Moving House, Smashed Windows and a Few Beans

So back in the day when I was deluded, I remember saying how much I loved moving house.

*note to self- taking a gun and shooting yourself in the foot would be less painful*

In our old little two bed terrace I could never of imagined how much crap I had secretly stored away in any available space. I am going to write to the government requesting that when you give birth, babies should exit the womb with a warning sign stating how much stuff you WILL waste your money on and become inexcusably attached too. 

Week 1- The renovation

The new house that we have now moved into could only be described as a runaway fugitive from a pre-war museum.  This house was committing crimes as quickly as Lindsey Lohan necks a bottle of vodka and gets behind a wheel. Floral carpets, walls, curtains and ceilings were only the start. All in a array of colours from the rainbow. We had one week to turn this migraine into a home. Cue two large pots of Magnolia and enough gloss to keep you on cloud nine for the next several years. By the end of the week muscles were hurting I previously did not know existed. 

Week 2- The move. Thankfully Isabelle was taken care of and only being at the grand age of 20 months had more sense than me to retreat to grandmas. Woofs had also escaped to a boarding kennels. Leaving me and Ste to fight it out alone. All was well in the morning until the sofa arrived. Cue stress. Our average size sofa was no match for the mouse size living room door. So obviously in this situation you bring your dad in who has never been famous for anything other than driving huge trucks and creating ludicrous plans. By no means was he trained to remove our 9ft window embedded in antique frame. Me on the other hand chose to hibernate in the upstairs bathroom with taps on full power. 30 minutes In I dragged my sorry numb backside to view the damage but when you see four grown men grinning like Cheshire cats that lost a pint of cream but got rewarded with two pints of beer, panic automatically sets in. The only words muttered from them was "run". Thanks of the reassurance guys!!  On entering the living room the sofa was in and so was the window. Hmmmmmm. Behind me I heard an intake of breaths and someone squeaked "have you seen it". Seen what? At this point I spotted IT, the crack right through the centre on the window pane. While a few strong words were muttered, I realised it could be worse. My sofa was in, my window was in, now with a touch of Art Deco. 

The afternoon continued to decline from here. Finally finishing the day around 3am  when not even the dirtiest Kebab shop is open. Stale bread and a tin of beans was the only thing either of us had the energy to prepare. 

It is now three weeks later I swear I'm still unpacking crap. Where does it come from? Where do you hide it? Any suggestions please leave below. Getting rid is for some reason, unspeakable. 

Till my next rant, Farewell

Miss Savvy- Mum

Xoxo

Survived a murder trial

Do you ever have those days when you want to kill your partner? No ow well just me. I feel a bit sorry for men as no matter what they do they will never win with us women. It's not that we are too demanding, I believe we are just too well equipped with knowledge. Now usually I would think this would be a benefit, to a man however I think they find it slightly ego shattering. The other day me and my partner argued over isabelles chicken curry. Yes I said chicken curry, you have now learnt that those pathetic arguments that almost end in a divorce are normal. As like tonight curry was our problem not only did this argument last for approximately 3 hours it also meant we didn't eat the lovely meal that had been made for us. The reason for this post is just too show you that stupid arguments are so normal. We were one of those couples that never argued until Isabelle was born. I don't know why things have changed to be honest. Maybe it is the change of situation, the strain of now caring for not just yourself but a vulnerable and easyily led child. We now bicker on a daily basis sometimes it worries me but you know what if we can't resolve an argument that started over curry, who didnt empty the bin or some other more lame reason, then I personally don't think we should of been together anyway. A couple isn't a perfect picture, nothing in this world is perfect but it's how you deal with your own family's perfectness that matters not the way to get to it.

Just incase your wondering how this wonderful argument started we couldn't agree on wether Isabelle should try the curry or not. This ended in tantrums, walking out and a lot of words not appropriate for child consumption. That was just our behaviour. 

In the end Isabelle didn't want the curry anyway. That's just how life goes.