Wednesday, 17 August 2016

The house I sold but not the house I live in!

So as I have mentioned before, I am in the process of moving home!

It is really tossing stressful!

It was soo hard to get the house looking smart and tidy and into a state that would convince people to pay for it rather than just demolish it!

Over the last five years we have spent a lot of money on our home and we had really got it into a condition that we were proud of, decorated in a way that we loved.

Looks great doesn't it?

 Wouldn't you love to live in a house that looks like this?


I would love to this in this house, this beautifully tidy, well organised, lovely home.

But I don't!

I live in this house...........................


 This is the house that I live in!

My house in all its filthy fucked up glory!

My daughter is only laughing in this photo as she knows how badly her brother is going to have trashed the living room.........

And here he is doing so!

I would love to be able to say that when the kids go to bed it is transformed back into the clean and tidy house I first showed you, but it isn't!

It mostly stays exactly as pictured here!

This isn't even as bad as it gets, there is no play-doh or paint out and the kids are still wearing their clothes, so this was definitely a good day!

I justify my house looking like this by reasoning that if I were to be burgled whilst I was out the intruders would just assume someone had beaten them to it and leave. It is basically a home protection measure!

So this is why we're moving! Because our lovely house, that we bought and decorated with no thought to kids, is trashed on a daily basis. There is shit piled upon shit, that a toddler has then weed all over!

I can't wait to move. Since having found a new house and accepted an offer on ours, the house has shrunk. Before deciding to move I loved it and found the state of it amusing but now I have begun to resent it and hate it, and say rude things when it's back is turned.

So bring on the move...that has been moved from September and now to October!

In the mean time, I shall sit amongst the wee covered mess and drink wine!

My Random Musings

Monday, 15 August 2016

How to Care For a Stay at Home Parent.

Caring for a stay at home parent.

This is a useful care guide for all partners of a stay at home parent. Think of it as a 'how to care for your Guinea pig' but way more useful.


Make sure that whilst you may be busy showering, walking the dog, shaving or applying make up you take time to make them a caffeinated beverage of some kind. The likelyhood is they are not going to have time to make one for themselves for some hours to come. The parent you are leaving at home is much less likely to eat your young if you take this simple precaution.
If you have a particularly unpredictable partner it may be best to air on the side of caution and provide sustenance of some kind...perhaps put some toast on whilst brushing your teeth! Low blood sugar and feral children may result in less family members on your return from work.

During the working day

If you call you hard working stay at home parenting partner do not ask on the phone "what's for tea?" This will be met by hostility and may result in further eating of the offspring or you suffering a later 'accidental' case of genital mutilation. Instead always advisable to ask more positive, inspiring questions such as "what can I pick up on my way home?" If time does not allow for midday phone calls again air on the side of caution and pick up food or alcoholic beverages (or both) en route.
If you are unsure of the mood that your at home parent may be in, I suggest buying the full house: red white and rose... If you fear the worst buy gin and chocolate too.


On returning from work, no matter how desperate you are for a piss remember you probably went more recently than they did. So don't rush up the stairs (or down the corridor if you're really lucky) cross your legs say hello and see if they leap up first! If your happy greeting is met by declarations of hatred and loathing this can be a sign of chronic hanger. It is always wise in these situations to provide a blood sugar boost to the stay at home parent; toast, an apple, a biscuit, fuck it a pork pie if there is one going. They may not have eaten since you last saw them!

Once you have ensured they have peed and had a snack if they are still a little furrowed in the forehead and you are seeing hostility this is the time to show the food and/or beverages that you stopped for. If this has no apparent effect on their mood check their hygiene levels. They may need a shower or a bath.

Once fed and watered and washed your stay at home parent should begin to regain some more of their human qualities and speech. This is the time you can feel free to talk about your shitty day and ask about theirs. It is advisable before you relax completely that you check whether there are any hidden IEDs and ensure you have kissed your children read them stories and offered to cook tea (or wash up if dinner has already been provided).

If all these things have been achieved you can be sure you can sit down and relax in front of a tv show you did not get to choose.

Remember when you are climbing in to your clean bedding and washed pyjamas that although you may believe in fairies they do not do your laundry. Nor do they feed your children, sing nursery rhymes on repeat or endlessly build towers, do puzzles or scrub crayon off the walls and furniture! That is your partner!

If you would like a fairy do these things they can, but they are called nannies and they cost money. And despite the fatigue and the slightly crumpled look, your partner will likely not want the fairy. They will just want you to acknowledge that they are doing a good job!

If you have successfully cared for your stay at home parent you can look forward to some kind of show of affection before falling asleep, a hug, a kiss, a smile... If you are really lucky you may get some...but don't count on it!
My Random Musings
My Kid Doesn't Poop Rainbows

Tuesday, 9 August 2016

Uninspiring inspiration to blog!

This has been my first blog in ages.

I have been bogged down by solicitors and estate agents preparing for a move and every time I try to write I just stop mid way. This evening my toddler has hit a new low. He has now tipped me over the edge of despair to pure fucking exasperation but has also given me the inspiration that I have been lacking.

It turns out that no matter how much other shit that is happening in your life your kids will always be the ones that cause you to question yourself the most! I have tried reasoning and negotiating in my house move and no matter how many concessions or extra money I have offered I cannot get a completion date before October. Fine. I did my best.

But with my used to go to bed silently and sleep to morning toddler, there apparently is no negotiating. There is no concession!

Over the last week something has happened. He has been replaced by this completely horrid tantruming little shit bag that refuses to go to bed and has more staying power than than a Geordie at an open bar!! (I say this as my husband is one so I know!)

He now throws an almighty head for as soon as he is put in his bed and is straight out and stood screaming at the gate. I have tried books and songs, I have tried bargaining.


I then, after several warning, smacked his bum (mildly I am not a monster!) nothing! In fact when threatened with it a second time he presented me his backside!!

This evening I brought him screaming downstairs on to the naughty step where he sat quietly for 20 minutes. When then offered the choice of continuing on the step or going to bed he chose the step!! What the actual fuck!?! After a further 15 minutes he got off the naughty step so was put back in his bed.

He is, as I write screaming at the gate. Don't be fooled into believing there is something wrong.

There isn't.

If we eventually give in and go and get him he stops crying immediately and starts to chat with a winner's smile. I fear we only have ourselves to blame. He is after all a mixture of my husband and I. A mixture of wilful and pure fucking bloody mindedness!

So I have broken my pity fuelled writers block and am now inspired to ask where the chuff do I go from here?

In all honestly I am, quite frankly, fresh out of fucks at this point. I have the Olympics and wine and am hoping that my staying power out weighs that of a toddler!

On the plus side the baby could sleep through Armageddon which is honestly how it sounds in here at the moment.

So I bid you all a good night, I however will be putting the subtitles on the gymnastics and will numb the pain with a bottle of Sauvignon blanc!

The Diary of an 'Ordinary' Mum
My Kid Doesn't Poop Rainbows

Sunday, 3 July 2016

Dog piss and picnics!

So anyone with small children will know that going out for a 'nice' picnic can be a difficult enough task at the best of times.

Twice this week I have attempted it and twice it has been ruined. Today quite literally pissed upon!

Monday my Mayte and I went for a walk to burn off the bum and had a picnic in the local park estate.

There we sat with 2 toddlers and two babes. The toddlers were eating their picnics nicely and I was feeding my baby her first taste of mangoes (thanks to a lovely Ella's pouch). My little girl was loving it! She thought this was quite amazing.

Until a a cocker spaniel came running through our picnic up ending the toddlers snacks and rummaging through baby bags.

I grabbed the dog by the collar and waited for the owner to eventually appear!

"Oh he's not dangerous!" Well not the point but fine. We asked that they put the dog on the lead if he couldn't be recalled.

The owner walked 100 yards away with the dog in arm and then put it back down.

At this point the little bugger ran full speed back to us with purpose, snatched the toddlers snacks away and then proceeded to run about all over our things. Whist removing the babies from its path I had had to put the pouch down which the dog then grabbed and ate!

Well fuck me! The guy just ran back over laughing! I wasn't. My baby's first pouch gone, the Tupperware with teeth marks in it and the rest of the food for the kids now inside a dog!

Another half arsed apology and the man was gone. Pissed off we went to the pub for wine and chips.

My baby settled for boob and to be honest no lasting harm was done. Although I proceeded to bitch about it for the next several hours!

Then today again, my husband and I are sat having a picnic (in a different park). The toddler is eating his sandwiches and the baby is kicking about on the floor. A dog wanders over. I put my arm between the baby and the dog, and the owner shouts at me from 100 yards. "For god sake he won't do anything!"

Except it did! The fucking thing pissed all over my baby bag. Soaking the nappies, the snacks, the spare clothes and everything else in stinking urine!!

"Well I didn't know it was going to that!" Was all the owner said! And with that she walked off!

Needless to say I did not handle it with much class or decorum. I was fucking livid. The little girl that she was with (don't know if it was her daughter) apologised to me and ran after the woman shouting at her for not saying sorry.

I heard her say that she had apologised. She hadn't and I lost it. I walked over to her and pointed out that she hadn't had the curtesy to apologise to me. She laughed and said there wasn't anything she could do anyway. I considered walloping the woman but thought better of it. Childishly I called her a chav and stormed off. Not my finest hour.

I was so fricking mad but what can you do in these situations? Sodding nothing!

What makes it worse is we have to leave our dog at home when we do these things because she is such a little shit, she just barks at any other dog that comes near us. But because she is such a little shit she is kept on the lead when we do go out.

Why just because someone doesn't consider their dog to be dangerous do they think they can let it do what ever it damn well feels like? A dog doesn't need to be aggressive to be dangerous it just needs to be poorly controlled.

I quite frankly think that from now on I am going to take my little Hellion dog out with me for picnics and the next time someone's dog comes trampling through, they can take their chances with her!

Erghhhh pass the wine!

The Pramshed

Saturday, 2 July 2016

3 years ago today I gave up on ever having a baby

3 years ago today we ended our attempts to have our own children. It is crazy how it all happened. I felt today that since I have started a blog and have a policy of painful honesty I would share my story.

It started 7 years ago. I was 23.

I had been to the doctor as I hadn't had a period in months. I had had a series of cysts that had been a pretty vile experience and so thought I had better be checked out. My GP ran some tests and I had never really thought any more of it.

Then a follow up appointment dropped a life shattering bomb shell. I was infertile. I didn't ovulate.

My GP grabbed the bull by the horns and had my husband (then boyfriend) 's sperm tested.

Well! There it was. A sperm count that would make children all but impossible.

As I was so young we were told if we wanted even a snowball's chance in hell we should be referred for fertility treatment immediately.

We had not even considered babies at this point, I was 23 going on 17, a student nurse and completely piss poor. It all just sort of ran away from us.

Before we knew it we were in front of a consultant. Thoughts of sperm or egg donors in our mind. After further testing my husband's swimmers were fine, if not a little lazy.

The Clomifine commenced and so did the scheduled bonking. We had sex whether we liked it or not. Whether we liked each other of not.

I peed on sticks to see if I was ovulating and at times I would see the smiley face! I would get so excited. I would have my bloods done and be so sure when we next saw the consultant it would be good news. It never was. The smiley face had lied. They test for the wrong hormone and they don't mean it when they smile.

18 months of false hope and mocking smiles.  I had not ovulated, I couldn't be pregnant.

On we went to the IUI and the daily injections. As a (now qualified) nurse the injections didn't phase me, if anything I felt like in a weird way it could make them work better as I was an expert in stabbing people with needles. I could stab myself better than anyone.

Well if the stress of the treatment isn't enough, the overwhelming desire for it to work, the fucking roller coaster of hormones, hope and then hopelessness was all but unbearable. Then once someone decides you may have a follicle that is almost passable you have the treatment. My husband at the first of these actually told me he felt violated for me. It is pretty fucked up. 2 women have a chat around your what-not checking a bottle of your partners junk before shoving it  up you with a straw. Pretty gruesome.

By the third time all dignity had gone out the window. All sense of privacy or ownership over my own body parts had gone and I was joining in the chats with the nurses as they checked my details with my legs in the air and my hoo-ha on display.

After 3 rounds of this, 3 rounds of stabbing myself with drugs, shoving progesterone in places that should only ever be 'out holes'...nothing.

The only thing that had changed was that my mental health was in pieces and my desire for a baby was immeasurable.

Onwards we went. ICSI next. Well shit the bed! How I didn't top myself is actually quite beyond me. Some days I would lie on the landing crying, unable to move. My husband once rang me and I was so hysterical he left work to check on me. Honestly I think he had prepared himself for the worst. Hormones being hormones however had seen me have a complete and spontaneous recovery and I was sat drinking tea in the kitchen.

I never really considered my husband in all of it at the time. My emotions, and hormones and generally pretty broken state of mind were all consuming. I was completely selfish, but even with hindsight I don't see how I could have been anything different. I don't really know how I made it through.

I missed my sisters 30th, our niece's christening had to be rescheduled and I had to take unpaid time off work. And all for nothing.

So many people offered us the money that we couldn't find to try again but I was done. I couldn't survive any more. I knew it and so did my husband.

July 2011 I came to terms with the fact that I would never have my own children. I would never know what it was to be pregnant.

We decided to adopt. It was a decision that lifted all the burden. I wanted to be a mummy so much, it was all I could think about. They didn't need to have my genes to be my children. My husband I think was just relieved to have me back from the brink and being the wonderful man that he is hot behind the idea 100%.

We were all ready to go with the adoption, we had references from friends and family and our social worker knew more about us than our own family did.

Then one day in Tesco I was doing my weekly shop and I turned into a crazy woman. I started buying spinach and piles of fruit. I bought multi vitamins and put the wine back on the shelf. I then stood in the women's aisle like a complete mental case picking up and putting back the Tampax until I eventually went and purchased a pregnancy test. I had no reason to think for a moment I could be pregnant but some how I just knew I was.

12 tests later and a lot of tears and there it was I was pregnant. How? Who the chuff knows? But I was.

3 months after having known I would never have my own baby there I was pregnant.

3 years later and I have just put not only my first but also my second baby in their bed.

Our bodies are wonderful things. I apologise for the whopping length of my post. But that's my story. That's how I had my babies after knowing I would never have one.

I hope anyone else that is going through similar can take comfort in my story. It was long but it had a happy ending!

The Pramshed
Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday

Friday, 1 July 2016

I want to be you when I grow up!

I am very quickly becoming a bit of a lot of a blogging addict. Not just writing, I'm somewhat shit at that bit, but reading and stalking other parenting blogs.

What I have realised by reading all these wonderful people's posts is that they are all who I want to be when I grow up!

That might seem ridiculous as I will soon be turning 30 and I have wrinkles on my boobs belly face, but I don't feel like a grown up.

I have 2 gorgeous babies who are not turning out to be total delinquents (yet, give it time) and a wonderful husband.. and a dog, and a cat and a mortgage.

I should feel like a grown up. According to the tax man I am a grown up. But I still look at others, sometimes younger, and think "Shit! They have really got it figured out!"

I have seen wonderful instructional posts about how to be a good blogger, about how I should find my niche and offer words of wisdom. Honestly, I don't have any. The only thing I can offer is my honesty. Is my parenting truth. About how I fuck up, don't have it figured out and don't really act like a grown up.

I have Funday Wednesdays, I do sit on my child and use comply or cry, I go to the toilet for the sole purpose of catching up on social media, and more often than not I put the kids to bed early so I can drink my wine!

 I am already a mummy and I am quickly learning how to be a good one not too shit one but I still don't yet feel like I could call myself a grown up!I admire those of who do, you are who I want to be when I grow up!

Domesticated Momster
Pick N Mix Fridays

Thursday, 30 June 2016

Second Baby Dilema number 208,765,356

How different babies can be. My first baby, my boy, didn't even really cry when he was born. As soon as he was handed to me he was quiet. Happy to be out in the world and taking it all in.

He came out perfect and happy and already totally at peace with who he was was and his surroundings. He slept though at 3 weeks and I don't thinks we heard him cry more than a couple of time in his first 4 months.

Our daughter on the other hand, entered the world kicking and screaming, not just like a normal cry, she sounded like a sodding velociraptor. It was quite something, to the point where my mum who was staying with us, after 4 of her own children, said she'd never heard anything like it.

I felt like a first time mummy all over again. Who was this little she-demon? I was accustomed to a baby that was fed and put in a crib or bouncy chair and just chilled out. A baby that actually cried to be put down.

Suddenly I had this little soul that needed constant cuddles and very little tolerance to being even a little bit hungry. It was terrifying. Especially since I already had an 18 month old that demanded my attention. Despite having been the most ridiculously easy baby is making up for it in spades as a toddler! He is like a little hurricane leaving mess and exhausted adults in his wake.

I have read so many times mothers writing that they have either neglected their first for the second or the baby for their older sibling and I can't decide which one I have done. I think I am guilty of both to be honest. I have had to let the baby cry while I cook the toddler his dinner but similarly his dinner has also had to wait while I have seen to his sister.

I have also, in the spirit of honesty, left both of them shouting while I sit on the loo with the door shut reading parenting blogs trying to make myself feel better about myself. I hope that anyone reading my blog sat on the toilet hiding from their children can take solace in the fact that they are not alone! X X

Brilliant blog posts on