A letter to my boys

To my boys,

I’m sorry for many things in life, most of the things I’m sorry for are related to you two beautiful boys. I do and say lots of things which I wish I could take back but I can’t so instead I am offering you an apology.

I’m sorry that I tell you peppa pig has gone to bed so we cant watch it. I am lying to you. She isn’t in bed at all, she is there, waiting in the television. The truth is I just can’t stand that little bitch, nor can I stand her whingey little brother. Don’t even get me started on her waste of space of a father and that Rabbit with the annoying voice who does every bloody job in pig land.

I’m sorry that I disappear sometimes. I will never be able to apologise enough to you both that sometimes I can’t face the world. I know your fine being with papa bear or gran, I just wish I could  be there everyday too. I would also like to make a promise to you both, I will continue to fight my depression with every bit of strength I have, I never want you to feel the impact of my depression, and if I get my way you never will.

I’m sorry I eat your jammy dodgers when you are asleep. I just seem to get the munchies as soon as I hear your little snores. See what happens is I decide not to buy myself any snacks, if I don’t have them, I can’t eat them. Simple diet technique. However I have to buy your little treats so when the munchies inevitably come, I’m forced to eat your delicious biscuits.

I’m sorry I tell little white lies. I do it out of  love. The tiny lies I teach you today will not only help you learn the way to behave, they will be useful when you have your own misbehaving children. You know the lies I’m talking about. ‘Santa’s watching you to see if you go straight to sleep’, ‘picking your nose will make your nose fall off’, ‘you can’t go in/on there , it’s closed/broken’ and my personal favourite, ‘daddy’s better at it than me’. I mean come on boys we all know I’m better than daddy at everything, I just tell that white lie when I don’t what to do something.......... “let dada change your diarrhoea nappy, he’s better at it than mama”

I’m sorry I can be impatient sometimes. One day I’ll miss you taking 20 minutes to get up three steps or demanding to do something without my help, when you need my help. It can  be hard to enjoy those things in the here and now, especially when you take it in turns. I will always do my best to stop, take a breath and then let you try again. I might just have to say sorry for shouting a few times. Trust me boys, I feel much worse than you two when I shout at you and see your little sad face.

I’m sorry we can’t paint every single day. If we did I would be a nervous wreck in the corner with paint brushes in my ears, babbling about carpet cleaner. It takes me about 20 minutes to set everything up, 1 hour to clean up and you paint for 10 minutes before your bored and running round with paint hands, touching everything. I love you to the ends of the earth and I would do anything for you, but in the words of meatloaf, I won’t do that.

Finally I’m sorry I over share. I blog, tweet, Facebook and Instagram. I just can’t help it. I love showing the world how funny, intelligent and beautiful you are. When your 18 you will hate me for all the pictures I shared and stories I told. When your 28 you will thank for me for documenting so many memories for you to look back on and share with your babies, (hopefully)

Good day to you boys
Xxxxxx

Anti shitycles

Sometimes I get myself in such a rut. I convince myself I am prime contender for worst mum of the year award. The reason for this....because the boys and I sometimes end up in a shitty cycle or as I like to call it a shitycle. The cycle goes, and don’t judge me. Play with your toys, tablet or TV.

The shitycle leaves us without seeing the sky or breathing fresh air. I feel awful when we end up in the midst of a shitycle, I feel like I am letting my children down because I am failing to stimulate their little spongy brains. More importantly they get bored which results in tears and usually they end up fighting with each other, or teaming up and fighting me.

 A shitycle seems to be brought on by an attack of awful weather. I mean the only mums who can spur themselves on to go out for a stroll in the rain just to get out of the house are imaginary mamas.....or am I just a bit crap?

I also find when your strapped for cash a shitycle is usually imminent. There are loads of theoretical things to do, but the minute your bank balance becomes unhealthy your mind goes blank. Why is that, you know there is loads of free days out but all you can think of is a cbeebies marathon.

So I decided to get together 7 days worth of anti shitycle ideas, otherwise known as the cure for kiddie cabin fever. Enjoy.

1. Take a trip to the garden centre. There’s loads to see that costs nothing at all. Take a stroll around the plants and then check out all the garden ornaments. My boys love the animal ones and are quite happy to spend time walking around naming them.

Mr S named the stork in this picture, moose. Weird imagination this kid!

2. If your stuck inside, crack out the paints.  My two love painting anything.  A picture, one of those pot painting sets, we’ve even been know to paint old toilet roll tubes.  Places like Quality Save and B&M always have cheap craft sets. Even better when they can be seasonal, for example  we made valentines hearts this week and will paint eggs at Easter.

3. If painting is just too much mess for you then play dough is the answer. Every child loves play dough. For even more cheap fun, make your own. We use 2 cups of flour, 2 cups of salt and then add water gradually until you have the right texture and consistency. You can also add food colourings if you want to have more fun.

4. Go to the park. If your not sure where your nearest one is, simply go on the Interweb and the little people in the screen will tell you. If your lucky, like us, your local parks may have more to offer than a slide and swing. We also have a petting zoo where we can spend a good hour, a duck pond to feed the ducks and a very reasonably priced land train. We take a packed lunch and make a full day of it, because no one wants to pay cafe prices .

5. Baking is always good, mainly because you get to eat whatever you make. If like me cracking an egg into a bowl is as far as your baking skills go,( seriously Mary Berry would be ashamed of me), then just buy a ready made kit where you simply add an egg, or even easier make jelly or rice Krispie cakes. Everyone loves a rice Krispie cake. Supermarkets own Krispies are less than £1 and there’s always some chocolate on offer. The only down side is when you accidently eat all the cakes while the kids are in bed, then they want one the next morning. Cue guilty mama face, although it’s not my fault I was born with zero will power.

6. Indoor play. You don’t have to look far. Indoor play areas seem to be spreading faster than the kids Nutella on my toast, shhhhh don’t tell my kids. There is a huge bonus to taking the kids to an indoor play centre. By the time you leave the kids will be so worn out they will have a really good nap, the downside, you will need a nap too. I honestly don’t need to do a workout when I have climbed, crawled and ran around one of those places.

7. Have an indoor picnic. Turn off the technology, put a picnic blanket on the floor and pack up the picnic basket. If you want to make it even more fun, make it a teddy bears picnic. Have pom bears and honey sandwiches, read we’re going on a bear hunt and then work your way around the house looking for a hidden bear. Bring your favourite teddy’s and finish it all with a teddy bear sing-song.

So there it is, my 7 day course of anti-shitycle’s. Take one a day and things should feel better soon. The only possible side effect of taking my ideas is happy little cubs, and who doesn’t want that.

If you have any more shitycle ideas, don’t be selfish, please share them below, I’m always looking for new things to do because let’s face it, the weathers always crap and I’m usually skint a week after payday.

Good day to you x

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.

Thumpers papa had it sussed

I am a mama of a boundary pushing 1 year old,  an extremely strong willed 2 year old and a step mama of a very inquisitive 8 year old. The reason I’m telling you this is so you understand why I am sometimes a mama on the edge.

So today I am here to inform everyone what you should never say to a mama, (or dada for that matter), on the edge.  In actual fact you shouldn’t ever say these things to any parent.

Just for the record these are actual things that have been said to me about my children.

1. You shouldn’t let your child eat that.

Oh, congratulations, I didn’t realise you had graduated from your degree in nutrition.......oh you haven’t.  Your just a wannabe Gillian Mckeith. Well guess what, no one liked her either. Now shush while my child has a biscuit!

2. You should shout at them for that, or they will never learn.
You are right, the way for them to learn right from wrong is a loud angry voice. I personally prefer to explain to them why it’s wrong, then give them a chance to understand why it’s wrong and correct there actions. But what do I know, clearly nothing or you wouldn’t be chirping up!

3. If he were mine I would ...........
Well luckily for my children you are not their parent. I am, and guess what, I’m bloody good at it.


4. They have a close age gap, you must be a glutton for punishment / have had no tv / be insane.
Actually  non of those answers, but thank you for that ridiculously offensive guess on why I have 13 months between my boys. I actually planned it this way. I wanted my children to be close in age for many reasons, none of which included the word glutton.

5. The way you’ve taught your child to ........... is wrong.
No my dear, I haven’t done it wrong I have done it differently to you. I may have taught my children in a way that wouldn’t work for you, but I can categorically say I haven’t done it wrong!

6. Why have you dressed him like that?
Because I carried him for 9 months, I then allowed a surgeon to cut a sunroof in my stomach in order to safely bring this child into the world. Therefore I will dress him however I see fit. Whether that be a pair of dungarees or a fucking where’s wally outfit.  (Just a quick note, I have not and will never dress my children  as where’s wally, well unless it’s world book day, then I might)

7. He should be potty trained, off the dummy during the day, able to count to 5, etc. etc. etc.
There is only one thing my children should be. HAPPY. I don’t really give a crap if Mr S still needs his dodo when he gets upset. I couldn’t give a toss if Mr B only talks when he feels like it. I most defiantly don’t care if my step cub takes 5 extra seconds to get a joke. That’s what makes my children, my children. They are unique, healthy, happy boys. They all learn in there own time and that’s o.k.

So please if your reading this and any of these points ever cross your mind when conversing with a member of the parent party. Bite your tongue, smile and walk away. In the words of Thumpers papa, “if you cant say something nice, then shut up”, well it was something like that.

Good day to you xx

P.s. if you enjoy my blog please share on Facebook, Twitter, anywhere!!!

It's been a while, how've you been?

So this is going to be my first attempt at writing a blog after having had a huggggge break. Otherwise known as writers block/my kids prefer that I have zero ‘me’ time. I have decided to disguise my break as an excuse for a fresh start. I have a new blog name, mama_bear2017, same blog, same cubs just a new name.

So here’s what you’ve missed while I’ve been gone

- My mama bear has the all clear from her third fight with cancer. She is a kick ass bitch.

- My beautiful Sister in law is getting married, we now have a date. We are now on a countdown of just over 400 days till I have to haul 3 kids on a long haul flight to Australia. Maybe I can tempt her to get married in England....yeh right.

- I’m now in full swing at being a working mama, even though it still breaks my heart when I don’t get to tuck them in.

- It’s been that long since I’ve had chance to book a brow wax, that when I called to book this week my beautician informed me she has just returned from maternity leave, didn’t even know she was pregnant!!

- My stepcub has been given an inhaler which he thinks is really cool, I however am less impressed and more worried about how his breathlessness will effect him in the future. I plan to spend the near future shoving it at him every time he sneezes or sighs. Just in case.

- hubby, well he's still just good old hubby, socks on the floor and all. 

 So how are Mr S and Mr B, They are both at a difficult stage in their own ways. Mr B is going through a very angry stage in life where he likes to smack me, Mr S and of course his toys. I have no idea what his toys have actually done to upset him but there is obviously some long standing issue there. Mr S is feeling very needy, while at the same time hating me for ‘forcing him’ to be a big boy. There has been a lot of dirty protests when it comes to potty training. He has scaled cupboards for his bedtime dodo’s, when it’s not bedtime and he has even recently asked to be held like a baba.

Mr S starts nursery in September so I suddenly feel like the potty training, the dummy, the wanting to be a baby issue, IS an issue. Where we have been taking it at a slow relaxed pace, letting him do things when he is ready. I suddenly hear the seconds ticking away like the countdown clock every time he shits his pants. I don’t want Mr S to be the little boy the nursery staff talk about because he isn’t potty trained/grown out of naps/ able to go everyday without a dummy. Maybe I’m over thinking it, I don’t know. Mr S is the first to go to nursery so I don’t know what they expect of him or what I should expect of them for that matter.

I know every mama and dada says the cliché time goes so fast but my god it’s true. I don’t plan to have anymore babies, which makes all the milestones seem to pass even quicker, because subconsciously I’m thinking, I never get to do these moments again. Some I can live without like shitty nappies in the night and sterilising bottles but the majority i will miss. Snuggles, first steps, first teeth, tiny shoes and clothes. It just seems far too soon to send Mr S too school, he is still a baby in my eyes. A teeny tiny baby, not a growing 2 year old who can now hold a conversation and has the ability to get the attention of a whole room. Everyone tells me he will be fine and he will love it, but I just can’t get on board with that.

When I get in bed I keep picturing him walking into school smiling, new back pack and lunch box in hand. Ready to be educated and be independent. But then my thought turns to a nightmare. The nursery door shuts and the other children are picking on him and pushing him. The teacher, miss trunchbull esque, calls him to the front of the class and calls him out for still needing pull up pants. He cries for me and wants to come home, but everyone just laughs at him. Then my hubby asks me what I’m thinking about, “nothing dear just excited for Mr S starting nursery”.

Oh the joys of being trapped inside a mama head. The train of thought that leads to (irrational) fear, worry (that your mumming wrong, if there even is a wrong way), upset (they cry when you shout at them, then you cry) and just plain old tiredness, or as most mamas call it completely and utterly fooked!!!!

Good day to you xx

P.s I’ve missed you

Mama Bears shame

I’m going to use today’s blog to rant.  I am sick of being shamed as a mother. Maybe it is my own fault, maybe I just take things too personally. Either way it’s my blog and I will rant if I want too.

Mr S had his 1st haircut a few weeks ago. Before I took him for a snip snip snip, (as he calls it), he had adorable curly hair. It was quite long but I liked it that way. The only reason I had it cut was his curls became so unruly he consistently looked like stig of the dump. A few days before his snip snip snip I was in Primark pushing my pram. An older lady approached me to say, "is he a girl". Now the fact she said "is HE" tells me she knew Mr S was a boy and was just trying to make a nasty and rude point. "No he’s a boy" I said slightly confused by such a random question. "Well why has he got girls hair" then she walked off. I felt so hurt that someone had felt the need to say this to me while I was minding my own business. He didn’t look like a girl, he looked like an adorable little man with beautiful curls. So rude lady in Primark who tried to mum shame me........ screw you!!!!

A couple of days ago we were at stay and play having fun. As you already know if you have read my blog before I have 2 boys. My youngest is one and my eldest two. The thing I like about stay and play is the security.  It is all closed in so no one gets in, (unless you sign in), no one gets out. There are also three nursery team members who help the children play, which having two and being there on my own is very helpful. My boys are fiercely independent and strong willed, just the way we have raised them to be. For all of those  reasons it doesn’t worry me when they wander off to different types of play in the stay and play environment as long as I can see them. On my last visit I sat playing bricks with Mr S while Mr B messed in the water play. I could see him clearly and he could see me. After about 2 minutes of play it happened, I was mum shamed. Another mama very loudly shouted a nursery staff member, everyone turned round. "There is a little boy at the water play on his own. He’s been there about 10 minutes with no adult, he’s only a baby". I wanted the ground to swallow me. In that split second I had images of social services arriving, my worst parent award being prepared , then it hit me. This crazy woman was wrong. He had been there 2 minutes not 10, he was supervised I just wasn’t stood behind him and he isn’t a baby, he is a little boy developing his independence and social skills. I stood up red faced and the team member turned to me and said, "don’t you worry, the point of stay and play is some independence for mum and child". Just what i needed to hear. Thank Goodness that woman was there to help straighten my mummy crown and remind me I’m great. So mummy who shamed me  at stay and play .... screw you too.

My most recent mum shame moment was when I was shopping in the supermarket.  I have this pram.

I had Mr S on top and Mr B underneath because he needed to fall asleep and there are less distractions on the bottom. While I was sorting Mr S out who had dropped his drink on himself a lady came up to comment how cute he was. She notices Mr B underneath as she was leaving. “poor baba shoved underneath, I bet your forgotten down there, poor baba” then she left.
I felt like shouting after her “no lady he is not forgotten, why would i forget i came out with two little people just because one is lower”
I mean come on lady, it’s not hard to parent on more than one level, literally


A lot can be learned from these examples and the way they made me feel. The main thing I want you all to take away is every mama is doing the best they can, the way they WANT to. Stop shaming your fellow mamas, (and papas too for that matter), it hurts peoples feelings. Not just any people’s feelings either, the most tired people, and tired people can snap. You poke the parenting beast you may get bitten, you have  been warned.


Good day to you x

Mama bear and the pot pot

Mr S is currently in the midst of potty trying. It’s so easy and I’m enjoying every minute of it....... if you haven’t already realised I’m being sarcastic. Potty training is hard for both me and Mr S. I’ve read blogs, books and forums but I’m still not very good at it. 

 

 I’ve tried several tips which haven’t worked and some which have. My greatest fail was when I bought a toilet seat potty thinking he could go straight on the toilet. Before it even had its debut performance Mr S got his head stuck in it. My dad had to wedge it off because I couldn’t move for laughing. My health visitor suggested I do a wee on his potty to demonstrate. Since I left my pride and sense of embarrassment in a delivery suite 2 years ago I gave it a go. Mr S looked at me like I was stupid and then ran away and peed on my rug.

The only positive too trying to teach, (or should I say force), my difficult little man to go number one and two on a small plastic bowl is it gives me some stories to tell and laugh about.

When we first started the process Mr S would start shouting pee pee, I would sit him on his potty and wait......and wait and wait. Nothing. He didn’t quite get the concept, he thought it was just an excuse to sit down and have everyone’s attention. Because of this experience I wasn’t paying that much attention when he told me he needed it anymore. Big mistake.

Mr S was saying poo poo. I carried on dressing Mr B in his pyjamas and off Mr S went. I thought nothing of it. When I had finished getting my youngest ready for bed I got the potty and headed to Mr S room. I found him inside his pop up tent looking at his picture book. “What you doing baby” I said as I popped my head into the tent. He looked at me and smiled, I was thinking how cute he was, then I saw it. The floor of the tent was showered with puddles of liquid poop. I stopped and simply starred for a minute, I had no idea how to even begin this clean up mission. I did what any good mother would do. I got Mr S out, told him it was OK and we would try the potty next time, I picked the tent up, ran straight to the wheelie bin outside and then ordered a new one online. No amount of cleaning could have saved that tent, trust me. 

So we’re now at a stage where he has done a few number twos on the pot pot and we’re trying to master the pee pee. He is finding this hard as he doesn’t seem to be able to judge when he needs it. A few nights ago the boys were playing after bath time while I got everyone’s p.js ready. Mr S looked so confused when he started weeing, Mr B looked even more confused, but then he was sat in the line of pee pee fire. I had to take my little pee stained chunk straight back to the bath. Poor kid.

It gets worse than this though, if that’s possible. A couple of nights ago Mr S finally did a wee on his potty, which would be great, except I didn’t know he had done a wee on his potty. Poor Mr B didn’t know either and must have thought it was just a large mug of apple juice, that’s the only explanation for why I caught him drinking it. I couldn’t do anything but shout for hubby. I was dry heaving and shouting, “do something with him, brush his teeth, I’m going to be sick”. Poor poor kid. 

I’m not too worried because I know Mr S will get there eventually and I just need to persevere and keep up the praise. I’m also not too worried that Mr B got peed on as I’m sure he will get his own back in a few months when it’s his turn to potty train. In the meantime, I will just have to keep up my stocks of carpet cleaner and mop heads.

Good day to you x