDaddy.  And I'm old and haven't listened to anything more relevant than Radio Wales in years.  So I'm working from a mixture of memories and ARGH.

1) Wilson Phillips - Hold On




"No one can change your life except for you
Don't ever let anyone step all over you"

I'm not proud, I'll admit to my 90's teenhood.  I love the song.  There's been some long long nights this song got me through in my teens, and times where maybe I should've listened to those lyrics again since. Given the right mood, this song can make me cry.

2) Fools Garden - Lemon Tree




"Isolation is not good for me
Isolation, I don't want to sit on the lemon-tree"


A reminder not to wallow in my own self-pity. And a perky, happy, silly reminder that drags me straight back to college, jumping around in the now-defunct Travs in Ilkley.  The last night before I left college, the DJ played this (as he did very frequently), and said we'd never hear it again after that night.  He was wrong, but it takes me straight back to a simpler time and leaves me with a smile. Also it makes me popular with people from Germany.


3) Cliff Richard - Congratulations





Now, you weren't expecting that, were you?  Let me explain.  SqueakyDaddy and I both have a shameful love of the Eurovision Song Contest (I very nearly chose LT United's "We Are The Winners"), and we have a tendency to not take things very seriously.  So when we got married, we decided to have a bit of fun with the music, and walked out of the ceremony to this.  Just those first beats make me smile.  The whole thing summed us up, and our wedding, and took everyone by surprise.


Who to tag? You!  No, not you, you've already done it.  You, there, trying to hide behind your mug.  I can see you!


(In other words, if you want to do it, I've tagged you. If you don't, I haven't.  Get to it, people!)

Magpie Monday - Winter Warmers

Saturday was the quarterly (if I remember to go to them all) test of endurance and pointy elbows that is the Cardiff NCT sale.  Squeaky & I bundled into the car with my friend & Squeaky's and off the four of us went for a shopping expedition.  If you'd seen the contents of my bag, expedition was the right word, you'd've thought we were off to conquer the Antarctic by the amount of food 2 toddlers seem to need.

We hit one of the charity shops before lunch (there's LOADS on that road, and you can usually pick up a fair haul of bargains, but having the girls with us kind of slowed us down a bit), where I found this gorgeous Pampolina hoodie/cardigan.  It looks to be brand new, there's not a bobble on it.  I love the colours, I'm not one for pastels, and I'm really not going to miss her in this am I?  The embroidery on the hood is fabulous (though it seems to be more a decoration than a proper hood, it doesn't sit right), and the detail on the breast patch, wow!  SPARKLES!!!!  Every little girl needs sparkles from time to time, right?

The ladies in the shop were struggling to size it, it's a German brand, and like a few continental brands I've found, the label just gives a measurement, not an age. We guessed at roughly a 2-3, but it comes up a little bit small and is a spot-on fit for Squeaky right now.  Perfect for the chilly weather.

My friend picked up a vintage dressmaking book, a Wombles bed linen set (screamingly 1980's, I think I had the same one myself) and a toy laptop to entertain the girls over lunch (which was left in the cafe when we finished, it'd served its purpose!)

Then onwards to the NCT Sale.  The usual rugby scrum of over-entitled mommies, grannies and volunteers who are REALLY regretting volunteering and would much rather be sipping a latte in Starbucks.  I'm going to spread these finds out over the next few weeks, but today is all about the snuggly warm stuff.  The rails weren't inspiring me, I have to admit, so I spent my money on the rummaging tables in the middle of the room.  There, I spotted a Laura Ashley girls cardigan, again looks to be brand new, hiding amongst the George at Asda babygros.  I know I just said something about not wearing pastels, but creamy-beige doesn't count, does it?  I just fell in love with the detailing.  Covered buttons & the collar, oh.  I'm a sucker.  But £2.50?  For Laura Ashley?  I brought it back to its spiritual home, Laura Ashley was from Merthyr, so it's only right that the cardigan comes here.  That's my excuse anyway.

And finally for this morning, also hiding out on the rummage table, though I honestly don't know why... a Ted Baker hoodie, for the princely sum of £1. It would've been rude not to, for that price.

We learned a few ideas for how to handle the next sale better - merge our shopping into one bag, so only one person needs to queue, and the other can wrangle toddlers, then settle the money up afterwards.  The queues are crazy, and that seems to be where most of the patience (and tempers) are lost, adults as well as children.  Still, we each came away with a bag of bargains, and enough to keep the washing machine busy for a day or two.

Why not pop over to Missie Lizzie's place & see the other bargains? 

My letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

I've been a very good girl this year, and for Christmas I would like:
A shiny new car
A shiny new house
A winning lottery ticket...

You get the picture.

I was thinking about this the other day, the Letter to Santa thing.  It's turned into quite a business now, there's a whole selection of companies and charities who will send your child back a letter from Santa, in return for a chunk of your hard earned cash.  But that causes a couple of problems - 1) which one to choose? and 2) have I really got that hard earned cash to spare?

I think I've found the answer.  The real Santa, as we all know, lives in Reindeerland, not a PO Box number, or a trading estate somewhere on the edge of Leicester.  And the real Santa will read our letters for free, and reply to as many as he can (sadly that means there's no guarantee, but FREE!)

If you, or your child, want to write to Santa, and tell him how good you've been, and what you want for Christmas, his actual, real & proper address is:

Santa/Father Christmas
Santa's Grotto
Reindeerland
SAN TA1

Just 3 things to remember:

• Write your name & address on your letter, or Santa won't know who it's from.
• Attach a 1st or 2nd class stamp to your envelope
• Make sure you post your letter before Wednesday 14th December, to make sure it gets to Santa on time.

I got this information from the Post Office, I have not been compensated in any way for sharing it.  This is the first of my Christmas On A Budget posts.

Slatterny, or why I'm not allowed nice things

I was tagged by the lovely Wendy at Inside The Wendy House to answer the immortal question, "Where do I blog?"  And then I kept her waiting all weekend while I drank cider, watched The Wurzels and played on the beach, before coming home to answer the question.

We all wonder, I know, what the people behind the blogs we read REALLY get up to.  Are they the saintly neat & tidy people with everything in its place that my husband assumes is how the rest of the world lives, or are they the slatternly folk for whom everything has a place, and that place is wherever it lands?

From that picture, you might be able to guess which side of the line my blogplatz falls on. Highlights of this picture include: a can of Coke Zero, some hair wax, Squeaky's change bag (the black messenger bag on top of the drawers), and almost out of shot, the baby monitor.  You can tell it's real, the screen is showing my last post, mid-way through the creative process.  It's actually not as bad as it could be, there's often a discarded coffee cup or two, and maybe a plate of toast hanging around there somewhere, but as we've been away, I haven't had chance to make too much mess, there's only the static junk there today.

Honestly, though, I can see the tv, Squeaky's usually around my feet (the uncomfortable old wooden chair is because she worked out how to climb onto the computer chair, so I took it away. She can climb on this one now too, though.), or if she's not, she's watching CBeebies just a few feet away.  The desk is getting pretty rickety now, I had it when I went to university, and it kind of leans to the left in a slightly worrisome manner.  I keep thinking about replacing it, but while it's still standing, what's the point?  I'm the last of the Old Skool, in that I'm using a desktop pc (a very new one at that, I only bought it last month when the old one died a death), mostly because my lappy is a temperamental beast, and if I'm writing, I want to know it'll get to where I wanted to post it. Otherwise I'd blog in bed, it's warmer there.

I'm going to tag the following lovelies.  Are you saints, or slatterns like me?
Abigail of Abigail and the Future
Gingembre of Momma Wears Combat Boots

See Bibsey's original post, where it all began.