Monthly Archives: February 2016

A promise to my fabulous first born.

Dear J,

You were right.

When you told me that you had a revision timetable set up for your mock exams. When you told me you’d signed up for which revision sessions you thought you needed to attend. That you were working at the subjects you felt needed an extra push. When you told me that actually you knew better than I did about how you revise best.

You were right.

You’ve done so well in your mocks and I’m so very proud. I hope you know that. I think you do.

Let me make you a promise.

In these coming months leading up to your exams, I’ll back off a bit. I’ll trust your judgement. I’ll not pile on unnecessary pressure and I’ll try (you know how hard this is for me) to be less of a pushy mum.
I’ll be here. If you want me to test you or go through revision notes or read through anything. I’ll be here if you just want to sound off about your day. If you want to talk about football or movies because you are fed up of hearing about exams. If you fancy a Harry Potter marathon or to sit and watch some sport I’ll not question why you’re not working.

I promise.

I think I’ve finally learnt where the middle ground is!

The thing is J, being the eldest means you’re my first attempt at every  aspect of parenting! I’d barely been around a baby until you came along. You’re the boy who taught me to be mum. Having no parents myself by the time I had my own children meant I had no one to ask about my parenting queries. Being mummy is the hardest, scariest role you can ever have to learn ‘on the job’. It was just you, me and half a dozen parenting manuals.

I’ve gotten it wrong sometimes. I mean I’ve never left you on the bus or forgot to feed you or taken you to school to find its an inset day.. Oh OK yes I did do the last one. I’ve slipped up sometimes, but I’ve always been trying to be the best mum I can, I hope you’ll look back and think I did a good job.

I was a bit (OK OK a lot humour me) pushy with your exams and your schoolwork at the start of this school year. I just wanted you to do as well as possible, you’re bloody brilliant, so very talented and I got a bit carried away. I thought I knew best. I didn’t. You did.

You have my word I’ll back off.

I mean, don’t get any daft ideas. I’ll still stick my nose in. I’ll still annoy you about keeping to your revision timetable but in a less in your face, control freaky way.

I promise.

Just in case I haven’t said it enough. I’m so enormously proud of you. When you elder 3 were babies people would delight in telling me how horrible it would be when you were all teenagers. You’ve proved them wrong. You’ve made my first shot at parenting a teenager fun and easy, honestly you have.

You don’t need pushy mum on your back. You’ve kind of got things under control and you’ve the motivation that I envy.

Besides your brother starts his GCSEs in September, your sister the year after. My pushy mumminess (yes made up word I know) is going to have to be split 3 ways so you’ll be safe!

You won’t believe me now, but you’ll miss Peppa when she’s gone.

This week I re-entered the Hell that is soft play. A nightmare I thought we’d grown out of. It was every bit as hellish as always, only they must have known I was coming and imposed a ‘screamy kids only’ rule.

Needless to say I don’t miss soft play at all. There are things though, from the pre-school days, that at the time drove me mad and I now really miss. Things I thought I’d be glad to see the back of but weirdly now the little one is older I find myself getting nostalgic about. Cbeebies of course goes without saying. I mean Topsy and Tim, how are those guys doing? There are others too.

Reading the same story a million times a day
At the time I must confess to hiding We’re going on a bear hunt on more that one occasion when I just didn’t have another swish swash in me. A similar fate befell Room on the Broom. Though that was only because similarities kept being pointed out between mummy and the lady with ‘long ginger hair which she wore in a plait’
Nowadays I’m lucky if I get to do the reading. Littlest girl insists on reading to me now, even at bedtime she’ll only allow us to read a page each,it’s really lovely hearing her read but I miss the bear hunt.

The non stop questions
Why? Why? Why?
The sound track to any parent of pre-schoolers life. It makes your brain hurt. Sometimes I used to make up answers to save time. I thought I’d be glad to say good riddance to that era.
Now though small girl can Google along with the rest of us. Occasionally she’ll ask what my fave chocolate is or what baby animal is the cutest. No one ever asks the big questions of the 4 year old though. “If we were a family of cats do you think we’d still watch Strictly?” remains my personal favourite.

Playing dress up
We’ve all wandered around Asda catching the eye of smiling strangers until we realise that we’re still wearing a tiara (we have haven’t we?) Dress up was one of little girls favourite things to do. Yes there were times when the living room was covered in glitter (fairy dust) and I couldn’t wait for less messy play.
Now though I’m not allowed to join the in the dress up. We went to Singalonga Frozen earlier in the year at the theatre. Little one looked fabulous dressed as Elsa. My ‘Coronation Anna’ dress remains in the wardrobe as I was forbidden from wearing it.

I KNOW!!! She’s a spoilt, irritating, condescending, patronising know all. Her dysfunctional family are no better ( I’d bet my last pound daddy pig was knocking off Miss Rabbit on the side) Now Peppa has been taken away though, I miss them all. I miss being irritated by her. I miss wondering why they made episodes so short you barely had the time to put the kettle on before they’d ended. I miss making up the after the watershed version about the parents.

The children all getting older is nice, watching them grow and become more independent is fantastic. Just sometimes though, I yearn for snuggling under a blanket with a rusk and Bear Hunt!



Mummy in a Tutu


 How I say I love you…

I don’t know if it’s getting older , or if it’s being all crushy over a guy for the first time in pretty much ever. I don’t know if it’s part of the identity crisis I’ve spoken of having because the children are all growing up and no one needs me like they once did. For some reason though lately I’m looking at myself in a different way , being a bit more reflective.

I worry , or did worry that I’m emotionally quite cold. Then I read a fantastic article in the Huffpost by Amanda Chatel about how people who have been emotionally abused love differently. It’s here if you fancy a look. Do. It expresses it way better than I’m about to try to.

I’d had it decided in my head for years that other than the kids and my sister I probably wasn’t capable of love. Hand in hand with that went the belief that I was emotionally numb , a bit cold and unable to receive or give affection. This article was quite timely for me as recently I’ve realised that maybe I was wrong. I am capable of affection ( and quite like it -weird) I’m not cold and unemotional , I feel a lot actually I just repress lots of it as strong emotion does unsettle me a bit. So I began the week on a bit of a high , telling everyone about my epiphany. Of course everyone who knows me well already knew all this. Have I ever spoken about my total lack of self awareness??

Love though? That was a whole other story.
Or so I thought , I again was wrong. I feel love for people I haven’t given birth to. Of course I do. I express it too. I just do it differently. The article I’ve mentioned is perfect as a general overview of how those of us who have been emotionally abused will love that bit differently. I’m sure everyone who has been in this position could personalise it , we all have our own little ways don’t we? I thought I could share some of mine. This is how I express love (or deep affection at the very least…the L word still scares me a bit..babysteps..)

I touch you. It’s not going be a huge bear hug. I’ll brush your hand with mine , I’ll squeeze your shoulder, stroke your arm when I’m asking how you are.

I allow you to see my flaws. I don’t put on a perfect front with you or even attempt to be perfect with you. I trust you not to use my flaws against me and for me , that’s huge.

I show emotion around you , be that a tear or a giggle.

I look you on the eye when you’re talking to me about a problem. I’ve an awful habit of my eyes flitting when talking to people . It comes across as rude but it’s really not .It’s a self esteem thing. I was told what I said was unimportant and stupid for so long .I don’t want to see that look of boredom and irritation cross your face when speaking to me , even if it never will. I’ll always get over that when you need me to listen though. I need you to know that what you are saying is hugely important to me.

I’ll text or email or send you pics of things that couldn’t be less important. I want you to know some little daft things make me think of you . I’m also secure that you don’t think I’m an idiot for doing so.

I buy little gifts I think you’ll love. Silly things , just a way for me to say I listen to what you like!

I chat with you (likely incessantly) People have hated the fact that I’m a chatterer and would shut it down immediately. When I’m talking nonsense to you it’s because I know you’ll not do the same

You see my expressions of love and affection are smaller , it’s low key and understated and from people who love me that’s what I want in return. No grand gestures – they terrify me. Email me a link to a show or a book you think I’ll like. Ring me up with a funny story to tell me when you know I’ve had a rubbish day. Send me a Good Luck text when you know I’ve a big day ahead.

It’s such a complex , tricky thing love after abuse. You may never get an I love you from me but you know when you were ill and I made and brought you soup? or when I texted you a book recommendation I knew you’d love? or I remembered tiny details of conversation you told me that were important to you? Well that’s what I meant.

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How I stuff up the autumn/winter wardrobe …

I love winter clothes, I really do. Ditching the flesh flashing dresses and kicking the sandals into touch make me happy. When the magazines start showing all the autumn/winter clothes it makes me happy. Women in gorgeous coats and beautiful boots. In my head I imagine myself dressed all cosy and pulling off the winter look strolling through the park with the kids. I never do though. No matter how hard I try I get it wrong. Every. Single. Winter.

Here’s how.

Wooly Tights
I’m a big fan of the tight. I know there was a big hoo ha a while ago about how naff black tights are but I love them. I even do the old flesh tights in summer thing. Littlest girl often asks why I’m wearing ‘skin tights’. Anyway, winter comes around. Tights ahoy, all colours and styles. I love the thick Wooly ones. Only I can’t stand to buy large. I refuse to accept that my arse is large. I’m that deluded. This results me walking about with my tight crotch down between my knees, stopping every 5 steps to hitch up the tights in a very unladylike fashion.

You never see Beyoncé doing that.

The fluffy slouchy jumper
Do you know the type I mean? All fluffy and pretty and falls down off the shoulder. It says “oooo look I’m all soft and comfy cosy, come in for a cuddle… Oh but look – exposed shoulder, how sexy! ”
Well it does if you’re a model in a magazine or significantly younger than me.
When I try this trend I look as though I struggle to dress myself. Nothing falls seductively off the shoulder, it just exposes a grey bra and when I pull it back up it falls down at the front exposing my sizable boobs!

Most unsexy look ever.

Oh how I so want to rock the knitted beany look. Prance around the Christmas Markets in my wooly hat- rosy cheeks, mulled wine in hand! You know like the glam ones on Instagram. I imagine my perfect side plait coming down looking lovely.
Unfortunately wooly hats make my considerably large forehead itch and sweat. Sweaty forehead means the imagined sweet strands of hair shaping my face just stick to my head. The rosy cheeked look becomes a purple faced, too warm look.

Not pretty.

I always want one of those long lovely coats like Kate Middleton wears. Flatteringly cut, tucking in at the waist before flaring out to cover the afore mentioned megaarse .
When I try this look I again likely go a size too small keeping up with previous delusions. So when the gorgeous coat is buttoned up it gapes between buttons, if they don’t fly off first that is and whack someone in the eye.

Then it’s too tight round the tummy and I just look like a collection of lumps and bumps. So I opt for the mum coat. 3 sizes too big, oversized hood school run proof. Nowhere near as pretty as the Kate coat but at least I can breathe.

That’s probably why I’m not married to a prince!

So as much as I love winter clothes, I just get it wrong. I’ll keep trying though…. I quite fancy a poncho this year…

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I’ve no husband and a load of kids… Strangers , your opinion of this is probably unwelcome

It’s funny how when you have children , strangers see this as a pass to give you their opinion. You’re a mum with a crying newborn who’s just been fed. Someone will remark ‘ that baby sounds hungry’ . People ,I must stress, that you do not know will ask if you’re going back to work and will give a judgemental sigh regardless of your reply. It comes with the territory but it shouldn’t.

It doesn’t end when they grow out of babyhood either. I’m a mum of 4. They range in age from 7 -14. I have no ring on my finger( yes I know it’s 2015 , tell the old lady on the 192 bus). People still feel they can pass judgement on my life. People again I must say , I DO NOT KNOW! I’ll smile at their comments , I’ll let them go. Some of them though they do make me feel ready to scream . I’ll share with you some of my horrors favourites.

* You don’t look old enough to have four kids!
I know , I know sounds like it should be a compliment . Someone highlighting my youthful complexion and carefree attitude. The person saying this may mean genuinely – you look younger than you are. I hear ‘bloody hell you must have started early’  Maybe that’s MY Chip on my shoulder , but it’s how I feel!

* How do you cope with them all on your own??
Quick answer: fine ta!
Longer answer: I don’t ‘cope’ . I’m not struggling with poor health or sick children. I have a roof over our heads and food on our table. I’m not saving lives or doing anything extraordinary. I’m just crowd managing 4 people I grew myself. There’s no coping. Sssshh don’t tell anyone but I love it , I’m finally enjoying motherhood. Coping was involved when I had a 3 , 2 and 1 year old. That was rarely fun. Now though , family life is good!!


*If you don’t get a bloke soon all the good ones will be gone / it’ll be too late.
This little nugget of advice is possibly true. If it is , the likely hood is I’ve missed the boat so not to worry I’ll develop a long term relationship with Netflix , crisps and Merlot (what do you mean that’s the most committed relationship I’ve ever been in?!).
If however , and stranger imparting your wisdom I can see by your face you think this unlikely, there’s a lovely guy out there. A lovely guy with a penchant for redheads in their mid 30s who have a brood of children and the kind of baggage that makes me ‘hard work’ . If he’s out there , drop in when you like , but please don’t tell me I look too young to have 4 kids. It’ll put me right off!!

A brief note to my boobs in the run up to summer…

Dear boobs,
I know you and I have a very turbulent relationship. Ever since after the babies came along and you decide to triple in size we’ve definitely been involved in a love/hate kinda thing.

There are times I’m super fond of you , you know this. When you’ve gotten me served first at the bar or when the bus driver has let me on the bus for nothing due to a good bra and a nice top all is good between us , we’re pals. Sometimes I look and you and I think ‘ not bad!’

Winter is a good season between us. A cosy fluffy jumper over you and you do look inviting. Like you make a lovely cosy spot for a weary traveler to rest their head. You look nice when you’re all covered up out of harms way. I don’t curse you under my breath during winter.

Summer is a different kettle of fish. I know it’s not really your fault and all , but I do just wish you could be a bit more….well….discreet.
Summer, if we’re lucky, is hot. Trying to find cool clothes , as a woman with sizeable boobs, is really quite tricky. Vest tops are great summer wear . Cool , casual everyday summer clothes.Except you guys insist on making them all about you. Vest tops on me are a matter of gross indecency. Is it an attention thing?? Do you need to be constantly seen??? Because I’ll tell you now that is NOT the kind of woman we are! Halter neck tops…they’re pretty but again with you guys squeezing out it’s more nudity than nice!! Pretty summer strapless dresses?? Shudder at the thought.Equally though we can’t wear high necked tops either because then you team up with the tummy and I appear to just be a collection of unflattering lumps and bumps!

It’s not just pretty clothes that you spoil either with your ampleness .Summer comes , I take the kids to the beach , we get out the cricket /rounders set . You make me lose at sport girls. I am a very bad loser. Me running at the best of times is not a pretty sight , I’ve a weird kind of jaunty run that doesn’t flatter me at all. Running in any kind of top suitable for the beach is just not fair on the other beach goers.

I do love you.I know I’m being shallow. You’ve been useful and functional and I hope you’ll still look pretty lovely in a bra for a long while yet. I would really appreciate though , if this summer you could maybe just not be so desperate to make me look like an old low grade glamour model wannabe.
And don’t even get me started about bikinis…….

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Littlest girl, I’ll miss this bit..

I’ll not have anymore children. Littlest girl will always be the little one,  the baby, the youngest. My elder 3 children are really close in age with just 2 and a half years between them. Then there’s the little one,  she’s fantastic company. I’m really lucky because when the elder children go to their grandparents littlest girl and I get the most precious one on one time. I love it,  I adore it. I think she does too. As the youngest of four though I know that this can’t last forever,  the little girl years will become elder girl years,  will become teenage years.

I’ll miss this bit. This now. These years.

I’ll miss your hand reaching out for mine as an automatic reflex.

I’ll miss us having our secret special tea.

I’ll miss the ‘ you’re in charge’ days even the ones when I’m hoping you pick Bella Italia for lunch but you choose a pasty.

I’ll miss the way you giggle when you get pins and needles,  it’s the sweetest thing and makes my heart feel like it could explode because it’s so full.

I’ll miss you wanting to send emails and silly pics to your siblings when they’re away because you think your little tricks are hilarious.

I’ll miss blowing bubbles in the park with you for you to chase to pop.

I’ll miss cuddling up at bedtime reading you stories.

I’ll miss our chats on the walk from school when you’ve so much to tell me you flit from story to story barely pausing for breath.

I’ll miss hearing your outrage at someone in your class getting their name on the ‘ sad face ‘ and your insistence that you will never EVER go on the sad face.

I’ll miss you putting on dance shows for us,  and your expectant pauses for applause.

I’ll miss our ‘making stuff’ days.

I’ll miss your gorgeous questions like what my favourite baby animal is and what my favourite word to write in joined up writing is.

I’ll miss you moaning about having achey legs on the walk from school,  because one day there’ll be no school run.

I’ll miss how you love a lazy morning in your onesie, cuddling under a duvet watching Frozen for the millionth time.

I’ll miss it when your favourite stuffed toy Scruffy doesn’t come EVERYWHERE with us.

I’ll miss when you stop talking about all the soft toys you sleep with as though they are live characters with their own personalities. Even when you’re telling me it’s your monkey’s fault you can’t sleep because she’s in a cheeky mood and bouncing on you.

I’ll miss it when you no longer ask me to skip with you.

I’ll even miss the gross stuff like helping you wipe your little nose.

I’ll miss how excited you get by a ride on the tram.

I’ll miss the little notes you write me.

I’ll miss you asking me to tuck you in ‘ super tight ‘

I’ll miss you calling me mummy.

I’ll really miss that.

I know there’s so much new stuff to look forward to. I know we’ll find new favourite days out as you get older,  there’ll be lots of fun to be had in different ways. We’ll still have mum and daughter days. We’ll still giggle together and chat. I’ve just had so much fun with you these past years.

I’ll miss this bit.

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My quirky children are a glimpse of the freedom of being yourself

I live in a house full of oddballs.

It’s true , I do!

I love it!

I have a touch of the quirky about me myself I must confess (fish phobic freaky eater anyone?!)It therefore doesn’t surprise me in any way that my children are a little on the quirky side themselves.

Eldest teen has his one true love, snooker. He fell in love with the game around age 3.Sneaking up behind snooker in the list of things he truly loves though , is physics! Astro physics to be more precise. His idols are Stephen Hawkin and Brian Cox and he understands concepts I can’t even begin to think about! I did once ask him what his friends thought to this nerdy side of him to be told one of them was writing a 5000 word prequel to the Hunger Games and a couple of the others spend their free time coding. Apparently it’s true …the nerds will inherit the earth. Thank goodness for that I say!! Eldest teen insists then that spending hours on his silly football manager computer game is perfectly justified as he has other interests. Hmmm we’ll see about that one because next time I am accused of owing him 20 grand or getting them sacked as I signed them out of their game accidently may be the last time they play it!

Youngest teen is football crazy like many . many boys his age. He takes it that step further though. Extreme footballing shall we call it?? It’s the statistics he loves and most Saturdays can be found plucking results and scorers out of the air from 6 years ago. It’s a really impressive sight to behold I can tell you! If they ever bring back Fantasy Football and they need a new Statto , I’ve got just the person. He also does the funniest impression of Garth Crooks I have ever ever seen…which means most Saturdays I can be found curled up in a ball laughing and feeling really grateful for an effective pelvic floor.

Eldest girl is a girls in sport champion. She is really active in persuading her friends and peers to join in with after school activities. She was the sports captain at primary school and I was worried she’d change a little at high school in order to fit in , but her friend and her ensured a girls football team was created and I’m so pleased . I think I have a future feminist activist on my hands and I couldn’t be more proud of her refusal to engage with pink and dresses no matter how many times people comment to her that she should behave ‘more like a girl’.

Youngest girl has a Food Network habit. She ditched cbeebies for the barefoot contessa years ago and can often be heard pleading to be allowed to stay up and watch Amazing Wedding Cakes!! I recorded the last series of bake-off for her and she adores that too. She has plans to have her own restaurant when she’s older , she insists she’ll employ her siblings to wash up but I kinda hope they’ll be busy out there changing the world!!

I do have a giggle about all their funny ways, but the thing I love so much is that there is never any attempt by them to censor themselves. They are totally themselves. They don’t alter how they behave or who they are around different people. They’re confident that who they are is good and I can only envy at that kind of self-acceptance. I worry if anything it’s me who tries to restrict them. I questioned eldest teen going to school in his Hull City top on non-uniform day after a weekend when we’d been thrashed by a Manchester team , as we live in Manchester but he just told me not to be daft and it’d be funny. Similar to me asking youngest teen if he was sure he wanted to go to school as Gangsta granny on world book day. I can neither confirm nor deny that they take after their mum for not being able to resist the temptation to make an arse out yourself for a cheap laugh!! Actually I can. They do. At a recent Frozen themed birthday party my 6 year old daughter was the only Olaf because ‘He’s the funniest and EVERYONE will be princesses’

I think it would suit me well to take a leaf out of my children’s book. I do worry too much about other people’s opinions about what I do. I do censor myself around all but the ‘inner circle’ of people who already know me really well. Maybe I should just be me with gusto like they do. The ditzy, musicals loving bookworm with a secret fondness for country music and trashy magazines.

Maybe I’ll just give it a go!


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Life skills I have lost since becoming a mum

I have learnt so much since becoming a mum. SO many skills that I never needed in my previous life as a person with only myself to think about.
I’m now some weird kind of patient , educator , negotiator , chef , chief medical organiser and supernanny hybrid! Most of the time anyway. Sometimes I eat three twirls one after another , hidden in the laundry room where the noise of the tumble dryer will cancel out wrapper rattling. Sometimes I lock the bathroom door and have a weep.Sometimes I pour a glass of wine an hour before bedtime as an incentive to get through the witching hours (6-8pm).

Mostly though I’ve learnt. I’ve learnt to make costumes , I’ve learnt to bake and cook. I’ve learnt how to loom band and the ins and outs of formula 1.Picked up things I never would have had I never had children.

It does work the other way too though. For every Gingerbread man costume I have lovingly crafted , there’s a skill I’ve lost. I kind of hope it’s not just me…so I thought I’d share.

Things I can no longer do :

Cross the road.

There I stand in the middle of Manchester , kids are at school and I’m stood waiting to cross the road. People look at me funny as they edge me out of the way to dash by me. I’m a bit confused , why are people looking at me like I’m nuts??I have a look at the road , sure there is no traffic…but I’m waiting for the bloody green man!! You people are dicing with death running across the road in such a manner. You should ALWAYS wait for the green man!!.The day I realised that I , as a 39 year old woman, was unable to cross a road without a lollypop lady I did vow to relearn this essential skill. I will one day!

Serve a normal dinner

I made bolognaise last week . It’s a favourite and usually can be found on our table once a week. I’ve been cooking and serving this dish since the kids were toddlers…last week there in the kitchen though , I had a sudden realisation. I was taking the kitchen scissors to the kids spaghetti and chopping it into easy spoonable sizes the way I did when they were 3,2 and one. They are 15 , 16 and 18.What the hell is wrong with me???…..actually what is wrong with them for not picking me up on it before now?? My friend came over for dinner one time and I served pie with their initial on cut out in pastry , only when they commented that it was ‘cute’ did I realise I’d done it. I make all food kid-friendly.I’m going to have a dinner party just to prove I can. No chocolate sauce smiley faces with dessert , no chopping vegetables into novelty shapes. I can do it.I’m sure of it.

Make a journey without a running commentary

You know when you’re out and a plane flies overhead so you turn to the toddler and say “oooo look at the aeroplane ” then remember you don’t have the child with you??You have done that haven’t you? Oh my , I hope that’s not just me. It comes from years and years of walks with the little ones (often motivated by a need to get out of the bloody house and check that people over the age of 3 do still exist). Chatting non-stop along the way because the baby books say you must stimulate or else they’ll not learn to talk until they are 27!!! Every journey becomes like an open top bus tour for fools “oo a doggy! What noise does a doggy make? Look ? we’re at the shop what colour is this? (There is a possibility Sainsburys is still referred to as the ‘orange shop’ in our house!)

Listen effectively

A skill I have acquired as a mum of four is the ability to (half) listen to four conversations at once. It’s the half that is the key.That zoning out out thing only to be alerted back to the conversation by the line “so can I then mum? “. Shit! I was meant to have been listening. Now what do I do? Confess I wasn’t listening properly or take a gamble on a no. Obviously a yes in this scenario would be idiotic.
Thing is, I’ve started to do it with other people too. I can have a full conversation on the phone and then put the phone down to realise I’ve daydreamed through the while conversation.

So you see, being a mum is great, the hugest learning curve ever.Some life skills have just gotten lost along the way.

Not just the drink gallons of wine, dance all night then get up for work bright as a button on 2 hours sleep life skills…. Ah the halcyon days….

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My afternoon of pure, unadulterated romance….


I had a particularly slushy , romantic afternoon on Sunday. I know!!! Can you believe it?? I was charmed and wooed , swept up in the most romantic of gestures and a whole heap of loveliness. I read the sweetest love letter which made my heart flutter. I absolutely fell in love. By 7 ish though it was all over. I was coming down from a wave of giddy slushiness .

I’d finished the book.

Oh come on , you didn’t think I’d had a real shot at romance did you? No. Sunday was a nice day. My boys were having some kinda Lord of the Rings fest , I’d set the girls up with Christmas crafts , scheduling in half an hour with  book and a cuppa while all was calm!! I’d begun the book the night before and it had me hooked from the first couple of chapters.So while everyone was entertained I got back into my book. By the time they were invited out for a Sunday roast I didn’t even gate crash. I was too enthralled.

Mhairi McFarlane’s latest book. Its Not Me it’s You was one I’d been looking forward to. I’ve really enjoyed her previous ones.Comedy , romance , unexpected twists ,  loveable characters.Everything I love in a book.Do have to confess to speed reading the last few chapters as I was getting increasingly frustrated with our girl Delia not doing what I wanted her to.Yes that’s right , the single woman in her mid thirties who hasn’t had so much as a snog forever was giving advice to a made up character in a book..yeah I do that!!!

I won’t give the plot of the book away , but honestly if you need a shot of romance…read this book!!!!

So I think I’m this cold ,cynical woman . Had it up to ‘here’ with men and their shitty little antics!! I am wrong . This book taught me a little something about myself. I am an absolute sucker for a bit of romance. The slushier the better…whoops!!!Hey I realised a while ago that I was the least self aware person in the world!!!

There is a moment in the book that involves a love letter.It got me totally.I adored it!!! It may as well have come through the door to me myself!!!.I always fancied the idea of love letters.The only written correspondence with a male I’ve ever had was when an ex boyfriend was away at uni and he posted me a post it note with the simple sentiment ‘ We’re Finished’. Nice. Least he went to the effort of letting me know I suppose!

So that was my romantic Sunday. I had the best time and I learnt something about myself (apart from the fact I am a total saddo!)

My name is Kelly and I an incurable romantic…..sigh…..