One Of Those Weeks

One Of Those Weeks

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One Of Those Weeks

It really has just been one of those weeks and it isn’t even over yet! My week thus far has been a shocker at best, a down right titanic sized fail at worst. This little ol’ thing known as life sure can be a journeyI didn’t earn the accolade of “It could only happen to me” without some blood, sweat and tears. 

I am ashamed to admit that I’ve had one of those weeks when I have really being suffering writers block. There has been a serious lull in my creativity. Sometimes, life just gets in the way. I have felt so poorly I was actually in bed at the beginning of the week. I am safely back in the house after our weekly market & butchers shop. PJ’s already on, and duvet at the ready!

Even when its one of those weeks – Shop Local

As we were passing, It would have obviously been terribly rude to not buy some Lamb & Mint Sausage Rolls from the fabulous Market Cafe. Speaking of which, I definitely didn’t “help” a child to eat it. I am 66.6% “Healthy Eating Helen”, thinking about what I am fuelling my body with. Then there is the other flabby third of me smuggling a square of dairy milk every now and again. Like I say, it really has been one of those weeks. I’m hoping that we all have a similar percentage distribution…I would love to say it was 80/20 but I would definitely be lying.

I have invested in a snazzy granny trolley and can often be found towing it one armed to and from Knutsford. I also spied a new stall (might not be super new as I’ve been out of action for a while) offering a solution to the plastic epidemic. Plastic Free Weigh sounds right up my street, I am forever getting mad with unnecessary things coming covered in plastic. I am far from perfect, but if we all make little changes, it will have a big effect! I can’t wait to peruse when I am not herding cats, I mean kids. Told you it had been one of those weeks!

This isn’t an ad by the way, but a real passion of mine.  When I “retired” this year, I made a huge effort to buy local. After all, we are a community, I would hate to see the local markets and high streets die.

The Tiger (Mum) who came to Tea

So, as I have previously moaned, it really has  been one of those weeks. Things just seemed too go to shit. Me, my health, my parenting, the kids, well, life. And then I made an epic fail.  Have you ever accidentally “Tiger Mummed”?

I endeavour to portray an honest account of motherhood, parenting, life, cancer and all that it entails. I admit it, I definitely have. And I suffer from “Oops I did it again” syndrome too.  

Growling girl with Facepaints on - Parenting Fails & Pigtails

I would give my last breath to my children. They stole my mind, ruined my body and inherited my soul.  But, I am very sure it is going to be all worth it. Honest.

The definition of a Tiger Mum is:

“a mother who is very determined that her child

should be successful and makes them work very hard”

according to the Cambridge dictionary. And I think I am inline for 10 out of 10 for enthusiasm, let alone effort. The words seem to flow out of my mouth before I realise I have even thought them! In my defence, I’ve felt like a fire fighter fighting against my own self combusting flames. I have barely managed to think straight, never mind outside the box! We all have them don’t we? A week where there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for things going wrong. And it just goes down as one of those weeks.

How did I get it so wrong?

When did I get it so wrong? Parenting Fails & Pigtails

It hit me, like a bullet between the eyes. I was so desperate for Team Twiglet to be successful in all that they do, that I haven’t seen  all the things that they don’t do.  And I don’t just mean not  making their beds. 

The grace, prowess and tact I thought I had instilled, I would even go so far as to say drilled, into all of my children, some how seems to have vanished. Some time, when I clearly wasn’t looking or parenting. We now shout, at each other, and that is not something I am proud of.

Given my failings, I am trying to rectify where we seem to have found ourselves. This weekend we are employing Elsa’s way of thinking: We are going to let it all go. Start a fresh on Monday, with a clear head and a happy heart. Put last week in the “one of those weeks” box.  As Parents, Hubs and I also hope to enter back into the parenting saga with a more positive head. 

As twins, 2/3rds of Team Twiglet have always had to split their parents. When number 3 turbo charged her way into the world, we seemed to adopt the “divide and conquer” mantra. I ended up plumping with the girls and The Hubs with Thing 2.

This isn’t gender related by the way. It is just Hubs doesn’t come equipped to save the world every time he leaves the house. Therefore his ability to take two children may well push him over the edge. For someone who can’t cope if he doesn’t have a plan, he sure as well can cope with leaving the safety of the house without any saving equipment.

The Perils of a Freedom Wee-er!

This problem has lessened somewhat a decade in. For example; we no longer need nappies. Way back when, they were the cause of many disgruntled ramblings on my part. The problem was  exasperated by the fact Thing 1 wore Pampers and Thing 2 wore Huggies.

Laugh as you might at the ridiculous notion,  when you’ve been pissed and shat on as many times as I have, decisive action was needed, and rigorous nappy testing ensued. 

Babies bottom with a heart on it - Parenting Fails & Pigtails

The conclusion was fewer Poonami’s per twin per day if they wore the ones that fit them best. They just happened to be different brands. As you guys already know, it could only happen to me!

Picture this: The Hubs opens the baby bag. (Hahaha, sorry that made me laugh). Just kidding, he didn’t take it with him. On my instruction he opens the baby bag I packed and carried, to get a nappy out for Thing 2.

He pulled out a pampers, followed by a sock (and we’ve been blaming the washing machine all this time!), a gross bib, questionable remains (did the sniff test – inconclusive results) and at last another nappy!

Elation washed over me as I stood up to sneak around the bench. It was a lot less hassle than getting up and leaving Thing 1, or worse tandem change! She has always had the potential to blow a place down with her wailing. No idea who she gets it from…….

I went in for the emergency change in the hope that no staff were looking or that it stinks that bad you have to vacate the building. Both highly probable.

Parenting Fails & Pigtails Love Bubble - careful it might POP

The Luuuurve Bubble, Baby!

With a perfectly placed needle into my bubble, I realised he had indeed, gone for the double and pulled out another pampers. Thing 2 has  a notorious reputation of the freedom wee, so speed has always been of the essence.

Not something my husband often exudes (nor does Thing 1), unless he can see an Irish Pub in the distance, in that case he practically transforms into Usain Bolt.

Despite The Hubs speed, well, lack thereof, I made it with seconds to spare.

The bubble of pride for not getting pissed on was quickly followed by a Wife skill I am proud to share with you, the all knowing “I should have just done myself” death stare.

Fast forward 10 years and it is still very handy in a plethora of circumstances. My favourite being when the Hubs has done something exceptionally reminiscent of thing 2’s actions a mere second earlier. Engaging Chara’s death stare stating he needs stop talking through his food and chew with his (god damn mother fluffing) mouth SHUT. (autocorrect changed that to SHIT 3 times, shit, I fear I need to widen my vocabulary)….…

The Sniff Test

Why do we always feel the need to sniff something that we are grossed out by? Like the aforementioned remnants of something that could, and I emphasise the word could, be a banana. But as I couldn’t be trusted to recall that days shit-cycle on The Hubs command, there was no guarantee it wasn’t an escape-poo. As a nation, why, if something is weird or gross, is our go to response to put it near our face?! “Oh yeah, I know, this icky thing of undetermined source looks gross, lets sniff it”.  

I guarantee should you find yourself in this scenario, you or one of the people in your immediate vicinity will sniff it because they “just wondered what it smelt like”.

I would put money on it, but I don’t know how to.

Bet Me Up, Baby!

As a naive 30 something *cough cough splutter splutter*  I tried to put a bet on. Not your every day bet down at the nags (did I get that right?!), but one that I had hoped would be a sure fire thing. My beautiful SIL is expecting bubs numero tres. Both my niece and nephew have arrived on their actual due date! So I wanted to put good money, well, two whole English pounds, on it as a sure fire win.  

So off I popped to town with the intention to go in to the betting shop or the bookies (I am so down with the lingo (who even says that anymore, I really need to be refitted with a shit filter)).  I need to have a bit of confidence to go in somewhere I am unfamiliar with and ask a question that could either be expensive or stupid.

As I am sure will not come as a surprise, I was not brimming confidence that day, as a result I walked straight past said betting shop. I am a creature of habit, one whose only experience of placing bets is when I have tagged along, either inebriated or pregnant (wife brownie points I am still reaping the rewards from) with the boys to a casino, but I never fully have any understanding of what’s in play.

You’re everywhere and no where Baby!

Needless to say, the bet wasn’t placed in person. Then we decided to google, in the hope that surely there was a way to put this extravagant bet on. All of this effort to put money on a date. What were the chances? I have no idea, but I think I should have called them odds. Landed on a betting website and I was truly mesmerised! All these flashing lights are so pretty, oooo are you getting sleepy yet, yes, yes I am take all my money, its not true what they say, the house doesn’t always win*. 

It probably is true to be fair, well from what I can figure out anyway. Maybe I need to learn the rules before I make such assumptions! But alas, no bet was placed and irrelevant of when my next niece or nephew chooses to enter this world, their arrival will not make us (naturally, I would have split thee winnings, given you know, the giving birth bit) millionaires. Damn it.

The cute baby smell will more than make up for it I’m sure. Well, lets be honest a million quid would be a nice icing on the cake, but a new addition to our ever growing Cheshire family is just perfect. 

Baby Bump with pink & blue ribbon - Parenting Fails & Pigtails

But hurry up will you, we are itching to meet you and Mama Bear is ready to POP! Let the eviction begin!

As I am accepting my fails of this week, I am hoping to put last week to rest and start a fresh on Monday. Hopefully with a new niece or nephew swathed in my arms, whose arrival incidentally may not make it a hat trick, it really has been one of those weeks,

*not based on fact, I think I heard on a TV show, either that or it was my Daddy putting the fear of god into me about gambling. On that note, if you or someone you know is affected by gambling please visit https://about.gambleaware.org for more help and advice.

Back to School, we have survived!

Back to School, we have survived!

Parenting Fails and Pigtails - navigating motherhood one fail at a time

Back to School, we have survived!

“Twas the night before School, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse” C.C.Moore (ish)

 

Well I smell bullllshush, no that’s right darling, sleep tight, school tomorrow, school tomorrow.

My insides are leaping, for all the wrong reasons. Back to School. Tomorrow.

We were epically late to bed considering our usual September rituals, but with good cause so none the matter. Thanks to an army of people and a ton load of debt, we have all the clobber, bags, kit and caboodle for Team Twiglet to lurch into their next Years at school.

I am sure your squares have been lit up with many a perfect portrait of a child or two looking smart and beautiful for their first day back to school. We too have that wonderful shot, preened to perfection and even presentable to The Nana for Christmas frames, but I preferred this one.

The manoeuvre is fondly known as The Crazy Shake, and is coined from some irritatingly enthusiastic kids programme that graced The Mad House screen many moons ago. It just kinda captures my kids, being, well, them! Back to school or otherwise!

Children pulling funny faces in school uniform

That is not to say it has not been a long drawl through weeks of unstructured, potentially wet, guaranteed noisy, chaos. I have become an actual, fully accomplished, real life batty old cat lady in the space of two months.

My shrill fish wife screeching has been perfected, my gritted teeth smile about how everyones summer is going has disappeared from existence, leaving behind, a pretty knackered, unkempt soul, now known as The One Armed Bandit. 

As I am still unsure how long the one armed situ will drag on for, so for now, I will be comfortable with that title.

Although, I have to be honest, a selfish few hours this week and I am hoping by Friday I might look more like I have enjoyed the Summer rather than just survived it. 

Lady having hair done in foils

The Back to School Promise

At the start of every school year, I promise myself I am NOT going to live in lycra, I am going to shower (even if it means I have to wear two “outfits” in one day) before either drop off or pick up everyday, and I shall only wear gym kit if I am actually going to the gym. 

This is a promise I have now been making for the last 6 years of my life. It isn’t even the end of week one this year and I have already failed. I feel like shit, look dog rough, and can’t even pick up a bean can with guaranteed success using only my left arm. I went with an “edgy” hair cut that just looks naf if not “done” and the only kinda “done” I can currently manage is, done in! 

But, with a team of experts (well two pretty good mates actually) I shall be a phoenix reborn. Honest…….

Til Saturday, when The One Armed Bandit needs to start the beginnings of the house alterations by convincing The Hubs he really doesn’t need to keep his holey pants circa 2002!

Until then, I can say only this. Thank the universe it is September, and you have gone back to school!! In the words of the wonderful Toby & Roo, to my little Team Twiglet: 

“I love you, Bye!”

The exponentially long Summer Holidays of 2019 are over, just in time for the Christmas decorations to start turning up in the shops. Seriously, to the world of retails – I am maintaining the summer dresses I never got to wear until the bitter and most likely wet and cold end. Piss of December, they’ve only just gone back to school. Im not sure my nerves could take the thought of them being off again.

Given it is only a matter of weeks until half term, I should probably get used to the idea. Damn these pesky school holidays.

At least by the next one I might be able to shake off my one armed issues. Shake it off, Shake it off. Oh how I do love a bit of Taylor Swift!

Which will inevitably remain in your head for the rest of the day my wonderful Team Mad House. You may thank me anon, and for one more time, Team Twiglet – I love you, Bye!,

Fun & Fails of Summer Holidays 2019

Fun & Fails of Summer Holidays 2019

Parenting Fails and Pigtails - navigating motherhood one fail at a time

Fun & a Fails of Summer Holiday 2019

It feels good that the Fun & Fails of Summer Holidays 2019 can almost be said in the past tense, only 214 hours and 17 minutes to go. Not that I am counting or anything…honest.

Our staycation has been in parts epic fun, like watching the girls enjoy this ride so much because a Bestie recorded it for me. The pure joy in their faces is a sight to behold. I am so very grateful for everything, everyone has done for me.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

 

But, for those of you who know me,  as you would expect. other parts have been epic FAILS.

I invariably take my kids everywhere with me, because that’s just the way its always been. From blood tests to nail appointments, meetings to lunch dates, my little tribe of small folk often come along for the ride.

As I have been wheel-less for the past 6 weeks, most of these things have only been feasible if we walked to whatever we had planned, or begged a lift out of some crazy folks willing to risk taking 3 kids and a One Armed Bandit to Gullivers World! That has Fun & Fails of Summer Holidays written all over it!

Team Twiglet has managed to amass a running total of almost getting knocked over a whopping 17 times! Why-oh-why would you stick your head out into the path of moving vehicles?

Honestly, I thought I had done a better job of this whole parenting shiz! 

Off we strolled to a beauty appointment.

I’m the kinda person who just wants to get shit done. A one appointment wonder. Poor Katie has to put up with me, my kids and sometimes even a dog! What a combo!

On the upside – she has the most fabulous set up meaning throughout the appropriately named Fun & Fails Summer Holidays, the kids can play outside in view, whilst she attempts to make me look somewhere near respectable. And fix whatever DIY related breakages that have occurred to my former beautifully manicured talons.

Mid wax and my phone rings. Great timing as always, you see I haven’t made up my motto for shits and giggles.

Things in life really do only happen to me!

Kates Place of Beauty Logo

Now ordinarily this would obviously go unanswered, after all the screams tend to put people off or terrify them causing a rescue team to be deployed!

But after a 3 day search and a lot of cat calling (literally) we were hoping of news of the whereabouts of little miss Beatrice, one of our beautiful Ninja Kittens. 

As “Vets” flashed up I failed to answer. My phone went into some weird update mode, where it was ringing but not, and I couldn’t answer it. By this point, the pain of recently having hair pulled out at the roots vanished. After I had cussed the life out of my phone, the age old “switch it off and on again” worked like a charm.

With huge amounts of trepidation, I called our wonderful Vets back, and much to my dismay it was not the news we had all been hoping for. Sadly Beatrice had been knocked over and hadn’t made it. 

In the relatively short former years of Team Twiglet, this has been such a difficult and heart wrenching blow to deliver. I felt as though I had shattered dreams. We walked to get some lunch in Cafe on the Corner, and I had hoped a free for all on ordering would have been able to soften the blow. It didn’t, not even a little. Milkshakes didn’t help either. Fun & Fails of Summer Holidays hey.

The kids wanted to say goodbye, so off to the vets we went. Sadly, this was not possible as she was too badly injured, and despite their resolute determination to bring Beatrice home to bury her, we were advised to have her cremated.

She is back home with us now and sprinkled near a beautiful silver birch, and I am sure she is looking down on us with a “mah” squeak and a smile. #BossBaby requested us all to sprinkle, and held a little service and said a little prayer. It was very beautiful, as was BB.

 

Sleep tight little one.

 

Sometimes, I guess life throws you lemons. I am a firm believer in everything happening for a reason. Whether that reason is obvious or not. In her short life Beatrice went from being found under a bin to being a super loved. Although, she wasn’t up for the dressing up quite as much as #BossBaby. Who has very much taken this the hardest of us all. A self confessed crazy cat lady, she misses her Ninja Kitten heaps. 

Slightly secretly, as I am not openly that much of  a cat lady (notice how I omitted crazy? That my loves is guaranteed) I miss her too. My wallpaper is in ribbons, curtains are ruined, the carpets eaten, even the beds have been peed on, but we were getting there. Even if my house was in tatters.

Tabitha is getting used to being a solo Ninja, and have no fear, the wallpaper assassin is still at large!

Shine bright BB,

The Art of Parenting

The Art of Parenting

The Art of Parenting

The Art of Parenting. How is there an art to parenting? Like, I make sure Team Twiglet are fed, watered and clothed, does that make me an artiste? Is it my flair for entertaining voices in the bath? Or perfecting the ever so important Mum Glare when the kids are turning into possessed Tasmanian devils in the cereal isle? Either way, I’m not convinced there is an art to it.

Same Shit, Different Day.

We are on week 5 of the epically long Summer Holidays, and I think all of us are beginning to lose a marble or two. Artistic it most definitely is not!

There are so many hints and parenting tips for you to absorb in the magical world wide web, it is pretty much an Idiots Guide to Parenting.   

Team Twiglet, wet play. Parenting Fails and Pigtails. The Art of Parenting.

Except, the main thing that seems to be sparse in the advice for parents of babies to teens alike, is this:

The fact that each individual soul that walks this planet, is unique.

What I may find funny for example, could be offensive to the person on my left, but mildly amusing to the person on my right. Yet despite their indifference, I am rolling around on the floor in a fit of giggles, because it tickled me pink.

Quote No One is you and that is your super power. The Art of Parenting. Parenting Fails and Pigtails

So, whilst there is a fountain of knowledge out here in the massive technological universe, I suggest to try to take each Parenting Styles or Preschool Parenting Advice or any other of the millions of parenting related titles, with a proverbial pinch of salt.

No two humans are the same, there is no one else who is you. And as the quote states, it really is a super power.

I spent some time figuring out who I am this year, with the help of Martha Beck and it has been an amazing exercise that I thoroughly recommend. Personalities are so complex, sometimes it is hard to figure out who you are, let alone any one else. 

Its a Twin Thing

I say the above based on limited, but genuine experience. Having been launched into parenting on a nappy filled rocket, we welcomed twins almost a decade ago. My pregnancy was complexed due to multiple reasons. Primarily cancer + pregnancy isn’t a great combo, but we’ve made it thus far regardless.  

Thing 1 for example, would only sleep on her front*, which is against all advice. But she would cry and cry on her back yet slept soundly on her front. Where as Thing 2, would only sleep on his back.

A minute apart in age, a world apart in personality and preferences. 

Comparing when you have twins is pretty much a mortal sin, but somewhat inevitable. Having two children grown in the same womb, sharing the same conditions and entering the world at almost exactly the same time, leads to some natural comparisons. If Thing 1 was winding better, I would try and figure out the perfect technique to use on Thing 2. I had completely lost the understanding that they were indeed entirely separate entities. I now know, each and every child is as different as the advice available to trawl through.

Whilst I wouldn’t swap our parenting baptism of fire, I am grateful they are somewhat self sufficient these days. The twins have even started to make their own breakfasts! Team Twiglet continue to amaze me each and every day. Thats not to say they don’t push my buttons, argue and invariably cry multiple times a day. For my sins, I am a shouter. Despite my best efforts a few years ago to give up shouting for lent, the Summer Holidays aren’t all that easy to navigate. It has however decreased in volume and frequency now they are now old enough (ish) to reason with, and I no longer have to wrestle a crocodile to remove yet another piccalilli shit storm!  

The Art of Parenting?

I feel, should there be an Art of Parenting, that someone, somewhere needs to take ownership and filter out the tosh that is floating around these binary 0’s and 1’s. 

There are too many people who seem to know the best and apparent only way of parenting correctly. I however do not. I believe we each parent the best possible way we can, and the way I do it, is no better or more correct than the way you do it.

And my attempt is most definitely is not Art,

*The current guidelines recommend an infant to sleep on their backs, I was aware that this was against midwife regulations, but as a sleep deprived mummy of twins, I got to the stage of if it works, it works. I spent many nights in restless slumber checking on her, the mum guilt was rife. She still sleeps on her tummy, bum high and wrapped up like The Hungry Caterpillar.

I do not however recommend or endorse other people ignoring these well researched guidelines. 

Top Ten – Parenting Fail

Top Ten – Parenting Fail

Top Ten Parenting Fails

What is in a name? A clue to the nature of the person perhaps? Or to the purpose of a waffler like me on that little thing known as The World Wide Web. As a person and as a mother, I have had some instances where I have made an epic Parenting fail, many of which make for excellent inspiration when writing Parenting Fails & Pigtails. Below is an attempt at a top ten, but because I know this road we lead is so meandering and eventful, I would like to state now, that there will be many more life happenings to add to this list. It is by no means exhaustive. In no particular order, I give you my top ten parenting fluff ups:

Parenting Fail: Drunken Antics

I spent the week prior to finding out I was expecting, Uni Drunk in Valencia with my Spanish bestie and any other fool who would drink gallons of vodka and lemonade on a random Tuesday. It was epic. There are photos that only surface to embarrass us, and it was dubbed my Spanish Hen Do. I was so worried after I had peed on the stick that I had poisoned the baby, I went to the doctors, to own up.

Fortunately, I was reassured I was not the first, and won’t be the last Mummy-to-be to find out they were pregnant after a tipple to two. I perhaps didn’t paint an entirely truthful picture of the week leading up to my beautiful two blue lines, for fear of sounding like an irresponsible human being. I have come to terms with the fact I am indeed, an irresponsible human being. But with practice, persistence and a bucket load of fails, we are navigating this journey together, learning on the job if you will.

Child inflicted indecent exposure

In our infinite wisdom, we offered to drive a friends car down to Italy for them for after their wedding, with out then one year old twins. What were we thinking? On the upside, we decided to make a holiday out of it for a few days. Having traveled by car, we checked in, changed and headed out for a well needed bite to eat and exceptionally large glass of wine. When in Rome, it would be rude not to.

The twins were tots, but older than they looked as premmies often are. It was one of the first holidays we had taken since becoming a family of 4, and my inexperience became quite literally visible for ALL to see. I put my sundress on, and off we went. I hadn’t taken into account the fact that it was strapless, and that Thing 1 was in the pulling stage of life.

Those little, tiny, razor sharp fingers got themselves nicely wrapped round the dress, and in one flail movement, the  post baby boobies were out for all to see. Best bit, she waited until I was facing a rather loud, German Stag Do before offering my less than full fun bags for the world to see. Thanks kid. I am not sure how, and I am not sure when, but payback is going to happen. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Baby Brain Bungle

I hope I am not the only parent to do this. Any sentence that starts off like that should come with a disclosure, because now I am super worried, this might just be a Me fail, rather than a common parenting mishap. It was nursery pick up for the twins, I signed in and nipped to the loo. I sat there thinking, gosh, Ive not felt the baby move much today….SHIT THE BAAABBBBBYYYYYY. Yep, fast asleep, in her car seat in the back of the car.

Sorry kiddo, it wasn’t personal. 

Parenting Fail: Swing Low Sweet Chariot

Boys will be Boys. If there was ever a list of expressions to utilise, that would have to be on it. Its as though there is some built in DNA for a boy to do (stupid) boy stuff. Thing 2 was playing with a friend who had recently had his first golf lesson. Now, I love my son with all my heart, but he can be a bit of a doofus sometimes. He lacks the ability to see and reaction to actions, mind you, so does his Dad so Im not sure why Im surprised. He excitedly stood to watch the practise swing, so he knew how to hold the club.

Fair enough I hear you say. But he stood over his buddies shoulder, in perfect alignment with the end of his swing, therefore the end of his club. En route to A&E, the pair became a comedy double act. Telling everyone and anyone that would listen the story. I clearly had not been listening because I thought he was hit in the head by a swing. As in the park kinda swing. Not as in a golf swing. Cue a concerned looking nurse when he saw the flicker of my eyes upon full comprehension of the facts.

Dude, don’t stand next to someone swinging a metal stick, it never ends well, that bald patch on the side of your head should act as a sufficient reminder.

Parenting Fail: Potty Training for  Boys.

Me “Do you need the toilet Josh?”

J “No, Mummy”

Me “Are you sure?”

J “Yes Mummy”

Me “YOU ARE PEEING ON MY FOOT”

Parenting Fail: Multi-Storey Mishaps

Ernie The Fun Bus, how I miss you. The fastest milk cart in the west. You were a gem of a car. Held together mostly by spilt juice and melted chocolate buttons, but you served us well. You were however, a bugger to take into a multi-storey car park. And I was having a terrible day anyway. Mid organising my sister-in-laws hen do, we had nipped out for a few, last minute things. It was manic.

It is not humanly possible to “nip” anywhere with 3 kids under the age of 3. Add to that, the fact that it was a multi-storey car park and I drove a van styled airport taxi, you can imagine the stress levels just trying to park, let alone getting in or out of the car. Jobs successfully achieved, we piled back in the fun bus, firmly putting my SIL younger sister off kids – for life. And then World War Three broke out. The screaming, shouting and general tantrum-ing fuelled a knee jerk bollocking from yours truly. Followed by a very load and distinctive sssccccrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaattttcccchhhhhhhh and within 30 seconds, half the door was missing. Actually half the side of the car was missing, but tomato tomato.

And no, I didn’t think to stop and pick the bits up Hubs, because the shame and embarrassment of being labelled a “typical female driver” was too much for this Fun Bus wielding feminist to handle.

Toddler encouraged, Baby led weaning

Breakfast in The Mad House is always a loud and bustling affair. Slightly less civilised than a room full of kids jacked on purple fruit shoots. It is bedlam. Thing 1 was helping #BossBaby have her morning milk. Only she thought it was unfair for her to only be having milk, so shared her cereal with the 6 week old. Neither appreciated her efforts, which ended in us all in tears, hungry and a little soggier than planned.

Parenting Fail: Inappropriate Pyjama Party Viewing

The Hubs has a habit of not checking the rating on a film before we sit down to watch it. As PJ parties are a weekly occurrence in the Mad House, we have swiftly run out of remotely interesting films to watch with appropriate ratings. So most of the time, The Hubs “assures” me it is a family friendly view. I have learnt that this basically means he has ignored what ever the review said because he thinks Adam Sandler is THE MAN.

As a result, there are times the we have to “quizz” it. Only for it to get stuck on the worst possible action shot, the one we could see coming but not appropriate for the small folk. At all. Panic ensued, I couldn’t get it on, off, forwards, backwards, it wouldn’t do anything. It froze on Jennifer Anistons very effective enjoyment face. Thing 1 “Its ok Mummy, we know grown ups get hot and sweaty when they cuddle” I died a little bit.

Parenting Fail: Daddy Day Care

#BossBaby was a late talker. She didn’t really say anything until she could form full sentences, other than the usual Mama and Dada noises. Cute as a button and hasn’t stopped talking since. Unfortunately who she referred to as Daddy, was in fact my friends husband. If The Hubs took her out, she would quietly mouth to the nearest granny “Help Me” or better still, “you’re not my Daddy”.

Thankfully, most old ladies were either hard of hearing or slow on the uptake, so he didnt have to answer too many awkward questions over a small child proclaiming no relation to him. This continued for two whole years. That kid was literally born to be on stage. (should any body be questioning her heritage, she is without a doubt a fully licensed member of Team Twiglet).

The Airport

Standard airport security queue after a late night flight, add in 3 hangry kids, all under the age of 3. You can imagine the stress levels in the air, they were practically palpable. The twins were riding their trunkies, but the queue suddenly started to move more quickly. I could feel my heart rise, and almost smell the toast I was dreaming of. I dutifully started towing one of the trunkies, only Thing 2 wasn’t holding on.

The clonk of his head on the tiled floor was so loud a universal Oooooooo was audible from the queue that surrounded him. Then there is that awful moment you are holding your breath, praying for the scream seemed to go on for DAYS. It was the worst slo-mo ever, I have never been more grateful for a screaming toddler in my life. I am eternally sorry Dude, it was one hell of an egg!

I hope that this little snap shot into some of my finer moments has made you smile with relief that no matter what fails you have experienced, there is a special niche of fails that could only happen to me,

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The Summer Holiday Fear

The Summer Holiday Fear

The Summer Holiday Fear

Put your hands up in the air (put your hands up in the air) if The Summer Holiday Fear has set in.

 

The Fear encompasses all that goes with trying to entertain small people for an entire 6+ weeks. From the infinite piles of laundry, to the arguments over who sat where last, I felt it was about time it was given a name. 

Holiday Blues makes it sound morose and quiet, which it is anything but. It’s high octane and bloody loud.

Schools Out for Summer whilst it’s an epic song, makes it sound thrilling and exciting. Where in actual fact, particularly if it’s raining, its boring and quite frankly a bit beige.

Summer vibes perhaps? That wonderful warm, sun kissed feeling, feet up with a perfectly chilled glass of Rose in hand, watching the world go by. I bet you can practically taste it. But hold up, you need to fix the soggy, and now unfixable but oh so cute Fairy House, whilst chasing a wasp colony that appears to descend from nowhere, just as you sit down. Then the sun goes in, and a small person kicks your now warm wine over en route to tell you why punching their sibling was a justifiable action. Then you remember why, summer holidays can be, well, a bit shit. 

Whilst we have successfully managed to make it towards our 4th week, it has not been without some epic fighting, both physically and mentally. My usual enjoyment of being with my tribe, some how evaporates upon getting in the car on the last day of term. By the time we are paying homage to Maccy D’s en route home, The Summer Holiday Fear is full on established.  

The Summer Holiday Fear

I can’t decide if it is just because of the impending month(s) ahead of us, or there is a more to it than just The Fear?  I think it is a genuine dread of consistently being a responsible adult. This is not something that comes naturally to me. In my opinion, we have too many years ahead of us where being responsible is the only choice. Therefore I am rebelling. There are no reasons I can see that require me to be an actual bonafide adult in the foreseeable future. I potentially need to put my glasses on, look a little closer,  as Im sure there are many a reason. But, we’ve made it 9 years in on the Mummy front, and survived! Tell me I’m not the only one winging it?

Chalkboard with writing and books

Pink Hair, Don’t Care

As I am sure is the case in every family, we have our little Summer Holiday traditions, like the aforementioned McDonalds on the last day of term. One of our favourites, and the rebel in me loves, is the girls and I having pink hair. This began a few years ago, when we were in Spain and I had bought a pink shampoo and conditioner in duty free. It was literally the most fun, so has become a deep rooted girly pamper, and a quiet interval from The Fear.

As The Hubs works at home through the summer, he isnt with us by rule for very long. So pink hair, don’t care was absolutely no problem, when it is only Team Twiglet and I, in a country where we are just a face in a sea of many. As our summer holidays have taken a different format this year, we are on more of a staycay than a vacay. But, as all responsible (cough cough) mothers would do, I found a solution to our predicament. 

I left the rule book by the door, and we did what we do best. We popped into Terence Paul and watched the magic happen. It was absolutely the most fun we have had in ages. The girls are so proud of their pink hair, as am I! 

Much to my disappointment, Thing 2 wasn’t so keen on having pink hair, but I will work on him.

For now at least 3/4 of Team Twiglet have pink hair, and guess what, WE DON’T CARE!