I recently read an article in one of the English papers, written by a former weathergirl, that expressed her shock at her eight-year-old daughter being invited to a makeover party.

She expressed her fear that society is sexualising children, and her horror that other mothers allow their daughters to participate in parties where they put on make-up and dress up.

My daughter’s sixth birthday party was the make-over (hair and princess dresses, don’t remember make-up). Last year was Hanna Montana, and this year was Grease.

I’d love to keep her away from all things grown-up and therefore absurdly tempting, but I fear it will be fighting a losing battle, particularly in an age when turning on the Disney Channel no longer means Mickey Mouse, but instead Zack and Cody and iCarly.

Every time I turn my back Mini-me is in my closet, usually with either the hot pink stiletto platforms, or the lime green ones, posing in front of the mirror.

I’d love to agree with the weather girl. In fact, I have a wardrobe full of gorgeous old-fashioned dresses with Peter Pan collars, most of which have never been worn, for they are far too ‘uncool’ for my precocious daughter.

My make-up regularly disappears, to be found in her bedroom.

And I found this the other day.

She is seven going on seventeen, yet my hope is that she is being taught the right values, and how to make the right choices, so a bit of sparkly make-up isn’t going to make a blind bit of difference.

I am not very technically minded when it comes to…well…anything, really, but I was printing out some photos in black and white for our new photo wall in the kitchen, when I decided to play around.

I hit the retouch button, and was suddenly able to magically erase my wrinkles!!

This is the most exciting thing to have happened to me since my light treatment thing to remove sunspots (I’m supposed to go for the second session shortly, but not sure I can deal with the pain…O

I know all about photoshop thanks to Perezzers, but I didn’t think I’d be able to give myself a face lift all by myself, no photoshop software, just courtesy of my mac.

This is fantastic. I’m now going to erase all wrinkles on every photo of me taken in the last two years.

Oh the small things that make me happy…

After!!!

We have been living in this rental for over two years, and will be here until our house is built, and I am on a continuing mission to make this a home.  We rented it unfurnished so everything inside is ours, and because friends own this house,  they have given us carte blanche to re-decorate however we would like.

There is, however, only so much money we’re willing to put into a rental, and I’m constantly trying new, cheap things to improve the house. It helps that we’re now reaching winter - I love this house most when there are fires burning in all the grates, scented candles wafting delicious smells, and gingerbread baking in the oven.

We’ve done significant amounts of painting: the living room, dining room and hallway are various shades of mushroom. The cheap red brick of the fireplaces was painted a dark slate grey in the living room, and white in the family room, and a couple of summers ago we painted the deck in large diamonds of cream and sage green.

All small changes that didn’t cost much, but hugely improved the look and feel of the house.

The other week I bought some wall decals from Allposters.com. I love these things. For around thirty dollars you can transform a room, and I now have a black vine twisting over the piano. I also have shells and coral dotted around the powder room. I’m on a bit of a mission now, although I can’t go overboard - the trick with these things is less is definitely more.

Last may have to be the giant poppies for Mini-me…

Then I’ll stop.

This week has been a very loooooooonnnnnggg week. The two smallest of the Smalls had their tonsils out on Tuesday. A twin tonsillectomy, and if you thought it was bad having one child go through this, try having two. I think it’s worse for them, but only marginally. The Brainiac, it has to be said, has been extraordinary. He’s terrifically stoic, has refused pain medication because he doesn’t like the taste, and says he’s fine. He even requested sushi for lunch yesterday.

The Maniac, on the other hand, has spent three days shuffling round the house clutching his throat and moaning in misery. He appears to have temporarily lost the ability to speak, and communicates in fluent groan. Poor little thing. (Except when the bigger Smalls come home from school, he’s still up for fighting).

They had the operation at Yale, for which I am extraordinarily grateful. I could have opted for Norwalk hospital, but I have had nothing but rubbish experiences at Norwalk Hospital (apart from in the GI section, mostly because the head of GI is AMAZING). I gave birth to Mini-me there, and to say it was ghastly is something of an understatement. The maternity ward was full, they were under-staffed, and I was ignored for twelve hours after a C-section.

When I have to use emergency rooms, I have, on occasion, driven to Greenwich hospital, which, although further away, will take you in to see a doctor almost immediately. I have spent several lifetimes sitting in the Emergency room of Norwalk hospital, waiting to be seen.

I am swimming in a sea of ice-cream and scrambled eggs. Mini-me and The Eldest Son don’t understand why their brothers get to eat ice-cream for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks, and they don’t.

I am longing for them to get better, and for an unbroken nights sleep.

I am not the slightest bit interested in being crafty - some inclination occasionally, no time whatsoever, mostly can’t be bothered - but I’m very interested in creating a beautiful home. I’m also starting to think about our Beach House, and decided to create a story board to keep me inspired when it comes to thinking about decorating.

I went through some magazines and clipped pictures of things I liked, and even I was impressed when I’d finished. I’m hoping it will make the job, when we reach it, easier, having a very clear vision of the feeling we want the house to convey.

Oprah would be proud, don’t you think?