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

I am what I am

Before I begin my usual blog I just wanted to mention a friend of mine. She is a single mother, (is kicking ass at it). She works dam hard every day and has never stopped reaching for her dreams. She now has an amazing career, provides a fantastic life for her son Mr C and has just manged to buy her first house. I cannot express how proud I am of her and proud she should be of herself. You’re doing a ‘jolly’ good job Mrs.

We had a lovely night in for my sister’s birthday. Me, my sister, my mum and my auntie M. We started off on the Pimm’s and ended up on the wine. The conversation started off very lady like and ended up about pubic hair and sleeping naked. We started early so by 7pm we were questioning how we became such light weights.

I attempted to make a cheesecake for my sister birthday cake, despite my best efforts it would not set. I balanced candles on the top, sang happy birthday, then handed out spoons and explained that I could not provide slices, as this was more of a soup than a cheesecake. I was given a 1 for presentation but a 10 for taste. Everyone knows that’s what matters. At least I didn’t have a soggy bottom.

Mr J had a lovely moment today where he felt, in his words, very grown up. He emptied his piggy bank and had saved enough money to buy a game he had wanted for his Xbox. The pride on his face when he handed the money over, knowing he had saved and bought it all on his own. I gave him £1 to start off his next little saving mission which he was over the moon with. I asked him, “so Mr J what are you saving up for now”. His response was brilliant. “I’m saving up to buy a rug”. I obviously questioned why a 7-year-old child would want to save his pocket money to buy furnishings for his bedroom. His answer was simply brilliant and typically Mr J. “well I like the feel of the one I’m sat on”. BRILLIANT. What is it with the children in my life wanting to buy all their things from the home department? My Christmas shopping list for this year is so far a rug and a chicken egg timer. 

I am a huge fan of children being children. By that I mean I hate that boys have to be boys and girls have to be girls, they should just be children. I took Mr S out in a lovely pink and navy t- shirt, while we were out having fun I heard an older child say, “mummy why is that boy wearing pink, only girls wear pink.” I felt ashamed, as if I had set my little boy up to be picked on because I picked a girl’s colour, I stood right there in the middle of the play centre running out his future of bullies in school, having no friends, complete failure in life and all because I was a terrible mother who made bad choices. How sad is that, a 7 year oldish child made me feel ashamed because of a colour. At that moment I stopped being irrational and looked at Mr S. He was wearing clean clothes, had a huge smile on his face, was having fun with his brother and mama on a lovely day out and couldn’t stop looking at his perfect self in the mirror. I realised that it didn’t matter what that child had said because my child would have a happy and successful life no matter what colour his t-shirt was, because he is loved, cared for and allowed to be who he is.

Mr S and Mr B both enjoy a variety of toys and we have no such thing as boys and girl’s toys in our house. Mr S’s current favourites are a styling head with a toy hairdryer, a train and his water activity table. We had to buy him the styling head so that he would stop trying to brush my hair, (he is not gentle) and he loves it. Mr B is 8 months old so will grab and play with pretty much anything. He is happiest when he is in his jumparoo or knawing on teething toys. The most effective seems to be one his godfather bought him, Sophie la giraffe, it is the best teething toy, I just wish we had known about it with Mr S. Here's the link if you want to check it out. http://sophielagirafe.co.uk/.  My stepson, Mr J, loves playing dress up and whenever his cousins are here they appear in around 4 outfits an hour, ranging from superheroes to cave men. Miss M my niece puts Mr J in a princess dress and makes him do a twirl, he enjoys it and loves when we laugh along with him. 

I can’t help but shudder when I see little boys crying and their parents say, “stop being a girl”. Why do tears make you a girl? I regularly see a poster in my doctors waiting room stating that suicide is the leading cause of death in young men, I can’t help but feel like those passing comments of ‘boys don’t cry’ will teach them to bottle up their emotions and keep it all locked in, all in the name of being masculine.

I understand that people have a choice when it comes to parenting. If you want your son to play with cars and only wear blue, then crack on. If you want your daughter in pink and only pink while playing Barbie’s, then that’s your decision. You bring up your children in a way that makes you happy, as long as it makes them happy as well.

Good day to you x

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