Date night

So tonight papa bear and I booked a hotel room. My mama was having the boys so date night was on. We booked a table in one of our favourite restaurants and got ourselves ready to be young and fun again. We had planned cocktails and an all nighter making the most of being just us two, child free.

Before we could leave to check into the hotel we had to sort our stuff out, while looking after and feeding 3 children.  This was fine it just meant we had to cut some corners.  I only painted the two toes you would see in my nude heels, I bought a new top instead of stressfully trying to find one that wasn’t permanently stained with something baby related  or just too tight and we forgot to eat.

As we had forgotten to eat and it was now too late to have lunch, we were ready and out by 5. We went for a drink first. We spent the drink acting like the old people we have become, “it’s so loud in here”, “why are there no seats” and the one I thought I’d never hear myself say, “there’s too many young people in here”. Yes I know I’m only 28, but by young people I mean annoyingly young people, a.k.a. haven’t had kids yet and still look fresh and well maintained, while I’m stood there with a full tube of concealer on my eye bags and dry shampooed hair because I am too tired to wash and dry it.

Next was the restaurant.  We had an amazing meal and plentiful conversation.  It wasn’t until the end of the meal however we realised that our main, (only), topic of conversation had been our boys. I’m sure we used to talk about modern culture, Pop music and having sex. Now we talk about modern parenting, nursery rhymes and when we used to have sex.

We finished our meal and turned down the waiters offer of another round of drinks. We decided it was much too late for that, so we were going to make our way back to the hotel for a nightcap and bed. As we left the restaurant hubby asked me what time it was.
“it’s late babe, (looks at watch), oh my God it’s only 6.45pm”
We looked at each other with the same look on our face. A look that said remember when we at 6.45pm we wouldn’t have even been out yet. Remember when  we used to come home at 6.45AM. Remember when a good night was defined by not being able to remember it. Clearly we have just become shit at this partying malarkey. Having kids 13 months apart will do that too you.

We headed to TGI Fridays and found seats at the bar. That way there would be no children around

and we could enjoy more adult time. We worked our way through the cocktail menu. We had new drinks, tried each others, my gosh we even held hands at one point.  We were really starting to relax and enjoy ourselves.

We hadn’t spoken about kids in ages. We were becoming us again, pre babies us. We were talking about things we wanted in our careers, hobbies we wanted to take up. It was like the old days. I was remembering everything that had attracted me to this man and he was looking at me as though he hadn’t seen me with my legs in stirrups, screaming in the labour ward. Then it happened. A man brought his 1 maybe 2 year old child to the bar. The child had very similar mannerisms to Mr B. We were both sucked  in to the child vortex and the mood changed. I began wishing we weren’t staying in the hotel, “I want to kiss the boys night night”. I also began asking hubby.......... “can we have another baby”. (I was drunk and my ovaries were activated by the cuteness of the child at the bar). Luckily hubby took it in his stride, he calmly reminded me this was our first child free night this year and that our children had woke us up at 5am that morning. “yes your right hubby, no more babies, but lots more cocktails wooooooooooooo”
At this point hubby took me back to the room.

When we got back to the hotel all my dreams came true. I got in bed, hubby made me a hot steaming cup of tea, We shared some biscuits, watched crappy tv and then went to sleep knowing we wouldn’t be woken by crying, being sat on or someone demanding breakfast.

Best date night ever!



Good day to you x

Just a side note – I love my life with my hubby and children, and wouldn’t have it any other way. this is merely an explanation of life after birth, because for some reason they don’t put that in the parenting guides.

Mama bear and the dog poo

You may have noticed that I call myself Mama bear, well I also have little animal nicknames for both of my babies and my stepson. I have these for 2 reasons, the first is that they sound cute, the second so I can justify buying any cute little knick knacks with that animal on. 

 

So I have Mr S who is my sausage dog, Mr B who is my bunny and Mr J who is known as Jake the snake. That's unless their being naughty then in my head their nickname usually rhymes with little hastard!! 

So with all that being said I obviously instantly fell in love with these racing green cushions, when you put them together you have a little sausage dog. Mr S points at them shouting 'mine, mine', I laugh along but he has no chance, they are mine. Another justification for my love of them, they are made locally, by J Rosenthal and Son, so it’s almost like I had to have them.

Now I just need a bunny one for Mr B and my sofa will be complete. 

Speaking of bunnies Mr S has developed a new obsession with the TV programme Bing. It is a programme about a bunny named Bing and his weird knitted, miniature parent/career. 

In a recent episode Bing is very excited and rushing and accidentally steps in dog poo. Gripping stuff. Mr S was very concerned about this and spent the next 5 minutes bringing me all the shoes we own and pointing at the soles, shouting "poo, poo". I'm unsure if he was asking me to put poo on them or just stating what he had seen. Either way, we talked about poo for a bit and moved on, that is until we walked to the post office together. 

Mr S walked all the way there and stood in the busy queue with me all the time pointing at his shoes and, very loudly, shouting poo. I was a tad embarrassed to say the least. Luckily we didn't see any dog poo on our travels, otherwise I'm quite sure he would have whipped his shoe off and used that poo as a dance floor. 

I suppose I better get used to poo chat seems as Mr S is now potty training. Potty training is hard, I feel like my days have now become dedicated to chasing a pant less toddler round requesting him to poo and wee. Which is hard enough without also having to chase around a crazy baby who currently thinks everything dangerous and electrical is a chew toy. I was told to try putting him in underpants when in the house as it will feel uncomfortable if he goes in them, this didn’t quite work as he doesn’t seem to care if he goes in them, also when he is wearing them he runs around shouting Knicks and demanding to see mine. My health visitor suggested I go to the toilet on the potty so he has an example, she clearly wasn’t looking at me, because if I sit my big butt on that teeny tiny plastic throne it’s only going to end badly. So far we've had one wee on the potty and an almost poo. An almost poo means he started pooing on the potty, I cheered, he panicked, jumped up and the poo came out on my foot. Motherhood - it's all fun and games until someone shits on your foot. 

Good day to you xx