Sexy bribes, Toddler tantrums and Dairy milk.

We’ve all been there, you’ve managed to bribe the other half with sexual favours or guilt tripped your mother and managed to get to the supermarket without having to buy your toddler two (stupidly overpriced) Peppa pig toys and half of a family sized dairy milk to make it round the joint with minimal amounts of melt downs.  Your blissful food shop is going well.  Two isles down and the only person you’ve bribed with E numbers is yourself…

What the actual fuck is that noise? seriously?

Which inconsiderate arse hole has ruined the only whole hour of child free browsing you have had in three months? (weirdly it’s also three months since you last put out… interesting!) Why does that woman with the screaming toddler hate you so much? urgh!   make it shut up!

*rolls eyes and scowls at woman and horrible spoilt snotty nosed toddler and power walks to the nearest quiet zone*

We’ve all done it, as a mother myself I have done it.  I have made an already struggling mother feel more embarrassed, cry for a few seconds longer in her car after wrestling an angry toddler into his car seat, judged another woman for something that is me 90% of the time when I would rather suffer the torture of dragging an over-tired toddler around a supermarket, than shave my bits and pits in order to get the other half to watch him.


I will never forget the day I took Thomas shopping and he had refused to get in the trolley, you know that arched back, stiffened legs, turning slightly purple kind of refusal.  I had of course given in I mean he would have sent a whole shower of shit my way if I had forced the little sod in there.  All was going well, he had accepted a banana instead of a kinder egg and was walking nicely beside me.  Then it happened.  He saw a massive pyramid of Tractor Tom DVD’s and ran slow motion, Hollywood style towards it, closely followed by me who had abandoned my trolley the second I had caught a glimpse of the display out of the corner of my eye and foreseen the inevitable.  I caught the slippery little sucker just as he reached for a DVD from the shelf and after feeling already defeated after loosing the trolley seat battle I was determined that he absolutely would not be having another DVD.

This was done for a mixture of reasons, he would have to learn that he could not always have what he wanted, he needed to realise that tantrums get you nowhere and also, I absolutely could not stand another two hour back-to-back Tractor Tom-athon.

Thomas has always been a particularly strong willed kinda kid and in true Thomas style I ended up sat on the floor while he screamed blue murder, really screamed.  Several people tried to “help” all well intentioned obviously thinking they had a trick or two up there sleeves that I hadn’t considered.  Thomas was offered sweets, juice, a sing song and a magazine from total strangers in the twenty minutes (that felt like ten hours) we were sat on that floor just to get him to shut the hell up.  I appreciated peoples intentions, I mean they obviously just valued there ear drums more than the couple of quid they thought it would take to make him quiet.  What people didn’t consider is that I could have just bought him the £3 DVD if that’s what I had wanted.



I got stared at, peoples eyes felt like superman style lasers burning into my already flushed skin, I was so embarrassed.  People walked by making comments about how cruel it was that I didn’t just get the DVD, how inconsiderate I was towards all the other shoppers, how I should have just left him at home.  You know the kind of comments said to another person about you, but said a little louder than normal to ensure you hear them?  yeah those cowardly curtain twitching types.

Peoples stares turned to tuts and sighs when the little shit got up at lightening speed and with a swipe of the right arm sent a whole bottom layer of the pyramid skidding across the tiled floor.  It was quite impressive really in a ‘you will look back and laugh one day’ kind of way.  The customer services lady was lovely, she came and helped me tidy them up, pulled Thomas’s legs through the holes in the trolley for me when he was kicking me with his weirdly long legs and told me not too worry, she saw it a hundred times a day.  If only everyone else was so nice.

I left the supermarket that day with my eyes not looking up from the floor, head down, sweat dripping from my forehead and a really heavy heart.  I felt like a failure.  Why was it always us, why could my child just not behave.  People had judged me and my son based on one incident, god knows what they would have thought if they’d witnessed the rest of our lives.

I sat and cried while Thomas sat in the backseat blissfully unaware of the drama he had caused and the cost of the counselling his mother now needed, eating the kinder egg he had earlier swapped for a banana because at this point I really was defeated, not by my toddler, he was just frustrated and lacked the capability to understand, but by the passers by.  By the tutters and the commentators, by the people with weird lasery eyes that burned my skin, by the other mothers who were on their way home to get jiggy because how else did they get daddy to parent (not babysit!)  his own child!

What those people didn’t know was that I was a single mother, I had nobody to watch him because my mum and I had to work opposite shifts because I couldn’t afford childcare costs.  They didn’t know that Thomas was starting his long journey of assessments and extra health visitor sessions.  They didn’t know that this was my first day off work after six days and two double shifts and I was emotionally drained already because I have a challenging job, that I had been looking forward to some time with my son who I hadn’t seen for nearly a week because I work shifts and that was now ruined, that my son was acting out probably because he resented me for not being there.  They knew nothing about me or him.

Despite all of this last week, in my hour of child freeness, I was one of those people.  I was a tutter, an eye roller, a bitch.  It took me two isles, an ocean of moaning co-shoppers and a tractor tom DVD to realise this,  weird that an abandoned DVD was what I needed to remind me what that mother was feeling like right then.

I'm embarrassed to admit I judged another mother, little miss mother earth over here!

I’m embarrassed to admit I judged another mother, little miss mother earth over here!

I went back and walked past the screaming toddler woman again and gave her a smile and a knowing look, she gave me a half hearted smile and then carried on trying to reason with her little determined monster.  I did try to give her some of my dairy milk I had been scoffing on the way round but she saw it and immediately said “no thanks” in quite a stern voice before I could explain it was for her not the kid, but I just smiled again and walked off, she didn’t need me bothering her right then, I hope that I made that lady realise that she is not alone or a failure.  That someone in Asda that day understood and didn’t judge her (not for long anyway).  That her child is just being a toddler like everyone else’s.

Next time your shopping and you hear the screaming toddler don’t be a dick, flash them a smile, tell them you’ve been there or just smile and walk on by counting your blessings that you’re not the one sat on that floor this time because in the parenting jungle that is life next week you may well be!







Why I found single parenting easier.

oh shit, I think I just opened a can of worms that may upset people, that is not my intention however I feel like this is something I have to put out there for discussion.

So as we have all established in my previous blogs I was a single mama to Thomas for the first few years of his life and as awful as it may sound, in a lot of ways I still consider myself a sort of single parent to him in a lot of ways.  Paul loves Thomas and Thomas loves Paul but there is something about a bond that you build with a child when you operate as a duo for so long that is impossible to break.


Father son bonding


Every time Thomas was ill I got up and healed him, I did every night feed, changed every nappy, chose everything he had.  It was all me, I feel like I earned that bond, I worked hard for it and I don’t know if I will ever be able to share it.

I still feel like generally the decision making with Thomas is down to me, all be it I get those decisions wrong a lot of the time and would love to be able to blame someone (anyone) else, I take responsibility for all of his life altering decisions.  That is ALOT of pressure but for some reason I just cannot bear the idea that someone else will have a say.  Me and Thomas are a team of two, Batman and Robin, bread and butter, bacon and eggs, some things are just too bonded to add in a third contributor.  At least to completely let in.


Mummy’s boy


Don’t get me wrong it causes tension in our house hold that I cant get my head around Paul being an equal partner in our parenting journey, Paul is a massive part of Thomas’s life and he is also the caregiver in our house when I am working so in that sense the responsibility is divided but in some weird selfish twisted little way I refuse to add ketchup to our bacon and egg bond.

Along comes Henry, who I have to share from the start, not so much the night feeds.  Why would I choose to formula feed when I’m single and there is only my tired ass going downstairs to make a bottle but then breast feed when I’m not and could potentially burden someone else with sleep deprivation?!  Sense was never my strong point!

Henry is definitely a shared responsibility, Paul refuses to let me have my own way all of the time (arse hole) and selfishly insists on having an active role in my youngest sons life.  When I was pregnant I couldn’t wait to finally share the joy of a child with another person, finally we would be a foursome, no more having to shoulder all of the responsibility or cleaning up all of the poonami style shitbombs.  I was part of a team now, a team of four.


the A team


I hadn’t quite prepared myself for what that meant!

  1. My parents were a MASSIVE help with Thomas, they took him on holidays for a week or two at a time, I was never short of a babysitter especially as we lived with them for my first two years of parenthood and the bond they had and still have with Thomas was a special one.  More part-time son and part-time parents than the usual grandparent role.  When you have a baby and you already have two full-time parents that changes, it reverts back to the more traditional and conventional grandparent role leaving you as parents to completely and actually deal with a child or two by yourselves!  I mean seriously how can this happen? Who says we are capable of this? live-in grandparents should be an essential on every girls baby list!  You then start to wonder how do people actually cope with this hellish screaming child. ALL. OF. THE. FUCKING. TIME.   Looking after one child when your daughter is a single parent is one thing (I mean single parents need a break right?!) but looking after two children when there is not one but two physically able people at home is undesirable to say the least. Surely now that we are a team we don’t need a break because we help each other out right?  which brings me to point number 2.
  2. You may think that you are sharing ALL of the responsibility for a child but, truth be told, it is likely that you will be sharing all the good bits, the bits that are fun.  Days out, choosing clothes, school selections, hobbies, eating all of the left over chocolate so your poor child doesn’t have to endure obesity (I took that one for the team).  Chances are your spouse who has never had the pleasure of night-feeds and shitty bums before will heave every time they have to get down and dirty and, since you are a pro now that you’ve raised one child, you’re expected to take the lead.  no outside help there to back you up, just you and your completely clueless ‘partner’.
  3. Sharing a child means sharing the love, even as a team of parents we compete to be the favourite one, I am completely devastated if Henry wants Paul when he hurts himself, this is a new thing to me.  Henry doesn’t cry when I go to bed after work because he is quite happy to stay with his Daddy, this breaks my heart a little bit.  Maybe he hates me because his father has enforced a no dummy unless its nap time rule and he thinks its my fault, grr stupid Daddy getting in the way of our love!  obviously this is not true, Henry loves us BOTH but maybe that is what makes me feel so insecure, Thomas only wanted me, he only needed me and for a long time he only ever had me.  I can see why toddlers find sharing things so hard!
  4. Getting on with a partner when trying to raise two feisty and boisterous boys is not easy!  Me and Paul spend our lives arguing and making up, we have totally different views on what is acceptable and we have different taste in absolutely everything!  keeping children alive and putting in the time and effort needed to sustain a relationship is hard work.  If you aren’t careful your relationship starts to feel like an extra chore to add onto the already never ending list of shit that you need to do and of course when your single this isn’t an issue.  Dating casually and keeping a long-term relationship going are two very different things.  So far we have managed to hang on in there by the skin of our teeth but there have been plenty of near-misses and I’m still not sure if we will survive this never ending horror story.  Making time for each other is not as easy as it sounds when you don’t exactly have people knocking at your door volunteering to take your two feral little monkeys for the night.  Even if my some miracle someone was free on a night I was off work where would the money come from to go on a date?  feeding two boys is a massive strain on the purse!
  5. When your a single parent you have this insane ability to just get up and crack on, I mean there is no other option! your baby needs you to just keep on keeping going.  I managed fine with Thomas on my own, my house was spotless by 5AM after an impromptu cleaning session following his 4AM feed.  When you have a partner sleeping upstairs something inside you flips and you turn into a self-pitying child who refuses to do the cleaning because why the hell should you when dick head is still knocking out some Z’s living the life of riley!   Your ability to keep going is somehow hindered by the presence of this other adult because you always feel hard done too and as a woman how else do you deal with that other than digging your heals in and throwing a hissy fit!

Having been both a single parent and had a baby whilst in a relationship I honestly feel like a lot of the time it is harder to co-parent than it is to just go it alone.  Making all of the decisions is daunting but its also rewarding, I got more free time going it alone than I do now and financially I was better off working and topping up my wage with benefits.  Despite all of the above there is something special about raising a child together and knowing that at the end of a really shitty day, when the children have driven you to the brink of insanity someone has got your back.  There is someone there who has lost there shit too and shares that parent guilt.  Some things are worth sacrificing to just not feel quite so alone.


always have kisses for mummy, even when Daddy is around!


I would be interested to know what your thoughts on single parenting versus co-parenting are?

Shop of the week: Featherstone and Bloom

Just to start off apologies to those of you who have messaged me about this post, I know its (a lot) overdue, dodgy internet connection and a lack of time to breathe have both contributed to my complete uselessness :-|, on the plus side this one is worth the wait!

Before I even start to talk about the (completely amazing) tees we got from Featherstone and Bloom, the packaging needs a moment of admiration:


Amazing right?!




Our package came complete with a lovely handwritten note and an always welcome discount code for 10% off our next order, one of the reasons I love shopping small is the personal touches and the extra effort that has gone into the products you receive, you really feel like your supporting someone’s dream and that makes the already awesome product even more special!

We stalked the postman for these tees I was so excited to receive them, even my normal happy post wasn’t quite as happy until they arrived, stupidly I waited until the 23rd of December to order them and since such perfection isn’t made overnight it took a while for me to receive them, the normal turn around time is much shorter but with Christmas and new year in the way, well lets just say I think my postman was expecting me to explode at anytime.

Obviously we tried them on as soon as they arrived and I have to say firstly how soft they are!  The fabric is amazing, perfect for super soft, delicate little skin and 100% cotton so it washed amazingly well, I also love that all the inks are water-based and eco-friendly, who doesn’t love the environment after all, right?!

Being a massive fan of monochrome makes the designs perfect for me and Henry, designs are available on white, black or grey and with either long or short sleeves.  I love how they are so simple but really effective at the same time and not a cartoon character in sight!  Most designs are gender neutral but there are a few more suited to either sex, the “Girl code” tee almost makes me crazy enough to give pregnancy one more shot, not quite though, and since they go all the way up to age 5-6 Henry can keep wearing Featherstone and bloom for ages anyway.  They actually do adult sizes if you fancy a bit of mother-daughter twinning, the “girl code” tees are perfect!


“Beep Beep”… definitely a robot that son!


Henry loves the robot design and points to his tummy saying “beep beep” I think he just assumes its a car but hey, it makes him happy so who cares!  The designs on Featherstone and Bloom tees are fast becoming the wear of the ‘insta-famous’ and most of my online mummy friends are stocking up fast!  I have definitely got a reminder set for Fridays new release which you can check out on instagram (@featherstoneandbloom) it appeals to a lady such as yours truly, who is a fan of tongue in cheek humour and also appeals to my toddler who just likes trucks… use your imagination!

Chris who is the big boss man at Featherstone and bloom started to make tees after struggling to find any unique designs for his (super cute) daughter Alix-Grace and so being super creative and having a background in Art & Design he began to draw and hand print these awesome tees which are now available to all of us, freshly made and packaged in Scotland!

Being hand-printed makes every tee a little bit unique and amazing.  Chris is a lovely guy who likes seeing all your littlest beauties in his designs so give him an insta-tag of your kiddos wearing their tops and make his day.


Featherstone and Bloom at it’s loveliest!


I cannot recommend buying at least one (or 3 in our case) of these super stylish, comfy tops.  We went for age 3-4 because we love the oversized look but if your a fan of it fitting as it should the sizes are in my opinion true-to-size if not generous so no need to go bigger unless, like us your a fan of looking like you just arrived from the 80’s!

Orders over £20 get free shipping throughout the UK and worldwide shipping is available, see website for pricing.

Featherstone and bloom have in no way influenced my opinions, this is an honest review of a product that I have bought, paid for and tested myself.

Check out Featherstone and Bloom:

online at :

Instagram: @featherstoneandbloom


Never again! 

Whoever said money can’t buy happiness was a total rich knob.   Seriously as I sit here feeling like someone is continually jumping on my head watching a loop of ‘in the night garden’  ‘Peppa pig’ and ‘Thomas the tank engine’  I’m wondering if there are any available nanny’s out there who are in need of a kidney,  because I will give them both if it means they will make Henry stop being such a little satanic beast and have a nap so that I can sleep off this hangover. 

Going out always seems like such a luxury when you’re a mama,  getting dressed up in un-slobbered on clothes and loosing the mum bun not to forget getting totally smashed off one bottle of wine because who has time to be hard-core and build up a tolerance to alchol when your life is filled with shitty nappies and play dates.  

See I scrub up ok. 

 On the plus side it was a cheap night,  I danced until my feet were sore (and I now have a blister the size of Japan on my right foot)  and I laughed more than I have for aaaaages. 

Today I have the hangover blues and have so far cried at the traffic jam I got stuck in after dropping paul off at his sisters,  the fact that Henry won’t nap (asshole) and the fact that I lost my rag and actually called him an asshole out loud and felt guilty.   

Not looking quite so good today. 

I used to quite like hangover days slobbed out in front of the TV,  eating crap and maybe a nice warm bath,  now hangovers are the devil.   They seem to get worse with old age and instead of pulling off the bed head chic look I once nailed  last night’s eyeliner is still smudged around my eyes which look like piss holes in the snow making me resemble some kind of stoned panda.  Every part of my body aches (who knew dancing was so good for your pelvic floor because seriously it feels like it’s been lifting weights, the money I spent on alchol may be an investment because I’m pretty sure I can do without a Tenna lady when I go to the trampoline Park now.   

 If only that 70 something year old bloke who thought grabbing my arse was a good chat up move could see me now!   I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be asking me if I wanted a night cap in his retirement home I think he would be giving me cpr trying to bring me back to life. 

Today Paul (who is also hungover)  has buggered off leaving me with the smallest gremlin (see where Henry gets his assholeness from?)  and since naps are apparently only acceptable when it’s inconvenient for me not when I need him to have one,  Henry is being taken care of by the TV and cashing in on my alchol induced uselessness by trashing the house and doing every thing he knows he shouldn’t.  

It’s a good job he is this cute. 

 Thank christ for my dad who has taken thomas out because I seriously think I would have been in prison by teatime if they had both been here playing this wierd game of rugby/wrestling they like to play,  it’s basically a way of hurting each other in what they deem an acceptable way.  Double win for them because it drives me fucking nuts.

   If I hear the line “boys will be boys”  one more time I am going too lose my shit!   Boys will not be boys,  boys will be evil little creatures who are sent to earth to drive us insane one near-death sofa dive to the next.  Boys will be stubborn,  too proud and forever full of energy and craziness.   Boys will secretly plot to kill you slowly and painfully,  death by fifa 17 boredom,  death by danger induced Heart attack,  death by choking on your tooth,  which fell out as a result of a close line to the face during “rough play”.   Boys will be fat to hard work most days,  on hangover days boys will actually nearly kill you. 

So thankyou Iggle piggle,  thankyou Thomas the tank engine and thankyou Peppa pig (you spoilt whiney wench)  for doing what I am incapable of today and entertaining my youngest child,  all day.   Bad parenting?   Nope,  bad parenting would be locking him in the shed with a slice of bread and a beaker of water while I watched teen mom re-runs and felt sorry for myself with a warm coffee which was the other (preferred yet neglectful) alternative today. 

Happy Sunday lovelies,  may your day be filled with hot coffee and cake.  I’m just going to change Henry’s nappy which judging by the smell of my living room will be followed by a rushed visit to hug the toilet.  😷💩🙈

A letter to my Tucker. 

Dear Thomas,

Our story starts before you even took your first breath,  in the days you were in my tummy, all snug and warm and safe but my apologies to you start then.

You see I’m sorry Thomas that I chose an unworthy man to be your father, I’m sorry that you have never met him and I am sorry that rather than fill my heart with warmth and love,  finding out I was pregnant filled me with fear and dread.  I never took pictures of my growing tummy or documented when it was that you first kicked, I was too busy being terrified.  I was terrified of what my life was about to become, about what OUR lives were about to become.

I think I always knew I loved you, the fact that I was scared I wasn’t good enough, capable even, of looking after you means there must have been some feelings there but I never embraced them when I was pregnant, it was much easier to push them aside and focus on the negatives.  But please don’t ever doubt that despite all of my worries you were worth every tear, every sleepless night, every grey hair.

I remember the day you were born, “baby will be here by lunchtime” they told me and Nannie when we arrived at the hospital at 4am, already well into established labour, but of course you go at 1000 miles an hour until you need to rush and then you take your merry little time, I should have known then that we would never be on time for school!

5PM exactly you were pulled out of my belly, blue and lifeless, you took four more minutes to decide you would stay in this world, you must have known how much I needed you even before I did.  Grey hair numbers 1-10 were in place before we even made it out of the operating theatre!

From the moment I heard you cry I knew how much I loved you, the relief was intense, I felt dizzy and couldn’t stop shaking.  You always did like to scare me and every day since you have done just that my little monster!

When they passed you too me an hour later they had warned me how swollen you were, how you’d had quite a traumatic entrance into the world and your face had taken most of the battering, but when I saw you I didn’t notice your black eyes and flattened nose I just saw your amazing blonde hair and your little fingers and toes, to me you were the best looking baby I had ever seen (although I have to be honest looking back you did look a bit like E.T).  I’m sorry your entrance into the world didn’t go as planned, that my body failed you, and I’m sorry for any damage that caused, your bad eye is on the side you were most swollen and all these tests and appointments and extra classes in school to see why you struggle to control your emotions and behaviour, the first thing they always ask is about your birth, and I’m sorry if my body hurt your precious brain, just know that to me you are perfect.

Your first few years of life seem like a blur to me, you were the centre of everyone’s world, we lived with Nannie and Grandpa then and everyone’s attention was on you!   you went on holidays with me and your grandparents, I forced myself to go to those god awful baby groups even though I was the only one there with no husband or partner and I was always the youngest.  we just never fitted in me and you.  

I’m sorry for those times I left you with nannie while I went and tried to grasp at my youth,  early twenties is supposed to be fun and I admit I got overwhelmed more than once,  and at one point I went out every weekend just so I could feel like me again,  the old me I mean,  the me before you.   

You grew into a stubborn, strong minded and completely beautiful little boy, blonde curls and chubby little cheeks, you got away with murder!  You were and are my biggest achievement but I’m sorry that I bought you somthing every time we went in a shop,  I’m sorry that now you don’t understand why you can’t always have what you want right away because you always used to get it.   I’m sorry that I tried to buy your forgiveness because I felt like such a crappy mum,  I’m sorry that I couldn’t see that I was actually doing a dammed good job. 

We moved out of Nannie and Grandpa’s house eventually and got our own place, you chose your bedroom and Nannie and Grandpa paid for everything as usual, I try my best but we’ve had a lot of help you and me, we have needed a lot of help.  I went back to work when you were 4 months old and I’m sorry that I couldn’t stay home with you, there was only my wage to support us and maternity pay just wasn’t cutting it, I missed so many of your firsts that I can never get back, time I was looking after other peoples families whilst you spent half of your little life being looked after by Nannie, I know you didn’t mind, Nannie was just like another mummy to you and I actually think you liked her more than me most of the time, but I minded.   I wanted to see all of those things and watch you grow everyday but I just couldn’t.

Time went by quickly and you grew from a toddler to a pre-schooler, your temper got worse and harder to control, by this point I think that bleach was disguising half a head of grey hairs.  I found it so hard to cope.  You used to be trashing your bedroom while I sat on the stairs crying.  I don’t think I had ever felt so useless before.  I just wanted to hold you and make it better but that just made you worse, you needed to let out your frustration and trashing things was the only way you knew how.  You just needed time you see, to understand how the world worked, why you couldn’t have what you wanted ALL of the time, why you needed to use the toilet and not nappies anymore.  You still need time to understand some of these things, and that’s ok.

You were four when I told you that I had another baby in my tummy, that you would be a big brother soon, you were so excited and told everyone you met about your new baby sister in mummy’s tummy, a sister that was actually a brother!  We spent my pregnancy much like the rest of our lives, working and school and doing anything you wanted to on my days off, my world still revolved around you, and yours around me.  We spoke about how when your brother came you would have to share mummy but I don’t think you really understood how that would feel.  You’d never had to share before and when Henry did come along 2 weeks after your fifth birthday I couldn’t wait for you too meet him.  Nannie picked you up early from school and you came to the hospital, you were underwhelmed to say the least and more bothered about cuddling me and making sure I was ok, you really are a mummy’s boy.

I’m sorry that overnight you had to grow up so much, that you had to start washing your own face in a morning and getting your own PJ’s on.  That instead of three bedtime stories you only got one rushed story while I fed Henry on your bed.  I’m sorry that I worked harder to breastfeed your brother than I did with you,  I wish I knew then the benefits like I know now.  I’m sorry that on the 24th March 2015 you lost a little bit of your mummy to your brother, I tried to do it all but it’s impossible, I didn’t love you any less and I missed our time,  just me and you as much as I know you did,  but I couldn’t split myself in two.

Your six now, and still as fierce as ever, I love your attitude and your sassiness but boy do you drive me insane!  a teenager in a six year olds body, your never shy of telling me that I ruin your life and how me and Paul are the worst meanest parents ever, I know you don’t mean it really, I know that you count down the sleeps until its my days off work, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell every time you say it.

It used to be just me and you but now you spend half your life in time out and the other half either at school or out with Grandpa and now instead of you missing me, I’m the one who misses you.  I miss our chats and our late night cuddles, I miss your (not)  funny jokes and the way you used to gross me out licking me when you were pretending to be a dog.  I miss that you wanted to spend your weekends with me when I was off work.  I miss it just being me and you.

I’m sorry that you get told off for getting too giddy and kicking the ball inside the house, you don’t understand why its a bad idea and you don’t realise how loud and bouncy your getting, I know when your playing with your brother you don’t know that you nearly break his neck when you close-line him

Thomas I’m sorry that I haven’t been the mum I feel that you deserve,  I know there are times I could have a little more patience,  play a little more,  spend a little more time reading an extra story.   I want you to read this when your bigger,  when you understand that even though I am sorry for so many things,  I have tried my best.   I’m not perfect,  far from it,  but know that I love you my little tucker more than all the moons and stars in all the world’s.   Me and you are two peas in a pod,  perfectly imperfect for each other. 

I love you to the moon and back. 

Mum xx

Teaching my boys equality, one spice girl song at a time.

“Mummy why is your tummy so wobbly?”

The words that every woman wants to hear right?!   through gritted teeth and with a slightly crimson tint to my face, smile plastered on, trying to look like the comment didn’t make me want to run and find my slimming world book that’s gathering dust in the neglected ‘skinny food’ cupboard somewhere, I decided that this could be my sons first lesson in feminism.

“My tummy is wobbly because women are special, women grow little babies in their tummy’s and when that baby is born they need somewhere comfy to sleep so women get wobbly tummy’s to give their babies a nice place to rest.  Isn’t that amazing Thomas?”

“Is it not just because you eat too many sweets?”

“yep, that too kid.”  *defeated sigh*

“I love your wobbly tummy mummy, I wish I could grow babies, I would have 50”

“One day you will find a special lady and she will grow babies for you, but you always have to remember how special ladies are Thomas because in the olden days boys used to think that they were better than girls and that just isn’t true.  You know ladies are just as clever as men and we can do all the things that you can.”

“boys rule, girls drool…  Boys can fart better than girls mummy, except you, you can fart really loud”

“Thanks kid.”

“who do you REALLY think is better, boys or girls?”

“I think we are all the same.”  *happy sigh*


And so concluded my sons first (pretty successful) lesson in equality,  you see I want my boys to realise the beauty of a woman in every form, I don’t want them to believe what they see in magazines is the only kind of beautiful, because it isn’t!

I want my sons to grow up realising the true value of women, to not expect to somehow be superior because they are male.  I want them to remember the strong, opinionated, capable female role models they have in their lives because when they do meet a partner I want them to enable that woman to reach her dreams and her potential.  I want them to take an active role in bringing up their own children (mainly for payback reasons, I hope they have a taste of there own medicine), I don’t want them to think a mans job is to work whilst his wife stays home and cleans, I want them to have the poor sods tea on the table when she gets home sometimes because I’m telling you whoever ‘she’ is will have to be a brave kind of lady taking one of these two reprobates on!


When someone says the word feminist people instantly think of burning bras and desperate women handcuffing themselves together protesting for their rights, rights that should never have been questioned in the first place, I mean seriously how can a man ever question the validity of a woman’s excellence!  I’ve not heard of babies being pushed out of any dicks recently (at the least the anatomical ones) have you?  I wouldn’t class myself as a feminist, I think these days it has become less about equality and more about women taking over and being somehow superior, surely that’s no better than men being seen as superior so I prefer equality.

My two boys need to realise that although the female body is an amazing thing its not just for growing babies, we are capable of so much more, we are capable of running the world with them.  If we are given the chance that is.

My boys are too young to understand equality and all its ins and outs so for now they can just carry on happy in their innocent little world where all that matters is paw patrol and football, eating worms, and causing me to gradually loose my hair one tantrum at a time, and I will carry on teaching them the only way I know how.  By being as strong a woman as my mum was for me ( and playing spice girls greatest hits in the background, subliminally sending messages of female greatness).

My boys will learn the importance of women by watching how hard I work for them (mentally as well as physically).  They will see that ‘being a lady’ should refer purely to the state of your anatomy (through my foul mouth and apparently good farting skills) and they will learn that the spice girls are the best band that ever lived, Thomas is already a fan and asks for it on in the car, a lesson in how to get your children bullied at school right there!

I will continue to let them see my wobbly belly (amongst other wobbly bits) so that they can see that women are not just physically perfect beings that are around to sit and look pretty, and that beauty is not just skin deep.

I will carry on answering the questions that make my heart sink a little bit because that is how they will learn that imperfection is beautiful!  I will answer them confidently and pretend I don’t want to cry every time they point out every single spot or dimple I have.  kids are seriously bad for the ego.


Until next time “Goodbye my friend, I know your gone, you said your gone but I can still feel you here” (I fucking love the spice girls!)



5 reasons I would like a penis please.

Today has been a bitch, I mean seriously never mind “If Marks and Spencer’s made days…” today has been an “If Iceland made days…” kinda day. 

I got in this morning at around 01:30am, did my usual pissed up stumble around the house not looking for anything in particular just being slightly amused at how funny it was when the room was spinning, went up to bed and lay there.  As the room gradually slowed down I remembered that I had taken an extra 45 minutes and a full packet of razors  in the shower to shave my foof and I would be damned if I didn’t cash in on it!
Needless to say the other half was far from impressed with my drunken slurs however was impressed that for the first time in a year he wouldn’t have to spend twenty minutes trekking through the foliage to actually find his destination, and I think he felt a bit sorry for me, so woke himself up a bit.  Some may call this a “sympathy shag” I call it a “I’ll take what I can when the two feral beasts are sleeping shag”.

Either way I wont go into the ins and outs (haha) but just as I lay my, now slightly more sober, head on the pillow and closed my eyes the littlest tinker (and winner of todays least favourite child award) decided now was a good time to wake up.  Seriously.  By this point it was somewhere around 3:00 from what I could make out on my phone (which wasn’t a lot considering the only glasses I had on were beer goggles) and he didn’t go back to sleep.  At all.

Now considering I hardly ever go out, like seriously once a year, you would think that my knight in shining armour who had so valiantly just been waving his sword around would have gotten up and taken care of said screaming child wouldn’t you?

Well no, he didn’t bother, instead between snores he muttered something about going for the snip and then dropped right back off to sleep.  what a knob!

(yep I was this ☝️ drunk!) 

Downstairs, a black coffee, a few puffs on the E-cig later and through slightly clearer vision it dawned on me, there are so many things that are better in life if you have a penis.

this series of events inspired todays blog:

5 reasons why I want to grow a dick.


I’m convinced that having a dick gives you sleeping super powers.  Screaming kid?  you will totally sleep through that, I mean why would you have to wake up when there is a woman who lacks these dick induced sleep powers, asleep right there next to you.

World war three outside?  The power of the penis will save you from having to wake up and endure the horror.  Having a knob is a total melatonin stimulator I swear to god!

2. I would never have to shave again.

Since I started this blog I’ve never made a secret of the fact that I hate shaving, to the point that, unless I’m going swimming and my pubes are gonna peep out of my swimming costume and potentially scare a small child, who doesn’t realise I’m just lazy and could mistake me for a yeti, I just don’t bother.

If I had a dick then all my shaving problems would be completely wiped off!  Men don’t care if small children mistake them for yeti’s, in fact they would probably be flattered that a small child is terrified of them, it’s probably macho or something.  I would love for it to not be weird that I have more body hair than a chimpanzee, this is another reason I want a knob because then it would be ok!

3. I would get a day off!

So if a woman has a day off work, that’s her day to clean, batch cook the next weeks meals (which I never get round to doing, #mumfail), spend some quality time with the kids, stress over the fact that there is more laundry than even dot cotton could handle and generally not have a day off at all!

If only I was blessed with a one-eyed snake I could sit and relax, whilst my poor sod of a girlfriend, who had the misfortune of having a vagina, took the kids out on play dates and prepared my meals and did my washing,  meantime I would sit at home trying to figure out where that cleaning fairy came from last night while I was sleeping, and polished and mopped and stuff.  Then when that all got too much I would go for a shower or a nap.  Anyone else wish they had a knob yet?

4.I could scratch my genitals anywhere, anytime.

If I had a cock I could slip my hands down my pants anytime I wanted.  I wouldn’t have to do a funny cross-legged walk every time I got an itch, or sit on my foot to discreetly try to get rid of it, I would simply waz my hand down there and give my balls a good old scratch.  No shame.  Seriously when did it become ok for anyone to do that?  or maybe I should be asking why it’s NOT ok for everyone to do that (providing they wash their hands afterwards! yuck!).  Jury’s out on that one but if I had a knob I would never have to suffer the inconvenience of an itch again!

5.I would never again have to pretend I didn’t fart because I’m a lady.

Men are allowed to fart any place, any time.  If  a man guffs it’s hilarious! Other men love it!  If however you’re not blessed with a boom stick then you better hold that gas in!  I would love to be able to let it all out, yes fellas, you heard it right, us ladies trump too!  And if we let it all go church or chapel then I’m pretty convinced we wouldn’t be met with a round of applause and a high-five!

Obviously this post is purely for comedy value and not all men, or women can be tarred with the same brush, but seriously for my birthday, I would just like a dick please.



Shop of the week: Trendy tots threads

In the Zoo that we like to call home, we are massive small shop supporters.  The beasties have some amazing clothes mainly from instashops and so I would really like to do a feature once a week of either a new shop we find that is amazing or review one of our favourites.

I think this would be a great way to help our favourites out with a bit of free advertising and also help our readers find great new products they wouldn’t have known about otherwise!

Every shop I write about will be one that I have used previously unless stated otherwise.

What better way to start than with the amazing Trendy tots threads!


Trendy tots threads is the first shop that Henry has been a brand enthusiast for, we were massive fans of the clothes even before we joined the TTT team and we have quite the collection these days!


Let me start by telling you that the awesome Diane who is the owner, maker, runner of this amazing shop is so lovely!  The customer service you get is second to none, and being a mama herself, she is totally in tune with what qualities are needed in awesome kids clothes, and the cost of clothing your littles!

Trendy tots threads is great value for money!  It’s one of the most budget friendly small shops I have come across which is great if (like me) your not exactly minted and, if you do have plenty of spare pennies it means you can buy even more, because trust me when I tell you that in this case the lower cost is not reflected in the quality of the clothes.

One of my biggest problems with shopping small is that because everything is usually made to order there is a bit of a gap between ordering your product and receiving it…  when your massively impatient like me that is so annoying!  I have been known to literally watch the postman coming up the street through the window and be stood waiting for him arms out in anticipation before now!


Trendy tots threads have always been super quick to arrive (obviously the products are hand-made to order and there will be a bit of a wait) so my postman so far has remained unscathed!

There are regular ‘Market nights’ which basically means your product is ready to be shipped the next day providing you get in there first and claim it before someone else does, you will have to be quick though, which I’m not very good at these days!

We have a collection of infinity scarfs, tees and leggings from this amazing shop and I have never been disappointed yet!  The fabric choices are amazing, there is so much variety and the colours are always lovely and bright.  There are regularly new fabric choices available so you will never get bored and if you drop Diane a message she can help you out if you wanted something a bit different than what is on the site (contrasting cuffs on your leggings for example).

As you can imagine having two boys means that we wash our clothes ALOT in this house and everything we have ever had from Trendy tots threads has washed amazingly well and lasted for AGES, which at the rate Henry grows is nothing short of a miracle!


Obviously we love an opportunity to share a photo or two so I’ve included lots of our trendy tots threads collection for you all to drool over!

All the leggings featured in the pictures are Trendy tots threads as are the infinity scarfs.

You can follow trendy tots threads on instagram: @trendytotsthreads or you can also visit the website:

Happy shopping lovelies!


Just sssssshhhhhhhh for goodness sake!

I swear to flipping god if I have to do the swashbuckle cheer one more time I might actually flip my lid.

The first couple of times, in fact the first fifty thousand times, Henry recited it to me it was so cute!  he was a genius!

I always knew that under that grubby babbling façade lay great intellect, just waiting to break through the snot and the dribble and present itself in all its glory, in this case through the medium of a completely shit made up pirate cheer.

When your child learns something new its so novel, exciting even, you think how amazing it is that a few months ago they couldn’t even say “mama” and now here they are telling you about pirate hats and eye patches.

Surprisingly quickly it gets annoying and your urging them to shut the fuck up for five minutes, just why you just try to block out the annoying noise of cbeebies and try to remember the days your life was about more than kids TV and you could actually watch the equally mind numbing ‘Made in Chelsea’ in peace, at least they speak actual words and don’t break into some god awful song every five minutes!

To me kids TV is just another way of making us all feel inadequate.  I mean seriously does anyone actually have enough energy to bounce around all day like those presenters?  its not normal. I swear the drinks order in a morning goes something like “I’ll have a skinny latte, twenty five sugars, and a couple of speed please”



At 6AM when the delightful (annoying as fuck)  presenters come on, all glammed up after being in make-up for god knows how long, whilst some poor sod, who probably would also rather be in bed, contours their faces into permanent smiles, I’ve been up for two or three hours some days, I look like crap, I resemble a raccoon the dark circles around my eyes have gotten that big and quite frankly there is nothing in the world I can think I give less of a shit about than the fucking birthday song!

I really don’t care how old Oliver from the midlands is today, at this point I’m not even sure how old my own kids are today!



They should make it a rule that the only song allowed on TV before 9AM is the sleeping bunnies song, with an extra long sleeping section and no “hop hop hopping” allowed!

I would have much more love for cbeebies if they kept it real, put the presenters on with their hair stood up on end, no make-up, if anything a make-down, a cup of coffee in one hand and a phone in the other, a few wet patches around the boob area from last nights milk leakage and show our children that its not just their parents that are complete fuck ups and need some sleep!

I must admit though the Tom Hardy bedtime story made up for at least a months worth of shitty morning TV, well played Cbeebies, good on you for thinking of all the mummy’s over the festive period!


*disclaimer* the views in this blog are purely a rant, please NEVER take cbeebies off air or I will have to actually pay for a babysitter to entertain my children for an hour a day (possibly more, but who’s counting) whilst I check my social media and drink my brew while it is still hot.

I will leave you with this thought that has being looping in my head all day, and night, even when I’m trying to bloody sleep!:

Eye patch,

Pirate hat,

Swashbuckle cheer:



(Hat: two littles,  Long sleeved tee: mummy_and_the_beast,  Leggings: Trendytotsthreads)

Taking control of Depression and Anxiety, the year to flip the bird to my fears.

Unless you have been there it’s hard to understand why you can’t just shake depression off.   We all have down days,  it’s part of life right?

I struggled to understand what it feels like to wake up and for that brief blissful moment feel the sun on your face and smell the promise of a new day,  a blank page and then seeing the black cloud hovering in the corner of your bedroom,  urging it to go away.   Just give you one day off.

The feeling of despare and desperation as it slowly approaches,  the sick feeling in your stomach as it gets closer completely consuming you in its horrible grasp.

It’s not just a bad day,  it’s not just a bad week.   It’s an illness that people can’t see.   That you don’t want people too see.

This blog is not to upset people,  it’s to give people hope because finally I feel like I am coming out of the other side.

It doesn’t physically hurt to get out of bed in the morning anymore.   I feel like most days I can cope.   I can manage.

People will read this and think they remember the days in the not so distant past when I was at my worst but I can guarantee that none of you saw me at my worst,  I made sure nobody saw me at my worst.   On my worst days I couldn’t breathe never mind have company!

I’m one of those people that likes to think that the problem is always with someone else.

I guess I kind of hold myself on some weird unfounded pedestal and have a majorly hard time comprehending the idea that someone else actually may be right.

I’m quick to blame others, thinking to myself they haven’t made feel welcome, that they hate me, that I don’t care anyway.  I like to kid myself into believing that it’s anyone’s fault but my own.

I’ve never made a secret of the fact that I have a small circle, I find it so hard to make new friends and trust people that I think I’ve kind of just shut myself off.

All to often I have been invited to things, events, playgroups, gatherings of various descriptions and either been present in body but not so much in mind or not gone at all and made up completely bull shit excuses.

All in all, I’m just a bit of a dick.

The problem with blowing people off is that they forget to invite you eventually, you loose touch, you see nice pictures on social media and have a little cry to yourself because you wish you had just ignored your brain and that heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach, grown a set of balls and gone to the things you were invited too.

Depression and anxiety is a bitch you see, just because it holds you hostage and stops your life moving on it still lets everyone else carry on without you.

This year despite not really believing in new years resolutions I decided that I would try to extend my circle a bit, maybe try to reach out to people that I feel I have a bit in common with or try to persuade the people I’ve previously blown off to give me a chance at redemption.  So far I think it’s going ok!

I have arranged breakfast dates, been to a child’s birthday party and actually participated in conversation and thoroughly enjoyed myself, I have managed to carefully hide my resting bitch face which I feel has always caused me problems, (I do however worry that I now look a little bit weird as I feel like I have to permanently paint on a Cheshire cat like smile) and I have just made a general effort to be a better human being. Better to others and better to myself.

Making friends is not as easy for some of us as others and although I am not trying to make excuses for myself (maybe a little bit), feeling like a fish out of water is not any easy place to be when your supposed to be enjoying yourself!

your silence or apparent look of disgust can be misconceived as a snobbery or dislike of the people your spending time with when actually your brain is being a bitch and reminding you how beautiful these people are, how fat you must look next to all these amazing bodies or how you didn’t have enough time to get ready because your toddler was having epic meltdowns and your six year old was too busy throwing things at you and telling you how much of a completely shit mum you were because he cant control his emotions well and really he just wanted you to stay in and cuddle him instead of going out.

By the time I leave my house, whether it be 9AM or 9PM,l can guarantee I have dealt with a shit storm of epic proportions.  Or at least that’s what it feels like.  I will have resolved two wars, cleaned up shit and breakfast off the carpet, laid down several new laws and I’m lucky if I manage to brush my teeth never mind my hair!

My life is led one coffee to the next and to be honest until recently I saw establishing new friendships as a serious drain on my already stretched energy tank.  And something that causes my anxiety to sky rocket, and who needs that shit seriously?

I’ve formed friendships when I have had too, friendships at work with some amazing lovelies who all at one point or another have been there with a brew and an ear for me to chew off with my third world problems,  friendships that I really do value.  The problem was when I did have the option to hideaway and not deal with the trauma of new people, or even old people I didn’t feel comfortable with yet.

Don’t get me wrong, I would love to have friends, the type you can just call and announce you are on your way before you kill the little brats who have just poured juice on the TV, nearly killed themselves taking it in turns doing somersaults on my bed and who haven’t listened to a word I have said unless it was the word “biscuit” when I have been bribing them to stop being such little shits!  The type that will come to my house and do the same!

Now I realise that friends and a support network is what keeps you going, refills your fuel tank, encourages you, makes you feel like your not just failing at life all the time!

I think the turning point in the way I think was starting this blog, I have had so many positive responses from people who I have always assumed had all of their shit together, people who before now I would have been embarrassed to see and felt awkward around, not knowing what to say and feeling like I couldn’t just be myself, the little monster inside my head telling me I was a complete fuck up.

I’m not even sure its the realisation that we are all losing our shit that comforts me, but the fact that through writing this blog I’ve discovered a part of me that has been locked away for quite some time.  A part of me that I thought I had lost.  I feel like being me is good enough again and that is what matters, that is how I want my children to feel.

Now I have to work out how to grow a set of balls and throw myself out there again.  Embrace life and friendship and the potential to fail with both hands.

Wish me luck!


Admissions Of A Working Mother