The other week, I was with my husband’s family when one of my in-laws turned to me at the dinner table and said ‘so, still loving mothermood?’. Note, there was not an inch of sarcasm to her tone. She was deadly serious. She wanted an answer. My initial response was two-fold: 1) puzzlement – when had I ever given anyone the idea that I was loving motherhood? had I got drunk and said it? and 2) – holy shit, no. I do it. I do my best at it. I totally, honestly love my kids but do as to loving the actual job of being a full-time mum? Not so much. Of course, I didn’t say any of this. But neither could I lie. So instead, I did what any grown-up woman would do and faked my own death. It was easier than confessing to all of the above and I figured it would cause less of a commotion at the dinner table.
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Faux Pas – I really didn’t mean to say it
Yesterday, I took my toddler daughter in my arms, cuddled her and told her, “daddy loves mummy’s front bottom”…
Another mummy milestone ………
The start of the weekend started out if it could go wrong it went wrong, taking Madison to her school book fair Friday afternoon we got half way round by the time I realised that I had forgotten my purse…… well as you can imagine the look of utter disappointment in my little ones face was awful, but Lucky enough the fair was there for a week so we did a book fair take two Monday and we picked out a few good titles only buying the one, the rest are going on her letter to father Christmas.
including the latest Julia Donaldson book The Highway Rat .
This week has been an extremely busy one aside from doing the everyday mummy jobs, washing, cleaning ironing and all round children’s entertainer. I have turned my hand at sewing ( which secretly I really don’t mind doing one bit) and have blinged up a plain black T-Shirt (£3.50 primark ladies size 6) with some lovely tinsel (90p local chemist of all places) as Madison and her class mates are going to be stars in there school Christmas Play which I can not put in to words how excited me and Joe are.
to sleep, no chance to dream
My baby has been very unsettled at night recently, no hang on actually, the truth is he’s been a f***ing nightmare at night recently. Either refusing to go to sleep or waking after 3 or 4 hours, and refusing to go back to sleep. This has resulted in a grumpy, moany baby and a very grumpy, moany mum. Its making me re-live the hell that was “having a newborn” and the near to insanity sleep deprivation I was suffering from…
The Half Hour before Bedtime
You know when the time is approaching.
You have had twenty previously blissful minutes when all is okay with the world. The children have exhausted themselves from the repeated arguing and making up, from continuously rolling over and under each other, or wrestling each other to the floor, or tripping one another up, or from seeing who can reach the highest heights and almost touch the ceiling when jumping off of the sofa.
In this time, you have managed to pop the hoover round, plump up the cushions and shake the rug in the hallway down. You’ve scraped the uneaten bits of dinner off of the plates and placed them in a neat pile, which in turn makes you feel as if you’ve actually put them in the dishwasher, considering all of the effort involved in stacking them so that they don’t all slide off the sideboard.
Nick Cave and The Bad Parents
This is my first non-music related blog post (*takes deep breath*), which incidentally has a few music references in it anyway!
Last Friday, my wife and I took our kids (aged 4 and 11 months) down a cave in the Peak District. You’ve probably guessed by now that the cave wasn’t called ‘Nick’, it was in fact called ‘Speedwell’. ‘The Bad Parents’ are my wife and I.
My wife and I had been down a couple of the caves there on previous visits (pre-kids) but had never experienced Speedwell – the one with the boat – as the queues are usually massive. Today though we were in luck – we were first in the queue!
Just before we went in, spirits were high and we were beaming at the thought of ‘going underground’ (by The Jam). O. was a little scared but our excitement soon rubbed off on her.
An hour later, on breathing the fresh Derbyshire air again, our thoughts had turned from ‘this is going to be brilliant’ to ‘what the hell were we thinking?!!’
The end of an era
The Captain and I decided that Little Miss A – at the ripe old age of 3 – is old enough to walk to school. I noticed that most of the children her age were walking (although I suspect it was because they were booted out of their pram upon the arrival of a sibling) and could walk for miles. Admittedly, she’s not a great walker (she can’t take two steps before she starts begging to be carried) and being carted around in a pram doesn’t help. So we went cold turkey. For the most part, Little Miss A is coping well and has been a good sport. I, on the other hand, have not. Sigh. I miss my pram. I miss being able to buy a ton of groceries (“2 for 1 on watermelon? I’ll take 4!”). I miss being able to hang all my bags off the handles (and sides). I miss being able to have a stash of emergency provisions underneath. I miss being able to just zip from A to B. But what I miss most of all, is my baby as she’s now no longer a baby.
Me & Little Miss A
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Tantrum Tactics – The Grab and Run technique
We had just come out of the lift and I had parked up the pushchair next to the sleepwear aisle when the whingeing began. Not thinking at all, I unstrapped her and held her in my arms.
I knew as soon as I did it that there was no way she was going to get back in the pushchair.
By this point she had managed to wriggle her way out of my arms and was pulling all of the clothes off the rails.
I could already feel myself going red in the face, anticipating the tantrum that was about to ensue when I tried to pick her up. I was nervously giggling and smiling at the other mums who were fleeing the area, shaking their heads as if to say ‘Get out of here while you can … She’s gonna blow!!’
But I had to do it. As much as I wanted to wait until the store closed and had emptied of customers to try and get Mya out, I couldn’t. I had to face the inevitable.
Individual Chicken Pies
I’ve been slacking. Since we got back from our trip, I haven’t really cooked anything proper for dinner and when I did try to make something, C said it was too bland. I think it’s all those home-cooked meals and dinners out back in my hometown. I have gotten lazy. Or maybe it’s just the unexpected cold for this time of the year (though it’s also possible that I have forgotten how cold it gets). The constant desire to hide under my duvet, reading food blogs and tweeting…a sure sign of winter-blues syndrome.
Shitting a Pineapple – My Birth Story(ies)
I apologise to all the natural birth fans out there but I am not big on pain and the idea of getting a baby out of my bits made me wince just thinking about it (and still does to be honest). If I could have drugs I wanted them thank you. I did attend the NHS prenatal classes but didn’t get involved in the NCT until later (probably a good thing with my views on birth). I think all this may have come from my mother who once described giving birth to me (I am her only child) as like ‘shitting a pineapple’ which is painfully accurate but maybe I won’t be giving this sage piece of advice to my daughters as I quite fancy being a granny one day.
A surreal experience for kids at The Collection
Passing through a garden gate, we found ourselves in a wonderfully surreal garden full of odd little signs, sounds and a ‘valley of lost dolls’ – neglected toys mingled among the grass. Here started the story of a little girl which continued throughout the installation.
After Joel had finished exploring the garden, we passed through a ‘secret passage’ into a dark room covered entirely (even the ceiling) in soft grass-like material and lit with a soft green light.
A decision was made this morning. Made with thought and not taken lightly. Like any decision it took time to arrive at the right one. The answer. The resolution to the problem. Here we all are, us mummies, stuck in our routines. Ensconced in our everyday. Our get up and go, go, go. Whether we work as well as being a mummy. Whether our work is only mummy-ing. There comes a point when we’ve got to have a break, a holiday. So, as I lay in bed with my babbling babe, forgiving her, again, for her all-night-partying, I decided tonight was the night. The night to escape. To pack up my mummy outfit. Hang her in the wardrobe and put myself back on. I am going, going, gone. Gone out. Time Out.
Best foot forward
In a much earlier post back in October 2011, I briefly mentioned that my little girl has a condition which requires regular monitoring at a London hospital.
Now that the chaos of having to post every day for NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) is behind me – yes, that’s right, I’ve fallen by the wayside – I’ve got some time to explain more about Sophia’s condition and hopefully raise some awareness at the same time.
In a nutshell, Sophia was born with Congenital Talipes Equinovarus (CTE).
It is more commonly referred to as talipes or clubfoot and around one in every 1,000 babies will be born with it.
Babies born with clubfoot have feet that turn sideways and inwards. It can affect one or both feet. In Sophia’s case, it was both.
Rewind back to 2008 and it was during our 20 week scan that we discovered Sophia’s condition.
Pregnancy week 29: colds, clothes and colour schemes
Woe was me this week; Alex was away and the annoying cough I’ve had for ages turned into a full-blown coldy chesty thing. This involved staying home from work, losing my voice, and a big old dose of self-pity. It’s quite odd being this sort of ill and pregnant, as I’d normally take anything available I can buy from the pharmacy, but obviously now my options are limited to nothing chemical and nothing that really works.
A visit to Harrogate for sewing supplies…and the connection to Johnny Depp
A couple of weeks ago I put on my posh togs and had a day out in the elegant Victorian town of Harrogate in North Yorkshire, where I discovered an intriguing connection to Johnny Depp.
The town is known for it’s Turkish Spa Baths, The Great Yorkshire Show, Victorian architecture and the world famous Betty’s Tea Rooms. There’s also a wealth of shopping, from the quirky antique and curio shops in the Montpellier Quarter, to high street favourites in the centre of town and individual shops around the train station area.
In addition to sightseeing and sampling the wares of a local cafe I managed to find some sewing and crafting shops for guilt-free shopping, well it’s not that I just like buying fabric, I need it! Read on…