Mum Vs Roller-Disco

Every Friday, without fail, the 7 yr old skips out of school, with an eager face asking – “can we go to the roller-disco tonight, pleeeeeeeaaaassseee?”. It’s a blessing and a curse that our local leisure centre fling open their doors every Friday night for a weekly rave on wheels – super that kids have a great place to expend that end-of-week excess energy but a bloody nightmare for any adult tasked with accompanying them; leaving me with the resounding feeling I must have done something wrong in a former life!

Why?I hear you say, would an event where the kids get to roll around like the cast of starlight express on a methamphetamine induced high, burning energy, getting excerise all whilst socialising with their peers, be a bad thing?! Ha, the people asking that question have clearly never experienced a village leisure centre roller-disco as an adult – so let me take you on a sensory journey, my roller-disco hell which I experience every Friday night…

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Why I’m Dreading No More Playboy Nudity

The past week or so has seen seismic shifts in the world of showbiz, as iconic faces have passed onto better places. No longer will my children grow up in a world where David Bowie will take centre stage as a multitude of imaginative personas – giving the message: if you wear face-paint with conviction everyone will roll with it! Fortunately, both Rickman and Bowie ensured their work remain timeless and immortalised – at the flick of a switch I can show my children the importance of questioning if there’s life on Mars and the beauty of a man with eyeliner. But unlike many articles I’ve read in the past few days mourning the loss of Professor Snape and our Goblin King, it is in fact the “passing” of an institution that has me most concerned for the world my children are now going to grow up in.

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Mummy Shortcuts To Being a Domestic Goddess

One thing that seems lacking in the world of stay at home mums is the “well done” at the end of a long day – it’s a pretty thankless task. I find myself missing the office environment whereby if I achieved something, even small-scale, there’d be someone there with a nice pat on the back or even a bit of commission as a “brava, you go girl!”. Of course, comes the lifelong achievement of having hand-reared small humans into, hopefully, reasonable grown-ups – with the vague hope that one day (in a far-off, distant future) they might turn round and acknowledge that you did an “alright job” and they actually enjoyed their childhood.

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My New Year’s Resolution: Shout at the Kids for the Right Reasons

It goes without saying that for the start of 2016 I’ve made the obligatory promises to myself, that I’ll struggle to keep past the 10th of Jan (in fact I haven’t actually started them yet): drink more water (any would be a great start), double cleanse before bed (a single cleanse would be a major achievement), watch my spending, get organised… blah blah blah, but these are all relatively selfish resolutions. The one I’m hell bent on keeping is – stop shouting at the kids so much, or at least shout at them for the right reasons.

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Older Mum vs Young Mum: My Experience

With older, new mums outnumbering young mums for the first time ever in 2014, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve changed as a person and a mother in the last ten years. Last week I turned 31, I know, not THAT old but certainly a lot older than the fresh-faced 21 year old that became a mother a decade ago. But since turning 30, I’ve had the best year EVER, I’ve absolutely loved it and I’m actually looking forward to 31 ‘cos the fab-ness just keeps on rollin’! 30’s rock, and becoming a new-mum again at 30 was, and is, bloody awesome.

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