tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77490052091306719002012-02-16T17:37:57.835ZThe Ups and Downs (mostly ups!) of sharing the lives of my partners two small boys.Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.comBlogger261100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-57459167927485223502009-05-12T09:04:00.003+01:002009-05-12T09:18:37.775+01:00

I love Richard Hammond. ChaosMan knows this and forgives me for it. Although I am not allowed anywhere near the set of Top Gear, which is probably for the best and would probably contravene the conditions of the restraining order. The boys have also somehow gathered that I love Richard Hammond. I have no idea how. One day, after I'd finished swooning and clutching my heart at the little cutey on

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-5929654782283260442009-05-12T08:55:00.004+01:002009-05-12T09:19:14.737+01:00

We encourage the children to read, write, draw, make up poems, think about the world, and use their imaginations. Sometimes this backfires on us. I'd recently taught the boys how to write their names in Russian, making them think about language, and how some were very different from English. SM particularly enjoyed this and made me write out lots of words for him. A few weeks later I was writing

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-18867584485854518262009-05-12T08:46:00.003+01:002009-05-12T08:55:44.919+01:00

On a trip away recently I was called away from sunbathing and playing backgammon with BM (somewhat mercifully as he is mercenary) to answer a vital call of nature. It's an unfortunate fact that caravans amplify natures' calls and I heard SM giggle, then shout to his dad, "DAAAD! Did you know that ladies have big HOLES in their winkies and when they wee it goes WOOOOOSHHHH everywhere?" His dad

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-78539236417879586982009-04-16T23:29:00.003+01:002009-05-12T09:53:40.662+01:00

The night before we went camping Chaos-man crept into the boys' room and carefully, amid fits of shaking silent laughter, me standing in the doorway, fists shoved into my mouth, drew large curly mustaches and goatee beards on each of his children with my eyeliner. In the morning Bigmad woke up first, and appeared in our doorway sleepy and stretching, mustache still proudly sitting above his top

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-19342865287703596122009-04-16T23:10:00.003+01:002009-04-17T10:42:53.575+01:00

The boys were a little worried that the Easter bunny wouldn't be able to find us at the campsite. They explained that he "flies through the air with his ears, carrying Easter eggs for all children." laughing we reassured them that their helicopter-eared bunny loves camping and would find them just fine.On the Saturday night we had to ban any mention of the E-word due to Easter-egg mention

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-56784395453930473812009-04-09T22:42:00.002+01:002009-04-09T22:50:40.749+01:00

This weekend I am going camping for the first time with the Mads. I am a little nervous as we've not as yet all gone away together, let alone all slept in the one small tent. We've just put two overexcited little boys to bed with promises of sausage sandwiches, meeting some crabs, playing in the sea and sleeping in a tent. This weekend promises to be one of the wettest, most inclement weekends in

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-7867257676760363862009-04-06T21:09:00.004+01:002009-04-06T21:55:47.807+01:00

Chaos man is sometimes compelled to make impulsive purchases. His latest, fully endorsed by me, is a canoe. At first I was a little nervous about getting in it, especially because our nearest water-body is the Birmingham-Worcester canal. I informed him that I thought canals were full of scum and dead dogs but he reassured me that canals were now nice and clean, and devoid of ex-canines. After

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-85651832980076374012009-03-22T03:40:00.006Z2009-03-24T17:28:04.604Z

"DAAAAAD!!!!! HE'S KICKING MEEEEE!!!" "ARRRGHHHHH! HE'S TRYING TO GET MY FAAACE""NOOOOO! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!"The boys sometimes enjoy trying to kill each other, in often violent and inventive ways. Some days it's been a full-time occupation trying to prevent Armageddon. Although we've issued a non-violence policy, punishable by raised dad-voice and the devastating loss of favored toys, they still

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-26256150568824049872009-03-22T03:30:00.003Z2009-03-22T03:40:40.940Z

I'm sure there are moments in the life of any parent or guardian when they'd love to tape-record the things their children say, and play it back to them when they are older. BigMad was happily walking between me and his dad today chattering about everything, when he said "I hope I don't become hypnotized by those chavvy teenagers and become one when I'm older". We expressed our agreement with his

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-2791885483965848972009-03-22T03:14:00.005Z2009-03-22T03:29:44.753Z

At tea-time, after a visit to an Aquarium, SmallMad asked me hopefully whether he might one day be eaten by a shark. I explained that Sharks don't generally eat people and if they do, it's because that person was in the wrong place, or was mistaken for a seal. I told him that humans were too bony for Sharkfood, and that they liked fatty animals like seals. "But what if you were really fat?" He

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-7943268131117815862009-03-20T08:10:00.002Z2009-03-20T08:17:38.195Z

Children of four (sorry, nearly five) like birds. They chase pigeons, feed ducks, and put bread out for the sparrows. SmallMad has his own ideas about what birds are for however, and I think this might be our fault. I had the patio doors open last Saturday and pointed out a little baby sparrow sitting at the top a bush, tweeting about the joys of spring. "Look SM! A bird!" He was quiet for a

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-85961521828182285752009-03-20T06:56:00.004Z2009-04-17T00:06:34.668+01:00

Sometimes this parenting of children who aren't yours is an emotional business. Even when you only have them part time, they are still very much with you all week. You think about their welfare, hoping they are safe, not watching too much TV, that they won't be overloaded with sugar when they arrive later and hoping they are happy. You miss them. Funnily enough their dad knows them a little

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-54358241413418991092009-03-18T08:29:00.004Z2009-03-18T08:39:14.357Z

SmallMad and I were making chocolate rock-cakes the other day. He was having a great time carefully measuring out the flour, adding cocoa, a pinch of salt and chocolate chips and luckily I caught the gravy granules before they were poured earnestly into the bowl."But we NEED some in there!" He broke the egg, picked out the shells and beat it for me. As he was stirring the mixture he told me he

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-71678717747588418832009-03-16T16:44:00.003Z2009-03-16T17:25:08.247Z

"Have you ever had babies?" I was asked by BM at the weekend. "Nope! I'm sure you would have met them if I had" I answered. "Oh. Oh yeh. You know, I'm glad I'm not a girl. It saves me from having all that PAIN. URGH". Which I thought was rather sweet. SmallMad, listening carefully to this conversation, stuffed a knobbly ball up his jumper, hands pressed into the small of his back, and belly

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-39497670978632194202009-03-16T16:36:00.003Z2009-03-16T16:44:49.392Z

Winkies. We all know what they are. The boys, being boys, find them hilarious, and were fascinated to learn that a Blue Whale's winkie is about three of me standing on top of one another. "DAAAAD!!! SHE's being NAUGHTY!" from SM and from his brother. "I didn't even know whales had THOSE!"Over dinner we were asked, "Is your Winkie your funny bone?". Whilst I was spluttering into my roast, his dad

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-59249995736804481322009-03-16T08:32:00.004Z2009-03-16T16:31:49.060Z

It's shocking the insults one hears in this house. Where's the respect gone? Admittedly I did call BigMad a a fairy princess with pink frilly knickers on, but surely there was no need for him to shoot straight back with "yeh, and you're a munchkin girl. Hmph. I overheard SM say that his dad was hairy and covered in goo. Both of which are accurate, but as is his want, slightly obscure. He's

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-49737104685920316572009-03-13T06:51:00.001Z2009-03-13T07:46:45.322Z

BigMad is quite clear on what he wants to do when he grows up. He wants to invent things, make people laugh, and write poems. Sometimes he wants to be a theme-park owner (more on this at a later date), an explorer, and a scientist. He is going to build a Natural History museum and make people pay an entrance fee. If you are invited please be aware that his prices are exorbitant and slightly

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-9721881947152757652009-03-11T21:35:00.001Z2009-03-13T22:17:13.498Z

This is a Gormiti. Or rather, this is THE Gormiti. I hate it with a passion bordering on the psychotic. I would quite happily take a blowtorch to its face and watch as it melted. I'd even sing as it died. Don't tell Smallmad that though! He loves the damn thing.Gormitis, for the over fives amongst us, are small plastic collectable figurines, like Pokemon or in my day, Star Wars action figures (or

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-83094427497658846422009-03-07T11:28:00.000Z2009-03-07T11:33:56.657Z

I tried on BigMads jacket the other day. It went over my shoulders but wouldn't do up. BigMad enthusiastically described, with much waving of hands, how if I tried to zip it up my boobs would explode "and there'd be milk EVERYWHERE! URGGGH"I indignantly explained that only pregnant women had milk in their boobs and that I most certainly was not with child, already having my hands full of him and

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-19015579057629153352009-03-07T11:17:00.000Z2009-03-07T11:28:21.288Z

I'm the only girl in my house. At the weekend I'm utterly outnumbered by boys. They are both at that age where they are noticing differences between lads and lasses and my boobs get punched a lot. I do not encourage this. Recent conversations regarding these differences include: - Smallmad "I've got a winkie"Me "really! I'm glad to hear it!"Smallmad "Have you got a winkie?"Me (trying to ignore

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-62146927434221398992009-03-07T09:12:00.000Z2009-03-07T10:43:12.305Z

This weekend we don't have the boys. Much as we love having them it's also nice to get a bit of time to ourselves. We've been planning what to do for ages and had decided that we'd go for a really long walk and blow the cobwebs away, followed by maybe catching up with friends and throwing a few pints down our necks, relaxing, messing about outside and spending some time together doing the things

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-40107236482322913982009-03-06T17:49:00.000Z2009-03-06T18:18:50.153Z

Well, they are! Really gross. I know as a parent you're somewhat immune to the grossness of your children. You share some of your DNA with them, and as such don't mind their grossness as much as you'd mind the grossness of other peoples children. Think about it. If your child vomits on you it's icky, but manageable. After all, they've probably vomited on you before. You've been in contact with

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-53638331525587210302009-03-06T16:34:00.000Z2009-03-06T17:22:42.920Z

When Chaos-man and I were looking for somewhere to live, we decided to involve the boys from the off so they would feel included, and understand that the new house would be their home too. This meant we dragged the poor things around several million houses in our chosen area one freezing Saturday. Viewing rental properties can be a grim task, and we saw some right heaps that day. One house, now

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-50302643818737381332009-03-06T16:14:00.000Z2009-03-06T16:33:23.783Z

In the car the other day, SmallMad declared he wanted a "Dead Duck for Dinner". We told him that we couldn't this weekend but perhaps soon. After asking what else he fancied and suggesting rabbit pie with the ears sticking out (they sniggered at that), he declared he wanted to eat "some hamsters and a tiny puppy!". We are now reluctant to ever take him to a petting zoo.

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-49262359412446586592009-03-06T15:53:00.000Z2009-03-06T16:12:37.532Z

At Christmas we took the boys to the park to feed the ducks. They had a great time pelting the mostly-appreciative birds with bread and what they lacked in accuracy of aim they made up for with enthusiasm. We had a great time getting the ducks to come as close as possible until a bouncy dog snaffled the last of our bread and was seen off by shouts of "BAD dog, NAUGHTY dog" by an indignant

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7749005209130671900.post-85784292736654559272009-03-06T15:32:00.001Z2009-03-06T15:32:16.982Z

For the purposes of this blog you can call me step-monster. I'm not a monster really, and I'm not actually even a step-anything, not being married to my partner, but I don't think that matters.At 31 I found true love, with an old friend no less. I'd lost touch with him for years, and when we met again, ten years after waving goodbye to him after university and promising to keep in touch, the

Stepmonsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16207786372026786021noreply@blogger.com0