Here’s the proof…

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And that is exactly why we’ve had such trouble choosing our first dance.

We’re not particularly traditional people. We did everything the wrong way round to start with, having a baby first and all. And we’re not getting married in a church. So I was all for ditching the first dance altogether. But then I realised the endless possibilities.

For the first time in my life, I would have a ready-made audience that couldn’t walk out halfway through my big number. It would be my time to shine. I started to feel the warmth of the limelight on my face. I could feel the ache in my legs as I curtsied to rapturous applause.

With my jazzy jazz hands, high kicks and lift the likes of which Patrick Swayze would be proud of, I would win my audience. Frog could be my backing dancer. I’d have a standing ovation. I’d become a YouTube sensation. I’d be invited on to This Morning to chat about the moving yet skilful performance with Phil. Louis Spence would see my moves and he’d just have to invite me to join his dance troupe.  I’d get my own TV show, make millions and become Take That’s star dancer. In fact, I’d be invited to join Take That, as their first ever female member, because of my “special star quality”.

And then I remembered there would be two of us in this dance. I’d have to share the limelight with my new husband. He was, let’s say, less than keen on the jazz hands routine. He disagreed with me that Dirty Dancing is possibly the best film ever made. In fact, he thought it was the worst. (I only managed to persuade him to watch it with the promise “there’s fighting in it” – and the one punch in the entire film was sadly disappointing.)

So we canned the jazz hands and I got my husband-to-be drunk. In his inebriated state I managed to convince him to agree to another choreographed number. This time to Take That’s Greatest Day. But as his hangover set in so did the cold feet. So Gary et al were canned along with Patrick Swayze.

Then Granny from the North suggested a slow number. After humming the tunes to Lady In Red and countless other croony tunes, there wasn’t one that stood out.

So I’m opening the floor to suggestions. What was your first wedding dance and why did you choose that particular song? As well as the chance to steal your ideas I’ll get a good excuse to be nosey and find out all about your wedding.

*Jazz hands*

(humour  me – it’s the only time I’ll get to do them this week.)

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Meet my sister, circa 1992.

There are nearly four years between my sister and I. So I was firmly used to being Number One Diva in the house by the time she arrived. To soften the blow, I was given a pair of roller skates and a pair of tap shoes the day my sister was born. Apparently she was a wonder child, who miraculously exited the womb to pop to the shops and find presents worthy of buttering up an older sister. Of course I was won over the instant I saw her – those were some very special tap shoes.

My sister (her name’s Lizzy, by the way) spent her formative years being carried around by yours truly. She was far more interesting than any dolls I owned. She was also a very willing audience member in The Molly Show; she was happy to sit and watch while I performed my latest choreographed piece to Kylie Minogue or Bonnie Tyler. I mean, she was only five months old and hadn’t learned to crawl yet.

As Lizzy grew, so did her personality. She was mischievous and annoying. But she was also very keen to please. I still feel guilty for the times I used to make her come to the park with me on holiday, only to ditch her when new, “cooler” friends came along. I was a pretty mean older sister.

But while she was my nemesis, Lizzy was also my best friend. When she was eight, a friend of the family told her off during a trip to France. I huffed off to her room with her, indignant that someone had the audacity to speak that way to my little sister – only I was allowed to do that.

As teenagers, we fought and made up and fought again. And borrowed clothes. And went on holidays together. And fought. And made up again.

Then, when I was pregnant last year, a twist of fate meant Lizzy was there when I went into labour. It wasn’t planned that way, but she ended up coming to the hospital and rubbing my back along with the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine. She was the third person to see and hold Frog. That meant a lot.

Over the past year, she has been to visit every month or so, despite completing her first year as a doctor and working incredibly long (and stressful) hours. She’s bought presents and cooked meals and listened to my minor moans. She’s also told me to shut up and snapped at me in the way only sisters can.

Today has been another one of those days. As the NLM is away up north on his stag do, I’ve come down to the South Coast to visit Lizzy. Frog, Lizzy and I have spent the day paddling in the sea, eating lunch in a restaurant on the beach and browsing in shops.

The tables have now turned and my little sister is the fashionista in the family. So I will leave laden with cast-off lovely clothes (doctors get paid more than journalists, you know), safe in the knowledge that years of lending are finally being re-paid. My belly will be full with takeaway food and wine and my arms will be light from a day where someone else has held the baby.

So, to my ten year old self I say, “You are lucky you have a sister. It might not feel like it now, while she steals your Take That tape and draws in your diary, but one day you’ll appreciate her. One day she’ll buy you food and wine.”

And to a four year old Lizzy – “Don’t ever let Dad cut your fringe. It’ll look rubbish.”

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After waxing lyrical about becoming the best thing since Gary Barlow, it turns out I’ve been upstaged. Before today I was, quite literally, an A lister as far as my baby was concerned. As soon as I broke into song Frog’s face broke into a smile. If I did a dance for her, she positively bounced with excitement.

But now she’s realised I’m not cool. I’m like the Spice Girls after Geri left; deflated and a bit less glittery.

It all started last week. Frog being the lively kind of girl that she is, started attempting to clap. She would wave her hands together and either miss or, better still, clap with clenched fists (sort of defeating the whole purpose of clapping as she didn’t actually make a sound).

So my main aim in life for the past fortnight has been to make her clap. Properly, without clenched fists.

I’ve spent the last two weeks putting on shows that Take That would be proud of. I’ve sung every nursery rhyme under the sun and even tried a bit of Lady Gaga. And I’ve. Got. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. The girl is made of stone.

I thought I was getting close last night, after playing “pat-a-cake” (by the way, what is that all about – who actually “pats” cakes?) and Frog began to do her clenched fist claps in unison with mine. But still the palms weren’t flat, so still the claps didn’t count.

And then we went to Baby Sensory.

For those of you not familiar with Baby Sensory, it’s an hour-long session for babies with music, instruments, bubbles, singing, toys and anything else you could possibly think of. I suppose it’s the equivalent of a nightclub for babies, with extra champagne and a very sparkly disco ball.

The woman who runs our Baby Sensory (hello Jane, if you’re reading this) is a baby superstar. Seriously, if you thought Madonna had fans you should see the way these babies look at Jane. So, they sang their little welcome song and, as usual, Frog giggled and lapped it all up, ever the doting fan. But I wasn’t jealous. I mean, Jane’s just the warm-up act, right?

Wrong.

Because it was at that moment, the moment where Frog looked adoringly at Jane singing, that Frog clapped. Properly. With unclenched fists and everything.

Now, call me bitter, but I’ve been trying to make that girl clap me for two weeks. TWO BLOODY WEEKS. I’ve tried singing, dancing, even stand-up comedy, but she hasn’t budged an inch. And then some woman comes along who is not even her mother – NOT EVEN HER MOTHER – and my fickle child applauds her like there’s no tomorrow. If she could shout “encore, encore” I’m pretty sure she would have done that too.

Well, that’s me told then.

Lesson #78 of parenting: lap up the adoration of your baby, because you never know when they’ll withdraw their membership to your fan club.

Fake applause

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Well that does it. As if my cool credentials weren’t at the bottom of the heap already, Kate at Kate Takes 5 has issued another Listography highly likely to make me cringe.

But needs must and if I can do stand up comedy and read the news in my bra, I can own up to some dreadful taste in music.

This week’s Listography demands that we admit to the first five albums we ever owned. So here goes…..

1. Kyle Minogue: Kylie

I went through a phase of actually believing that I was Kylie Minogue. Remember that look she used to sport with the curly hair flowing out of a hat? I adored it. I used to sit in the bath singing I should be so lucky, lucky lucky lucky at the top of my voice. I was five OK? Give me a break.

2. Bonnie Tyler: Super Hits

I’m not apologising for this one. Total Eclipse of the Heart and Holding Out for a Hero? Classic tunes.

3. Take That: Everything Changes

Again, no apologies. You already know how much I love TT (as us fans call them).

4. Red Hot Chilli Peppers: Blood Sugar Sex Magik

Ok, so I realise Take That and the Red Hot Chilli Peppers may be unlikely partners in a music collection, but I acquired this album completely by accident. A boy at school recorded it for me onto cassette when I was eleven. I thought I was desperately cool and painstakingly copied the picture on the front cover.

5. Oasis: (What’s the Story?) Morning Glory

Don’t confuse me with someone who’s got taste. I bought this when I was twelve and decided I was an Indie. I cut my hair into something resembling a wedge of cheese (because I wanted to look like Justine Frischman out of Elastica) and died it brown. Except it didn’t go brown, it went bright red because my cousin sneaked a bit of red food colouring into the mixture to “give it some oomph”.

I persevered with my new image though, and bought a tank top. I then read something about Oasis “cracking the big apple” and, having no idea what that actually meant and becoming a little confused, I proudly told my dad I knew of a new band who were so good they were going to “crack an orange”.

And that was the end of my dalliance with cool. Long live Bonnie Tyler.

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I’m a little stunned. And rather smug.

I’ve been wandering around the house all evening demanding everyone ask for my autograph. But seeing as I only live with one man and one baby, I haven’t signed as many as I’d have liked.

The reason for my decision to thrust pieces of paper at my family and start wearing sunglasses indoors? I’ve won an award.

The lovely Deb at Making Life More Beautiful has awarded me with the Kreativ Blogger award.

I’d love to bang on and on with a lengthy acceptance speech. But alas, this award comes with rules.

These are:

1)      Link 10 blogs 2) Tell these bloggers about the award 3) Write 10 facts about yourself.

So here goes…

1)      I like Take That and LOVE Gary Barlow.

So much so, that when I saw them live in 2009 I burst into tears when they appeared on stage. Much to the amusement of my sister and the (self proclaimed) Northern Love Machine. What can I say? It was an emotional time for me.

2)      I’m scared of, and a little obsessed with sharks.

My favourite documentaries are ones about sharks. But I’ve never been able to watch Jaws all the way through. Far too scary. I have, however, dived with sharks. But they were only wimpy little ones in Thailand. Not the real deal like this fella…

3)      The midwife who delivered Frog was called April.

I know this because the only thing I can really remember about the whole horrendous experience was moaning “I love April, good old April, she’s the best”…

4)      I once found myself naked in front of five firemen.

In my bedroom. But not in a kinky way. I’m saving the rest for another blog post. Suffice to say if you think the lolling breast episode was embarrassing, this beats it hands down.

5)      When I was around seven, I went through a superstitious faze.

This involved having to do a very odd little thing before either walking through a door or walking down the road. I puffed out my cheeks, held my nose and twirled on the spot. No idea why. I just did. It was my thing.

6)      I have hairy toes.

But you know this already.

7)      I rather like Poirot.

And Midsummer Murders. And any murder mystery type thing really. It may not be the coolest but I can’t help it.

8)      I went to two universities.

Ooh, get me with my varied education. Alas, I don’t have a PHD. I have a degree in English Literature and a Postgraduate Diploma in Broadcast Journalism (for which I received a distinction. Not so thick now eh?).

9)      I once read the news in my bra outside a shopping centre.

Photographic evidence that I’m not actually lying:

10)  I love prawns.

Add an avocado and I’m yours. I can’t help it, I like 70s food. Yum.

It’s now my turn to share the award (feel free to roll out a red carpet and demand wine be brought to you on a silver platter)….

Kate Takes 5

The Crazy Kitchen

Dummy Mummy

Northern Mummy with Southern Children

Manana Mama

Mummy from the Heart

Waterbirth Please

Ghostwriter Mummy

Circus Queen

Nimble Fingers Steady Eyebrows

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I…. (wait for it)…..

Handed my notice in at work.

*Gasp*

See, I told you I wasn’t a drama queen.

Anyway, it’s been a pretty big deal for me. I’ve always loved my job and, when I was pregnant, I just assumed I would go back. But after much deliberation and calculation of childcare costs, I realised it just didn’t make sense.

So I’ve decided to go freelance. I know, I know, you’re very pleased because this means I’m finally available to work for you. Don’t all rush to book me at once. There’s plenty to go around.

But I do have a plan B. If the freelancing doesn’t work out I’m going to aim for a career change. And, because this all ties in very nicely with this week’s Listography theme of what we want to be when we grow up, I thought I would share my options with you:

1. The sixth member of Take That: Because Gary Barlow’s been hankering after me to join the group for ages. Good news Gary, I’m finally available.

2. A ballet dancer: Because I look rather fetching in a tutu. The big frills hide the old love handles.

3. A spa-tester: Because I really am very good at testing Jacuzzis and saunas. There’s a gap in the market for this sort of thing don’t you know.

4. A professional wine buff: Because I drink enough of the stuff to know the difference between red and white. And I think I’d do a brilliant little segment on Saturday Kitchen, especially if I wore my tutu and sang a bit of Pray.

What do you want to be when you grow up? Read the rest of this week’s entries at Manana Mama (she’s really rather funny). And no, I’m not drunk (for once). She’s hosting it for Kate at Kate Takes 5 this week.

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The heroine herself

If you’ve seen last week’s Listography post, you’ll realise I have rubbish taste in films. And here’s the thing: my taste in music is no better.

I have tried and failed to like “cool” music. I went through the gig phase at university. I rather got into The Libertines at one stage. I even copied my (much cooler) best friend’s Doves CD. But, if I’m totally honest, I’m not really that bothered by it all.

So that’s why I’ve decided to be totally honest when replying to Ipswich Mummy’s (Him, Me and Three) Soundtrack of My Life post. I am a mum now, so I can embrace my totally crap taste in music. Isn’t that what parents are for – to humiliate and embarrass their offspring? Well, that’s what my mum always told me anyway….

1. Bonnie Tyler – Total Eclipse of the HeartThis memory goes far back. It’s behind singing in the bath to Kylie’s I Should Be So Lucky (aged 3) but before crying at my love for Take That when they were on Going Live (aged 10).

   I am sitting in the back of my uncle’s car, by a rainy beach in North Wales. My cool older cousin has allowed me to stay in the car with her and her best friend while we listen to Bonnie Tyler. We have a new favourite song: Total Eclipse of the Heart. Or rather, they have a new favourite song. I just like it because my cousin likes it and anything she likes, I do too. We are learning the words to this amazing new song. Every time Bonnie warbles out a line, we have to pause the cassette in the tape deck and write it down, before repeating it. By the end of that holiday in North Wales I knew all the words and had my own copy of Bonnie Tyler’s album on cassette. I still know all the words and am happy to sing them for you, providing you give me a cheap Karaoke mic and a couple of Sambucca’s.

2. Take That – PrayPossibly my favourite Take That song, like, ever. TT (as us fans like to refer to them) were the first band I saw live. Aged 9, I spent an entire week deciding what to wear and made my mum take me to Tammy Girl to get a new pair of jeans for the occasion. I went with my aunty and her husband. It was the Everything Changes Tour. Mark sang Babe in a big woolly jumper. The boys did the most amazing dance to Pray. I was allowed to stand on a chair and copy the older girls screaming (at the time, I’m not sure I was fully aware why they were screaming, but I’ve always liked noise and I didn’t want to be outdone). Brilliant.
3. Eiffel 65 – Blue.I KNOW! But I said I was going to be honest…this was a summer holiday anthem when I was about 15. We went camping to France and I was among a gang of teenagers roaming the campsite being generally annoying. We thought we were so cool, making up a “big fish, little fish, cardboard box” style routine to this song. I taught the dance to my friends when I got home. We still know it now and have cleared dance-floors with it in the past. I can teach it to you too, if you like.
4. DJ Sammy – Heaven.Again, I KNOW! Truly truly awful song. But I love it! Because it reminds me of my first year at university. I have met my future best friend and dance-floor partner. We are bonding over shots of Tequila and cheap wine. We are rocking the early Girls Aloud tassly belt and pointy boots combo. This is before GHDs so the hair is big. This song comes on and that’s it: mad scramble to the dance-floor and God help anyone who gets in our way. I’m not sure she’d admit to it now, but my (much cooler) best friend loved this song just as much as I did. Either that or she was humouring me.
5. Kent – 747.Yep, I hadn’t heard of them either. This was the song the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine tried to woo me with. It must have worked, because two and a half years later we have a seven month old baby. And the cycle of humiliation and bad taste in music continues…

If you join in please post a link in the comments box below. For those that are tagged, I won’t be offended if you choose not to take part.

I tag:

@KateTakes5

@SuperAmazingMum

@Jessies_online

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