Tuesday, 20 December 2016

Christmas. Im SO on it!

I plead with my little girl ‘We are going to be late for School. Can you PLEASE for the love of St Nicholas. EAT YOUR BREAKFAST!’

But Mummyyy I’m writing words with my bwekfast, on the table! Look

C.. B.. A spells …

CAT!’ My son shouts.

Seriously?? He’s clearly not paying attention during his Phonics lessons.

‘That is the LAST time I buy you Alphabites!’

Mummy I don’t have any School shoes cos we left them in daddy’s car’.

'What? They are where?!'

‘It’s ok!!!! I can wear my shark slippers!’

My phone pings to tell me I’ve yet another What’s App message from my Sons class group.

‘Don’t forget your painted green cut out hand prints for our Xmas display for the teachers’.

I may die of stress.

‘Kids quick get the green paint out! Hurry hurry!’ They can’t believe their ears.  My Sons face lights up. ‘Are we making our Christmas cards like James Mummy did? Because they must be in TODAY to go in the very special postbox in our class room?'

F*** it. I really need to look at Parent mail.

That also reminds me that I need to buy Christmas cards (And write them as if my Children did it) … Arggghhh where is that form I need to sign for the theatre show too? Breeeathe ...

Oh, and I need to get cash out to hand to the class rep for the teacher present, and pay for the theatre trip …  and buy a present for preschool teachers. Do they have to wear Christmas jumpers today?!

Class Rep. I bow down to your superior organisational skills. This time of year, really doesn’t appeal to my strengths at all.


‘Darling I’m so sorry work emergency I can't get to Christmas Concert this morning xxx

I lay my head down on the kitchen table.

My kids Christmas concerts are on at THE SAME TIME in two different places. 

Right which child is my favourite?


‘Yes Mummy?’ They answer sweetly.


Friday, 18 March 2016

Mum Flu – the symptoms

Signs of impending Mum Flu are often missed, but it usually strikes shortly after an illness has immobilised the rest of your family. The symptoms will develop slowly, allowing you to function normally and enabling you to nurse them through the acute sickness that has rendered them incapable of all but the most basic functions. Mum Flu can be expected to attack just at the moment your children regain full energy levels.

In normal cases of influenza, and indeed the far more serious ‘man-flu’, a loss of appetite is to be expected. This is not the case with Mum Flu.  Appetite and an almost pathological craving for sugar will increase and, despite your throat feeling like it is made from razor blades, do not be surprised to find that you eat more than ever.

Your appearance will not change. You always look tired anyway. It is quite likely that members of your immediate family will probably not notice that you are ill at all.

You may assume it is withdrawal from caffeine that causes these symptoms, but this is your bodies reaction to your body temperature rising. You are ill.

Expect to feel overwhelmed with self-pity. Do not be surprised if the smallest amount of sympathy that comes your way results in uncontrollable floods of tears. (my apologies to the pharmacist in Boots!)

You will have exactly 12 minutes from when you first show symptoms of illness to the point at which you will be expected to make a full recovery. Remember, children and husbands have needs that take priority over your own fragile state. You will find this is in your job description.

A swig of Calpol and a double-dose Berocca should just about get you through until lunchtime … at which point you will have lost the will to live and turned to wine anyway.

Pink Pear Bear
You Baby Me Mummy

Friday, 4 March 2016

Surprise Anniversary Mini-Break… WITHOUT MY CHILDREN!


My mind has just been blown into a million pieces.
‘TWO child free nights? 
NO Children at all? 
TWO lie-ins?
I’m feeling quite light headed as I try and process what I’ve just heard.
‘Do you need to sit down?’ My husband asks, obviously alarmed that I’m muttering ‘TWO LIE-INS? TWO ACTUAL LIE-INS?’ to myself over and over again.
That’s approximately 48 HOURS of time to ourselves? I calculate in disbelief.
‘Yes Lydia! This weekend! It’s all sorted. Your Sister is going to look after them.’
‘Sorry?’ I jolt back to reality with a bang. ‘Ellie is going to look after FOUR children for the whole weekend?’
‘Does she know?’ I ask.

5 a.m.
I get woken up by my four-year-old son, millimeters from my face…
‘Do you want to hear my new song Mummy?’
Did I shout that out loud? No. He’s still there …
‘There is a Pipe that needs a fixing, a pipe that needs a fixing,
a pipe that needs a fixing, because there is a BLOCKAGE!’
‘Wow, that is a lovely song sweetie.’
It’s far too early to try and understand why he is making up lyrics about plumbing. I hope that my positive parenting will buy me enough time to get at least another half an hour in bed.  It doesn’t.
7 a.m.
My husband leaves for work. As he closes the front door he casually says…
‘If you could just get the kids and all our stuff packed up I’ll come back at lunch-time.  Make sure you’re ready by 12.00ish’
‘Oh and Lydia? ...  pack your bikini’.
7 a.m. -9 a.m.
9.05 a.m.
Start diet.
10 a.m.
Pack the entire house (the kids are going to Ellie’s for one night)
·        Pajamas
·        Favorite teddy’s
·        Clothes for two days … pack enough for four, and be sure to cover all weather possibilities
·        Spare clothes … just to be on the safe side
·        Toothbrushes & toothpaste
10.30 a.m.
Walk into sitting room to discover that the kids have unpacked the bags and their teddies are now dressed in pajamas and having their teeth brushed.
11 a.m.
Eat a (double chocolate) cookie to help with the stress.
11.10 a.m.
Start diet again.
11.50 a.m.
Chuck clothes into a suitcase. Make lunch, whilst skipping and jumping on the spot to burn off calories.
12 p.m.
My husband calls to say he’s running late and he’ll pick me up at 5pm. 5pm??!!
*insert hysterical laughter*
4 p.m.
Ellie comes to the house.  I say my goodbyes to the children.
No tears. YAY!!
And they wave me off energetically. Quite frankly I don’t blame them.
4.02 p.m.
I head to a café to wait for Scott.
4.05 p.m.
Receive a text from Ellie saying that she forgot to bring extra milk and could I grab some before I go? And to leave it by the door so the children don’t see me.
4.15 p.m.
I buy milk and walk back towards the house.  I see my daughter through the window and, as she turns towards me, I dive onto the ground and crawl on all fours towards the door; dragging the bag alongside me. I cannot risk being seen.
I haul myself out of view. As I get up I realise I have laddered my brand new tights. I also realise that my neighbour is observing me from her sitting room with what can only be described as a ‘what the fuck is she up to now??’ expression on her face.
4.30 p.m.
Receive a text from Scott saying we are going straight out, no time to get changed, and he is on his way to pick me up.
Does he have ANY idea how much I need to de-mummy myself to feel even remotely half normal???
4.35 p.m.
Text from my sister.
‘Found the wine with the post-it stuck to it saying “DRINK ME, YOU’LL NEED IT”. I NEED it, so starting now…
JOKE. Thanks, now relax and have fun!’
4.45 p.m.
We are off.
I take a deep breath and tell myself that my sister will be fine. The kids will be fine, it’s all fine.
I have no idea where we are going. Wooohoooo. It’s so exciting!
Where are we going? I hope it’s somewhere nice where we can really make the most of our time alone together! Have a few drinks and stay out as late as we want!!!
8 p.m.
We arrive at a beautiful restaurant. I am flattered that my Husband didn’t think I needed to change, but I’m going to kill him.
8.30 p.m. Scott surprises me with spa treatments for the next day! Yaaaaaaaaay! Suspiciously convenient that the golf is on … but woohoo!

9 p.m.
I’ve had two glasses of vino and I’m pisssed and I want to go to sleeeeeeep
10 p.m.
Oh god shots…
More shots…
Thanksss god im javing a lieinn tomriieow
12 a.m.  – In the hotel room checking out the complimentary products in the bathroom
Oooooh look. Buvvle bath, conditenerr and a shower caaapz…!

7 a.m.
I just about manage to open my eyes enough to see the time on my phone. Arghhhhhhh MY HEAD!!!  IT’S 7 IN THE MORNING!!! It can’t be! I shut my eyes again tightly, willing myself to go back to sleep.
As I turn on my side, I hear a rustling noise, I realise with horror that I’m wearing…
Adding to my allure is the fact that I have a large clothes tag still attached to my silky night dress, my husband stirs and I turn over with such panic that I fall out of bed…

Mami 2 Five

Pink Pear Bear

Life, Love and Dirty Dishes

Monday, 22 February 2016

Soft Play

I scan the Soft Play area for the fifth time.

Where the hell is he?

'It’s ok. He can’t have gone far.’ I tell myself, trying not to panic.

What WERE we thinking?

Soft Play ...
On a rainy day ...
The weekend before half term!

Finally; I spot him emerging from 'the ball pit'.  He looks red faced and upset and rushes over to me, desperate to tell me something, he’s in such a state he can barely get the words out.

'I got stuck in the tunnel slide.'  He gasps 'I was in there for ages! One of the bigger Children got me out.' He looks visibly upset.

‘Oh my darling!’ I cry! Pulling him towards me for a reassuring hug. ‘Are you ok? Maybe you should have a bit of a sit down for a while.’ I guide him towards a chair.

‘Yes. I think I need one. It’s a fucking nightmare in there!’

My husband falls back into the chair and tries to get his breath back.

‘I’ll go in and find the Children then.' I say apprehensively. 'Wish me luck.’

'You'll need more then luck. It’s like Ninja Warrior Uk in there.'

Life Love and Dirty Dishes

Wednesday, 20 January 2016

New Year's Resolutions: Part 2

To Learn Something New/Evening Course

(AKA Get my husband home early to do the bedtime routine)

I’m flicking through the college brochure and reading out the options to my husband, who is nodding supportively at all my suggestions. It’s only when he shouts, ‘YESSS! GET IN!!’ when I ask him if I should do an over fifties fitness course (I am struggling with fitness aimed at people in their thirties), that I realise he’s not listening to anything I’m saying. He is, in actual fact, watching a ‘Top Gear Challenge.’

‘What about Pole Dancing?’ I’m ACTUALLY looking at a knitting course. Equally as unlikely.

‘SORRY. WHAT??!!!’ he reacts predictably.

‘I thought that would get your attention!’

I dismiss an Art Class (I’m still at stick man level of drawing). Textiles and Cake Decorating? Who has time for that?

And then I spot ‘Creative Writing’.

YES! That’s it! I can totally visualise myself as a successful author. I shall transform myself from a ‘blogger’ into a Creative Writing Literacy Genius in just eight weeks!

I shall sign up for the course immediately.


I walk into a grey, claustrophobic room filled with intellectual looking writer types.  No one is talking.  This was a BIG mistake. I sit in the only chair not already taken. It’s right at the front of the room.  I look around nervously. WHY OH WHY didn’t I just give up alcohol like everybody else?

‘Welcome! Let’s learn a little bit about each other shall we? (I die a little inside)

I’ll go around the room. Please tell everyone your name, a bit about yourself and the last book you really enjoyed. Let’s start with you on the end.’

I breathe a big sigh of relief as she gestures towards a man sitting on the opposite side of the room. This has bought me a few precious minutes to delve into the depths of my tired brain and extract an impressive sounding title, but I can’t think of a single book, impressive or otherwise.

Oh Fuckety Fuck! It’s nearly my turn. My empty mind goes blanker still as I hear someone introduce themselves as a screen-writer, whose favorite book is by a Russian surrealist with an unpronounceable name.

It appears I’m next as the whole room is smiling encouragingly at me. P-A-N-I-C!

‘My name is erm … err … mm …’

The tutor glances down at a piece of paper on her desk. ‘Lydia??’ she offers, helpfully.

‘Oh yes! Hahaha, that is indeed my name.’ I then turn my increasingly red face towards the woman sitting next to me and cross my arms defensively.  I’m hoping that my body language is speaking for me and the teacher will move on to her.  She doesn’t.

‘So Lydia, please tell everyone the name of a book that you’ve really lost yourself in. One that really inspired you?’

I say the first thing that comes into my head … ‘The Gruffalo?’

I here several sniggers, and then the room goes silent. This is worse than School.

The rest of the class doesn’t improve, and as an exercise we are given the word ‘Hello’ and told to ‘write’ for ten minutes. 

I have already decided that creative writing is not for me.  I have a much more achievable goal in mind, starting with reading a book. Anything, just as long as it’s not Grazia. Or the Gruffalo. 

With this in mind I spend the exercise doodling, looking at the clock and writing nonsense, assuming that we will be keeping it to ourselves. Or handing it in.

I was wrong.

Right! Let’s start on this side of the room this time! Lydia? Please read it out to the rest of the class.

Oh my good God. NO!!

‘I really don’t think you would want, erm, I mean I haven’t written very much …’

‘I know it’s difficult to be the first, but have faith in your creativity and enjoy the process ...


‘I really can’t, I mean I…’

‘Come on now, we are all in here to learn.’

Right then. Here goes.

I tentatively start to read, trying to ignore everyone else in the room.

‘Hello, it’s me. I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet to go over everything.  They say that time’s supposed to heal you, but I haven’t done much healing.  Hello? Can you hear me?  I’m in Calif ... Twickenham? Dreaming about who we used to be…’

I grimace and wait for the laughter.

‘Wow! That was really beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing it with us.’

‘Thank you Adele’, I mutter under my breath.

Everyone nods and smiles in agreement. Except for one woman, who looks like she is desperately trying to remember something.

Luckily they move on to someone else before she busts me. 

I get the hell out of there as soon as I possibly can.

So, eight-week Creative Writing Course? DONE

Right, what’s next on the list?

Life Love and Dirty Dishes

A Bit Of Everything

Friday, 8 January 2016

New Years Resolutions: Part 1

Get Fit

‘Seven … Eight ... Nine …

Well done ladies! You are half way through the sit ups.’

‘Come on Mummy you can dooo itttt!’

‘It might be easier, my darling, if you weren’t. Jumping. Up. And. Down. On. My ... arghhhh ... STOMACH!’

‘You’re like a bouncy castle Mummy,’ my daughter giggles before she lands on me again. With both elbows.

I am about to engage in the pointless exercise of trying to explain to a two and half year-old what demoralizing means, but I can’t get the words out. Or breathe for that matter. I contemplate requesting an ambulance as I reflect on the advertising that sold the class to me in the first place.

‘Bring your children.’ IT SAID

‘A relaxing and fun atmosphere.’ IT SAID

‘A really great workout.’ IT SAID

I survey the room of Mums lying on the floor, one of whom has her baby lying on her chest and I think might have actually fallen asleep. The woman next to her has a random Cheerio stuck to her face. Her son is kneeling next to her and she is feeding him a raisin after each sit up.

I silently shout at the room, ‘WHY ARE WE DONG THIS TO OURSELVES!!! WHY?! I ASK YOU!!?’

‘Right everybody!!’ The woman with the impossibly tiny waist shouts above the noise of all the children in the room.

‘Time for a tea break?’ I ask, hopefully.

Ignoring me, she launches into a combination of lunges, kicks and boxing moves that would put the Ninja Turtles to shame.

I, on the other hand, narrowly miss kicking my son in the head. And he was looking so cute beside me trying to follow the instructor’s moves.

Following years of toddler song and dance groups he assumes he will get a broken biscuit and some juice for his efforts, and demands one as soon as the reps are finished. I sprint to the buggy to get him a biscuit, hurdling several babies and toddlers on the way.

I get back. He wants juice.

I run back to get the juice.

‘Mummy! I want a drink too,’ my daughter cries.

I continue to race back and forth to the buggy for tissues. And crisps. And raisins. And toys ...

‘OK ladies. That’s your 5-minute rest break over.’

Over?! I collapse in a breathless heap on the floor.

‘Are you ok?’ The instructor asks, standing over me.

‘Totally,’ I gasp.

‘Are you eating a biscuit?’  She asks, astonished.

‘Mmmm. No?’ I mumble.

She looks at me suspiciously and then strides back to the front of the hall on her ridiculously toned Amazonian legs.

‘We are going to do a ten-minute jog and then move onto a series of floor exercises,’ she says. ‘Sadist,’ I mutter.

Everyone in the class runs from one end of the hall to the other. Out of the corner of my eye I spot my Lil Man snatch some Pom Bear crisps from a smaller child. He freezes when he realizes he’s been busted, then legs it. 

I chase after him, but the little bugger is fast. He weaves in and out of the other Mums. I make a mental note – maybe that Sunday morning rugby club is paying off after all!

One of the mums is jogging with her daughter clinging resiliently to her ankle. I have serious respect for this lady.

My boy is now leaving a trail of Pom Bears in his wake. My daughter is running along behind him, eating them off the floor. I am out of breath.

Hindered by two weeks of festive over-indulgence it takes me a while, but I finally catch up with my little rascal, snatch the crisps back from him (whilst telling him off for snatching) and return them to the, by now, seriously pissed off toddler. 

With a child under each arm, I do a final lap of shame.

‘Right! Well done ladies. That’s the warm up over.’


‘Now we are going to go into our plank positions’.




I think quickly.

‘Sorry princess? What did you say? Not now surely?’

‘I didn’t say anything Mummy’.

‘Shhhhhhh,’ I whisper.

‘You are really desperate for the toilet?’

I sigh loudly and dramatically, ‘We had better go then.’

‘But I don’t need the toilet’.

‘Oh yes you do!’

Life Love and Dirty Dishes

Super Busy MUm

A Bit Of Everything