A Great Feet

Middle Oub child volunteered in school. To get his feet washed. At mass tomorrow.

Good for him I say. Go middle Oub boy and your willingness to volunteer for anything.

It's the priest I feel sorry for. The smell from middle Oub boy's feet can kill. You think those leaking nuclear power plants in Japan are a problem? They have got nothing on this boy's feet.

"Keep that stinky fecker away from me!! I haven't been immunised yet!"*

Mr Oub thinks I'm refusing to go to the church cause I've hosting book club tomorrow, but no, it's really because I don't want to have to apologise to the families of all those killed and maimed when he removes his toxic spawg coverings. I, of course, have developed an immunity over the years, so I do survive these type of exposure incidents. But it has shortened my life expectancy considerably.

I am constantly amazed that the CIA don't show up at my door, asking to use the child for scientific research for biological weapons.

I turn away tinpot dictators at least twice a week.

Avert your eyes! They can injure even through the medium of binary!

I use his feet to keep the slugs off my potatoes.

His feet are anti-insured for 8 million euro.

The smell has been known to cause amnesia.

Our neighbours have lead lined walls to help protect them.

Nostradamus devoted a whole chapter to their apocalyptic nature.

They make small kittens cry.


So, what I'm basically saying is, if you are within a two hundred mile radius of Lucan tomorrow evening, around about 7pm - I'd stay indoors.

And keep your windows shut.





*Winner of the 'Most Tenuous Use of a Cute Baby Photo In My Blog Yet' award 2011...

A Great Feet

Middle Oub child volunteered in school. To get his feet washed. At mass tomorrow.

Good for him I say. Go middle Oub boy and your willingness to volunteer for anything.

It's the priest I feel sorry for. The smell from middle Oub boy's feet can kill. You think those leaking nuclear power plants in Japan are a problem? They have got nothing on this boy's feet.

"Keep that stinky fecker away from me!! I haven't been immunised yet!"*

Mr Oub thinks I'm refusing to go to the church cause I've hosting book club tomorrow, but no, it's really because I don't want to have to apologise to the families of all those killed and maimed when he removes his toxic spawg coverings. I, of course, have developed an immunity over the years, so I do survive these type of exposure incidents. But it has shortened my life expectancy considerably.

I am constantly amazed that the CIA don't show up at my door, asking to use the child for scientific research for biological weapons.

I turn away tinpot dictators at least twice a week.

Avert your eyes! They can injure even through the medium of binary!

I use his feet to keep the slugs off my potatoes.

His feet are anti-insured for 8 million euro.

The smell has been known to cause amnesia.

Our neighbours have lead lined walls to help protect them.

Nostradamus devoted a whole chapter to their apocalyptic nature.

They make small kittens cry.


So, what I'm basically saying is, if you are within a two hundred mile radius of Lucan tomorrow evening, around about 7pm - I'd stay indoors.

And keep your windows shut.





*Winner of the 'Most Tenuous Use of a Cute Baby Photo In My Blog Yet' award 2011...

Blog Post By A Bored D'Oub

So, we're having fish fingers for dinner tonight. And frozen mash potatoes. And frozen peas. Heston Blumenthal I ain't.

Wow. Yummy. The lucky Oub family.

Toddler Oub is pretending to fish while sitting on the rocker. I was reprimanded for pretending to eat the pretend fish before she had pretend cooked it. I had to pretend spit it out. I hope I don't get pretend food poisoning.

It was this big. The one that (pretend) got away.

Second son is playing the Wii. Or maybe its the new PS3. I dunno which. And I really don't care. The sun is actually out, and he should really be outside enjoying it. I should be making him go outside and enjoy it. But like the fish fingers, mash and peas, I haven't got the energy. I could pop him under the grill, or in the microwave for a while I guess.

Grunt. Hmmm? Wha'? (Son ignores mother.)

Eldest child is entering hour three of his homework. He's only in forth class, it's not the amount of work that's taking him so long. It's his futile revolt against the concept of homework, and work in general, that keeps him so long at it. It's a lonely battle, and so far not showing many results. The homework hasn't as yet disappeared. But he is dedicated to the cause and will keep fighting the good fight.

And he looks so industrious. He actually started this exercise on May 4th 1988.

Baby Oub (ver2.0) has just woken up. She's been asleep in her car seat for a few hours. Apparently spending too long in their car seats is bad for babies. It's the only place my little darling will stay asleep. See above about healthy fresh food, outside play and helping with homework for my feelings on the subject right now.

Somebody, anybody, call social services...

Mr Oub won't be home for about an hour. If we're lucky. But he may well be reading this blog, so honey, hurry home, I'm slacking again.

Thankfully he likes fish fingers.

Shame there aren't quite enough to go round.

Oh well.

Blog Post By A Bored D'Oub

So, we're having fish fingers for dinner tonight. And frozen mash potatoes. And frozen peas. Heston Blumenthal I ain't.

Wow. Yummy. The lucky Oub family.

Toddler Oub is pretending to fish while sitting on the rocker. I was reprimanded for pretending to eat the pretend fish before she had pretend cooked it. I had to pretend spit it out. I hope I don't get pretend food poisoning.

It was this big. The one that (pretend) got away.

Second son is playing the Wii. Or maybe its the new PS3. I dunno which. And I really don't care. The sun is actually out, and he should really be outside enjoying it. I should be making him go outside and enjoy it. But like the fish fingers, mash and peas, I haven't got the energy. I could pop him under the grill, or in the microwave for a while I guess.

Grunt. Hmmm? Wha'? (Son ignores mother.)

Eldest child is entering hour three of his homework. He's only in forth class, it's not the amount of work that's taking him so long. It's his futile revolt against the concept of homework, and work in general, that keeps him so long at it. It's a lonely battle, and so far not showing many results. The homework hasn't as yet disappeared. But he is dedicated to the cause and will keep fighting the good fight.

And he looks so industrious. He actually started this exercise on May 4th 1988.

Baby Oub (ver2.0) has just woken up. She's been asleep in her car seat for a few hours. Apparently spending too long in their car seats is bad for babies. It's the only place my little darling will stay asleep. See above about healthy fresh food, outside play and helping with homework for my feelings on the subject right now.

Somebody, anybody, call social services...

Mr Oub won't be home for about an hour. If we're lucky. But he may well be reading this blog, so honey, hurry home, I'm slacking again.

Thankfully he likes fish fingers.

Shame there aren't quite enough to go round.

Oh well.

Beastly Bus

I'm baaaaaaack.

Been busy. Knocking down kitchen walls. Going to Disneyland in Paris. The life of a D'Oub is a whirlwind. But, I felt I should hop on the poetry bus. Gotta keep those poetry muscles moving before they completely atrophy. Of course, am suspicious I'm too late. Cause I've produced another 'I'm-tired-because-of-the-new-baby-but-hey-isn't-she-cute-anyway-poem' What can I say? Titus, the bus driver this week, set us a task listing a bunch of animals, and I still bring it back to babs. It's a talent I guess.

Anyway, here we go. I chose the bush baby as my animal inspiration.

Bush Baby Baby

My little big eyed bush baby bundle
like your namesake noticeably nocturnal
I am sloth like, your soporific mammy
you do realize you've got it totally jammy?
I feed, clothe, bathe, oh you've cut a swathe
through my life
Even Sisyphus woulda worn a puss
with the endless toil
you create
but all you have to do is smile
not even that often, just once in a while
and I'm worse than chocolate in the palm of your hand
I melt like a fool, into a stupid maternal pool
of love and martyred devotion
and you can wake at 5am always and I'll
do what you want
I understand the deal we've got going here
it's pretty clear,
though not very fair
but honestly?
I don't really care 'cause
I illogically love you
my little big eyed bush baby bundle.

Beastly Bus

I'm baaaaaaack.

Been busy. Knocking down kitchen walls. Going to Disneyland in Paris. The life of a D'Oub is a whirlwind. But, I felt I should hop on the poetry bus. Gotta keep those poetry muscles moving before they completely atrophy. Of course, am suspicious I'm too late. Cause I've produced another 'I'm-tired-because-of-the-new-baby-but-hey-isn't-she-cute-anyway-poem' What can I say? Titus, the bus driver this week, set us a task listing a bunch of animals, and I still bring it back to babs. It's a talent I guess.

Anyway, here we go. I chose the bush baby as my animal inspiration.

Bush Baby Baby

My little big eyed bush baby bundle
like your namesake noticeably nocturnal
I am sloth like, your soporific mammy
you do realize you've got it totally jammy?
I feed, clothe, bathe, oh you've cut a swathe
through my life
Even Sisyphus woulda worn a puss
with the endless toil
you create
but all you have to do is smile
not even that often, just once in a while
and I'm worse than chocolate in the palm of your hand
I melt like a fool, into a stupid maternal pool
of love and martyred devotion
and you can wake at 5am always and I'll
do what you want
I understand the deal we've got going here
it's pretty clear,
though not very fair
but honestly?
I don't really care 'cause
I illogically love you
my little big eyed bush baby bundle.