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Mummy's Writing, Darling Posts

Where my son decides to shit is none of your beeswax

  Today my son did a shit (as he does every day). Today it was in front of a plumber in his nappy (my son’s, not the plumber’s) – which doesn’t happen everyday. As the plumber looked at my baby and my three year old boy remarking “looks like you’ve got your hands full!” the distinct waft of turd meandered through the room. I took him upstairs (my son, not the plumber), had a little chat with him that I would prefer it if he notified me before he did a poo poo that he was going to do a poo poo instead of just coming over and standing 1cm next to me while I’m tucking into a lemon drizzle muffin and a Yorkshire tea and coyly murmuring that he’s…


The moments we do treasure

The moments we do treasure : Eating toast, pot bellies and watching the rain. There are a number of things not to say to a parent who has had a really long, exhausting, bad day with their child / children: You don’t know how lucky you are, things were worse in my day! I lived through the war. You don’t know you’re born love! You were a little shit too darling, you didn’t sleep for the first five years. Don’t you know there are people in worse situations than you? and the best one “you should treasure every moment.”  When it’s only 3.45am and I’ve already had human faeces between my fingers twice, I was woken up by the three year old dropping his hands onto my face (a…

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I lost my mother blogging way – but I’ve found it again : An apology.

  “I’ve got a degree, does that mean I have to spend my life with intellectuals? I’ve also got a life-saving certificate, but I don’t spend my evenings diving for a rubber brick with my pyjamas on.” – Victoria Wood I started a blog back in 2012 when I knew practically nothing about it. I was pregnant and alone in a new city and miserable. My mum said “why don’t you start a blog?” I’m still confused as to how she knew what a blog even was. I went on Blogger and started typing, submitted a small essay and felt all excited that a few of my facebook mates might read my post (and my mum of course). I wrote about what being pregnant was like and the inevitable…


Don’t holiday with children – recalculating. The Journey, part 1.

  A holiday with my mother and my two children always begins the same: An arrangement to be picked up at a specific early time by mother, say 8am and a short text the night before to double check time and an assurance that the weekend will be an opportunity for me to relax. The morning comes with several frenzied texts at 6am checking if I am ready and will I be ready early, a warning not to pack too much and a semi veiled threat that money has been paid to get in early so I better be ready on time. You can practically feel the sense of relaxation wash over me as I battle with a baby and a zealous toddler into outfits and scramble 75% of…

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