Recent Posts

  • The Only Girl Guide to Buying on Ebay | Secondhand & Pre-Loved Top Tips

    The Only Girl Guide to Buying on Ebay | Secondhand & Pre-Loved Top Tips
  • When Lockdown Broke Us

    When Lockdown Broke Us
  • The Only Girl Guide: Buying Secondhand & Pre-Loved, Part 1 – How to Search

    The Only Girl Guide: Buying Secondhand & Pre-Loved, Part 1 – How to Search
  • My Weekend Break (From Confrontation)

    My Weekend Break (From Confrontation)

Mundanity Is My Sanity – And Yours Too It Seems

Stuck in a rut + over thinking + comparison’s a twat-waffle = I need to put on my big girl knickers and remember why I’m here sometimes!

Motherhood isn’t about reinventing the bloody wheel. It’s about picking at the leftovers on taco Tuesday, signing 13 forms before breakfast, trying to find the other red football sock and shouting “because I said so!” 47 times a day.

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Start As You Mean to Go On

I didn’t think I could get any more emotional this morning, Hugo actually thought I’d lost the plot as I followed him around with a grin on my face. And then I received The Text Message to send any emotional mother over the edge of all text messages from his yr 6 TA

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Class of 2018 – Year 6 Leavers – A Parents Guide to the Emotional Turmoil of Leaving Primary School

The tears started rolling last October when Hugo’s year group sung with 7k other school children at the O2; I defy any parent with tweens not to shed a tear when they break into Ed Sheeran’s ‘Castle on the Hill’ en masse! Since then, it’s fair to say I’ve been a bit of an emotional wreck – not just due to Hugo’s perseverance to stay in school (read: not get his troublesome arse suspended), but the year of proud moments and revelations that come, unexpectedly, with year 6.

I just wish someone had warned me last September that Year 6 would knock my mothering socks off – house captain nominations, singing at the O2, SATs revision, SATs exams, school residential trip, school productions, SATs results and leavers events. Not to mention the currently gentle lapping waves of hormones which will inevitably become a tsunami in the not too distant future!

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482 Days of Hope

Yesterday I cried. I cried on my own, into a pillow; I cried into my mum’s arms; I sobbed into Mr OG’s chest and I wept in the headmaster’s office. I wasn’t crying as England crashed out of the world cup. I wasn’t breaking down ‘cos Cas had pissed all over my side of the bed during his nap and I wasn’t overcome with emotion finding out one of the kid’s passports had expired when they need it to visit their State-side gran in 2 weeks. I was crying, hurting and lost – after 482 days/68 weeks/15 months and 25 days it felt like we were back at square one with Hugo – a two day school suspension.

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A Short Story of Hope Pinched from My Instagram {Life After Divorce & Depression}

I often worry that I fill my Instagram stories with mundanity only rivaled by a ‘lifer’ in solitary confinement; the day-to-day drivel which remains on repeat week after week – it’s my life, I love it, but I’m perfectly aware that it’s not for everyone entertainment-wise! It lacks the ingenuity of Nicola of the wonder-stories-tastic WeeSlice, the mothering hilarity of Susiejverrill and the warm, encouragement (and llama enabling) of Gemma, Mutha.hood . Then I get a late night email reminding me exactly why I need to share those insignificant, ‘nothing’ moments/minutes/days – it’s hope and to someone, somewhere, that’s exactly what they need.

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