Milk & Manolos

As the Munchkin and I hit our first proper ‘Birthday Season’ back in October, I was amazed by two things things. Firstly people’s huge generosity when it comes to present giving, and the second, the terrifying existence of party bags.

Fortuitously the Munchkin’s party fell in the middle of this time so I was able to learn from the mistakes of others. Sadly not without making my own nonetheless. Discovering quite how woefully stingey I’d been with the first present I bought, I felt moved to email my pal apologising for my lack of etiquette.

As for party bags, I grabbed the bull by the horns and ran with it. It did involve shopping after all. Spending an afternoon in the party shop, I was in seventh heaven. Not only was there anything you could possibly ever need for any type of party you happen to be organising, there was a HUGE section dedicated to cheap plastic toys, the like of which I’ve not seen since the afternoons spend with my father in the local pound shop in 1979, which just happened to be on the same site.

There of course was nothing stylish about the contents of the Munchkin’s party bags, how can you make plastic whistles and colouring books stylish ? I was however pretty pleased with my first effort.

Subsequently I’ve found Jelly and Blancmange where party bags are the child version of me receiving the latest Prada handbag full to the brim with Cowshed products and Tiffany jewellery.

The most unbelievably stylish party bag fillers, this is a far cry from the pound shop, and even better, not a lot more expensive. In fact I’m reaching for the Husbands credit card now to help bulk out the Munchkin’s stocking.

I go all a quiver for gingham at this time of the year. It must be the latent Doris Day in me.

Trawling the web for gifts suitable for small people I discovered Amanda Riley’s website. Everso slightly similar in style to the White Company these bits and pieces are the real deal. From handmade quilts to washbags, and some, this lady is set to have a very busy Christmas.

Having thought for one dreamy, misty eyed moment that I’d make the Munchkin her first Christmas stocking, I’ve now seen the light. Sadly the hessian sacking and pom-poms I bought from the local haberdasher, in the absence of any red gingham and grosgrain, is simply not going to do cut the mustard. I only wish she sold stockings too …

The Munchkin has a magic blanket. This blanket bestows the most blissful sleep upon whomever is wrapped in it’s soft, brushed cotton arms. I know this as not only have I wrapped my best beloved in to countless times, last Sunday morning the pair of us were snuggled under it at 3 am while at Grandma’s house. Madam woke with a start believing there to be a “scary spider” on her foot. There wasn’t incidentally, it’s a recurring theme. I don’t know what I was thinking when I let her watch Mel C man-handle tarantulas on The One Show a couple of weeks back.

Every Munchkin needs a Magic Blanket. Deflecting all evil and creating just enough warmth to make the eyes heavy are important features in any potential blanket. Off course you could always opt for the traditional - there’s nowt more soporific that a Brora cashmere blanket (the Munckin and I can only dream - pun very much intended), or for the Modernists out there Fig Kids have some great examples, showing that you needn’t loose when you snooze. What can be more magical that a Unicorn ?

I fully admit that I’m not one for umbrellas. I can see the appeal, big time, however I’ve spent my life reaching for a brolly the minute the sky opens to find it missing. I of course blame the Husband, who was last see heading East, his being covered by a leopard print monstrosity (not mine I hasten to add. But if it’s not mine, who the hell’s is it ?). Yet again, no brolly for me and my make-up.

The times I HAVE managed to lay my hands on one of the blighters, I prompty forget about the extra accessory out with me for the day, leaving it alone and desolate and waiting patently for a new owner.

I made peace with my umbrella problem years ago, deciding to take the kamikaze attitude to rain fall. That’s it Ladies, I went commando. Not in the strictest sense I hasten to add. All was fine until this Summer when, not only was the rainfall at record levels, I also had the Munchkin to contend with.

Following on from a disastrous trip out this week where she refused, on pain of tantrum, to neither travel in her buggy nor use her umbrella, I had to contend with the scathing looks of Mothers who had their Children fully under control. How could I expect her to use an umbrella when I was so bravely getting wet, and sporting make-up that would make Alice Cooper proud ?

Having done a little surfing I’ve unearth a genius invention. An umbrella that I finally can’t loose, Buggy Brolly does exactly what it says on the tin. Of course it doesn’t take care of the Munchkin free moments, but quite frankly the fact that they’re Munchkin free ensure swift power-walking through the downfall, and a minute or two to reapply a bit of slap on arrival.

I’m all for a bit of self-improvement. While there is quite a bit to improve, I’m currently concentrating on what was formally know as my brain. I’d now describe it as some thing akin to mush. It certainly functions - I can do all the important things, just (thank you Dr. Kawashima), but I still reach the top of the stairs wondering what started me on my climb, and more than frequently struggle to remember a word.

This is where the fabulous Anu Garg and his website, Wordsmith, come in.

Every morning I’m greeted by my word du jour sitting expectantly in my inbox. Based on a weekly theme, there begins the education of this soft celled Mother. My own challenge is then to set about using said word, or phrase, in conversation. Not so easy with “lex talionis“, particularly when the main body of your discourse for the day is with a 2 year old. However mission successfully completed. Just don’t ask me how - suffice to say I was taking the moral high ground.

Today I’ve got to squeeze ‘Darby and Joan‘ into a conversation. Thank the Lord, I’m having lunch with my parents.

The Husband is obsessed with taking photographs. While there are definite bonuses to having your very own paparazzi there is always the question as to what to do with the hundreds of images lovingly uploaded onto MY computer.

My beef with digital cameras has always been the lack of a physical photograph. Back in the day, my early twenties were documented by a series of disposable cameras of which every photograph, good or bad, was printed. With technology brings photo approval, which I’m a great fan of. No longer does there need to be proof that we don’t always look quite as fetching as we’d hoped. At a click of a button they’re gone.

The problem is the annoying complexity of having photos printed now. It’s not difficult but such a faff, and I really resent paying those shop prices only to be pointed in the direction of what is simple a fancy home photo printer.

My life however has changed since being recommended to Photobox. Here I can organise development at the click of my mouse - all without speaking to anyone or moving from my desk. Cheap and very definitely cheerful photo box is undoubtedly the answer to my photo developing needs. Not only can you print photos of any size or colour way, you can create albums, books, mouse mats and mugs, all for far cheaper than the high street.

My mission today is to demand the Munchkin stay still for all of 30 seconds, wrap her in fairy light, have her don a halo and shove the rather cheap plastic harp I recently bought into her squidgy hands and set about shooting the family Christmas card. Thanks to Photobox that’ll be our Christmas cards sorted …

“Never underestimate the importance of a good bra” a very ample chested friend advised me a couple of years ago. There I was in my grey Marks & Spencer bra admiring the small glimpse of prettiness I could see at the edge of her boat necked top. Deciding then and there my 34C’s needed attention I booked myself in for a proper fitting, Royal style. Rigby and Peller here I come.

I’ve never been particularly conscious of my body so being topless in front of my fitter didn’t phase me in the slightest. These puppies needed sorting and I was on a mission. After a touch of light measuring and the trying on of a couple of bras for size, it emerged that I’d been wearing the wrong size for years. Suddenly it all fell into place. Literally. Putting on a properly fitted bra is like wearing your favourite pair of old jeans, or going home, it just works. Mind you, discovering you’re a 30 F has it’s problems. Far from a common size M & S were no longer suitable suppliers. Trawling lingerie specialists far and wide Bravissimo, Fig Leaves and John Lewis have all been able to help me. Not including Messrs Rigby and Peller where it all began.

I’m ashamed to say that my ability to speak any language other than English is woefully poor. As a teenager I spent my French lessons copying the love letters of one of fiercest girls at school. These were being sent to her boyfriend, then at Her Majesty’s Service. Why was I copying them ? All because she liked my handwriting. I didn’t mind. My aptitude for language, including English at that stage, was downright poor. It was far more glamourous documenting this l’affaire du coeur and it ensured my safe passage through a rather rough inner city comprehensive. Praise the Lord my parents whisked me off to boarding school aged 16 to learn the error of my ways.

Because of this, I’m determined the Munchkin succeed where I failed. Now the English is coming along at a pace, it’s time to focus on International Munchkin.

First step is to invest in some Mudpuppy Flashcards. Beautifully illustrated and in the choice of French and Spanish the Munchkin and are I going to set about this journey together.

Thursday’s have slowly become one of my favourite days of the week. Beside the fact that Thursday is the new Friday, I can attribute this positivity for an otherwise uninspiring day of the week to my something that arrives in my inbox. Thursday is Popbitch day.

As wrong as it is, I do like to keep myself abreast of the latest celebrity tittle tattle and for gossip, this is the place to come. Once signed up, an email will arrive in your inbox each Thursday, just in time for elevenses. I warn you now, that this isn’t for the fate hearted - these guys specialise in real heart-stopping gossip, provided by anonymous industry insiders.

Who needs the Pink Tops ? In search of nourishment for my nosey parkerness, this is hot off the press, and best of all, free.

It’s not a secret that I like my clothes. Well, clothes, shoes, handbags and all that sparkles. I long to dress the Munchkin in the beautiful clothes I often see on my travels and managed to do so before she reached what I politely refer to as her Hello Kitty phase. That’s right. This small person knows her mind and at present, if Hello Kitty ain’t on an item of clothing then it most definitely ain’t being worn. It’s got so bad that on a recent shopping excursion I left Hennes fifty quid lighter, and with a bag full of clothing embossed with our feline friend.

I’m slowly creating a list of shopping venues to rush to the moment it looks like la chat’s popularity might be waning. Very much at the top of that list is Oh Baby London.

Beautifully but easy to wear dresses, teamed with great slogan T’s, this label is one to watch and no doubt a contender for No Added Sugars long held crown. Interesting yet funky it’s my kind of place. Wonderful present ideas with wardrobe staples, I can’t wait to splash the cash.

Now all I’ve got to do is get rid of that blasted cat …