Never say ‘it can’t be done’ to me. I don’t like that phrase, not one little bit.
I experienced this little phrase on no less than about twenty occasions during the last two weeks…whilst on my quest to get http://www.pipsgarden.co.uk to page one of the Google rankings.
I asked for advice on numerous forums, numerous web companies etc etc. Now, don’t get me wrong, lots of them were really helpful and gave us loads of very useful advice. But the comment we heard over and over again was that it just wasn’t possible to compete with the giants – the Amazons, the Ebays and of course, our nemesis, the Not On The High(ked up prices) St.
Well then. Imagine my delight at the following results!
1st page on Google for ‘personalised dressing gowns’. 1st page for ‘personalised baby tops’ 1st page for ‘personalised bedding’. Get in.
Feels like all that hard work and all those nights spent sweating over the laptop and weeping at trying to get my head round blooming HTML paid off! Now…how to keep us there, eh?
I always thought Tony Blair had the smuggest face in the universe. But I would like to just alert the world to the fact that mine is now smugger.
However, as we all know, it never pays to be too smug. Where one aspect of your life goes swimmingly, another aspect may well come crashing down in a big messy puddle of poop.
The particular metaphorical (and occasionally literal) puddle of poop I am referring to is the whopper of a foul mood that my two boys have been in today. Quite literally from the moment they woke up to now, they have been grizzling, mewling, howling and generally hurumphing as much as they humanly can muster.
From DB2, we have had just an endless low-level background grizzle for most of the day. But bless him, his teeth are coming through, and I do actually have a lot of sympathy, watching him gnash away at his gums like one of those famous gurning OAPs.
However, I’m not really quite sure what brought on DB1s monumentous huff today. I took him to the library, where he huffed because I didn’t let him swing off the book shelves. I took him to the museum, where he huffed because I dared to inform him that the orchid mantis ‘mummy’ is bigger than the orchid mantis ‘daddy’ (seriously.) We had lunch, he huffed because it had an element of baked beans involved. I played with him in his room, he huffed because I stuffed a toy ball down his trousers (ok, ok, perhaps I shouldn’t have, but it was my way of venting off a bit of frustration.)
However, all these aforementioned huffs are nothing compared with the gargantuan strop he had in TK Maxx. I was looking in there for a gift for my neice, and right from the word go, I could sense we were not on to a winner, as DB1 started whirling around the floor, and running off to hide in the clothes rails.
After he nearly broke a vase by running his hand along a shelf, I lost my rag. Yes, I admit it. I shouted. Fairly loudly. In one of those ways that makes everyone around you instantly think that you have no control of your offspring whatsoever. DB1 then entered ‘mentalist’ mode. He shrieked at the top of his voice and started throwing himself around, threatening to knock several more breakable things off the shelves in the process. I hastily dragged him from the shop.
He continued to boom lustily across the car park, screeching ‘DON’T WANNA GO!! DON’T WANNA GO!’ and nearly yanking my arm off, whilst also doing these really weird high pitched trills that sort of reminded me of what an enraged hamster might sound like if you amplified it by several thousand decibels. Cringe. Big big cringe.
I duly folded his scrabbling limbs into the car, slammed the door, then collapsed against the body of the vehicle, breathing deeply and wiping sweat from my brow. He continued to wail, unabated, bouncing over into the boot and hammering at the rear window. All I could see was a whirlwind of angry little limbs, snot covering his face, along with a lot of black fluff. (has anyone noticed, when kids really lose their rag, they always end up with snot and weird black fluff on their faces? Or is it just mine?)
The tantrum lasted twenty five minutes. Twenty. five. minutes. Of. Hell. After which, he finally gave up the ghost and sat there, whimpering furiously, and occasionally stuttering out a little ‘wanna go back to the shop’ under his breath. Funnily enough, by this point, I had no desire to, whatsoever.
PS – this is an orchid mantis. You know you were curious really.