You probably think this blog is about you.

That's it Folk's. Maternity leave is over, the third and last (vasectomy willing) child has been born, weaned and is crawling. 'Back on your Heads' calls The Boss and I jump to it, as now I am back at work. It should all be very exciting, it could all be very challenging. Somehow, I find myself looking through the classroom window wistfully, wondering if there is anything out there.

The Web as we know it today began its life on my 16th birthday. Whilst I was crying over my missed spent future, an anarchic force was created, a proposed leveller of means and intellect. This my friends, was a way that lowly voices could be heard. The revolution would not be televised but may be found on a blog.

So perhaps I should close my curtains, afterall napster is defunct, google is being accused of not being as unbiased as it set out to be, and I have only really ever bagged 2 readers. The rest are looking up Katie Price's love life. But once in a while I like to look up out of my occupational rut, stretch my capabilities and have a little dream.

blogsplotation

Today I was blessed with a brief moment of semi relaxation. Rule no 1 of teaching, parenting and quite possibly the MI5 'Never let the enemy catch you whilst sleeping'. During this time I allowed a portion of my self to relax whilst cleverly keeping the rest poised and armed for action. It is no longer in my remit to think too deeply, since my Grey Matter is taken out and exercised daily around the wasteland of 'What are we going to eat' and during the operation named 'Early Evacuation of habitation (leave no one behind)'.

This thought lingered for a while and caused excitement, a Maslowian moment resulting in a leap and a drippy passage down the corridor. As I made myself dry enough to connect safely with an electrical appliance I cleverly entitled my thought: 'In a World of Reason Where is the Madness'. I chuckled to myself at the intriguing nature of the title and how it would all make sense once I used vocabulary in an inventive but droll manner. How intelligent I am! A brain which matches the thinkers of our time! This is the meaning of The Blog!

I can't wait to share this idea with you. It's amazing I am sure, at least I think it was, first let me call Grey Matter in from her daily exercise.

Walk on the Wild Side.

I would like to invite you to take a walk with my serious side, if you would, allow me to make a point. Please take a walk with me to my children's school. Perhaps you begin this walk with a head of glossy brown hair and a calm yet sunny disposition.

The first road requires a little dexterity, we crane our necks back the way we have been and swing to the direction we are going and pray that cars will indicate and take the sharp turning at a reasonable speed, perhaps showing some awareness of pedestrians.

The second is a zebra crossing, we have a few deep breaths allowing the cars to slow enough for us to demonstrates some faith they will stop. We then jog, shout and drag each other in order to make it across in the few allowed seconds.

At the third we forget the highway code and we tentatively poke ourselves out between parked vans, since our vision is so impaired we collectively rely on The Force and then we throw ourselves across the road.

At the fourth I thank the Lord for the lollipop man and just hope his luminous green suit gives drivers enough of a hint that they should stop. Although sometimes this fails and as yet only one child has been hit, but luckily that one bounced.

We arrive at school sunny disposition replaced by frayed nerves, glossy hair turned to grey.

Anyone for Turdage?

Every family has a cutesy little game, often unique to them and a favourite to get them through some mundane daily chore. We have a special game which I like to call rather charmingly, 'Count the Dog Piles'. We often play it walking together towards school safe in the knowledge families which play together, stay together. I do however have an inner debate as to the rules of the game, for example what should class as one unit? Can an especially elongated or disjointed pile be counted in terms of portions or should one take in to account the personal situation of a dragged defecating dog? Does one presume the origin of discreet piles in close proximity as one beast or could communal doggy extraction play a part? Perhaps it is best for our family's sanity to underestimate as a turdage count in excess of 50, can make one reflect unfavourably on one's environ.

Once we have tired of this game or the weather conditions permit, there is another version called 'Count the sputum'. This however takes a strong constitution, unless one is looking towards adopting community minded behaviour and contribituing to another fav of the local area called 'Watch the Vomit Splats'.

Throwing the baby out with the bath water.

Years ago when I was a child or perhaps a teenager, I visited an old couple, armed with the excuse that I wanted to play with their kitten. Maybe the kitten was the reason for my visit or otherwise I truly enjoyed their company.

I suspect that back then, even to a couple in their 80's, my awkwardness was palpable and once I left their house to attend some prayer meeting or another they would mumble to each other 'That girl really needs to loosen up'. So, one visit I left their house not empty handed but with a box of 7 inch singles. Sadly record collectors I have little recollection of that box's content, condition or age. I remember only one, a certain Chuck Berry song 'My Dingaling'.

Many people cite Chuck as a great influence. After listening to that record I was confused by such subtle titillation. The next day I took out that box to the bin and haven't heard much from Chuck since.

Knock, Knock

Of late I have become a bit of an Internet stalker. Google has a lot to answer for. There once was a girl who befriended me when I was 16, shining a cosmic light into a dusty church hall gloom. For some reason our friendship did not make it through the University years. I have discovered that she is a prolific blogger and Internet publisher, active environmentalist and artist, perhaps living a little of a life I imagined as a young person. I have found myself having a cheeky check on the life of someone else and in turn questioning my own Internet footprint. This comparison along with January weather and Seasonal Self Pity has left me feeling a little melancholy.

Now my question is this should I blog during intermittent blue or red mist, or should I leave it until the sun shines through, will my audience of two keep hanging on for my witticisms or perhaps they will bear with me in the gloom. As a Carrie Bradshaw posed question: In a blog supossedly made up of humour when is expression too expressive? Whilst I leave you two to mull this over I will rake through this living for a side splitter.

Carry on regardless

Christmas is over the fat lady has sung. I am actually struggling to find any of my usual wit and apologise if today it would appear that this is just for the sake of it. Only I know myself very well, we have been cohabiting for 34 long years, I know that sometimes all I need is gentle coercion and at other times I need a toe capped boot up the jacksey.

So from me to all of you, yes all two of you, here is a metaphorical toe cap up the behind in a bid to keep some sort of momentum. In an attempt to keep the Behind of Life pert, spandexed, sequined and grooving giving it a few more years before sitting down.