• Youtube Ban


    Youtube Ban

    Many an early morning I have relied on Youtube or Youtube for kids giving me an extra thirty minutes of peace. I have been able to shower and shave whilst my child entertains herself with my phone. It has indeed spared many a moments of me going insane whilst trying to multitask life and a toddler. And I was thankful.

    However, I then started to witness her spending twenty minutes jaw opened watching a child open 150 Shopkins toys. 150!! Why any company believes it is healthy for a small child to be showered with such a ridiculous quantity of toys was just mind blowing.

    How a parent could then film their child opening them was to be honest horrific. My small, precious sponge of a child was absorbing this into her teeny brain.

    Youtube Ban

    Bloody Eggs

    Eggs. How and why did that turn into a thing?

    Let me tell you about eggs. I hate them, they make my blood boil.

    2017 and forget about working on world peace, let’s watch eggs being opened. Let’s watch Asian people saying ‘Open Open SUPRISE’ on repeat. Let’s sit and let our neurons slide out of our eyeballs as children are filmed opening chocolate/plastic eggs.

    The worst part is children love and are obsessed with these Youtube videos.

    I remember the first time Phoebe saw a real “egg’ in a shop and her head almost combusted.

    EGGS!!!!! what are you teaching our children. I tell you what you are doing, You are stunting tiny minds. You are making parents feel stabby all over the world.

    I almost cancelled Easter in our house because of Youtube and their eggs.

    Youtube Ban

    Really. I mean Really!!

    I had to make it stop.

    The thing is, people are making Youtube clips turning innocent shows into aggressive, demeaning, offensive and often violent videos and we have no control over stopping them if we give free reign of our phones/tablets.

    I loved being able to cut her nails in peace, I could cry trying to iron with a toddler trying to help and waking up and having to chat whilst you are still in sleep mode is for sure hard work.

    But I feel million times better knowing she is not being subjected to zombie shows and influenced by greed. That she won’t get angry because she wants to watch more of  Chase and Skye having a bath in chocolate whilst an annoying American woman spurts word vomit.

    That though Groundhog Day it can sometimes feel, that time really is fast and the years are short and that maybe stories at 6.30am and old episodes of Meg and Mog won’t kill you.

    So Bye Youtube, I hope the trend of Eggs, Paw Patrol pissing on each other and 1095 play dough videos fades away quickly.

    Do not even get me started on playdough videos…

    Youtube Ban

     

     

  • Letters To My Fanny – Book Review


     

    letters to my Fanny

    Book Review – Letters To My Fanny by Cherry Healey

     

    I always believed in Mallory Towers. Heck I wanted to go there so badly, I begged my mum to look up boarding schools for me.

    Obviously I assumed all played lacrosse and had girls named Mary-Lou and Gwendoline there just waiting for a midnight snack and a prank or two.

    As a young girl,  Enid Blyton captured my mind and transported me to a place I so badly wanted to be a part of.

    I think I, amongst others, read Are you there god, it’s me Margaret and immediately did the “I must, I must, I must increase my bust”. It did not work for many a year.

    A nation of girls wept with laughter, and cringed with embarrassment at Forever. Ralph staining the minds of teens for a very long long time.

    Judy Blume grasped that teenage angst concept and pelted it into reality. She shared the reality of teen problems and made us not feel alienated. And she did it so well.

    These books stayed with me, they came from school to college to university to flat, to house, through puberty, to adulthood. They reside on my shelf just waiting to be passed on to my daughter like a rite of passage.

    Here darling, let your mind be filled with words that will ease you through the waiting for your period stage. The why don’t boys like me? and the what to do next part.

    Then I became an adult and though my book obsession never eased, it was filled with Voltaire, Douglas Coupland, Hunter S Thompson and such.

    There was a void though. A hole that needed filling. Yes my knowledge was savvy. My book shelf ticked all the right hipster boxes. Hell I could recite Valley Of The Dolls to you and discuss A Confederacy Of Dunces with great emotion.

    Where was that book, that book that made going through all the creepy adulthood things seem so normal ?

    Yes I let a little wee out, when Frank Skinner wrote about his mouth toilet paper collection bit. However it was not enough, he was a man. He couldn’t understand really.

    Then Caitlin Moran opened up the floodgates. No not the sheet staining, stab me in my womb gates. She flooded pages upon pages about the trials and tribulations of being a woman. About growing up a woman. Her pages were virtually a giant pop up vagina shouting “SEE WHAT I HAVE HERE”. and it was appreciated. Truly.

    Then I did that thing, where I did a little whoopee and a baby was born. My whole life as I thought I knew it was transformed into something resembling Twin Peaks mating with the Gilmore Girls but they cried a whole lot more and instead of coffee it was always about wine. Always!

    The search was on again for some words. Words that understood. Words that were not there to vanilla up the body ruining, heart breaking my god my body has just died a death, but I love my tiny human. Real words.

    Cherry Healey – Letters To my Fanny. This was it. The book I needed.

    She understood why I prayed for pubes and then tied the two in a bow. She got why I kept sanitary pads waiting and waiting for my period then the disappointment ruining it all.

    She birthed two humans and her body was put through the rigours of pain, change, emotions, exhaustion, sadness.

    And she penned it so well. She wrote a book like she was having  the best conversation with Enid, Judy and Caitlin and it was in Mallory Towers and they just understood real life.

    The real nitty gritty life. The no filters, raw, it hurts, it is disgusting, hard, it is magical. A life that so many experience but do not dare to discuss or share or simply cannot find the words.

    So if you are a woman, you have a vagina, or you have delivered a child like Ripley releasing that Alien then I can not recommend this book enough.

    In a time where feminism is riding high but woman are still treated with such disregard in so many aspects of life, it should be treasured when a great book discovery is made and words have the potential to unite.

    I mean, we are women hear us roar. Or for those who have birthed, we are women hear us scream, howl, cry, tuck our Naff Naff style C section bumbag pouches in.

    Cherry Healey – Letters To My Fanny is available on Amazon to buy and the super mama herself is also on Instagram.

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Grandparents


    One day grandparents were born.

    A challenge given to them: To love these children almost like their own.

    To give their children the ability to go to work, to let them go out with friends, feel like humans, lie in occasionally.

    These grandparents rose to the challenge like soldiers at war, like contestants of the Crystal Maze, like nurses, like mums queuing at 5am at the Next sales.

    And they did it.They loved these children almost like they were their own. They made their grandchildren feel like royalty, like winners, like they could be anything they wanted to be.

    And what a prize they won. Grandchildren to love, almost like their own.

  • Soft play


    Soft play: Why do I do it to myself. What kind of fresh hell is this?

    I often make the mistake of suggesting soft play and within two minutes of walking in, I instantly regret it. A place I am thankful my child has had her jabs. A place I want to dip my child in Milton after visiting.

    If they are too big, I feel uncomfortable watching my child run in every direction and fear losing her or her being swallowed by a 30 year old inflatable clown, If they are too small I watch my child lose interest and start to head butt the slide out of boredom.

    People tell me it is a place where you can relax whilst your child runs around. I think this is only applicable to children who are not going through the stage of “let’s see how my new found wrestling skills are working out”. It is not relaxing, there will be no chatting between mothers unless you count screaming across the play area “Jenny grab Phoebe’s legs will you, she seems to be stuck in a net” chatting.

    A place where in the space of three minutes you witness a child of questionable soft play age, pole dancing up a padded beam. A toddler licking every ball to check for new flavours, hand foot and mouth being one of them and a hyperactive 3 year old playing “If I run really fast up it and then jump down, how many babies can I knock over”

    Miserable staff walking around pretending to disinfect the push along cars with a look that says “I hate children, when can I drink wine”. Children running around like they have been injected with sugar and told to attack. Parents glazing over them with a look that says “I hate children, when can I drink wine”.

    I am sure there are lovely soft plays, I am sure there are places where you do not fear jumping in the pool pit and exiting with a brown foot. I am sure some parents get to converse over a tea and cake whilst their children play beautifully. I just do not believe there are many.

    And if they do exist, I reckon I need to go to Narnia to find them.

     

     

     

     

     

  • Oh little child


    I am partial to a bit of a rhyme. This was unintentional. I have a tendency to word splurge at really random times.
    I wrote this in about one minute after administering Calpol to Phoebe. After witnessing my child bite the door in anger, lie on the floor shouting “Nooooo Peppa ssh”, then get up and kiss me.
    Parenthood is a rainbow of weirdness, brilliance, crap, unexpected moments, joy, exhaustion and amazing.

    Oh little child that I did birth
    A girl that would be all mine
    Little did I know
    How different I would spend my time.
    From days out with friends
    seeing animals and eating cake.
    Being trapped in the house
    begging poo to make it’s escape.
    Teething, biting and slapping friends heads
    Singing twinkle twinkle to me as I put her to bed.
    Mama meets and making friends for life
    500 episodes of Peppa Pig
    causing serious puddle strife.
    Rashes and coughs
    does my child have the pox.
    Finding week old rice cakes
    festering in the toy box.
    Taking way too many pictures
    that no one really wants to see.
    Imagining a million different scenarios
    of what my little girl will grow up to be.
    Going out with friends and promising
    not to talk about little ones
    thirty minutes into the night
    we are discussing teething and the runs
    sometimes wishing that my life was a little easier that I had a bit more time to be free.
    Then when alone, looking at pictures of her and thinking this is how it is meant to be.

  • Sleeping babe


    Now my toddler sleeps through. Someone said to me how nice it must be to not be tired anymore.
    Not tired anymore!!!
    I still run around after a toddler all day long who currently behaves like the worst version of a stunt man.
    I get asked on 80 different occasions to play Raa Raa on youtube. I also experience mini tantrums on 80 different occasions when I say no.
    I rarely sit down but when I do, I am playing Row Row or “Isn’t this fake plastic ice cream lovely”
    I spend many hours outside in all weather on the swings or walking my child around in hope of a nap.
    I am a personal chef and a motivational “come on try this hidden veg, crappy pasta” speaker.
    I balance being a mother and barely competent adult.
    I spend all day clearing up, ground hog day style.
    I perform, educate, entertain, discipline. Even when ill or not feeling like being a human that day.
    I don’t go to bed when my child goes to bed.
    Do I really appreciate my child sleeping through and feel less like an extra from the walking dead? Yes.
    Do I still feel tired? I am a mum. Of course I bloody do,
    A x

  • Other people’s children


    I love children. I really do but since becoming a mum my patience for other people’s children has really decreased.
    Thoughts I regularly have about other people’s children.
    Stop licking my child. I do not want any more germy, sleepless sick nights.
    At soft play: lob the ball at my child one more time and I am coming in there.
    At playgroup: Thanks for allowing your child to eat the fake dry wotsits my child loves, whilst my child looks at me with Bambi eyes and then tantrums wanting a snack.
    Get your man giant child out of the playground area, quite obviously allocated for the drunk like toddlers.
    Yes I know you don’t know that my child drinks from the same make bottle as your child, but now my child is screaming for milk and all I have is a beaker of water.
    Ahh it is sweet that your child wants to explore my child’s face but it is not a sensory basket.
    I have come to your child’s party and there are no party bags! Why did I even get dressed today.
    Anyone else feel the same way?

  • A mothers day ode:


    A mothers day ode:

    I made a little person
    You grew inside my tum
    For nine months you were inside of me
    I couldn’t feel my bum

    I was sick and oh so tired,
    From sleeping sitting up
    My boobs were really tender
    And I always felt full up.
    My hormones were quite scary
    Hot flushes just a joke.
    And you often gave my ribs and front bum
    A cracking little poke.

    I couldn’t see my feet and
    I peed when I laughed
    Farting was horrendous
    And I was a partial to a barf.

    But when the end became so near
    It suddenly became so real.
    This tiny person inside of me
    Was actually a big deal.

    And on the day you were evicted
    It felt a bit like torture.
    But here you are
    This tiny star.
    A beautiful little daughter.

    Suddenly the pains and fears
    Had turned into joy
    You were my child, my missing piece
    My forever little toy.

    And through the tears and sleepless nights
    The times when it has felt so hard
    All the other amazing moments with you
    Feel like the winning card.

    So I guess what I am trying to say to you,
    My gorgeous little cloud
    Is thanks for choosing me as your mum
    I hope I do you proud.

  • Battle of the buldge


    Body Battles:

    You should have army training before you enter motherhood because there are so many wars. Sleep wars, feeding wars, getting dressed wars, teething wars. The list could go on.
    I reckon I would be at leuitenant ranking by now after all the battles I have been through.

    The current one I am going through is a body battle. This one seems to be neverending.
    Some days I am winning and with plates adorned with avocado, asparagus, kale and the tears of Gwyneth Paltrow, I am fighting fit, going to the gym. Feeling like I am heading in the right direction for the pre baby pile of clothes, I daren’t touch.
    The next day I am face planting into a tiger loaf and eating my childs leftovers as well as my dinner and proclaiming “I don’t bloody care what I look like anymore”

    I just can’t win. Though I am not entirely sure what exactly what I am fighting for because I am 35 and I basically pooped out my metabolism when I turned 30. I also carried a sideways baby who left their house via the roof, so am now fashioning a rather Naff Naff style c section bumbag.

    Maybe I should just hold up my white flag and surrender.

  • The Weekend?


    Single parenthood and the weekend:

    “It’s Fridaaaaaay. Thank god the week is over” This is something I don’t often think anymore. Though I know parenthood never really stops for anyone. As a single parent I often dread the weekend.
    For most this is a time they think “phew I can spend time with my partner, share the roles a bit”
    For me this is often my most isolated time. A time when not being in a two parent family is highlighted at it’s most.

    Don’t get me wrong. I often have lovely weekends and I do see friends, but compared to my week which is full, fruitful and often surrounded by friends, the weekend can be lonely, families want to be with their families.

    I feel envious of my family who quite understandably want to relax on the weekend and when I see them reading the Sunday papers by the fire and I am chasing a toddler who doesn’t want their pants on, it is exhausting.

    I miss movie marathons, I miss crisp sandwiches and painting my nails. I miss Sundays.

    After a lifetime of counting down to the weekend, I now countdown to the week when I can immerse myself with my friends again.

    Who knew I would want to be painting the shed on a saturday then strolling to the pub for a family drink, whilst my casserole is in the oven.

    I guess having a child really brought the Brady Bunch out in me.

    Pfft.