Bitch on the Blog

March 24, 2017

Hop Scotch

What of the theory that certain character traits and talents do tend to skip a generation? Do you think it bollocks or can you cement the above with examples of your own life’s experience?



February 12, 2017

Hell, water and drowning

Just when you think yourself as snug as a bug in a hug with, more or less, all questions of ethics and their answers under the belt one sneaks up on you.

Holy cannoli – the noose tightens.

This, drawn to my attention a few minutes ago, is so awful I am in knots.

For sake of argument you have to assume you have more than one child. You find yourself at the mercy of the elements and you can only save ONE of your children. Which one would you save? This is so awful I can barely get my head round it. Naturally, as one does, I cast my eye back to my family of origin. Who would either of my parents of four have saved? I dare say, being quite a bit older than my siblings and therefore stronger, both my mother and my father would have left me to fend for myself. But that still leaves them with three to choose from. I’d rather not pursue this line of thought. It’s unsettling beyond belief. At least that’s tonight’s nightmare guaranteed. Not that members of my family normally play much of a role in my dreams.

Any crutches of your own thoughts on this truly horrendous scenario welcome.


September 25, 2013

Picking apart at the seams – 2

Filed under: Errors — bitchontheblog @ 10:32
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Another question “What is your greatest accomplishment” aforementioned blogger answers with:

“My daughter. She is a happy, healthy, intelligent and creative young lady.”

How can one’s child be a personal ‘accomplishment’? A success story? Sure, credit where it’s due when a parent provides fertile soil for their offspring. Let me turn up the volume: What of genes? What of what’s bred in the bone? Immutable.  I wonder what the writer’s answer as to her greatest accomplishment would have been if her daughter had turned out not so much a medal to stick to her mother’s lapel.

Let me ask this blogger another question, not that she will answer it: “What is your greatest failure in life – so far?” Do you want me to write down your oh so predictable answer? No, thought not. There are no failures. You didn’t drop a stitch once.


January 11, 2012

Breast is delicious

Filed under: Family,Happiness — bitchontheblog @ 14:26
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Paul, a sweet man, Irish I believe – which explains why he is sweet, of has just given me most welcome way to let off steam. On breastfeeding in public. See him and my comment  there. Ignore the photo.

Paul, my anecdote as promised and to illustrate what I said over at yours:

Let’s call the Angel “Oscar” for purposes of protecting the innocent (he is 20 now):

It’s eight o’clock in the morning. My then three year old son walks into the bathroom whilst I was having a shower. There wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before; however, some Eureka moment was clearly hatching: ” What are those for, Mama?” Pointing at my breasts. Good question. What ARE they for? Number one parenting rule when it comes to questions: Never hesitate. Children need to feel secure in the knowledge that their parents are all knowing all powerfull gods they can rely on when falling on their face.

“Well, Oscar, they are for feeding babies.” Don’t laugh with derision: I was proud of my quick thinking.

“Yes, but Mama you don’t have any babies.” True. Brilliant. What’s he expecting: Now that he is done with that source of nourishment: For my breasts to drop off? First line of defence when asked any question: Be honest. “Quite true, Oscar. They are also for decoration.” Satisfied with that answer he happily stomped out of the bathroom. Be fair. You have to hand it to me: It was a bloody masterstroke. 10/10 for thinking at 8 in the morning.


March 16, 2011

The one and only

Filed under: Family — bitchontheblog @ 10:24
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Just had a thought. Which is a pity. I wish thoughts had a little control over making themselves known. But, like the Catholic Church ca 1960, they [toughts that is] have no compunction about procreating like rabbits out of control. So you lose track of them. As I just have. Doesn’t matter.

If there is one thing I have to watch big time it’s writing intros to thoughts. By the time I’ve finished intro I haven’t got the faintest idea what the thought was I am introducing.

On a side note: What is sad about the Catholic Church, pro life, anti abortion and contraception is that few people consider that you can only give so many offspring all the love and attention any of us deserve. Which is why it pays to be a FIRST child or an only. I speak with expertise. Whilst the first fruit of your loins will bear brunt of undiluted attention (not for the faint hearted) she’ll also reap all the benefits none of your siblings ever will; neither will you ever know what people mean when they call you big headed. Even my mother once asked me where I take my ‘chutzpah’ from. Come again?

Naturally, since I manage to always have the best of all worlds, I am both (as defined by the imprecise science of psychology):  An only and a first. If you were an only for more than the first four or five years in your life (which I was) you will qualify as an only (in psychological make up); the only being compounded, grandised, by becoming an eldest. Shortly after your parents (mine that is) get married, in November, and years after being an only you find yourself an ‘eldest’ . With all the hardship and heartache that entails at suddenly being lumbered with sisters and brother you grow to love to your detriment. (And I will admit to being overjoyed when my first sister was born; less so with my brother since he spoilt my nineth birthday. Will tell that story another time. Great guy. Have forgiven him.) Siblings: Talk about unpaid labour. My mother was shameless exploiting me that way. Grannymar will know what I am talking about. And not only peeling sacks of potatoes.

For years and years and years people kept wondering why I didn’t have children after point of marriage. Well. As far as I was concerned I had had my family (all three of them, didn’t I?) or so my reasoning went. To this day my mother and I, when talking about my siblings, will refer to them as “the kids”.  Which is all there is to know. So I had had “my” children early on, and enough of them, till biological instinct took over. Biggest, bestest joy of my life. Felix hung on in there against odds. Strong, healthy, on the upper centile.  Head screwed on. Heart in the right place. Of the most laid back temperament. Yet, I guess, you wouldn’t want to mess with the guy; other than at your peril.

Nineteen years later I still can’t believe my luck. Neither do I fathom why I omitted teaching him how to do the washing up. Recently I told him, and I will not forgive myself for this, one of the shittiest remarks you can make as a parent, that this abode is not a five star hotel with room service thrown in for good measure. Five? Make that six.

So I am Only, and I am an Eldest. What do you expect of me. Charity?


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