It’s become known as the day I thought they’d finally turn on me, that my own children would want to stab me in the eye with their overpriced, scented Smiggle pencils. T’was the first Saturday of the Christmas holidays, which may explain my naive, fuzzy optimism getting out of hand, however, ‘shouty mummy’ had already reared her scary head and unleashed the fury of a thousand toddlers denied “choc-choc”! I’d heard enough shouting “replenish my health” down headsets/into the next room/to the brother sitting 67cm away to last me a parental life time (thankfully shorter than the average due to Xbox induced stress levels and general sleep deprivation – there’s 3 parental years to the standard singleton year!); been told “…but I’m in a game!” like it was the answer to every possible request I could make of my children and seen the cherubic faces of my offspring for a whole 13.5 minutes (while they scoffed vital food supplies) in an 8 hour period.View Post
Last year when I boldly declared “we’re not doing presents” I felt relieved, wholesome and that my soul had been relinquished from the consumerist-Demogorgans that feast on the festering flesh of Christmas morning aka our children. A touch dramatic? Perhaps! But hopefully this conveys the modicum of hope this brought to my festive season of 2016. I’d, of course, hoped this would become our Christmas tradition and our children would shed their greed nourished, Philistinian skins to reveal Swallow & Amazon-esque delights – charmingly feral, lacking in materialistic desires; but then I realised I’m not 21 and my pelvic floor is shattered, so promptly readjusted my expectations.View Post
What I’m about to tell you is a true story – and while parts of this tome may ring true with families across the world, there’s a happy ending and a solution to this universal problem. Intrigued? Read on!
It was back in August when I received a delightful (that’s not a word I use lightly in 2017, so trust me when I use it!) email from Ella of Ella’s Books. Sat on Brighton beach, in the summer sun, watching the boys throwing stones out to sea (not at each other for change, which made this moment particularly blissful!), I read Ella’s invitation to have one of her bespoke photo books made using our family photos. Now, let me tell you – as a family blogger with a shed load a kids, I get a lot of offers for photo books, none of which have tickled my pickle in the slightest – they’re glossy, mass printed, badly bound tripe (sorry, I feel strongly about this, can you tell?); but from the moment I clicked through to Ella’s Books site I could see and feel the difference. The attention to detail, the care she pours into every book and the personal touches – really make a huge difference. So, I said “yes” within a matter of minutes.View Post
I’d be fibbing if I said The Mumsnet thread hadn’t rocked my somewhat rainbow hued boat; or, at least temporarily punctured my Instagram-bubble of confidence in people’s kindness. I’d managed to learn from its well-hidden teaching with regards to a layperson’s understanding of all the garb surrounding #ad or #gifted and adjust my posts to ensure no one was left unclear as to whether money had changed hands, I’d been sent a freebie or if it required #Ipayforshittoo! I’d taken the constructive feedback and managed to move on to a more positive place, until the subtext of that thread was thrust back in my path amongst the comments on my instagram, similar to a mouthful-of-Weetabix sneeze coming your way – it was unexpected, a bit grainy and not wholly welcome.
It was a well-meaning comment on an average Instagram post; the image is irrelevant to this tome, but the comment, in part, tickled my goat again. It’s the perception that ALL “insta-mums” are “well-off/middle-class” and occasionally flouted as “elitist” that irks my tits.View Post
A question that occasionally pops up in my DMs or on email is “Do you get on with your step kids?!”, usually followed by a brief tale of a “blended family” going a bit tits up. So I’m bringing this one outta the parental shadows. Sure, it’s taboo as no one wants to publicly declare that they don’t like/don’t get on with an innocent sprog; least of all the spawn of their beloved. It’s a toughie, but with well over half a mill step families, currently squabbling under one roof in the UK*, it’s an issue that’s going nowhere!View Post