Terrible two-ness

I love the terrible two-ness.

Monkey boots is two in two days time, and she is milking it.  She is the most irrational crazy little lady in the world.

She announces what she is doing all the time - as she knows she is the most important person in the world.  She then asks for help, and tells you she'll do it herself, then asks for help, then slaps your hand away when you try to provide the help.  Then cries when she realizes she can't do it herself, and then eventually allows you to help again, but accuses you of cruelty because you wouldn't let her do it herself.  This can include anything from opening a car door to dressing herself and even changing her own nappy.

She uses marker on every surface.  She lies down on the ground to do her colouring in, so she can really concentrate up close and personal.  She has today taken to keeping her markers in her wellingtons, as you'll see if you look closely above, so that she'll always be quick on the draw.

She whacks you on the head with a book, then gives you a very cursory kiss and tells you you're alright now.

She sees no reason why she can't do anything that big brother, 3 years older can do.

She wears her cycling helmet to bed.

She loves plasters, to the extent that she currently looks like Fagan with bandages on the whole length of her little fingers.

She accuses the dog of biting her hand if said dog happens to sniff at her when she happens to be tired.

When she hurts herself and you ask her where's the ouchie, she'll point to the place she got it, ie the ground or over by her toy tractor or whatever.

She is constant entertainment, energy and too much cuteness sleeping with her bum in the air like a tiny frog.

Anyways, happy birthday boots. 

Bananas!

Hope you've all remembered to include the number of bananas in your household on this, our national census night.  They're under threat you know, they'll be gone next year or the year after, hold them close, treat them well, love them like your own.

You know, I was a bit aggrieved to find out in the past week that I inhabit the same county as some absolute idiots.

In Cork we have, in this actual day and in this age, people who actually attacked a family for not being Irish while attempting to move into a council house.  I was pretty embarrassed when I heard about it.
It must be difficult to be so stupid.  I had a song when I was in secondary school about leaving the Poles alone, but I meant the lamppost type things, it was a joke born on a school tour when we were going on a ferry and lots of people were hanging out of them.  It was sung to the air of "Teacher, leave those kids alone"
Back to the stupo-heads.  They even threatened the would've been neighbours of the family, who sheltered them during the attack, strangers, who helped when they could. 
I just don't get it. How would those youths feel, if they were ever to realise that their fashions, bought in Penney's were sewn by foreigner's fingers, the kebabs bought after their night of english cider from a european discount store contained non-irish horse and cat meat.  I think they could die of the shock, for their own sake (and yes, possibly ours) they should be captured, put in a sanctuary, to keep their sensitive souls safe from foreign  influences, they should watch nothing only re-runs of Glenroe, eat nothing but spuds, wear nothing but aran sweaters, and jeans from the 80's with saggy bottoms, with Mass every second day, and compulsory GAA matches, and see how they feel about a bit of multiculturalism after that.


Any other ideas of what could be done welcome... I'm at a loss.

Zootropolis - a review

This is not really a review of Zootropolis the movie, except to say that it had the best sloth scene I've ever seen.

If you're wondering why I never apologise for the long gaps between posts or refer to them really in any way - it's a lack of presumption rather than manners.  I would apologise profusely for not having been here, but I don't really think any one cares... and now don't go thinking I'm fishing for compliments either, oh we've missed you various, we love you various, life just wasn't the same without you... I'm well aware, you all have your own lives, you've all moved on with them.  So why am I here?

Well, I was at a shiatsu workshop last week, part of the lifelong learning festival in Cork, four free massages and time spent with proper chilled out nice people, none of the short legged variety in sight, just lots of leaning and being leant on, and learning about energy lines, meridians, welcoming the sun, (or a ball of fire, was it? I can't really recall) and how a lack of feeling grounded might be to blame for our sweet tooth, because of the element Earth being associated with the taste of sweet, and I did refrain from referring to the power rangers, however a joke just as cringeful did occur, which I feel I have to report on, that being when the group were doing introductions and naming out their types of healing that they're good at - ie "I'm an energy kinestheitologist", and "I use crystals" etc, and it got to my turn, when I said "I'm really good at excel" - they did laugh, the generous, kind souls that they were. 

It does make you think though doesn't it, maybe excel can heal... especially when you use conditional formatting and pivot tables, ummm pivot tables... see?  my time away hasn't been a complete waste.  I will try to report back on my adventures in healing using excel in the near future.