As usual the passage of time has been all too fast with all too little of significance baring testament to it's passing or indeed existence.

The hole The Dog left is still immense, the grief is a docile creature that rests within us now, awakening every now and then with a quick nip that makes the eyes water.  It's the little things really, like having nobody to hoover up when The Toddler tries to feed his lunch to the floor and being able to enter the house without him rushing to see us.  I miss him in so many ways that they each have their own jagged shape that have yet to find a place to nest into without discomfort.

Spring is upon us and yet outside it's snowing.  Yes, snowing.  I do rather hope The Easter Bunny has thermals and bollocks of steel.

It's day one of The Easter Holidays and already i'm dreaming of gin o'clock as my befuddled mind tries to remember whether it's the gin or the children that constitute the old adage of Mothers Ruin.

Typically Things One & Two have bloody gone and grown, how very dare they.  This of course means that the few pennies we could have used whilst they're off school are now all being utilised in the bloody boring task of buying new school uniform, I do rather resent having to fork out for the ghastly things.

No sooner do we get the trampoline up, we get another pseudo-monsoon followed by a house full of ill.  Poor poor spawn.

It's still snowing, yet it's that terribly useless snow that doesn't actually do anything.  Where are the bountiful mounds of white fluffy goodness to play in?

My nights are still filled with The Toddler night feeds and the mental torture that is the Candy crush Saga and that insipid resolution of starting a diet, tomorrow.  The regaining of weight that depresses one towards the direction of cadbury's cream eggs to commiserate continues and I still haven't succeeded in absolutely destroying my hair, small mercies people.

Seeing as it's the school holidays, The Mothership and Father dearest have typically fucked off to Spain, nothing if not predictable, so The Spawn are bloody well lumbered with us  for the duration.  Poor sods.

Woe is indeed me.

Nosewatch: all's quiet on the nose front, insofar as to say there is as yet no red lump of doom, it hasn't been knocked out, pulled or lost and is actually somewhat cute.  Maybe this really will be fourth time lucky, neh? However, it does bring back that niggling affliction of more-itis.  Piercings and tattoos really are terribly addictive. However I've ruled out more tattoos until The Toddler is older as the thought of having him clamber all over me in my sleep with new tattoos in place is quite eye watering not to mention that i'm fast running out of things to sell to fund any such frivolity.  The main problem I have with piercings is that i'm actually awfully unkeen on so many of them, i'm a fussy old bugger.  I'm personally not interested in genital doo-dahs, micro dermals leave me with a huge case of the '..but really, why?' ditto with stretching and with my ghastly crap blood i'd most likely bleed to death if i so much as toyed with the idea of my tongue (however, I must confess to finding the enforced lack of eating somewhat enticing) it really doesn't leave that much left.  I have my wobbly, crepey vile navel done, it was the second attempt and has never been taken out, ever, despite being in there for well over a decade and through three pregnancies.  I have had my lip done for around 12 years, I have four holes in one ear and six in the other and now have my nose done (for the fourth time).  I fear an eyebrow piercing would simply cry out for battle with 'pull me pull me!' to The Toddler et al.  I rather like Tragus piercings yet I have a hideous fear of the sound, I completely agree that it's simply irrational and yet I just image a huge abysmal pop and crackle which induces a need to mentally vomit.  I told you, i'm a fussy bugger.

It's cold, freezing really and despite the intial orgasmic flurry of snow it's now just cold, cold wet and icey.  I know that by now we should be passed the forced civility of discussing the weather but it's cold I tell you! Nipples like bullets. The toddler doesn't know wether to feed upon them or to hang his coat upon them.

I'm sorry for being scattier then usual lately with scant updates few and far between, however I'm awfully consumed by emo-ism lately, I fear if The Husband knew just how far advanced my emo-ism is, he'd rather fancy a divorce.  It's the two edged blade really, medication versus none medication.  Unfeeling versus feeling terribly too much.  Eyes full ice versus eyes flooding with water. Oh and what better way to tackle the fact I've gained nearly a stone, a stone i tell you! then to binge.  Excessively.  Constantly.  I am nought if not my own ruin.

I decided to re-henna my hair due to the ugly site of roots, now don't get me wrong i'm terribly partial to the grotty roots of grunge with every hair colour other then natural ones and black.  As much as I love being ginger, darker shades seem to suit my ghostly pallor and eyes (yes the eyes that I'm still not certain as to their colour having lived the majority of my life with blue/grey eyes that shine green when one cries to having The Husband and The Spawn inform me that they're actually green) So I threw in a cube of CaCa Brun for good luck into the sludge of CaCa Rouge and wha'd'ya know?  I have a rather lovely dark reddy brown that has striking copper highlights in daylight.  Success, what an awfully strange experience.  However, it was bloody irksome washing the bugger out,

Right best be off to make some ridiculously sinful cheesecake, just to keep the blubber company whilst contemplating a mug of mothers ruin, it is Gin O'Clock, right?

Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow

By heck it's been frightfully cold here, cold as in the heating is on 24/7 (sorry Dad) yet as much as the cold, quite literally, pains me I perversely much prefer the cold to the hot, I always have been somewhat of a Winter Girl at heart.  However, there is one condition to me tolerating the cold and that would be snow.  Yes i'm one of those people that rather then flail in mad hysterical panic at the mere thought of it, I actually revel in it.  There's a serenity in snow, it is quite simply beautiful. The mere thought of it is uplifting. So imagine my recent disgust where the cold brought with it nipples like bullets, blue toes and visible breaths that make everyone from behind look like smokers yet no bloody snow.  In the recent words of The Toddler 'Not Fair.'  However, Mother Nature has indeed redeemed herself as The Gods have indeed let it snow! The Met Office predicted rubbish old sleet yet outside the window is a flurry of precious white flakes of snow.  Hoorah!  I must confess I did a little dance and some shrieks of utter glee because IT'S SNOWING!. However, I am without doubt that it won't last and within an hour or two it will resort to mere sleet.  Pissflaps.

Yet despite the brain freezing weather I'm still afflicted with shoeitis and am longfully fawning over pretty shoes that I can neither afford nor walk in and are most absurdly impractical for winter anyway, yet one can't help but sigh and perve over the shininess.  At least I appear to have finally broken in the boots of doom that fingers crossed appear to no longer be yapping and snapping at my heels like an irate intoxicated Yorkshire Terrier.

For once i'm feeling uncharacteristically smug to some extent as my usually unheard of planning has indeed beaten the weather with The Toddler possessing a winter coat, a polar fleece all in one and fluffy lined snow boots.  Blimey how about that for prepared?  I'm rather naively hoping that Thing Two's waterproof dungas will serve us yet another year and indeed Thing One's water proof trousers whilst I ignore the ridiculously obvious fact that the little blighters have grown, again. I may have down a shot of something wicked to numb that little voice in my head that squeals like a  girl with sheer petrification at the thought of kitting The Spawn out for Winter (poor Thing Two must have shit blood like me for she too is terribly sensitive to the cold) and have an internal argument with myself in order to justify some spending.  Thankfully in true MamaUndone fashion, I can remain slatternly and do it from the uncomfort of my own decrepid  sofa where it's at least warm and fire up ye old browser to E-Outdoor and try dreadfully hard to silence my own 'But what about me? I want a nifty North Face Coat tooooooo!' (yes I absolutely am that whiney) As it is, what with Christmas, winter clothing and you know that whole food thing i'll end up having to sneakily  liberate the pocket hand warmers bought as an intended gift for The Mother which are fabulously and disgustingly kitsch.  One day i'll learn to knit or crochet and finally own a pair of those gorgeous wrist warmers (with fold over mits) in a delicious autumnal rainbow (think Girasol Earthy Rainbow for fellow babywearing geeks) You know the kind, all those dastardly crafty people who seem to make, not that the people are dastardly they're rather lovely, i'm just a jealous old twunt who is craft inept.

Speaking of craft,  I still need to make a matching tutu for Thing Two's doll in time for christmas.

Oh no.  Who stole the snow?  It's stopped.  My smile has drooped all the way into my tomato soup.