I will say zis only once

So here I am again, a little later than I thought, but it has been a busy few weeks. The husband turned the big 50 this month and refused to have a party much to the disappointment of the children. They have reached the acceptable age of alcohol indulgence and I think they were hoping for a night of fun on the bank of dad.

                                                       
He said he wanted a rest so he elected to celebrate with family soirees. In fairness, if you know Andrew you will appreciate he is a bit of a party animal and perhaps as he hits 50, he has decided he has worn himself out, although I doubt this very much. He informs me that when I turn 50 we can celebrate then. As I have been lying to him about my age ( and others) since we met I will not get to celebrate with him till I decide to come out. This is very true as even on our wedding day at the church, whilst signing the register, he remarked my date of birth was incorrect. Of course, I shrugged it off and said we could correct it later. I know starting married life in a lie is not the best policy, but I had come too far to go back. It's not like I was pretending to be 21!!!  For those that know my true age if they repeat it out loud I will have to kill you. I don't know why I became so ageist and I know due to my constant fibbing I will miss out on the year of 50 and associated celebrating, but it is my bed and I chose to lie in it.
So anyhoo enough about my Walter Mittyesque behaviour and more about the husband. We decided that we hardly see each other and the answer to that was to buy a house in France. A sort of enforced togetherness after we get on the boat, with little distractions of work. I say enforced but I consider my self very lucky.

Now, of course, having a house in France means that I have to brush up on my French and Andrew needs to start learning it, but enough about his attempt at French later. There was a time where I was semi-fluent and quite confident to attempt most conversations although I have fallen foul at my confidence in my ability. Like most people my age ( whatever that is), I had to live in a French child's house and attend school. I hated it but not as much as my lovely friend Adele who arrived at school every day with 2 fried eggs in her string school bag. She hated eggs but her French family thought that English children liked fried eggs for breakfast. At least I got hot chocolate and cake for breakfast, which is every child's dream. This opportunity to live and go to school in France translated to me thinking I was fluent, so fluent that when I applied for a staff nurse job in ED, I apparently noted I could speak French. What I actually meant to say was I had "O" Level French. Unfortunately what I didn't realise was this meant I was entered into the hospital database as an interpreter. Nicola if you are reading this I apologise to reducing the expertise of the interpreting profession.

I had been in post for a couple of years and hadn't realised that I was a nominated French interpreter until I was asked to consent someone for a hip replacement! Now readers I fully understand my code of conduct and identified swiftly this was not in my remit and couldn't possibly do this. However, the surgeon insisted I come and help with something so I arrived on the ward reinforcing I didn't know the French for" hip replacement" never mind "complications of surgery". When faced with the patient I could only say La jambe gauche and point to the leg. I  then explained that I could only ask about je suis and pain and du vin.  Fortunately, the patient laughed and I did visit them a few times for conversational chats but stayed clear of medical French!

Having said this I have realised I still have the ability to communicate and managed to buy a sofa and arrange delivery. Now to Andrew. When I first met Andrew online he once said something in French to me. Many Jersey folk can speak French, so when I asked him if he could he typed. What I didn't realise was he was using google translate and actually speaks little French. This has become very apparent whilst at the house. He has started speaking a form of Franglais whilst gesticulating at objects and when he is not speaking Franglais he is saying English words in an accent that can only be heard in the programme "Ello Ello". A perfect example of this is taking a cauliflower to be weighed, placing it on the scale pointing at it and saying "Cauli... floooerrrr", not once, but repeatedly to the grocer. He isn't even slightly embarrassed, not even the time he was picking up croissants from the baker and instead of saying closed on Tuesday, he says "He is a woman on a Tuesday". He feels that that closed-ferme and woman-femme is too subtle to differentiate.

When I ask him to attend French lessons with me, he tells me doesn't need to and will learn French talking to the French people. I am not sure he will make any French friends, and expect when we are there in 2 weeks the village will of started a vigil for him. This is because of his last interaction with our lovely French neighbour instead of saying he was living at the French house for eight days, he got jumbled up with his words and informed him that he had 8 days to live!

He is happy pointing randomly at things saying "combien and Ou est" and I know when he learns the word pamplemousse he will use it incorrectly but at least he is happy.

So that's me, a little update of possible or not possible interest. 

choufleur

I'm back...I think!

So there I was in M&S changing rooms trying on a bargain jumper priced 4 quid. Getting it over my head was a little challenging, but putting my arms through required huffing and puffing. I persevered, its only 4 quid! As I rolled it down over my womanly bits, slight breathlessness ensued, but no its only 4 quid echoed in my noggin. As I stood there looking in the mirror at myself, a bag of King Edwards in a cropped top; I thought is this what life has come to? Removing the jumper resulted in a panic wrestle. A little faint, I thought I don't want to be taken to ED and cut out of a jumper. Dramatic I know, but trying to peel off a size 8 jumper ( those ruddy sales assistants putting the wrong hanger in too small jumpers) was an ordeal. Sitting on the floor trying to regain my composure, I thought why don't I blog anymore, so readers here I am!

Its been a while, so I will bring you up to speed I lost weight, got married, got fat, wanted a new career, decided I didn't want a new career, sent a child to university, prepping another child for university, had nice holibobs, no holibobs saving for a house, bought house in France, went out a lot, decided not to go out a lot and still fat.

Not very exciting I know but I have come to realise life isn't a Hollywood movie and I am no Angelina Jolie. Life is the washing machine, Waitrose, frustration and joy of work, telling your husband to stop eating Bakewell tarts and answering repeated questions like "whats for dinner". That's why its so important to laugh at the ridiculous, like trying to wriggle into a jumper considerably smaller than your body.

Year of getting married me!

What the hell happened me!

I started this blog as a form of cathartic amusement and I need to get back to writing and sharing ridiculous adventures of my stupidity. I also need to get unfat. Year of getting married me is a better version of current me, excited about my new post shower, strawberry hair wrap!!!


The only consistent thing since getting married is the idiocy of the husband and that I wouldn't change. So to you leave with something that makes me laugh even when I don't feel like it, I give you the husband. Hopefully I have returned to my blog to share inane rambling and nonsense.

 
 

Valentines: you can have my organ!

So here we are, the obligatory day of romance whether you want it or believe in it. If you don't apparently you are miserable and of course you are not.. Well for the first time in my 40 youngish years I tend to agree with the sentiment of consumer orientated dribble.
Yes I got flowers and of course I love them and am grateful; its the only time I get them. We have flowers always in the house but I buy them. If its something I want all the time then I should buy them.
I understand its that one day most people get any flicker of romance but its not without stress as I witnessed in Clinton's card yesterday. It was like a scene of the living dead. Men folk picking up cards, putting down cards, huffing and puffing., talking aloud to themselves "how much". Women with younger children chanting "just get one, anyone". Then there was me with the youngest helping me pick a husband card. The first one she pointed at I bought, without any consideration to the sentiment as she informed me she was sick of Valentines day. Then it hit me being a teenage girl on Valentines day is actually the most pants day of the year.
As soon as you are at "big school" you realise all those cards you used to get during primary were actually from your parents not the boy in 5A you actually thought liked you. For me I realised that when I never got another card again during my school years. Well excluding the one a pal gave me from the ones she received as she had too many. How very kind of her!
Of course I am teaching the youngest that Valentines cards are not a merit of how pretty, popular or desirable you are its just a load of pants. She agrees but I can see she wouldn't object if she got one.
I am not a fan of getting older but I wouldn't want to be 15 again with my tight perm and proper school shoes.
Writing the customary "guess who" in scrawly handwriting to disguise my own,  I sent a card to a boy in my class. It was the last card  I sent until I became a grown up. He mistook it for being sent by someone else. I know this because he told me and he asked the girl out. They dated and I never owned up. So yup Valentine can suck.
I felt guilty this morning being one of the masses sending a card for the sake of it. So my grand gesture of romance for Andrew today, the most romantic days of all the days; I put the bin out.  
In our home, that's Andrew's job and it doesn't seem much but it has to be dragged down a very large lane. He was delighted with his present when he got home from work.

Anyhoo I think there is a much better gift on Valentine's day than a heart shaped box of chocs or a card with padding and glitter. Its a pressie that doesn't discriminate between single or married, coupled or divorced, cupid believer or non.  Its  the one of being a living donor. So my gift to those that may need it is to register. This might not be for you but its worth considering. Its a personal thing.

        
https://www.organdonation.nhs.uk/

The next chapter:Moving forward.

So here I am blogging again. The tag line of this blog entitled "A Northern girl's account of starting a new life" seems a distant memory as I have been here 6 years.

However I find myself starting a different aspect of a " new life". A new life of marriage so it still seems applicable. Has anything changed? Well a little; I like saying husband and its evident something seems different for Alice. Apparently its easier to buy cards for me now as she felt "someone special" cards were a little limiting. It also means I am not going anywhere which is reassuring.




Andrew has 2 children and I love them both equally but  Alice lives with us, I am more responsible for her and its a fantastic journey. As she grows so do I. I never thought that first month of my challenging Jersey journey I would be a married parent, but here I am.



So our journey so far is as hilarious as ever. Andrew and I are very much on the same page. 3 weeks of a chucklesome honeymoon reinforces that. We never stopped laughing,


We got fatter but laughed none the less. After 6 weeks of marriage standing in front of the bedroom mirror like a naked teletubby, (Don't worry there isn't a picture)  I ask him "have we let ourselves go already?" His response is priceless as he stands next to me, both now like naked teletubby bookends. "Well we are fatter, but we have the rest of our life to get hotter". Its hard to be hot when you are laughing hard and all your teletubby bits and bobs jangle about. Its true though, we do have the rest of our lives but I am setting a 2 year completion date.  Don't want all that effort  last year to go to waste! So chickpea bulk buy awaits!

I didn't make new years resolutions as I never keep them. De teletubbying is about a life change not a resolution. If I was to change or complete something in 2017 it  is my book. Yup I am writing it. Its the most ridiculous thing I have ever read and certainly won't be winning the Man Booker prize. I write a bit put it down, then write a bit more. I don't seem to move forward with it because I pick it up to continue writing and I read it and think "this is ridiculous". However I like it, I like ridiculous. Without ridiculous I think adversity would be much harder to manage. When finished I am not even bothered if anyone reads it. It probably won't make any sense to anyone but its very cathartic for me. If it is ever read by anyone and they laugh, then that's all a person could want. So halfway through writing it, a year to complete it and 2 years to de teletubby; I would say that's the next chapter indeed!

So readers perhaps start your own chapter.

  
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Its been the most wonderful time of the year

So its Christmas eve, the most splendid time of the year. What a year its been!
For some of you, especially in my pals group you will be working throughout the festive period. Long hours and experiencing sadness for some; as people are poorly and need your care. For some of you there will be your own sadness, missing or remembering people. Whatever your situation, I do hope its not too unhappy.
Here in the Ruellan household we are also remembering people but its a very different house because I am now officially a step mum . I thought that is what I did before but apparently "its proper" now, I have an official responsibility for children. I haven't changed , nothing is different or so I think. My Christmas card reflects that I have underestimated the role of the step mum. There was a build up to receiving this card. It was given to me in private and with glee. Of course there was tears on my part... I was totes emosh which just got worst when the little one said Daddy its your turn for renebells card.

So despite thinking I was always a step mum and Andrew always referring to me as " the wife" ; this year its official. Of course I am happy but this year seems very special. As for the first time, in a long time Andrew has both his children here for Christmas. The only real present he ever wanted. Its been a while but feels very wonderful. Of course I have been baking, ensuring everyone has everything and not took my Cath Kidson chrimbo pinny off. The children tell me its the best rocky road in the world they have ever tasted. Its not, its just its Christmas eve they are excited and dad getting married means a sense of permanence. Clearly something that is a good thing.

So readers may you find your own "good thing". Its not easy finding or maintaining a good thing, nothing is; that is worth it. However right in this moment of eating cheesy puffs with a Kir Royale, educating the children about how amazing Human League actually are and seeing how happy Andrew is .. well its a good moment and a future memory and for now I will take that as the best Christmas present ever.

Sending love, happiness and health and if that doesn't work who cares, soon it will be another year. Finally in the words of a genius.
Come now sing with me,
Proper Crimbo
I'll take you for a drink with me
Proper Chrimbo
Put up your Christmas tree
Proper Crimbo
So excited you might wee

Proper Crimbo Proper Crimbo

Happy Christmas readers xx

Its the Final Countdown

So I am getting married in 10 days, I have no idea where the year has gone. I keep waiting for the moment when you enjoy the wedding planning but it hasn't kicked in yet. Talk about stressful! Its all a bit overwhelming. My pals have had to do home visits as I sob with "Its all too much!"
I set myself goals associated with getting married. I wanted to be 5 stone lighter, I am not I am 3. Its been challenging. It started well then I decided I wanted to give up smoking. There was something distasteful for me about wearing a wedding dress with a cig in my mouth. So I stopped and was slightly concerned when the stop smoking lady said " you will probably put a stone on" Brilliant I thought! Although I didn't gain weight, I didn't loose it  either.

I am pleased I am slightly smaller than when I got engaged and even happier I have quit smoking. However for some reason for a chick who has always been confident in her skin, I appear to of turned into a emotional wobbling jelly. There is this overwhelming pressure to be the most beautiful you have ever been in your life on your wedding day. It sucks. I have been primping and preening and prepping all year and 10 days before my wedding I look like I haven't slept and have a hacking cough and a ruddy cold.
Whilst doing the wedding plan a couple a weeks ago I shrieked at the dining table that I had forgotten to order the umbilical cords!! Andrew couldn't work out how that fitted with table 2 turtle doves and table 6 geese a laying. Stupidly I had booked the wedding 2 weeks after course directing APLS. My fellow RO's will know that APLS is one of the more challenging resus courses. The outstanding maternity unit came to my rescue and collected cords and the faculty worked hard and achieved a 100% pass rate for candidates. Phew one less thing to worry about.


So I am excited about the wedding but I do need to chill out about what occurs. I keep having hot sweats that my dress will burst at the alter or a chunk of beetroot from my starter will sit in my cleavage and stain the dress. I understand why people elope!

Then there are the helpful people giving me advice.

You have stopped smoking? Probably that is why you haven't done well with the weight. (When someone asked me to have a cig)
Step away from the biscuits! ( I was only getting a teaspoon from a drawer)
Don't be the bride who never stops eating forever once they hit the buffet.


I have decided my wedding day should be like a Vegas for "One Night Only" show. If I want to drink a third of my 60% body weight of water in champagne. I will. If I want to eat a third of my body weight in cheese I will.
Having said all that; it is a coming together of the people that mean the most to us. People for me who have loved and supported me at various crossroads in my life. Who better to feel insecure with?   So in advance I thank those who have listened to me say "Gawd" over and over again.


Its important that I remind myself on the day of what someone recently told me. I am marrying my best friend and that is the only thing that matters.

If that doesn't settle the nerves I will recall what twinkle said last night.
Twinkle: Now that you will be married to daddy you will have parental responsibility of me as a step mum
Me: Don't I have that now?
Twinkle: Well you love me and couldn't love me more but this is more official of me
Me: I don't like the term stepmum, it feels evil.
Twinkle: OK you can be mummy two
I cry
Twinkle: Renebell you really need to stop doing that crying. I wonder what I will have for my breakfast at Longueville?

Roll on 17 December.

Going to the chapel just got a little closer

Two hen parties down, one to go and a stag weekend in Chernobyl (yes you read that correctly)  for Andrew to attend. I have learned the more you say to your girlfriends "no penis" the more likely penis will appear.

Andrew raises an eyebrow when I tell him of my hen events. However his stag has received more raised eyebrows than my choice of cities. When people ask me where he is going and I respond Chernobyl, they say "No, where is he really going?"  Ever since he bought that book 100 places you will never visit, he has the strangest destinations he wants to go. I did draw the line at Tuscan Titan missile site for the honeymoon. I can't really complain. I knew he was outrageous when I met him. One of his finest qualities.

Anyhoo, the wedding is getting closer, seven weeks to be exact. Where the ruddy hell has the year gone?!!?
It was only yesterday when he asked me to marry him. We are ready, I think!
Venue: Check
Dress Check
All other paraphernalia: Check
First wedding dance music: Check.... oh hang on .. hang on. We have discussed it, narrowed it down, discussed it more and decided perhaps dance lessons are needed. So we had our first one last night. The premise is we learn some basic moves and Andrew leads and generally makes it up as he goes along.
Slight hiccup Andrew doesn't dance and for me dancing is about; as a guy once said to me in a club
" no one puts baby in the corner" I think we have discovered our first incompatibility.
Apparently we have to watch Dirty dancing for the brace not the lift; I haven't loss that much weight! Then perhaps Andrew will be less Herman Munster and more Johnny. He does seem to be enjoying it, especially the bit when the dance teacher says " Irene pull Andrew's finger"  for balance whilst twirling. Andrew likes that bit, saying "pull my finger" . As I said earlier he is outrageous.

So we need to practice. However that may be a bit delayed after I had to locate him in the emergency department today with a sore knee. It would seem he has twisted it. The reason I found him in minor injuries is because I heard his dulcet tones saying " my clackers are blowing in the wind when you move my legs that way". Oh the shame. A spot of rest required and practice for our wedding dance maybe a bit delayed. At least his clackers won't be all over the place.

So for the readers attending the wedding it might be you see me push him about on the dance floor like Lou and Andy pointing at various items saying "I want that one". We always have the David Brent Pilates dance to fall back on.