Archives for September 2010


It seems these days that footballers just can’t seem to keep their tackle in their shorts.

You can’t go a week without picking up a newspaper or catching a story on the lunchtime news which regales the indiscretions of one of the men that we see week in week out on our televisions, discount viagra playing the beautiful game and representing their clubs, no rx and often countries. These are the men that every little boy who harbours dreams of making it big as a footballer looks up to. It’s been debated and discussed in the press on countless occasions, that these men with their six-figure weekly salaries act as if they are untouchable when it comes to how they conduct their personal affairs.

What I struggle to get my head around is how with all their fame, media attention, sponsorship deals and press coverage they actually undertake these sordid affairs thinking it will go unnoticed. Or is the point that they just actually don’t care? Remove the ‘footballer’ job description from the equation and these men are simply just that – men – with wives / partners and in some cases young families. The sad thing is that the WAGs are often persecuted by the media for almost allowing their husbands to act as they please on the basis that without them, they are nothing.

I feel for Mrs Rooney, at 24 she is a young mum, married barely a couple of years, already living her life in the eyes of the media and now she has to face the world knowing that they next moves in her marriage will be played out on the worlds biggest media stage. You can argue that she knew what she signed up too when she married the England and Manchester United player, but does that make it any easier on the young mum? Successful in her own right, as she builds her own brand, I hope she makes the right decision for her and her baby son- whether that’s kicking her husband to the kerb and doing a ‘Cheryl’ by showing the world that there is life after a cheating footballer, or whether it’s standing by her man and doing all she can to retain her family unit.

As much as I grump and groan about the amount of time Superdaddy devotes to the coaching of a boys football team, and scouting for a pro-youth club, I’m glad he chooses to stand on the sidelines, and I’m glad he chose University and staying in Edinburgh over pursuing some kind of footballing career with Berwick Rangers…it might not be as glam, and it certainly doesn’t command a six-figure salary, but it’s honest and it’s genuine and it doesn’t offer the temptations that so clearly trap many a footballer….and I’m quite sure Ethel who runs the teams tea stand on a Saturday morning wouldn’t have it in her even if my hubby was so tempted!

The Concept of Time

It struck me the other day that in our house we operate to a different concept of time than other folks.  It’s not that we have no concept of time, viagra quite the opposite; our routine is very regimental, military-like almost. And it’s not that we have a lack of gadgetry that displays the time in various shades of luminous lighting (digital clock radio, microwave, oven clock, iPhones, central heating timer, iPod docking station) And Superdaddy does have a watch that he was given as a 30th birthday gift, which is still in its box by the side of his bed yet to be worn (apparently it catches and pulls the hairs out of his arms.)

It’s more than we don’t use the standard format of time telling, you know, that globally recognised form that uses numbers and the principles of am and pm? In our house, we don’t get up at 7.30am like other people, we get up at wakey-wakey time (and it’s actually 6am most days courtesy of Little Monster Blue).  The dawning of wakey-wakey time sets the pace for the remainder of the day.  Between the hours of 7.00am and 12 Noon GMT  (grouchy mum time) we have breakfast time, teeth brush time, clothes on time, snack time, play time and lunch time. After lunch, it’s nap time (as pleasant as a siesta would be, unsurprisingly, this time is for Little Monster Blue only) however nap time signals to Little Princess Pink that it’s girly time.  This is our hour and a bit in the day where we spend some proper time together doing an activity of LPP’s choosing. Girly time on Friday past saw us spending an hour in the garden, practising our skipping.

After nap time and girly time, we’ll generally go out and catch up with friends, and as of yet, that’s not managed to be specifically named anything, though I suspect we’d follow the standard time-marking convention and call it catching up with friends time.  After dinner time, we have tidy-up time, which even gets it’s own song…”Tidy Up, tidy up, how many things can you put away? Pick them up, put them back, come on everybody, lets’ get tidy today!” I have to be honest and say I exploit tidy up time in order to get our living space back to some semblance of normality before bath time.  The louder I sing, the faster they tidy!

Bath time signals the start of wind down and ready for bed. Prior to jumping in the bath, we tend to have a spot of running around without our clothes on time (again, only LMB) but this carries no formal name.  After bath time, its story time, one of my favourite parts of the day. I snuggle on the rocking chair with LMB, breathing in the smell of his freshly washed hair, and read him his three chosen stories.  We say Night Night to his stuffed dog, Sam and then its sleepy time. LPP gets to stay up a little later, and gets to come downstairs for supper time, before then having her own story time and then when the last kiss is dispensed and the last ‘night night, love you to the moon and back a million times’ is exchanged, it’s sleepy time.

There’s often no ‘us time’ and there is precious little ‘me time’, it fast paced, it’s frenetic, we squeeze in wine o’clock, then I fall asleep on the sofa. It must be sleepy time.

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