Monday 31 October 2016

Twatty mum blog ideas

I am not going to lie, life has taken its toll on me a little. I have a deadline for this blog, and I have started to resent it. G is away, the children are reacting to this, I feel alone in my task as sole parent and really I am struggling to cast a light note on my daily events. I will not break, I have got this, and all of that, but it does mean that I want to tell someone to fuck off at least once a day. Look it is half term, I am allowed to moan a little bit!
So what do I do? I mean my daily amusement source (the children) is fit for Facebook posts, but it aren't beefy enough to write a blog post about. I mean I ramble at the best of times, but there has to be a limit.
I decide to do what I have never done (because I am OH SO original, and amuse myself enough with my own ridiculous thoughts), I google, 'mum blog inspiration'. And there it is '31 Fresh Blog Post Ideas'. I am willing to overlook why 31? It is a very random number. It becomes so much more apparent with reading this piece that maybe it was chosen as a random number to try and appear 'zany' or 'off the wall'. Two things that it is NOT.
I am going to only focus on a few points. For you the reader, this is the best way!
  • NUMBER ONE: From the Grandparents perspective - Ok, so with G being away my parents are helping out as much as they can. It has been only two weeks, but around about 80 per cent of this has involved tricky negotiation between my children and their grandparent(s). So for example, they do something to piss me off, I let it go. They then do the same thing a few more times and I will deal with the situation. Either naughty mat, downstairs play ban, a basic bollocking. You know, all the shit that I probably should not be doing as a parent. They ordinarily don't listen, I force some sort of weak apology out of them and then we all get along with whatever we were doing before. When dealing with this situation with grandparents present it seems that I somehow have to appear as the perfect parent, straight out of the perfect parent book. I mean this is my own parents we are talking about, they do know me? But I feel like I am on show, having to prove my parentage. Also I sort of feel sorry for my children. It is usually Rufus too, the loveable rogue, having a shit fit again for literally NO reason. I can see the judgement in their eyes, 'oh well you weren't like that as a child'. 'You need to be tough with him'. 'Don't give in' and so on. It is all in all just exhausting! (Grandparent disclaimer....Aside from this they have a healthy relationship, whereby they all run rings around their grandparents hearts!)
Right so back to this blog madness. a suggestion on here was that the children could write a letter to their grandparents. So it would go...
Q: Grandma, can I have a biscuit
A: No, you've just had three and it is lunchtime soon
Q: Grandma, but I am hungry, can I have a, something out of Evelyn's bag. But I need something from her bag, I want it, I want it, I really, really, am hungry for Evelyn's bag.....
Well you get the picture.
  • NUMBER TWO: The fun meal we planned together as a family - I need to just repeat and shout that one....THE FUN MEAL WE PLANNED TOGETHER AS A FAMILY!
Seriously! Unless the planning was throwing all of the children in the car to go to Macdonalds, there is no such thing! (Even then, there is usually a problem with something that Ronald himself has planned with their meals!) The list of requirements, choices, dislikes (lucky no allergies) goes on. Sometimes all a carrot has to do is be cut wrong and all hell breaks loose!
  • NUMBER FOUR: If our House could talk! - Let's not even get started on that one.....moving swiftly on!
Very swiftly!
  • NUMBER SIXTEEN: photos I took all by myself (children) - In a way this would be amusing/hugely depressing if taken by myself as a parent. They would all be pictures of my children, sometimes I would appear in a selfie with one or more children, pictures of food, a picture of a night out I once had where I remembered what I once was, a shit ton of pictures from WhatsApp groups, endless first day of exercise 'shame myself pictures' so that once I have done the diet/done the phys I can look back and see just how much weight I have lost, loads of 'stevvvvvvennnnnnn' videos done for amusement by myself and a friend of similar mental ilk, and screenshots of postcodes for soft play. There that is my life! And it is also the reason I don't Instagram! 
If we were actually going to talk about pictures my children have taken, I would just like to paint a picture of their tiny little brains. This evening when I came up to tell them to go to sleep and to keep their talking down a bit (constant fear of Evelyn waking up), I stopped to listen outside. They were talking about boobies, and that Mummy has boobies (this was hilarious), that Daddy does not have boobies, but what if Daddy did have boobies (this again was hilarious) and that they did not have boobies, but what if they did have boobies (yeh you guessed it, hilarity!) Okay! 
Yes so if I was to present a beautiful blog piece of pictures my children took all by themselves they would be.....pictures of their nostrils, feet, top of heads, never full face, and certainly never a smile. A lot of screenshots of various wobbling icons with the delete 'x' hovering like death over things on my phone I forgot that we're there, youtube screenshots, pictures of shit paintings, or stickers from those games where it directly saves into your camera roll even though you have denied access a thousand times.
That, there ends my not very exhaustive review of this ridiculous blog ideas post! Some mum wanker, somewhere is feeling pretty cool about herself after writing this, sat resplendent in how wholesome and thoughtful she is. Beaming at the congratulatory comments that are rolling in.  I am also sure that her eldest child probably has just drawn a massive and graphic sudacrem cock on her bathroom wall, I mean one of her points was a 'joint home renovation project'! Twat!

Wednesday 21 September 2016

That Mr Tumble....he has death in his eyes


So this is going to be pretty no holding back on my behalf. Thoughts straight from my inner self. I am going to lose some of you along the way, I am ok with this. It has to be this way. Unless you are Mr Tumble and you basically want to sue me for making defamatory statements, in which case I take it all back and this was all written by Hector!

This is my actual appraisal of CBeebies. I have had close to 5 years intensive research. In a passive aggressive fashion, I haven't really had much choice over feeling the way I do about a lot of this. I thought that my time, my CBeebies sentence was over. But now Evelyn has taken interest, and the whole terrible cycle of viewing has commenced. I am aware that the TV could just be turned off, I could climb up to the highest shelf in the house and get the play doh down, I could go along to some mums groups (shudders), or crack on with some dreadful messy play. (I am kidding obviously about the messy play, that is never going to happen!)

The main offending lineup......

Bing. Most common to be brought up in a Mum rant. My main concerns are, what is Flop? Where are  Bing's parents? Why does he not dropkick Bing? Why do these 'kids' all have carers? Where are all of the parents gone? Did Bing kill them all? Have they merely all run away, unable to live this life. My other main problem with Bing, is whilst Rufus watches this, he somehow morphs into Bing! The same whining, irritating tone. 'its a Bing thing', no your child is just being a little shit, tell him/her to snap out of it immediately.

Show me, Show me. More specifically the presenters. Chris and Poi. See the boys never watched this, but Evelyn seems drawn in, so my views are still fresh and less imbedded. I like to imagine that these two actually despise each other. In every alternate breath they are uttering depraved insults at the other. When the camera cuts, Chris trips Poi over, and she manages to (like the little ninja she is) get in a swift upper cut to the balls.

Mr Tumble/Justin the franchise. How is this guy even allowed near children. He is creepy at best. Potentially wanted in various eastern countries.

Mr Maker. Now I have daily eyebrow paranoia, but this mans face though! Definitely goes under the name Julie at the weekend. His eyebrows are plucked within an inch of their life. I imagine a regular manicure too. Also on a side note, how has CBeebies got the budget to send him all over the world to show children everywhere how to make a rocket out of a tampon?

Topsy and Tim. Two children I would never ever want my children to hang out with. Also Eastenders Mum needs to get a grip and stop being so bloody chipper about everything. Why can't she just roll her eyes once, just once, when she is requested for the thousandth time to entertain her children.

Get well soon. Not so much Doctor Ranj, who is on closer inspection literally tiny!? I can get past this. I can also get past that the 'children' he helps are weird yellow puppets with disproportionately large heads. It it his sidekick, Nurse Morag who offends me. I think she is supposed to come across as bubbly, helpful and caring. to me she comes across as conceited, self-assured and sanctimonious. Aha, the joke is on you Nurse! You don't know everything! You are advising weird bobble headed puppets, they don't have health needs!

Grandpa in my pocket! I mean, who at CBeebies towers thought this was a good title for a kids show!? Wrong

Mr Bloom. His swagger, his talk out of the side of his mouth 'northerness', his interest in weird puppet vegetables, and his inability to maintain eye contact don't sit well with me. I think that I read somewhere that he isn't even from the north? Also that he was going to be on Hollyoaks? Also, perhaps more worryingly, a lot of Mums seem to fancy him?

So to conclude, most of these programmes (and others) really follow a pretty annoying motif. Whether it be Thomas, or Mike the Knight, or Chuggington they just do not listen. They have a task, they don't listen to what they are told to do, they fuck it up, then they have to get all their friends to drop everything they are doing to help them. Then at the end they get patted on the back and told how good they are! It is NO WONDER that children everywhere are the way they are!

I am hopeful that Evelyn's interest may dwindle, mostly because Hector has learnt how to use the remote to its full usage. Mostly, the voice command function which means he can ALWAYS access youtube Kinder Egg, Tinkerbell toy, playdoh, Transformers. And there is nothing wrong or weird about that tv is there?

And from the kitchen I can be generally heard humming 'Postman Pat, Postman Pat, Postman Pat,  is a great big twa.......'


Thursday 25 August 2016

Lone parental responsibilities

First day back of lone parentage. As a precursor to this rant, I warn of not mixing my words in any way and to referring to my children as bastards (apart from Evelyn, of course never Evelyn!)

I feel sorry for G as he has said that amongst other things today he has swimming pool circuits, survival training and pt 😷.
Today was always going to be hard, baptism of fire back to reality. I, however, have dealt with Evelyn deciding to pull off her nappy before doing her morning poo (teething as well!) Literally not knowing what to do (I even found myself lamenting 'I just don't know what to do......' to the boys who were sat on the sofa watching frozen, literally not giving a fuck!) I decided all I could do was put her in the bathtub. At least there the shit couldn't be ground into the carpet anymore. I swiftly realised the dress she was wearing was going to have to be destroyed (even if was only because I was never going to be able to look at it again or be served a reminder of this event!) so I quickly grab some scissors to cut it off of her. At this moment I catch a glimpse of something in the corner of the bath (it is a tiny bath) a gigantic spider. There was no time, she could've grabbed it in her shitty paws, or it somehow may have realised the grave situation it was facing and try to flee (most probably in my direction and immediately into my hair) the shower was out and set on boiling to quickly disintegrate it down the plug. Evelyn got cleaned and redressed and I left the house fairly promptly, feeling unsure as to what had actually just occurred, but sure I definitely needed to leave the scene.

Since then the boys have taken the baton of basically being little bastards. Constantly not being satisfied with anything, being taken to a friends for a pizza play date (they have obviously  decided they no longer like pizza?!), fighting with said friends girls, destroying anything they can get their hands on, developing a newer insatiable thirst for anything the other has their grubby (not shit stained like their sisters, thank god) hands on, Rufus's voice seems much more penetrating today, maybe it's the humidity. He constantly has a red sweaty brow, maybe this is causing him some discomfort, or maybe he really does just see everything as a competition that he feels he is losing. Since getting back home and needing a bit of a rest and Evelyn a sleep I have said that they are to play in their room (where approximately 150 different of their toys are, and in fact as of later on all of their toys will be.) So far they have bounded back downstairs for reasons of needing a wee, needing a drink (both fairly valid) needing dory, needing to tell me something, needing to see if it is raining (it was and the washing was out, fuck!) needing to see if daddy was back, needing to see who I just talked to (I'm sat in silence.)

The message of them needing to go upstairs and play has sunk in now. It sounds like there are five of them up there, so it's hard to work out exactly who is doing what but someone is clearly running a train around the walls, potentially whilst thudding their feet. There is the constant mumbling humming an undefined, indescribable song (that is defo Hector). There seems to be something bouncing and also something being dragged?! They are potentially somehow lost (it isn't big enough to get lost up there, I've tried!) as there is a lot of Rufus calling out for Hector. But they for now are up there.....

I'm sort of catching a rest with Evelyn napping next to me on the sofa when she is rudely woken by a Woody doll (his batteries have never been changed and we bought it for Hector) announcing that 'this town ain't big enough for the two of us' and that marks the end of any sort of resting for today.

Well ain't that the truth.....




Sunday 12 June 2016

Sink or Swim,

I have always thought of swimming as more a survival thing than a fun thing to do. Maybe my introduction to it at an early age explains why. See, my parents don''t swim, in fact my Mother holds a deep phobia of water. Being anywhere near it makes her anxious. I 'learnt' to swim at Primary School at about the age of 8 or 9. Everyone else seemed to be able to swim, including the deaf girl and the girl with the hole in her heart! But not me. A ghastly Maths teacher named Mrs Child was tasked with  the job of teaching me. It was basic, it was survival.....I was dragged around the pool by the drowning hook until i started to kick my legs and 'swim'. I hated that woman, and still do to a degree!

So, today I was feeling rather charitable towards the boys. Hector's ongoing saga with his eyes is playing on my mind somewhat. Weirdly it seems to manifest itself as guilt. I feel guilty that he has the problems he has, and that I can not actually physically take them away from him. Anyway, so last night in a weaker moment I asked him what he wanted to do today and swimming was the response. Well, you can imagine my face!

I googled and picked a leisure centre close by, in fact it was a bit of a smart gym kind of place. I had a quiet word with myself whilst getting ready, and did what any mother would do....drew on my eyebrows and started to pack four thousand bags of towels and what not that is needed for such an escapade.

See, I really don't like swimming, and I know that when you take your children it isn't 'swimming' as such. At this age, I am not expected to swim lengths with them. It is worse. This is water play. Splashing water in my face, at any given moment, a water spray fountain will go off unexpected renching you through. YOr worse, a bloody wave machine will go off! Yes, I know i am in a swimming pool and getting wet will happen. I don't like it though.

In fact I will go a step further in explaining why I don't enjoy the experience. It is invariably too cold, the water that is. However, no matter how cold the environment once crammed into a family cubicle with four other bodies, you literally go into heat overload. I must also dwell on the facilities some more on my rant of dislike. There is a strong chance that whilst in the changing rooms, you will step on other peoples pubes/piss/shoe dirt/did I mention pubes? All of this whilst trying to shoehorn yourself into a swimming costume. Or worse, trying to get it off. Like superglue fastness a wet swimming costume is near impossible to remove. The joy of trying to remove said item with a mild amount of dignity and fairly stealthily so to avoid both your sons staring and shouting loudly about where my willy is, and if there is any milk in my boobies!? Then there are the lockers, for which you can never find enough change for more than one locker at a time. They are too narrow, and when opened will ALWAYS spill out your pants/socks/ any other item of clothing you don't fancy sitting in whilst sopping wet from the gross floor. Shower before you go in.....that will be more standing in other peoples pubes then, no thanks. Shower when you get out....more pube standing, and also soap scum from people actually having full on showers. Lets move on.

Once in the pool, obviously the boys go berserk. Screeching so all turn to look...oh great, my attempts of an inconspicuous pool entry have been shattered. Streaky fake tan and a badly fitting swimming costume... I almost want to shout out to everyone that I am only on day 4 of the 30 day shred, and i have had three children in four years! In fact this brings me onto another thing. Swimming costumes. Who designed these things. I have a fairly long body so mostly the lower half of the entire costume will be inside my vagiba. This is not a good look, especially when children are around. It is also NOT comfortable. I did muse these thoughts to G on the way to the swimming pool. His only advice was to not go down the water slide. He found this amazing funny. Maybe not so much after he was forced to take the boys down said slide about 10 times in a row. Anyway, a huge divergence, back to my point....children. Children in swimming pool environment seem to devolve into basic mode. They are unable to do anything but splash (to which I am pretty much sure is on purpose as they know I am the one who looks like the arsehole shouting at them to stop splashing...in a bloody swimming pool!) Other faculties they lose are the ability to hear, see, or speak normally. All communication is on a screeching high pitched basis, and repetitive. Very repetitive in fact, the same thing over and over....slide, slide, slide, bubbles, bubbles bubbles, look, look, look etc.

Then there are the people there, a mixed folk. The sporty mums who wear sport swimming costumes, who 'love' it (I guarantee that no woman loves this experience that much!) The pervy dads - on reflection maybe they aren't pervy, but more akin to my way of thinking and just look shifty as they don't want to be there and there are too many women with ill fitting swimming costumes on. The guy in the jacuzzi today was DEFO a perv though, and G nearly sent me through to him like an awards swingers party but with only two people there. Luckily I saw said pervy Dad, and lowered myself back into the pool. There is the token fat dude. Not just fat, but like epically obese. The hairy dude. The one who everyone swims wide around, just in case of coming into contact with the hair. There is usually one overly hot mum who wears a phenomenally inappropriate bikini (there wasn't there today, more the shame!)

So, today we took them swimming. It was not good. It will happen again in a few more months when I feel a better mother than I feel right now. As I said, swimming is more survival to me. And so is Motherhood. Survival that is. And I do what I must for the children to be happy, and also myself to exist. So, for the record, next swimming playdate....dont expect an rsvp.





















Saturday 4 June 2016

Car crash farms, and gatecrashing BBQ's

So we had already had an eventful day. A trip out to town where the boys were very good! FYI, Paperchase, however lovely a shop - literally turns into a living hell when you apply two young children! Anyway, once we had escaped the rubbers, pens, lunch boxes, dinosaur stamps, snow globes and all other possible pointless purchase, I felt like they needed a little bit of 'them' time.

 On the drive back I spotted a sign for a 'rare breeds farm' sounds like it may be worth a punt. It's half term, I should really be doing something like this I thought. I put my own personal preference for avoiding these places at all costs aside and as the sun came out, I thought, yes, this is going to be good. Entrance was promising, once out the car the boys started to chase a gaggle (see, look at my nature knowledge!) of geese. It was a bit pricey but I got discount so I splashed out and bought two bags of animal feed. Immediate disappointment.

A couple of desperate sheep, some suicidal chickens and a forlorn looking highland cow. It wasn't rare, it smelt bad (not just farm bad, like disease bad), it looked shabby. A few accents of bright graffiti tried to give it some weird street edge, why they thought this would work with it being a farm essentially catering for young children. There were, however, a huge number of massive trampolines dotted about the place which quite frankly the boys were more than happy with. We dumped , literally, the two bags of feed with two lonesome ponies. A chase of a peacock, a fruit shoot and a bag of wotsits later (also for the record Rufus does NOT like these cheesy snacks, and is most offended if presented with a bag of them - a fact that all of the diners at the cafe there were left in no doubt of!)
I was quite grateful that the staff were weird. The lad at the cafe fitted the expected mould when I asked what drinks he had for kids - the response (with a wink?!)' oh I'm sure I could do something with some milk?' Those who know my unfortunate face will be able to imagine the look?! I was, I think more bemused at the wink rather than questioning what in the hell he was planning on doing with the milk.

Anyway we left, exhausted. We drove home in near silence. We came home and returned to the default setting of sitting and watching a disney movie.

G returned, also exhausted after a pretty epic week at work. He, however had to go to a works BBQ. I may have mumbled something about this new job not being very family friendly, as I threw around some homemade pizzas that were mine and the children's tea. He left. I continued my monotonous routine. But, tonight, instead of wrestling Evelyn into her babygro, all whilst asking, begging the boys to just be quiet and stop fighting. I put them all into the car and drove to the BBQ. It wasn't completely spontaneous, there was a vague invite there. I knew no-one (apart from G obvs). There was wine, which I accepted, again....and again....and again (you get what happened) See, whilst I've been living here I haven't really had much social occasion. I think I have regressed so deep into living this mental life and being so open and lucid about how bonkers being a Mum is I forgot. These people, most of them were not parents, they were what I was before, they were normal. They were not going to ask me about my breastmilk, or my periods, or baby poo, or competitively drill me on child development. The main source of questioning seemed to circle about the lack of sleep, and how did I do it. I was open...I fear too open. My response was along the lines of 'well, I find, that I lost my shit so long ago, what is now, just seems normal?' accompanied with a slight deranged cackle. The thing is, it all seemed to go down very well, as did the wine.

Poor G was demoted to basically watching the children. They also provided a fair bit of crowd entertainment. Hector stood up in front of everyone and tried to execute the jokes he has learnt recently. His favourite is 'what do you get when you put a witch on the beach? A sandwich!' He also tried to make a speech. This was thwarted by G. Between the two of them, Hector and Rufus chased, hugged, kissed, pushed and screeched at the only other child there, a particularly cute little girl. There also was a rabbit escape at one point which I am fairly sure was down to them also.

We were there for a couple of hours. We made our mark. We left. Again in silence on the way home. The day after I did enquire as to what G's work colleagues thought of me. He joked (I don't think it was a joke though)
that I swore a lot, but was really nice. A fairly accurate and fair epitaph I think!

So I think from all of this, I think I fit in somewhere between the mentals down the farm, and the people who I used to be one of at the BBQ? A sobering point that occurred to me whilst nursing my hangover in Waitrose, surprisingly not the most middle class thing that i have ever said!

Saturday 28 May 2016

It's my birthday...I can have a mild hangover by 3 o'clock in the afternoon if I want to?

Today I turned 36. It sprang on me a little like my children did this morning well before the agreed 'lie-in' time of 8.00am! Every birthday previous hasn't really made me feel any older. Now, now seems different. Like a sober tapping on the shoulder of reality that I am on a slippery slope to 40. And then, well then I'm like as old as my parents. I'll clarify my childish musing. I don't have any real recollection of my parents until they were in their 40s. And your parents always seem old don't they?

Anyway I digress! So I was forcibly removed from my bed at something rude o'clock. Excited boys, excited Evelyn (she sensed a second round of breakfast most probably) and an excited husband. A real effort had been made by all - G had decorated the whole house and baked me a birthday cake, Hector and Rufus had managed to not open any of my presents or cards or pop any balloons, and Evelyn had managed to just be Evelyn! We sort of tumbled through the early morning, presents, cards, birthday cake breakfast (the shred is recommencing after the bank holiday!) and then we were off to Bath. Specifically to stuff our faces courtesy of Jamie Oliver (to repeat the shred is recommencing after the bank holiday!)

I didn't let the miserable woman who took my booking dampen my spirits. After all I was in for a free bottle of prosecco and a free pudding! I knew my rights, if it's yer birthday that is what Jamie will give you! I didn't even let the boys constant fighting annoy me (this was on the way there, on the way back I really let it annoy me, like really!)

Cut to Jamie's! Our waitress was very unpersonable! This doesn't help matters when dining out with the three children! We really need personable! To help mask the disappointment and dismay at the noise and potential mess that will result in us being there. See the boys are fairly easy to contain (as long as Rufus isn't in one of those moods) but Evelyn has now found her voice she can just take off screeching without warning. The table of two ladies next to us wanted to leave as soon as we sat down. There were a few raised eyebrows as the drinks were brought out and my personal ice bucket with prosecco was placed down for me. I mean, I would've shared but G can't handle even the taste after an extreme Prosecco night got out of hand a while ago, and also we needed him to drive). So without much ado I got 'Mum pissed in the afternoon' pissed! I took too many selfies of myself with my children, I loved them, I wanted to sit on my own table without them, I gorged on too much pasta and too many desserts, I spilt water, I walked into the gents loo's by accident. It was a mixed affair! But good!

Leaving the restaurant I immediately regretted being mildly incapacitated. It was hot, the children were tired, Evelyn needed to sleep. The last thing I should have done was to attempt to spend some birthday vouchers in a well known department store. Well no, the last thing I should've done was take  Evelyn in the pram into said well known department store. Stairs, everywhere. An actual inescapable maze! Now it would have been easy to work this out and leave but you know, did I mention the prosecco? So after a while of going around and around a little like a hamster in those stupid balls....I approached a member of staff working at a franchise desk.
Me 'hi, could you tell me where the jewellery is please?'
Smartypants staff  member 'erm, yes madam, it is here' (gesticulating to the crap necklaces hung up on the cash desk)
Me (distainful sneer at the tat that had been offered) ' I meant the actual jewellery?'
Smartypants staff member 'oh well it is all around the store......(and she added this to piss me off I'm sure) if there is anything specific you would like me to get then I could?' (Ok maybe she was in sober reflection just being nice, but anyway!)
Me (hugely tempted to name several random items and send this lass on a wild goose chase around the store) 'well how am I to get about in this shop? The stairs are everywhere?
Smartypants member of staff  'oh well you can't! Not with that!' (Pointing at the Bugaboo, along with Evelyn who was staring straight back at her!)'

I was pretty tempted to do a Pretty Woman moment and start 'big mistake-ing her' but I'd have looked like a ropey, pissed Julia Roberts so I opted for walking off muttering about the ridiculous stairs and what would hey do if I were in a wheelchair!!!

So yeh, sorry about that, but I just wanted to rant, as when I left the shop and tried to recall the story to G it was all lost as the boys had become fixated on finding the 'balloon man'. This then pretty much took over the rest of the trip. We didn't find him, we found another balloon seller but didn't fancy spending just over a tenner on a balloon guaranteed to never even make it to the car. So Rufus went full force into a tantrum. His blonde curls (it was humid) turning to custard yellow against the violent red of his face! The good thing about Bath is that there are so many tourists milling about that really there is no judgement. Luckily we found a weird outside  play place near to the car park. A very odd situation in the middle of the plaza. A huge bit of fake grass with a massive, like climbable massive, fabric dog (for future reference this IS the shit kids go crazy for!) and a couple of big cushions scattered around the edges (seemingly for dads to sprawl out on).

We let them play, throwing themselves off of the top of the dog, burrowing themselves and other children with some of the massive vacant cushions, we even didn't lift a finger when one of the cushions 'burst' and then started splurging out polystyrene balls all over the green grass. Hector running gayly around scattering the balls screeching 'it's snowing, ITS SNOWING!' His voice twisting in pure ecstasy! I chuckled loudly when the 'Security Attendant' ran into the emergency and grapple this injured cushion from the children. It was a fair fight and someone's Dad broke it up and the cushion was retrieved.

The car journey as I've said was horrific, the boys high on sugar, and me falling victim to a mild, hot afternoon hangover. I shall not reminisce it.

So that was that! All done for another year! I must admit, and I don't like to admit that often, but I am the luckiest person. My family are awesome. Even when playing the 'train game' in the car - which basically involved Rufus repeatedyl twatting Hector over the back his head. I love them. And Evelyn, well she is Evelyn so literally perfect. And G - well he is whatever I said he was to me in the car on the way to Bath that made him get a bit of dust in his eye!

Done!


Wednesday 25 May 2016

Disco, disco, disco........

Today was Hector's school disco.....he is 4. He possibly has more of a life than me. This makes me feel awesome!

So I was hoping to go to said disco to sniff out some worthy material for here. This idea was scuppered by two factors. One being I have succumbed to some illness after being up North for a long weekend. And two, my husband is a PTA wanker (I say this with love, obviously!) so he had to go down and help out. I did ask him for some good goss but as per usual he was too nice a person to cast massive judgement and seek out awkwardness.

I did drop Hector off and felt a little bad that the 'cool' Star Wars T shirt that I picked out for him was maybe not upto the dress code. It was honestly like a child black tie event. In fact one kid in the queue did have a full on suit on, with waistcoat to boot! Lots of little girls in dresses (some a little revealing!) I envisaged Hector to come back and look like he had been to a 90s rave. He did not disappoint. Sweating, glow sticked, high on sugar and sporting what I thought was an injury (it was a spiderman logo apparently) he came home and did not stop talking until bedtime! He told me he was disappointed there was no 'Gummy Bears' song played (anyone that knows this song maybe able to imagine about 40 little kids going mental running around a school hall) but they did play the 'Lego' song which saved the day.

Meanwhile, I did feel sorry for Rufus, who after dropping off Hector basically loud cried all the way home (I can not emphasis just how loud his loud cry is! It literally stops me from being able to actually see straight!) He cried all the time I tried to find the Sherman and Peabody DVD, all the time I couldn't find any sweets (damn me for eating them one bored evening!) and all the way upto locating some glow sticks of our own! We then had a little rave of our own (I didn't tell hector, but we DID have the Gummy Bears song) which I think really slotted in well with Evelyn's bedtime routine!

Anyway, all children are asleep now. Hector still looks as though he has a head injury, Rufus has glowstick whip marks on his chin (our rave did get pretty intense) and Evelyn, well Evelyn is just Evelyn!

And now to eat the remains of their sweet bags that have been thrown across the living room floor.








Wednesday 18 May 2016

Screw you nameless Health Visitor

[Side note to the entire of this blog entry. This is literally just a rant. I great, big, massive rant. So if you are in a pretty bright mood, or if indeed you are a health visitor just don't bother. Move along and do/read something else]


Today was Evelyn's 10 month check up by the health visitor. No worries I thought to myself this morning. I should have not been so hasty.

So I must back up a little, last night was the third night in the row that I have been awake with her for a couple of hours at a time. Last night was bad, real bad! Pretty much a zombie this morning. I also had to do some ridiculous stairgate Tesco mission before the appointed time. And because I live in the middle of nowhere this was a lengthy (and in parts speedy) drive. I got back with 10 minutes to spare, enough time. I have enough time I said to myself as I drove upto my house. Not quite finishing my sentence as I see her car parked up (exactly where i wanted to park annoyingly) The Health Visitor is here.......sigh.

To begin with, it was awkward, weird even. I sort of beckoned her to come in as I was unloading the car (it was also pissing it down so I didn't want to hang about) but yet she remained in her car. Then about one minute after I entered the house, she pings the doorbell and weirdly says when I answer, 'oh have you just got in?' Odd. Anyway I shuffle her in and sit her down and start to make her a cup of tea. Thinking about it, she was weird again, as normally when asked how you take your tea, surely you just answer how you take it. Not say oh whatever, however you like to make it? Odd.

So to the bit which really hacked me off. So Evelyn is only just 10 months old. She crawls, she smiles, she babbles, she eats, she pulls herself upto standing. I think she is pretty bright (comparing to her two brothers) and I expect she has no problems. About 3 weeks before this appointment i was sent a questionnaire to answer questions about her development. I did chortle at some of the questions as they seemed in the reams of ridiculous. I answered honestly. My answers, and her abilities seemed to cause the health visitor worries it seems. This is basically where my rant lies. Who the hell makes these questions. One of which Evelyn was flagged as needing referral (to who i didn't ask) as she was unable to bend down to pick an object up whilst standing against the sofa. WHO MAKES THESE QUESTIONS? WHO ARE THEY?

She then got onto eating. Evelyn struggles to hand to mouth eat. This is my fault. I know it is. I have limited times at mealtimes to get all three children fed and watered. I feed her because it is easier. Cue blank look from health visitor.

She then goes onto give me a recipe for play doh. I am getting a bit tired now and say i am not really down for that. This woman was obviously the Mary Berry of playdoh making. She would not stop. Three further times she made reference to it and the recipe. She stopped once I gave her a sideways smirk and a murmur of some commitment to it.

The entire meeting was punctuated by Rufus, being, well Rufus. I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry. Actually to be fair to him, he did vary it a little bit. He asked for play doh out (which on reflection will have been why she started banging on about the play doh) and also to go out and play (it is still absolutely pissing it down at this point)

I feel a little vulnerable today, and to be honest this woman made me feel pretty shit about the job that i am doing with my children. So in an effort to give her some justification of the state of my face I tell her about the last three nights sleep and in particular how Evelyn was awake from 2-4.30 last night and being tired. It sinks in I think, this woman is going to show a little bit of empathy......'would you like any advice on sleep? do you need me to refer her for this?'........

Anyway she is gone, unfortunately coming back in two months.

A few things from this morning that  need a mention. Throughout all of this I have no idea what this woman was called. The only jeans that fit me have a hole at the knee (and not a fashionable one, just one that shows constant wear and tear of being on my knees picking bloody toys up). Lindum stairgate extenders are impossible to fit. The plastic bit that you have to remove to fit in the extender....yeh that bit, you listening? Fuck you! The end!





Tuesday 17 May 2016

Today we went to a Mum's group.....imagine my joy

So, today I was invite to a coffee morning. With other Mum's. Some known to me, others not. It was a risky decision, as it wasn't even a traditional playgroup where if you are stuck you could always actually just play with your child/ren. There was no where to hide. This could also get a bit awkward as I think I will try and reattend to explore further friendship opportunities.  I had been abandoned by my sole (for the record awesome) friend , so what did I have to lose.

I was urged to blog about this, I wasn't sure if it was a desperate 'please tell the world about some of these people' plea. Either way I will, in my one style, just describe what has happened to me for the last few hours.

I got there late, which was a tactical plan. Saw a few familiar faces and made a beeline and plonked down Evelyn, and in a kind of begging tone asked if Rufus would like to go and play with the toys. He was pretty sure that he didn't want to, luckily there other outlets (mostly the cafe there that sold sweets and other refreshments) so I was able to shake him off fairly easily. Because that is what these groups are about....right? At first I sat in a quieter area and was happy with the level of mingling. I could sit from this vantage point and observe the crowd. However, quite without warning, I suddenly found myself in the thick of it as all the Mum's came and sat in the same area. This was it.

Here, I found all the usual competitive Mum chat, the verbal competitions of baby weight, progressions, the birth stories. I wasn't privy to the fully fledged birth stories where all women nearly die, but an insinuation of catastrophe. See it always very difficult to judge my facial expressions in any normal circumstance, i find in these situations it best to go for totally neutral (also i am never sure if they are being actually serious, or if they just had to do without any drugs and thought that they were dieing) There was also a lot of breaking voices as the word 'SHARE, PLEEEEEASE' was reiterated a dozen times every two minutes.

Amusingly, the whole group warmed to Rufus immediately. Now let me tell you he is definitely ready to go to pre school (in a couple of weeks hurrah!) and has been nothing short of a nightmare about 70% of the time at the moment at home. There were musings of 'oh what a sweet boy', 'look at how good he is' as he diligently handed out toys to the other children. I refrained from rolling my eyes. What they failed to work out was that he was doing this so that he kept the fire engine that he wanted to play with!

There was the Mum who tried to strike up weird chat with me specifically about the consistency of her breastmilk? From all accounts, she must have actually sampled it to have known in such detail the taste and consistency of it. I started to visibly try and stop the conversation when she asked how mine had been each time. She was the one who got it out of me that I had three children. Something which seemed to cause a bit of outrage to the whole group it seems? Did I plan it? Did I want that? How did it happen? (Quite personally)....was I breastfeeding still....and then, had my periods come back? How on earth did I cope? What do I do with them? And will I miss them when they all go to school? I was fairly blasé about the situation. I horrified them further that really the transition from having one child to two children is the worst (this was pretty much all of their situations at present) They all jumped on board, who is this new woman, she has three children? Look at her, she is still functioning (within reason). I do hope that I wasn't the weirdo in this group.

Sadly there was no mum wankers, I mean there was one who unbeknownst to her actually struck a huge resemblance to a mum wanker I unfortunately know. She wasn't all that normal though as persisted in her observation of how heavy Rufus was. I mean what do you say in response......I find it best to just look straight back and wait for their awkwardness in the situation to change the subject.

Women are a funny breed, especially when in mass!

Anyway, that was it. My morning. I am exhausted! I got home to find that Rufus had managed to literally shoplift a toy guitar in his back pack. So I guess that means I will have to return.....Now can i just do what Evelyn is doing!!










Sunday 15 May 2016

Coming to terms with a hangover in a forest. Parent drinking.

For those who don't know me, I don't really 'do' woods. I am not in my happy place there. I like the outdoors - the moors, the seaside, parks, other outside locations. But forests - there are tripping hazards everywhere, usually muddy, cold places. They also usually harbour forest people, not literally people who dwell in the leafy glades, but those folk who enjoy rambling about and getting down with nature. They also probably enjoy to camp in said woods - again this is an activity that repells me. So why would going there with a mildly bad hangover not be a good idea!

Firstly we need to go back as to why I am hungover, two good friends came over for a sleepover. An actual adult sleepover. Basically a poor mask of an excuse to get a bit pissed. As in true binge drinker style I go immediately into mixing my drinks, I mean they were all drinks that I liked so that was a good thing. We didn't progress onto shots of a cheeky bottle of peach schnapps that had been bought earlier, which even just this morning disappointed me. It's almost as now we have children, I have also regressed as a human being to being a teenager. The exciting prospect of drinking in larger amounts than one or two glasses is too exciting. My friend offered some great parent drinking which is sadly very true, good advice - 'start early, finish early'. The inference also was on quantity, but to finish in time that we could get a decent amount of sleep in before being rudely awoken by our morning sleep thieves. That awful moment of reality of a fully fledged hangover at 6.00 am.

Anyway, back to the forest....

The boys showed a good amount of zeal when we arrived, running and screeching into the enclosure as you'd imagine may befit legoland more. A few folk turned and looked as to what the terrible accident may have been to make young boys scream so, I just don't even bother looking mildly apologetic anymore. Yes, these are my children, and yes, they this excited about being in this woodland area! Once on the main pathway, they pointed out green things upon green things, and trees, and asked a constant source of questions. I find the best thing to do in a situation of pretty much zero knowledge is to make up the answers. Unfortunately i seem to be programmed to scare my children, 'mummy, let's go down that track' (for pretty much no reason, I don't like the look of said track and don't want to go) I respond with a negatory, which is obviously questioned. My retort, well we can't go down there as there may be a monster. Hector is getting a bit wise to my usual answers, so he gingerly starts off away from my chosen safe path, I go for a guaranteed deal breaker - 'and also there may be mud down there, that your shoes will get stuck in.....and you'll get dirty!!' Yep, back on MY path!

There were a few hairy moments, fear of walking on a fallen tree trunk, fear of spiders (Rufus), fear of swing (also a Rufus - to be fair it was fairly ropey), fear of sitting in a daisy strewn pasture (Evelyn), but on the whole as a family we embraced the wander or wonder of the morning. We stopped for a picnic, to be honest I desperately needed bread and other carbs to satisfy and quell my hangover.  It was here that I witnessed my friend rip an apple in half with his bare hands! An amazing feat, one which I did try and copy but failed dismally (I obviously blamed the apple!)

All in all a successful day - as in, we have now left the woods and g is cooking a Sunday roast!




......but I didn't even do a shot of peach schnapps.....

So, I may have had a bit too much to drink last night. In true binge drinker fashion, I also mixed my drinks fantastically! For everyone's best interests Evelyn halted all proceedings and our adult sleepover (sounds many shades of wrong, but just pitifully two sets of adults longing for other adult alcohol fuelled banter) was cut short. Today we are venturing to a forest walk....I feel further update will follow!


Friday 13 May 2016

The definition of....mum wanker

I thought it best to give a clear, defined description of what I consider to be a mum wanker. See, I'm not just simply calling other mum's rude names (I would chose most probably much ruder, if I was to) it so much more than that.

It can be referenced in a playful way, along the lines of  'bus wankers'. For those occasions where you just want to point out that a fellow mum is being a bit of a twat.

Other than that, on a more serious inclination, the mum wankers mostly lounge about in soft playgroups. Always in a group - strength in numbers.  At their most deadly they specifically dwell in a child song session or a sensory outlet. They know all the words, actions, sign language hand gestures to the songs. I know all the basics but struggle beyond Old Macdonald. I patted myself on the back once for my ingenious extra line to 'The Wheels on the Bus' (the Daddies on the bus are off for a beer, off for a beer, off for a beer - hand motion was gesticulating downing a pint!) These women, usually have the younger children, ones that don't answer back yet, and sit where they've been plonked and don't have to be chased around the room every second of the session. They are judgemental, often outspoken, and generally not ones to go near. They won't have your back if your child makes contact with their child's head with a plastic figure (it happens, it doesn't mean my child will turn into a serial killer). They LOVE craft and messy play, like overly so.. Somehow when they say their little ones name it is sort of sung in a mezzo soprano tone. They are competitive, ridiculously so (their child will have always slept through, they crawled at 3 months,  they spoke at 5 months, only organic, maybe a fashionable dietary requirement thrown in for good measure, and whatever else ridiculous claims they make) They basically want to make themselves look and feel better about themselves. Unable to accept that motherhood is hard and sometimes unrewarding and sometimes we all mess up. Our children will on the whole just do what they are going to do, whenever they want to do it. We shouldn't have to pretend to have it all locked down and perfect.

See what these mum wankers need to realise is that, it is all just bollocks some days. They are holding up an absolute facade of themselves that really, even though may make us non mum wankers feel a bit shit about ourselves sometimes, one day they are going fall flat on their mum wanker faces.

Thursday 12 May 2016

bank holiday misery


So today I want to sit and watch an entire two series of Peaky Blinders, eat Twizzlers, quietly in my living room, enjoying the sun streaming through the living room window warming my feet. Instead - we are on the hunt for a car seat for Evelyn......in Basingstoke (?!) I am currently held up in the car with the children as G does some research in Toys r Us. Imagine the upset that the children are staring at the toy shop but not allowed to go in. What makes it worse is there is also a Macdonalds in sight. I've stopped talking to the boys - all pleas to stop fighting and to stop kicking my chair and to leave their sister alone have fallen on deaf ears. I just wanted to wish everyone well for their bank holiday Sunday!


stonehenge versus ikea......

So today the option of where to go according to the boys was Stonehenge or IKEA (for the meatballs). 

It was a close call but Stonehenge won. Off we went for round two, and I did think that really not much out of the ordinary would happen. There was an immediate realisation that the wind was actually a howling gale, and Baltic cold. Clothing error with the boys thin raincoats but still, I figured they wouldn't be standing still much. Off we went on the bus, all good. 
There was the same manic screeching 'wheels on the bus' rendition from Rufus. 

There were highs and lows from the start, including some foreign tourists trying to take pictures of the boys, to which before I could think of any response, they responded perfectly for me. Hector screamed 'he touched me' (he hadn't, it was me ruffling his hair) and Rufus shouting (anyone that knows him, knows the volume this kid has capacity for) 'it's an alien, AN ALIEN!!'. Anyway, it was a little awkward as with the stop start nature of the crowds we basically we're always near to these two weird dudes. We pondered Stonehenge a little more this time. Hector was fairly sure that under the stone was glass. And Rufus thought there may be a bouncy castle in the middle. To which, he did actually slip under the small, ankle height rope 'deterrent' and make a run for the stones. As if in undercover operation two English Heritage staff were on him, guiding a sulky wild haired Rufus back to me. (The two things I thought here were, that they are way more switched on that National Trust staff, and also I could really do with them, with me, at every point in my life to do exactly what they do best! Retrieve my child/children for me!).

 Anyway, we had lunch. Fairly uneventful, apart from some wanker woman who judged my 'cheers'ing rufus and his drink?! And when her little sprog asked to cheers her, loudly and haughtily said (blatantly put on for maximum judgement levels) 'I don't think saying cheers to a child is very appropriate, no Thomas just drink your apple juice'. My two further thoughts on this was based on the three words 'for, fucks and sake'. The first one being that I wished I'd gone over and quietly muttered into her ear (once I'd gotten past the wirey barnet on her head) 'I think that there are way less appropriate things I say all the time, a little like struggling to mask grumbling, for fucks sake, when one of my darlings moans Muuuummmmmyyy at me for the millionth time before 9am'. 

The second thought was that little Thomas probably was thinking of the same three words at that very time. Well that was a right long rant.


a lesson learnt

I chuckled yesterday as one of those 'this is what you did so many years ago' things cropped up on my Facebook. It was about poo. It was about Rufus managing to smear poo across the entirety of the back of my hand, as he flipped and crawled off mid nappy change. Then incidentally the same day Hector had come to me holding a gift of his own poo in his hands. I had apologised in this status update to those who were unprepared for such poo incidents from lack of children experience themselves. This post comes with no such warning. I think you have all come to realise that I live a demented life, led purely on the whim of whatever child is dominant in the day. I lost me, and being interesting in any other way roughly five years ago!
So, last night, I woke upto a not very well Evelyn. I went through the motions of getting her milk, and a nappy to change her. She never poos mid sleep in the night. Till now. I was unprepared. I did it in the dark. A straight one off, one on swap I thought.......until something fell....straight.....slap....on....my...foot 🙈💩

party a go go



So today we all went for a birthday party date. It went reasonably well I feel. I knew one person (luckily for me it was birthday girl's mother). There was near miss of wrestling from the boys, they managed to not blow out the candles and resisted actually opening any of the presents. I fear my comedy one liners to alleviate awkwardness only went down well with about 30% of the rest of the crowd. 

I'm taking a positive that I didn't say fuck, or get drunk, or even suggest drinking in fact. I think a mid year resolution needs to be made on teaching the boys to pose normally for impromptu photos, as fishhooking one of the birthday girls, posing like a camp man from campsville, or looking like you may in a police mugshot aren't the obvious looks to go for?!