My Weekend Break (From Confrontation)

I took a holiday this weekend; it wasn’t planned, I didn’t discuss it with anyone and it was much needed. I took a holiday from confrontation – I allowed Hugo to do what he liked, when he liked and with whom he liked (he was safe as his judgement is pretty sound – I haven’t lost my mind!) to avoid backlash, arguments and me feeling like the bad guy.

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10 Reasons Why I Hate Festivals

If you’re into Festivals and all they entail – this is in no way ‘mud slinging’ at your life choices and how you spend your spare time and hard earned cash. Call me ‘Fanny McFuck-Off Festivals’, but I bloody hate the things.

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Destination Diagnosis | Our ‘Naughty Boy’ Journey

One of the themes that’s continued to arise over the last 8-10 years, both in my head and within my online community, is a diagnosis for all that Hugo is and does. I consider seeking a diagnosis when things are bad – when Hugo’s thrown the shit at the parental fan and I feel like I’m drowning in failure, it’s my flare for help. Then things settle down for a bit, a teacher/GP or CAHMS give you a look/letter of “I’m sure he’ll grow out of it”,  so I lose my gusto and don’t want to rock the behavioural boat – until the next time!

But you know what they say, doing the same thing again and again expecting a different outcome is madness. So, for anyone with a spirited firecracker, who’s tick is ticking to a different tock, here’s where we’re at with a diagnosis, or – as I’ve come to prefer it – ‘description’. After all, a diagnosis tends to imply something’s wrong and it’s not that there’s something ‘wrong’ with Hugo, it’s just that he’s different to the ‘norm’.

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The Addict Wears Prada | A Real Shopaholics Story

Clad in cashmere, a fresh-face cleansed with La Prairie and a Mulberry Mitzy slung over my shoulder. I looked the epitome of ‘success’. But what lurked beneath the glossy exterior was insatiably eating away at my marriage, my career and my sanity.

Addiction wasn’t supposed to look this good!

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I’m a Size 8 ‘Real Woman’

I was once described as “glamorous”; then I had kids didn’t have time for sport, ate all the tempura prawns and learnt that tights up to my tits makes for the perfect sidelines base layer. In other words, I went from caring what people thought of my appearance to making sure I was happy for me and with myself; tempura prawns, comfortable body temperature and my sprogs make me happy, so ‘up yours’ “glamorous”.

One thing I’ve never been described as is a “real woman”; why is this the reserve of my more voluptuous counterparts?

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