mothers on the verge

I HATE stickers. Sadly, Firstborn and the Small(er) One love them. They love them so much that they will sticker anything. Our house is plastered with stickers. We're knee deep in stickers. Walk across the carpet and you're guaranteed to get at least one stuck between your toes. Sit down and there'll be a sticker somewhere on the sofa. Stickers lurking on lampshades, skirting boards, bedsteads, mirrors, the i-pod. Stickers sneakily stuck on picture frames, toys, books and once, memorably, on the ceiling. But the worst is when the stickers are attached to me. A few months ago I went in to a fairly important meeting. I had dressed the part, squeezing myself into the black suit that usually hibernates in my wardrobe, a shirt and heels. I think I even brushed my hair that day. All in all, I was feeling pretty damned hot and in a ball-breaking frame of mind. In I went to the meeting and indeed I was sizzling (in the professional sense). The only thing that irked me during the wh