Monthly Archives: March 2016

To my body…I’m really sorry for all the bad press I’ve given you….

I’d not enjoyed how I’ve looked for years.

After 4 pregnancies , 4 births , 4 babies I just don’t look the same as I did as a size 8 , 19 year old. That’s how it works isn’t it? I’ve resented it though , for ages.

When other people have verbalised my own thoughts about my body , in my head it made them true. I looked disgusting. Nobody would ever want to look at me. I was vile.

I’m not saying I hit 35 and had a breakthrough , but a switch has been flicked. I quite like how I look most of the time. I’ve relaxed. I may not be ready to walk around Asda naked but for a pair of heels but I’m happier. I’ve even rescued the big mirror I’d hidden away in the loft. This body of mine will never be 19 and a size 8 , but thank goodness for that. It grew and delivered safely 4 children , how dare I treat it with such contempt. I owe my body an apology.

So I’m so sorry you wonderful , human being producing masterpiece.

My face well , you deserve a bit of a telling off actually. Remember my teen skin? Low blow that was! But when you get all puffy at the dodgy times of the month and I curse your…erm…roundness. I shouldn’t. After the teen skin crisis , we grew up together and I think we grew in to one another.I promise to get you a monthly facial in way of an apology.

My boobs…you’ve not been able to do right for doing wrong have you?? I disliked you when you were too small. Later , after all the babies I have slated you something  rotten.It’s your fault I can’t wear strappy summer dresses without looking as though I am exposing myself. It’s your fault you make me look all frumpy and mumsy. However a good bra and a flattering top and we’re the best of pals!

To my legs , you’ve always been my favourite.You’ve stood the test of time. So the little mean comments I may have directed toward the thigh area. They were driven by the comments of another person , I lost faith in you.It’s back now , with a vengeance and I’ve loads of our fave pairs of opaque black tights to see us through the winter.

Lastly , my tummy.I owe you the biggest of apologies. I’ve been really ungrateful and horrid to you.You kept 4 precious babies safe and warm and cosy.Of course you had to grow a little to accommodate them (especially youngest boy , he was huge). So you are battled scarred with stretchmarks , and you’ll never be totally flat again , but you did the most amazing job. I’m so sorry I’ve spent so long squeezing you into uncomfy spanx and talking about how disgusting you are. That was my issue , not yours. I promise to be kinder in the future.

I don’t suppose this is the end of my hang ups. I’m single so don’t have to worry about anyone else seeing me out of clothes and therein could lay the test. I’m content though , I’m comfy with my body and it’s a nice surprising feeling.

I like it a lot




Refining my Mr Right Criteria (and realising it’s ridiculously simple)

Having been single since the dawn of time (ok ok but agggeeesss). I’ve had a long time to think about what I’d want from a boyfriend, should I ever decide to actively search for it. It’s mostly daydreaming as in all this time I’ve never really felt the urge to act on it. I presume (possibly wrongly) that most single women have similar wishlists of what we would look for in a man. I’d love intelligent, witty and funny, combined with kind,  thoughtful and chatty. Good with the kids of course. As years go by,  things are added and taken away from the list. Though the core elements stay the same. When the time comes to jump in two footed to the world of dating in your 30’s (eeww even typing that almost provokes an anxiety attack!!) When it does though, It’s going to be really quite easy. I find the guy who ticks my boxes… And miraculously his tick list is a squidgy round the edges woman,who is fantastic at making humans ,has a list of  hang ups as long as long as his arm and an intermittent anxiety disorder (hmmmmm… Well my daydream, my rules!!)

My couple of days home with my sister this week though has given me food for thought. Enough to rip up my mental checklist of attributes that the potential boyfriend should have, because actually it’s really really simple.

I’ve spoken lots about my love for Hull and my adoration of my sister. So when the two combine I’m an exceptionally happy girl!When I step off the train I smile (they’ve worked hard on the station but it’s not because I’m impressed with the decoration). By the time I walk down my sisters garden path I’m giddy. Partly because I look forward to seeing everyone, but I realised this weekend it’s also because  there,  in that house,  around these people I can be me… totally uncensored me. I didn’t realise how much I reign bits of myself in on a day to day basis. Pull back bits of me I think other people will be irritated by. Round these guys at home though I can be a big clumsy idiot, I can talk too much,  I can be opinionated, I can think I am hilariously funny and giggle so much I thank the universe I did my pelvic floor exercises.I can drink too much wine and decide we should have a sing song .No one bats an eyelid , cos that’s just me.  I can’t tell you how freeing that is.

So there we were on Sunday, my sister, her boyfriend and I. We’d shouted and screamed and jumped up and down through the football, we’d eaten a huge take away, we’d played some cards and drank shedloads of wine. We were at the drunken point of the night, sat round the kitchen table, where my bro in law and I were chatting 9 karat shit and I realised what the perfect boyfriend would be. Forget the list,  he’d be the guy that filled that empty chair at the table. Someone who wanted the uncensored, daft me. Who would come and have that fun night with me and have just as much fun as we did. That would be The One.
Though, if we are getting picky he’d also wake me the next morning with painkillers and a glass of water.

The making it up as you go along parenting manual

When eldest baby was born I literally parented by the book. I had no parents and was the first person in my friendship group to have babies so I was stuck for people to ask for advice in the main. How on earth do I look after this tiny human? I did as I always do when stuck for answers – turned to books!

It worked for a while, then when baby 2 came along eighteen months later and baby 3 a year after that the books went out of the window. Time, brain cells and energy were at an all time low, and besides who do I read about how to parent first?? The toddler, the baby or the newborn? Arrggh

There it began.

Making it up as you go along parenting. I’ll share with you some of my gems.

Let me just say I don’t think myself capable to write parenting manuals- I just wanted to share some nuts ideas I thought were a good idea at the time!

Panic, lots. Scream and shout and tell everyone it hurts. Giving birth with just gas and air for company and then sobbing your heart out and tantrumming when someone wants to give you a teeny tiny jab in your leg is actively encouraged.

Cuddle the firstborn to sleep whenever he wants, every single day. He just loves being swaddled and cuddled and it makes us both soooo happy.

When babies 2 and 3 come along feel free to shed many a tear about how daft you were to do the cuddle to sleep thing as now teaching him to self settle is impossible.
Decide to be tougher with babies 2 and 3. Aaww but they’re crying because they miss me. Spend evenings playing a cuddly version of Whack a mole. Only instead of moles popping up to be bopped on the head it’s babies in different rooms crying for cuddles? Which will it be next? Play on repeat until 4am when everyone is asleep and you’re power napping on the baby’s bedroom floor.

Just ignore them. They’ll get bored and stop eventually. Child nods off on floor worn out? – mum win! I rock parenting.
First public tantrum.. SHIT!! They pull this trick in public too?? Oh no! People are staring and tutting. Decide to strap child back into buggy, run home and never leave the house again. Realise a toddler mid tantrum could rival the world’s strongest man.. Work up a sweat strapping in. Phew. Now run for it. Screaming toddler now is stretching his feet to the floor to ensure you cannot run anywhere without breaking his feet! Throw the judgy crowd a dirty look, tip buggy back onto 2 back wheels and walk away, blinking back tears and promising to hand in your mum badge.

Big up being away from mum as the most fun thing ever. ALL the toys, ALL the boys and girls! Children 1 and 2 fall for it hook, line and sinker! Rocking parenting again, you think smugly.

Child no. 3 is barely able to string a sentence together yet can ask what day it is, work out if it’s a nursery day and proceed to cry she doesn’t want to go from 5am.
Extra brilliant parenting plan. When said nursery hating child asks what day it is, lie. Save yourself the four hour long sobfest.
NEVER do this. Child will hate you but nowhere near as much as you will hate yourself. Your time whilst child in nursery will be spent crying also out of sympathy /guilt.

Make plans to be one of those organised mums. You’ll have lists, calendars and a fully functioning diary. Child shall always be immaculately turned out and school days shall be perfect.

However – when things don’t turn out that way, the ‘making it up as she goes along’ mum learns to adapt!

She becomes the mum who has to frequently nip into school with forgotten lunches/pe kits/homework projects. She polishes shoes at the bus stop with a baby wipe. She makes being late for coffee mornings (she has to stop to buy the cakes she forgot to bake or went wrong) a tradition.
Adaptability : A key parenting skill.

Decide you’ll not be a pushy mum. You will never pressurise your children. Good grades are not as important as happy kids don’t they say?

Balls to that! You’re telling me my child can get an A* in maths? I download work papers for him to do.

My child is on the gifted and talented register for his acting skills you say? Interesting. *Google’s RADA*

My daughter is a talented sportswoman? *makes note to research where the 2024 Olympics are being held ready for watching gold medal performance in sport yet undecided*
Making it up as you go along parenting isn’t for most (sane, rational, responsible) people. Seems to work for us though. I don’t seem to have ruined the small people’s childhoods, there’s no evidence of emotionally scarred children.

I think I know the reason for this though. As the children have grown, I now have Google and social media and other parents to ask for advice and to learn from.

Thanks you guys, you really are rocking parenting!!

My Facebook page is here

One Messy Mama
One Messy Mama

Naptime Natter

Naptime Natter
Naptime Natter

The defenders of Adam Johnson

Not much rattles me.
Not much makes me angry.
Not much makes me wish for the death of the Internet.

Today does all three.

I love Twitter. I do.

Some days though it makes me want to cry and shout and rant and rave.

Today is such a day and as my blog is my small part of the universe I’m going to rant and rave. Right here.

It’s the day of the Adam Johnson sentencing.

I’m reading tweets by men, normal guys who walk amongst us all.

I’m reading tweets like (and I promise I’m not making it up) :

“she was nearly 16”

“this just teaches little sluts that they can slag about and get the man done for it”

“I hope that 15 year old dies in a car crash”

” I’d understand him getting 6 years if he’d have done it to an 8 year old ”

” She knew exactly what she was doing ”

” There’s 15 and there’s 15″

I’m not going to pass judgement on the perpetrator of the crime here. The British Legal System did that. I find all children abusers abhorrent, despite whether or not they can kick a ball about.

I won’t even dwell on the football club that put staying in the Premier League before the violation of a girl.

The facts are all there to read. The victim here was a child. Her abuser knew this when he Googled the age of consent. If you make the decision to partake in sexual activity with a child you are a sexual predator and are breaking the law.

So to those who are defending him because she was almost 16 and finding a 6 year prison sentence overly harsh, please just take a minute to think about what it is that you are arguing for.

You’re arguing for the freedom to have sex with a child.

There’s really no more to it than that.

As a mum and a woman and a human being I find that terrifying.

7 reasons anxiety sucks..

I know, I know. 10 points to the lady stating the bloody obvious! Next blog to be entitled ‘Reasons pulling out your own teeth hurts a little bit’. Stay with me though . 

Obviously anxiety is a shitty, annoying , debilitating condition. If it were fun everyone would want a piece of it. I’d sit thinking aaaww I’ve not had an anxiety attack in AGES, hurry along next one.

I know how rubbish it is and I’m not trying to make light of it I promise. 
It’s just you know I always say I feel better when I write things down?! 

Maybe someone can even relate to the 7 reasons anxiety sucks ( for me)


It’s exhausting

Nothing like thinking of one billion reasons you’re about to die RIGHT NOW to tire you out. Fretting over different ways you could get hurt or ill or injured is shattering. It’s like your brain is on  spin cycle and then when it eventually slows to a stop you’re way too tired to enjoy it and bed is the only option.


The physical symptoms are often hard to explain

Someone once told me that at least I knew that my anxiety was ‘all in my head’ (shut up ignorant knob indeed! ) Thing is when you’re at the shops or stood in the school playground or have met up with someone for tea and cake and someone asks if you’re OK it’s tricky to answer in the grip of an anxious period. The answer ” No , not really my brain is telling me I’m about to choke to death on this piece of cake , my face has gone totally numb , I can’t catch my breath and I’ve a terrible tummy pain” never feels appropriate. Generally ‘I’m fine’ just pops out.


It makes you into a contradictory idiot

When I’m feeling anxious generally what I want to do is go to bed , pull the duvet over my head and avoid all human interaction and physical contact. Trouble is simultaneously ALL I want is human interaction and physical contact. So that keeps things nice and simple eh?



It’s like having a conversation with a drunk person

You know when you’re stone cold sober and around someone who isn’t? They generally talk nonsense and go off on tangents on an irritating loop (obviously if you’re also drunk they’re incredibly funny and witty  , as are you ). 

When I’m anxious my thoughts are like ramblings of a drunk. ” I’m so tired. I wish I could breathe like a normal person. I hope no one breaks into my house and kidnaps me. My chest hurts. I’m a terrible mum. Terrorists though?.We’re all gong to die. Did I pull the plugs out?”…on repeat.

I can’t read books during an anxious phase

Simply can’t concentrate . I don’t need to detail how rubbish that is for a bookworm like me.


My phone becomes my worst enemy

When small girl is at  her daddy’s I’ll text to ask how she is ( disguising the anxiety perfectly obviously) I’ll then be looking at my phone a million times a second waiting for the reply. Why hasn’t he answered? What if something terrible has happened to them? I’ll glance at my phone again. 6:01 pm , still no reply. Bloody hell what time did I send the text? 6:00!!



My appetite suffers

As much as I could do to lose a few pounds , when I’m feeling rubbishy anxious what I really want is soothing comfort. A virtual hug ( on account I don’t like real ones. Read more about my hug related nuttiness here ) Where’s the best place for me to find soothing comfort though? Bottom of a bag of chips is where! Bloody anxiety.


So I’m really not recommending  anxiety as a thrilling rollercoaster ride ( similar though the terror , heart palpitations and breathlessness may be) It sucks. Hard.

I’m lucky that I no longer suffer very often and I’m an old enough hand at it to know it will pass.

There’s a silver lining though…

People can make you feel better. Most people are kind when you talk to them about it. You’ll always get the people who roll their eyes at the mention of the anxiety word, but those people are not the ones to surround yourself with. This weekend I had a bit of a ‘moment’. My lovely Facebook friends came to the rescue with  advice and words so soothing they were like a cyberspace hair stroke (yes I know I don’t like my hair being touched-contradictory remember) 

In a nutshell:

Anxiety is rubbish 

The people I know are gorgeously wonderful humans.


5 reasons I don’t mind being an old cat lady (and one reason I do!)

I’ve been single a long time.

There’s only about a handful of men (behave!) I am fond of.

Now, I’m in my later 30’s, I’ve 4 children so my opportunities for dating are rare (me having the inclination to date even rarer) so sometimes I do get to thinking, what if I’m single forever? What if I become the stereotypical crazy cat lady? Yeah the thought of that doesn’t worry me so much… Here’s why being single forever would be fine:

1) I can continue with my uncompromising, egocentric (when the kids aren’t here) life. I watch my crap telly, eat my fave dinners, go to my special places. I never have to take someone else’s wishes into consideration (again only when the small ones are away obviously!)

2) I’ll never have to pretend to like someone else’s family and friends. No matter how supremely lovely your other half is, there’ll always be one family member or friend that is an absolute pain in the arse. You have to put up with them though, because when you first met them you wanted to be all positive to your partner and told them you really liked them. I can’t feel sad I don’t have to hang about with knobs!

3) My space is my space.
My bedroom, my house, my favourite places, they’re all mine. No other grown up will be invading soon. I don’t want some ball scratching, sweaty man invading my Lush scented life!

4) I don’t have to do kid – related panic.
Will the kids like him? Will he like them? (course he will they’re amazing) When do I introduce them? When can we all do activities together? I imagine even if the much anticipated Mr Perfect were to come on the scene, the kid related anxiety would cause me great stress. Crazy cat lady doesn’t have such issues.

5) If I don’t fancy making an effort I don’t feel obliged.
When the kids are away if I want to only get changed to put on fresh pj’s post bath I can. If I want to hang about with no make up on, hair scraped into a ponytail, bra-less.. I can. No one is going to see. I expect should a boyfriend make an appearance I’m going to be obliged to get dressed… or shave my legs at the very least. Though if Mr Perfect was in fact that he’d be happy to come hang out in pj’s..he’d probably even bring Nando’s.

So I know, ending up scary cat lady should be a worry to me, I do. It really isn’t though, seems like a nice way to live!

Oh the one reason I don’t want that to be my fate though?? I really don’t like cats…. Scary book lady maybe??

Disclaimer : Should Mr Wonderful find his way into my world and all the above is forgotten. Don’t judge me! That’s merely a plan B!!

I’m being edged out of bedtime stories.. Sob sob weep weep

I always allow myself a whinge and a moan about how all the children are growing up too fast. We all do don’t we? It’s the first time in 14 years that I’ve not had a child under 5 in the house.
Most of the time I think this is quite good, they’re all growing into lovely people and are able to dress themselves, feed themselves and sleep all night,  becoming the independent little people that I’ve wanted them to become eventually. Occasionally though the big red flashing light of ‘they’re not babies anymore’ makes me feel a little bit sad. Littlest girl deciding that she wants to read her own bedtime stories is a huge example of this.

Bedtime story time has been my favourite time of day ever since I became a parent. I promise it’s not just because it signals the countdown to a glass of wine and trashy tv. Not even because it signals mummy clocking off time and peace and quiet. I love it because it’s a snuggly bit of one on one time. It’s the children knowing that they have my absolute undivided attention while we cuddle up and have a magical adventure in a made up land before they nod off for their sweet dreams. It’s the most precious time. I want to say it’s calm but then I remembered last night littlest girl and I seeing how many different kind of hugs we could do after reading Hugless Douglas. So maybe not calm,  but relaxed.

The boys are 12 and 13 and they ditched my bedtime stories years ago. They do permit me to chat books with them, and occasionally throw me out the odd recommendation (Thank you for the Hunger Games boys) I’m a mean, some have said almost victorian, mum!I still insist the half hour before lights out is spent reading, as opposed to TV or playing on various consoles. I’m not sure how much longer they’ll do this happily and without protest but it’s still working at present.

Eldest girl reads to herself too, but she does allow me to sit and listen to her! This is now what littlest girl has started to insist on too. I’m still fine to snuggle up on her bed with her (if I can squeeze on amongst her entourage of soft toys that is) She began a couple of months ago insisting we read a page each. This has progressed now to her wanting to read the whole book.

It’s lovely it really is,  seeing how well she can read and how she really really loves reading and books like her elder siblings. That little baby who’s cot I used to lean over with tales of the Gruffalo and Room on the Broom (mummy you have ginger hair in a plait. Are you a witch?) she’s now sat in the bottom bunk reading me fairy tales and progressing from picture books. The effort she puts into the voices makes me just want to squeeze her she’s so adorable! Her expression is beautiful and at times her little voice reading stories with such enthusiasm does bring a tear.

The selfish part of me though, sees another thing I’m no longer necessary for,  it’s a list that is growing longer as the months pass. I should be proud about this, and I am in the main. I do just need to allow myself a self indulgent, nostalgic trip back to the past though. Where mummy was essential for the bedtime stories and singing lullabies in order for sleep to happen. When I could stroke little foreheads and noses with my thumb until their little eyelids began to droop.

I’m incredibly happy books and reading still form part of all four children’s bedtime routine. I’m hugely grateful that I’m still occasionally allowed to read to littlest girl at bedtime.
The day no one wants me to read to them at all I may just weep!!
Until that day though I’ll continue to sneak a couple of pages of Barry the Fish with Fingers, and be satisfied with the accolade of ‘best Mr Jelly voice’…..and Hugless Douglas himself can’t cuddle like me!

But wont SOMEONE let me tell them a bedtime story!!

5 parenting lessons I STILL haven’t learned

I may have learnt some lessons in my eighteen years of being mum.
I’ve learnt to always keep your mouth tight shut when changing a baby boys nappy.
I’ve learnt to always have a snack in your handbag (still the case with teens)
I’ve learnt to ALWAYS ask a toddler if they want their sandwiches cut into triangles or squares.

There are some things though that 17 years and 4 children down the line I still get wrong. Repeated mistakes. Lessons I never learn. Things I tell myself I’ll not do again. Here are some of them :

Thinking ‘make your own pizza’ tea is a fun plan.

Every single time, I have this idea I forget about the carnage. Flour travels, you can’t stop it. One day discoveries will be made that flour can fly. This is why you find it in the hallway or on the sofa when you were sure you’d kept it on the table. Sinks full of pizza dough are no fun either. Especially if someone has bypassed the kitchen sink and washed their hands in the bathroom without your knowledge. By the time you realise it’s welded to the sink.
If you want real pizza fun, call a takeaway when the small people are in bed is my advice.

Expecting people to have listened to what you’ve said (and acted on it)

I always knew when I told toddlers to get their shoes on, chance was it wasn’t going to happen until I’d repeated my requests 5 times and used chocolate based bribery. I didn’t expect this to still be the case with teens. For example I will ask eldest boy to put a load of washing in. I will stupidly take his ‘OK mum’ as an indication that this task is to be carried out imminently. Until I go put said washing in the dryer – to find it never got there in the first place

Expecting a movie afternoon to be a lovely, relaxing activity

In my head we’ll put a film on, open the popcorn, all squeeze onto the sofa under a duvet and have a snuggly afternoon.
The reality goes like this :
Arguments over which movie to watch.
Arguments over who sits where on the sofa.
Arguments over which snacks to eat.
Arguments over who has too much duvet/ is sitting on the duvet / has spilt something on the duvet. Oh… and popcorn and crisp munching? Aaaarrgh sounds like someone’s brain is being crunched!!

Letting the kids ‘help’ is rarely helpful

I’ve enthusiastic children, I’m really grateful as I’d always hoped this would be the case. So enthusiastic and eager to help. So when they see you cooking or doing DIY or decorating or fixing the washing machine with superglue (don’t judge me I gave it an extra couple years of life with that trick) they’ll ask to help. You can’t say no and dampen their enthusiasm and part of me every time thinks ‘aaaw they finally have a use!!’
95% of the time their help makes a simple task complex, a 5 min job an hour long or a quick dinner a kitchen mess.
The other 5% though…. that makes up for it!

That parenting is full of surprises.

You know when they do something so unexpectedly lovely you think your heart is going to dissolve into a mushy mess.
When we get in from a rainy school day to find eldest boy has put our pj’s on the radiator.
When they save their money up to buy me a birthday treat.
When smallest girl leaves letters filled with love on my pillow.
When people put their shoes away BEFORE I fall over them (that’s a biggie)
Them being such unexpected treats means I could never learn to expect it.

So they’re the lessons I have failed to learn on my parenting journey. I probably never will…. and that’s OK.
What’s a messy kitchen and a bickery movie afternoon between friends after all??!

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You inspire me.. A few words to eldest girl as she starts high school

* I wrote this a while back but thought maybe a good time of year to share again*

Dear S,
I cannot believe that you are starting high school next week. I wanted to just let you know how fantastic you are and how I really hope that 5 years of secondary school won’t erode away at your character.

You Inspire me. 

Every day. 

Your steadfast belief in right and wrong is beautiful. I admire that you yearn to step in when you feel injustice is being done. I apologise for that time in the shops, when the dad wouldn’t let his daughter have football stickers because they were ‘for boys’ and he made her get the Hello Kitty ones. I’m sorry I quick marched you out of the shop, but I saw the dangerous flicker of annoyance in your eyes, and I wasn’t brave enough to let you ask him why he did that.
I want you always to be bothered by injustice, I’d love you always to do whatever you possibly can to fight it. I want you to learn to channel it though. Sometimes confrontation is necessary if we see things happening around us which we know is wrong. Last year, when you told me how you’d had a word with your best friend after she called another one of your friends fat. I was so proud . It’s always so much harder to pull up a friend than it is a stranger.
Sometimes though, when you don’t like how a person behaves, confrontation is not always the way. 

You remember when the boy who was the football captain would never pass to you , and told you shouldn’t play, being a girl. I asked you how you responded to him and your reply was ‘won player of the match!’ Well sometimes that’s necessary. Auctions  really do speak louder than words.
Should you ever get it wrong though, always apologise. It’s a hard thing to do but it’s so necessary.
Another thing I’d say is,  never argue for arguments sake. Choose your battles carefully. Unwinnable ones?? Take a step back,  do some thinking, ask advice (if I’m annoying you that day your grandma is very wise about most things. Your auntie will be fab if it involves boys) and come back to it when you have a solution.

I love your dress sense. Your refusal to wear a skirt or dress is totally your choice and as time goes by, you may find a way to incorporate these items into your wardrobe. You’ve been choosing your own clothes since you were old enough to point your finger in a clothes shop. I am jealous that at 11 you’ve a far better sense of putting an outfit together than I have. Don’t ever feel you have to wear the same as everyone else. But if you choose to, that’s fine!

Sport is your thing,  rugby,  cross country, football. I can only imagine the new things you’ll try at your new school. I know that you are disappointed that there’s no girls football team, we’ll find a way around that. Your brothers know the school quite well by now I’m sure there’ll be a girls team before we know it!!

I just wanted to let you know that we all love you as you are, and I know how hard it can be to keep hold of yourself once you’re in a new environment. I hope you’ll manage to hang on tight to the important bits though. The world needs girls like you
Lots of love and kisses,
Mum xxxxxxx

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The non negotiable list

One of my fave bloggers , the very glamorous Pouting in Heels wrote about the non negotiable list. Her post on the subject is here , the idea behind it being that we could all be a little happier if we just took a bit of time to decide what’s really important to us. How it can be empowering to decide certain things that we are not willing to compromise on.

I’ve been thinking the idea through for a while now , every now and then I catch myself doing something and think ‘ooo that’s one!’

Finally got them down though and here they are:

I will enjoy my book habit and not feel guilty about it

I spend an awful lot of time talking about books , reading books or deciding what books to look at next. My enthusiasm though is never dented more than when the phrase “I wish I had the time to read” is uttered. It basically means put the book down and do something productive you lazy cow. No more will I feel guilty for taking time to immerse myself in something that makes me happy , relaxes me and keeps me on the right side of sane.

I’ll only get involved in a relationship when Mr Perfect (for me) comes along

I’ve been single more than 8 years. It’s going to take someone amazing to change that. I wrote here about how my next boyfriend is going to have to be something special. The thing is I’m 36 with 4 children and one long abusive relationship behind me. I’m unwilling to waste my precious free time with Mr ‘he’ll do’. Maybe you’re wondering how do I know that Mr ‘he’ll do’ won’t turn into Mr Perfect. Every relationship I’ve ever gotten into has begun that way. I’ve dated guys who’ve grown on me over time. No thunderclaps , no tummy butterflies , no hot bedroom action. Just ok.

I’m not doing that again.

No way.

I’m keeping Friday wine and fruit and nut night

Friday wine has become something of a tradition with my sister and I. Wine , a long phone call , the occasional quiz or group karaoke session (yes that’s how my sis gets her kicks too , she’s not as cool as you all think!) I look forward to it , it makes me happy and it’s staying. When afore mentioned Mr Perfect (eventually) turns up , he can know that of a Friday he needs Merlot in one hand and chocolate in the other to get over the doorstep.

No 3rd chances

I’m a bit of a doormat really when it comes to the crunch. Even if people upset or annoy me I’m quite a forgiving soul and usually will get over it in about half hour. It occurs to me though that that just encourages people to not treat you as well as they should. So I’m happy to give everyone a second chance ( I’ve certainly had enough of those myself) It ends there though. If you choose to continue to treat me like a knob that’s it. No 3rd chances.

My blog

I like writing it , it’s cheaper than therapy and it’s my tiny part of the universe to air my thoughts. Even if no one ever read it again I’d still write it. It’s my thing.

I’ll always have a selection of crisps in

My tv snack of choice is crisps , I’m not overly picky either. From Space Raiders to Frazzles crisps are my evening company. This may not be brilliant for my figure but I’m not going to beat myself up about wobbly thighs if it means sacrificing my hula hoops.

I feel good just having written these down , you know.

Give it a go? Share them with me , I’d love to know what yours are ( I’m a nosy parker)

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Mummy Times Two

Mummy Times Two