A Lonesome Walk

 Yesterday was the 6 year anniversary of our us becoming home-owners, and as I woke up yesterday and saw this on my Facebook memories, it gave me a sense of how far we have come in the last 6 years, but also how hard the struggle has been.

Always decorating, eh, Doll?

We have battled against so much to barely keep our heads above water, and here we are this weekend, on the 6-year-versary basically starting all over again.  Except maybe perhaps, with the heating finally going in, on slightly better footing.

At least this year we won't be sleeping with our hats on and in sleeping bags under our duvets.

It also struck home with me this weekend, just how much we have had to do alone. 

I have written before about looking for that village when it comes to parenting, and the ever-changing scenery surrounding modern parenthood which sees a dearth of support in today's busy world. 

Well, we moved to a literal village and our already-wee world has shrunk considerably.

In 6 years we haven't had any child-free overnight time, and I can probably count on two hands the amount of child-free time we have had.  And probably on one hand how many of those times were actually date nights just for us and not fulfilling social commitments like work-related dinners or wedding invites.

We have to have a really good excuse to get a babysitter.

"Date" hour.  Lunch hour.

Our own "date" nights have lost all real purpose and meaning - they are usually snatched bits of time which have a lot of pressure attached to them to be back quickly or be on call for any complications.  

At least working from home has meant that we have managed to catch up on that - though there's nothing magical about watching each other do Zoom calls all day.

I guess it just makes me feel a bit sad sometimes that we are missing that support. 

Instead we have had to power on and find ways to get through it, and it hasn't always been pretty.

There have been many times we have totally lost our shit with each other, and sometimes the screaming loneliness that comes with the territory at times can be all-consuming.  

Not having another adult (who isn't Dave) there to help break up the day-to-day, not having someone else to take on the load of loving these kids is hard.  It's really tough to stretch ourselves between all three sometimes, and once you have, there isn't much time for much else, especially if you have a lot to do, like, say, a house renovation! 

It's counter-productive too - we live in a perpetual mess, so you feel constantly ashamed of the state of your house.  We rarely have visitors.  And when we do, it is a massive operation to get things looking semi-normal(ish). 

*sigh*

We. Are. Shattered.

Factor in job changes, home working and Covid, and we are basically a self-supporting commune of 5.

Looking back on the last 6 years this weekend has just made me feel shit.  

Really shit.

And really beat up.

I worry constantly about this whole thing - we live in a constant state of flux and the kids have had to come along for the ride, because mum and dad are so fucking stretched, they have no choice.  We have had to be their everything to them all the time; is it enough?

And that's the real middle-of-the-night stuff, isn't it?  That's the stuff that keeps you up and makes you panic.

Our house is crazy.  It's set to get crazier in the next few weeks.  We have so much decorating, structural work and sorting to do.

Another struggle.

Another challenge.

Man, I am so tired.

 

Moving in the house

Well, we moved the bedrooms round.

After 3 years of letting the kids have their own rooms, which were wasted, wasted on them, we managed to convince the older two to share again (I don't know what kind of twilight world we have slipped into), O has his own room, and Dave and I finally got our light, airy, lovely main bedroom back.

It's amazing.

For the first time in 3 years I have my own space, it's quiet, it's peaceful, I am getting loads done and I am absolutely kicking butt.

Except I'm not really.

We are getting new heating in this time next week, so we have SO MUCH TO DO, I don't even know where to begin.

Dave is on one - he literally spends all day sitting at his computer moaning about how busy he isn't at work, then tonight he sauntered out to the shops with all three kids, reappearing at 6pm, kids eating handfuls of sweets, and having missed O's dance class, which was PAID FOR, dammit!

It's not 6.20pm and I have left him to make tea, because apparently he "has a plan", and I literally WADED through bin bags and sacks of old books and socks and other nonsense to come back up to my new happy place.

EVERYTHING needs decorated.

There's some really sad washing on the line outside which has been there for days because of endless rain and my inability to deal with it.

There's about ten bin bags in the driveway and general waste collection isn't until next week.

Yes, the boys are sharing a room, but Tom's bed is going to have to come apart so the workmen can access the radiator (haven't told Dave yet - not sure he has realised).

We've hired an Air BnB situation down the road for the shittest 'holiday' ever where we have to decamp and sit with the three anti-social dogs for two days.  We *might* get to come home overnight.  Eek.

Work is mental just now - I am exhausted.

And we have a week.

One week.

To pull a de-cluttered and clean house out of our bums.

Pray for Genna.

Bairns and Blethers - A Good Old Catch Up

 Well, world, what in the heck happened?

One day I catch myself saying to Dave: "I wish something would happen, you know?  Something that just makes the world stop for a bit.  I'm so done with the relentless-ness of it all and just want it all to stop"

And the next - it did.

Sometimes I do feel like I am connected to this wee old planet in a bit of a spiritual way (ooky spooky!) and well, most times I do really just feel like a bit of a spaceman floating around waiting for something to happen or tell me where to go.

And sometimes I feel absolutely driven, like I am desperately feeling like I need to fulfil my purpose RIGHT NOW, which is kind of how I am feeling just now.

Covid has been a bit of a crazy ride, and as we come up to the wierdest anniversary of anything ever - like, ever - I feel a bit like I have ridden the greatest rollercoaster in my whole life and now I have to get off and go home back to the boring mundane.

I'm not ashamed to say, I have quite enjoyed being locked down.  I mean, okay, it has been a bit shit for the kids; my oldest basically got chucked out of p7 and into high school with the shittest goodbye ever, my youngest has had to start school in pandemic conditions and I think I might have gained about 2 stone because I have comfort eaten the fuck out of it, but otherwise, it's been fine, really.

Middle boy has been better than he has ever been and has come on so much- any of the regular societal pressures he has felt over the years has completely gone and school is now much more manageable for him.  The weight of all of that being taken off has changed our family considerably.  The crazy merry-go-round has actually stopped, which is nothing short of miraculous.  It may even have given us some actual formative real chance of getting somewhere with this.

Myself and Dave are keyworkers in the third sector and our jobs have catapulted our careers further in a shorter space of time than any of us could have imagined.  It is absolutely mind-blowing compared to last year where we are now, and for that I am eternally grateful.  It feels like a mad dream.

By all accounts, I certainly don't ever want to downplay anything that has happened in the world or the horrible, awful, terrible hardships anyone has been through in the last year; not at all.  Working in the third sector (and in things like emergency provision for basic needs like food and clothing), I know life is so tough on so many and in so many horrible conditions all over the world.

But personally, for me, for us, for our wee family, in this wee dilapidated cottage which is going to suck our souls dry (or leave us dying of frostbite or in an electrical fire) for once...for once....FOR ONCE....the world isn't shitting right on our laps for a change.

And it feels good.

It feels good to be able to put food on the table without panicking.  We are travelling a lot less, so less wear on the cars, which meant come MOT time, we weren't completely destroyed.  We are paying a lot less for fuel, so aren't constantly running on empty.  We have been able to address some real pressing issues in the house like basic furniture needs, like buying the kids a bed and bedding.  We have been able to buy gifts at Christmas without sheer panic.

I keep waiting for the bolt to shut across the door, when whatever cosmic being has let us free from our usual crock of shit life realises that we got out, but it hasn't happened just yet.

While the rest of the world is desperate to get back to 'normal', here's me in a corner saying, "please, not quite yet.  There's still so much to do".

I mean, I've written it down now, so I have totally jinxed it, but it has been so nice to just have this break.

And if all I end up with is this little memoir to look back on, well, I'm glad it happened and now I know it can happen - so watch out world, here I come.

The Struggle Is Real

I'm not having the best week.

Dave has finally come off on holiday from work for the last week of the holidays, and as always, I have limped across the finish line waiting for him.

I barely held it together the previous week, when I unequivocally stated that I was DONE with being the full-time, main carer for our three darling children.


What is wrong with me?

That's the question I asked myself for a good couple of weeks: What is wrong with me?

Why am I unable to get through lengthy periods of time caring for three children on my own, when so many other women also have to do it and without half as much complaint as I seem to constantly give?

Last week, I decided I needed to vent, so I posted a bit of a diatribe on a parenting forum, which went a bit like this:

"Ladies, we are week 5 into the summer holidays and I have been off work for 10 weeks now (quit a really awful, stressful, horrible job and a million times better now, and waiting for new job to start in 2 weeks). My teeth feel like they are peeling with the domestic boredom. I have three kids, aged 10, 8 and 4 and they are lovely kids, they really are, but quite honestly, I could punt them out of the window. 
The youngest is full on Oedipal, spending the majority of his time sqwauking "mum, mum, mum, mummaaaaaaaaaaay" a bajiliion times a day, just for no real reason. I mean, he doesn't want anything...just my fucking soul.
The middle one is in the spectrum and needs to know exactly what we are doing every single moment of every single day, which means there is absolutely no chance of standing down or having a casual 5 minutes, like, ever. He needs routine and I stupidly keep saying things like 'maybe later', instead of just giving him a specific time and date for stuff. He is exhausting. The oldest has decided his preteen side is going to come out this summer and he just spends his time back-chatting or wrapped like a slug in all my nice blankets in his smelly room watching YouTube constantly.
Plus, the eating!!! All they do is consume!!! What have I made?!
I fear our household is the biggest contributor to landfill in the world (sorry everyone else), despite my efforts.
I have about ten tons of washing I constantly need to do, they keep making me go to parks where they ruin their shoes by scuffing them on the roundabout, or in the saner moments when we don't have to 'do something' (for they must at ALL times be 'entertained' 🤨, they've managed to haul all of my soft furnishings and all the tiny little toys outside to play 'shops' (read: make a big bastarding mess), usually just before the wee showers we've been randomly having, so everything gets soaked. Raging.
I've had precisely 10 hours of childcare over the last ten weeks to fulfil the purpose of going to job interviews and yesterday I got to go to a funeral (yay! 😞)
I left my job because I was burnt out, now I just feel burnt out in a different way. I miss socialising with adults, or just having a normal conversation that isn't preceded or followed up with demands, or just silence (these boys are so loud and they just constantly talllllllkkkkk!) Christ, I'd love to finish a stream of thought, let alone a cup of tea.
My house is a shit tip, I have eaten so much shite (no time to make nice things for me) and I'm knackered. School holidays are far too long. And I know some folk really embrace the time and enjoy their kids company because 'life is so short' and 'they are only little once' and yes, I feel guilty for moaning, because obviously I'm lucky to have them etc etc but HOLY FUCK I need a break!"

I fully expected to be taken apart for my comment  but I didn't really care.  I was at the end of my tether.

I did not expect what are some of the nicest and supportive comments I have ever had from total strangers.  Hundreds of women replied in solidarity.  I've never felt more seen.

I have honestly had the most shittiest few years - between a crazy house that is falling apart, the worst financial issues I've ever faced, couple that with not on, mot two or three, but 4 cars which have all had some pretty hefty problems or being scrapped completely(we need our cars where we live for work and school etc), some pretty crazy employment, redundancy, unemployment situations, health stuff and the general craziness that goes with raising a family around all of this...I wouldn't say that we haven't done too bad, considering.

During this time we have had some really great help from some really amazing people - I've been in absolute tears sometimes with the lengths that some folk have gone to to help us out, and we will always remember everything, every little detail, because sometimes quite honestly, it's all that has kept us going at times.

We have had our fair share of shite from folk too, which keeps it all at a balance, to be fair, but in the main, folk are generally nice and supportive.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that we have not had it easy, and that all things considered, we are doing okay.

It does feel like walking backwards through treacle in heels with handcuffs and a blindfold on sometimes - especially when we get handed three boisterous, loud and to be honest, quite demanding children for weeks at a time.

This summer, I haven't had a payday for two months - that's bound to add pressure onto a situation, especially when we have to factor school uniforms, the big p7 school trip payment by the end of August, feeding the buggers for six weeks plus activities.

Man, life is easier by miles when you have some kind of liquid cash to put into activities.

And everything costs money - I mean, everything.

I'm so tired of moaning about it, but I am always so fucking stressed about bloody money - the kids are like wee money hoovers.  Sometimes I feel like we are finally getting on top of something and can relax a bit and BOOM - it's like they can sense it and they grow, or need shoes or suddenly need money for something else.

And to try and take the edge off, I give them pocket money every week.  Burning a hole in their pockets - they go mad with the power. £3 per week is tons to a kid, and actually a bit of an annoying, sickening feeling every Friday, trying to remember to pay them and trying to remember it's good for them to have it and it's good for them to learn budgeting and stuff - but honestly, sometimes it's my last £3 every week and it kills me to hand it over to be spent on rubbish.

Something popped up on my Facebook feed today that reminded me that this time, 5 years ago, someone had our kids overnight!

Can you imagine!

Which makes that the last time we spend a night together alone away from the kids.

And in that post, I mention how the last time before that had been 3 years previous.

That means we have had 2 nights away from our children in EIGHT FUCKING YEARS.

No wonder I am feeling a wee bit fraught.

I love my children, with every bone in my body I love them.  

But, man, I am tired.  And I am so in need of a break.

The last time Dave and I had more than 2 hours alone together was back in March.

March 22nd, to be exact.

And I hate to say it, but I am jealous.

Jealous of the mums that go away on holidays with pals abroad for a couple of nights, jealous of the couples who get to go away for a night at the weekend in a different city to recharge, jealous of the families who take children away to caravans to spend quality time with grandparents or stay with them for a week, jealous of the sleepovers at aunties and uncles houses, at the people who go away in large groups of pals, mish-mashing their kids together for unforgettable trips where they take the weight off each other just by being there.  I'm jealous of the people who have groups of pals they meet up with frequently for day trips, and the gal pals who meet up for a reunion, of the siblings who old each other kids for each other while they go and conquer whatever it is they need to do.

It's so bloody hard to be one of two whole people in the whole world who take responsibility for three growing kids on very fucking little for so much time in one go. 
 It's knackering and hard and honeslty, as much fun as it can be , and as tight as we are as a family, and as lucky as we are to be all together and safe and warm (because there is always that one person who has to 'play devils advocate' or 'see the positives'), I honestly do benefit from stepping away for a bit and gaining perspective and being apart from the kids.

As does everyone!

The more women who commented on that post that day, the more I realised - I am not alone.  My situation is not 'usual'. My husband couldn't see it until I showed him the post and the comments from other women in similar situations.

We all need a support network - whatever form that takes.  We all need someone to hold a hand, or wipe a bum, or to simply batten down the hatches with when things get rough.

I sincerely wish that the women on my computer that day lived beside me.

Thank fuck for the internet or I might have not survived the last week.

I am normal.  IT's okay to be struggling in my own situation.  It's okay to be tired.  It's totally okay to need people.  It's fine to need a break from your kids (and healthier for everyone involved).  It's cool to need to vent. 

Everyone - please check on your friends and each other; near and far.  It's a bloody long summer, and nobody should ever feel at breaking point when we are all in this together.

One True Talent

It's a Tuesday afternoon and I have appeared at the school gates not once, but twice now in my quest to pick up the boys.

Yet again I have completely forgotten that they had 'singing group' after school and I'm supposed to pick them up later.

And yes, I have completely and utterly forgotten what time bloody later is, so yes, I have spent what is supposed to be otherwise awesome child-free time wrestling a crotchety toddler in and out of his car seat and frantically hunting for the bastarding bit of paper with the pick up times on which I am SURE I kept, but actually, probably chucked out with all the other 'important information' which gets barrelled in from the school on a daily basis.

I suck.

I am no good at school life mumming.

I love a good bit of admin.  I do.  I really, really do.  In fact, I love all aspects of paperwork - it makes me feel so good getting out that black biro and ticking boxes, signing forms and perfecting letters on the crisp white sheets.

It's the only time I feel like a half-decent person.

I have nice handwriting.  While I am writing something for work or school or in a group situation, I'm always very proudly rounding my letters and making sure my letters are neat and uniform.

They betray my true character (messy, unorganised bastard) and portray the best version of me - neat and diligent.

I get compliments on my writing "oh, how neat and lovely" and am pretty sure (and optimistic) that my writing will get me discovered one day and I can just do lovely writing as a profession, and everyone will know me as the lady with the gorgeous handwriting and will ask me to do all manner of important things for them.

Which I will do.  Gladly, and flawlessly, eager to share my one true talent.

(Except it's not my one true talent.  Oh no.  Through my writing they will also discover I have an eye for fine detail, am good at drawing and also have a knack for watercolour.  As time progresses, I also become famous for my man craft abilities, great cake decoration, amazing cooking skills and pretty sound general knowledge.  Oh and, I am also an amazing singer too.  "Sings like a nightingale")

So, I shall keep hand-writing the forms and filling out the letters and perfecting my swirly 'G' in the hope that it gets me noticed.  You know, by the school secretary. Of the tiny village school.

Well, you never know, right?

Dare to dream...

*Sigh*

In the meantime, I suppose I had better to remember to fill out the bastarding school dinner forms so that middle son can leave it in his bag for another 4 weeks. 

The Blethering Boys Xmas Gift Guide 2016

It's that time again!

Geez, it come around far too quickly.

My boys are at a rather tricky age this year, and I have to admit, I'm finding it difficult.

We are past the age of being able to delight with any old thing and very much into the age of more thoughtful and defining gifts, which I have to say I prefer.

I am very pleased to report that we must be having some kind of good affect on our kids through the way we conduct ourselves: already the boys have said that they don't care what they get, as long as everyone is happy and also that alongside their advent calendars this year, they would like to make a kindness jar, to enable them to do one kind deed each day.

These little glimmers of kindness and awesomeness are what make me so very proud and happy as a parent; we must be doing something right!

Like any parent, I still really want them to have what their hearts desire and this year, they have asked for tablets, so... :) We'll see what Santa brings!

The boys are really into shopping and have been browsing for gifts for others too.

We hope you enjoy our Blethering Boys 2016 Christmas Gift Guide!

STOCKING FILLERS

You can't go wrong with a lovely set of colouring pencils, and these ones from the Bic Kids range (rrp, £2.99) make a perfect wee stocking filler for some holiday colouring.

Sweets are always a welcome additon too, with some tasty treats in these perfect stocking-sized boxes from Swizzels available in Refreshers Softies, Wham bars and Fruit Salad Softies too! Yum!

And why not investigate uber-awesome and multi-coloured Smiggle for some gorgeous pens, paper, bags, books and all-round squee! Perfect to brighten up a stocking!

GIFTS FOR THE LADS

Stuck for a last-minute idea for the man in your life?  

The Braun Beard Trimmer (rrp £39.99) is an ideal gift to help your man stay groomed to perfection.

A super-cool tee from RedBubble should do the trick - they have an amazing range of cool designs, niche interests and geeky goodies galore!

Or for the essential piece of man-kit, why not go for the Leatherman Tread (rrp, £139-£189.99) - the ultimate man-bracelet which doubles (triples and quadruples!) into a a multi-tool!

GIFTS FOR THE BAIRNS

Disney's The Lion Guard playset (rrp £34.99) is a great gift for a wee one who loes a bit of roar-some fun!

The Leapfrop Leaping Letters (rrp£16.99) poses a great wee challenge for that niece or nephew who is just starting to learn their letters.

Of course BB8 bobblehead(rrp, £9.99) is bound to be a hit with Star Wars fans, old and young!

And the Bic Colouring Activity Set (rrp, £22) with 80 pieces, featuring Alvin and the Chipmunks is a lovely gift for that budding artist - and great value too!

GIFTS FOR YER MAW

Yarden Dead Sea Salts with Frankincense and rose petals (rrp, £8.99) are deliciously fragrant and make a wonderful gift to give yer maw a bit of well-earned relaxing time

Ladybird Books just keep coming up with some hilarious classics and 'The Mum' (rrp. £3.99) is one of my favourites!

Ness do some really gorgeous bags and purses and this really beautiful bag, Milly (rrp, £39.99), has a gorgeously patterned silk lining too! Cute!

The thing I got excited by the most about the VARV table lamp by IKEA (rrp £50) is the fact that it's wireless!  Waaaah! I hate wires.  This one charges via usb and then stays bright for ages, making it cool and minimalistic too. Perfect!

Of course, this year I am all about the giving and Xmas, for me, wouldn't be complete without some form of charitabel giving.  This year I am practicing what I preach and gifting via www.goodgifts.com

Be sure to have a look at some of the lovely ways you can pass on the love to someone else who needs it :)

Thanks for reading the Blethering Boys 2016 gift guide. 

The boys and I would like to wish you all the very best of the season to you and yours.

The monetized barrier...

Tom comes home with a letter from the school.

"Dear Parent,

A small number of vacancies exist for children to have lessons on violin/viola/cello...."

...stuff about commitment and practice...

...then the hard sell.

" Cost of tuition: £231 (3 instalments of £77)

Hire of instrument: £30"

Yeesh, take that right in the face.

"Lessons are free if you are in receipt of:

Income support
Job Seekers Allowance (income based)
Employment & Support Allowance (imcome related)
Child Tax Credit (with annual income of less than £16,105)
Child Tax Credit and Working Tax Credit (with annual income of less than £16,105)
Universal Credit"

That's not us.

We are just over the bracket of a sizeable enough income to exclude us from any kind of benefit, thankfully (apart from the bastarding life-saving Working Tax ones which they keep messing up, grr.  But really - thank goodness for them. Otherwise we would be homeless by now!)

But only just.

But three installments of £77?

No can do.

At the moment, that's a week's worth of shopping.  Two and a half weeks most months if I'm honest.  It's amazing how far a big bag of pasta can stretch between five and a dog.

I say: amazing, I mean: I am so fed up of pasta.

Tom came home buzzing about having tried out the cello: " I was SO good at it, mum!"

He's scanning my face to see what I'm going to say.

In his heart of hearts, he knows I'm not going to deny him access to something he is passionate about or could be really good at, so we have the conversation:

"You'd have to practice every. single. day."

"I know!"

"You'd have to perform in the school orchestra at events and stuff.  No option not to."

"I know! It'd be so cool...I've seen them do that..."

Then it crushes me - we've had to say no to so much over the last couple of years, he's unsure.  I can see in his eyes he's given up already.  He knows it's not a reality.

I'm unsure now whether it's because he's scared he's going to under-perform in some way, not be good enough or if he can see in my eyes the panic and the calculation of how and when £77x3 might come from over the next year.

When I was Tom's age, I learned the violin at school.  I did it for about 6 years and right into high school...until I suddenly had to pay for it.

See, my mum was a single parent and we just didn't have the money for stuff like that.

I was okay at the violin - I was no prodigy - but I enjoyed it.  I enjoyed the group of people who did music; I never felt like I fit in anywhere else really. I was good at Art, but Art was expensive - full of trips to Paris and expensive materials there was no way I would be able to get up the courage to ask my mum for.

Languages were all about text books and more trips abroad.  Very expensive trips abroad.

I dodged them all carefully.  I had a job, but that paid for my school uniform.  I was the kid who got EMA to get by. That's how we lived.

I guess I always assumed that when I was married and had a job and two incomes in the house that this other stuff would just...be okay.

And it will be one day (everything crossed).

But for now, my boy will miss out.  Which is a shame.  I feel like money is the barrier to him maybe being good at music.

Maybe being a wizard at rock climbing.

Maybe being an amazing computer coder.

Maybe getting decent at football or gymnastics or something sporty enough to help him out at school with some friends.

He's not poorly off.  He has clothes that fit.  He has a roof over his head.  He has a big bloody garden to play in and gets gifts on his birthday.

Lucky, lucky, lucky.  Beyond lucky.

We have that 'work/life/balance' thing down (at last) where he spends tangible amounts of time with both parents.

We are safe, we don't live in an earthquake zone, there's no war in our streets.

He doesn't always have what he would  like to eat, but he has enough to eat.

Lucky. Lucky. So, so, lucky.

He has a lot of good things going that other kids don't.

But sometimes I feel like we are the shit in the shit sandwich, you know? We're not the end, we're not the crust but the shit in the middle.

And when he comes home yet again with something else that kids in his class are raving about doing, when he wants to go to the sports class, or try something new or do something out of the ordinary and I shrug it off with the age-old, "sorry, buddy, it's just too much.."...ahrgh, it kills me.

I feel like my kids are forced out of all this stuff.  I wish everything for kids to be accessible to all children, regardless of status.

Especially as opportunities are becoming more monetized.

It's such a shame.

I know I'm probably not harbouring the next rock star.  I'm probably not sitting on some great architect or the doctor who will cure cancer once and for all....but how do we know for sure?

What if he is the next Andy Murray?

What if he has the potential for something we cannot afford to unlock because of the monetized barriers?

Minding My Business

For those of you who don't know, I'm in the business of setting up as a Childminder.

With this come all of the crazy and absolutely necessary checks, detailed disclosures and policy-writing which we have come to expect in our society.  Because, you know, why let normal people get on with their every day lives and actually help each other out when it could be a prohibitive, costly and time-consuming process?

If you are wondering where British jobs went - they are here; box-ticking and writing nonsense which gets updated every few years.

Dave and I have just applied for our enhanced disclosures with, like, a bajillion forms of I.D, proofs of address and such. I have had, I think, three disclosures before, and Dave has had about six and also been registered with the Social Services Council as a care manager, but you know - that'll be another £100 please. Credit card.

My doctor has to sign me off.  Without seeing me. I haven't had a named doctor in over ten years.  That includes three troublesome pregnancies.  I could be telling them any old nonsense - 'how many units of alcohol do you drink a week?' Me: 'Oh, none, doctor!  I'm tee-total! *blush*

I'm not a raging alcoholic by any means - but who knows?  Maybe I'm sitting in my bathroom drinking two bottles of wine while the kids eat lunch (I'm not).  There's a fee for this too apparently. Puke. Credit Card.

Social services get a letter all of their own.  I have to declare that I've never hurt a child and they get to sign it and say they've never heard of me.  Again - not sure what this is supposed to prevent.  Any bona fide child abuser isn't going to tick the box and write a comment saying - 'well, actually, I am a bit of a dick to kids' while applying to actively have a job looking after them. No fee - lucky us!

The fire department have to inspect my house (which reminds me I need a fire blanket) and tell me off probably for the polystyrene ties on my ceiling which I SWEAR I'm going to get down as soon as I get a ladder.  Though they are beside our bedrooms, so really, if anyone's going to die, it will be me and Dave in the middle of the night.  We've already weighed this up with ripping out actual light fittings/discovering horrid things underneath said tiles.  The joys of old houses. Credit carding fire equipment.  Jeez, fire equipment is expensive.

There's a First Aid Course. Credit Card.

Induction to Childminding. Credit Card.

Member ship of Childminding Association. Credit Card.

And, well, I have to send off all of the policies I have written (stolen from another minder and edited) saying what I would do in any given situation, which you know, when kids are involved, is never as straight forward and text-booky as anyone would like. £28 to process this.  Credit card.

But hey, just in case...

THEN someone will get to come to my house, which no doubt Dave and I will have panic-tidied into oblivion and I will have my showhome-for-a-day, which will be nice and then IF we pass all of this we get to invite 3 whole children to come and play with my 3 kids after school and maybe for whole days occasionally.

Except at least I get paid for it.

Ha ha ha ha ha!

And probably taxed brutally for because it's a second income.

*sigh*

I'm just a girl, with a shit ton of bills who wants one good, steady income without any faff.

Why is this too much to ask?

Life really is like walking through treacle sometimes.

I just want a job where I get paid, can work as much as I can and need and can progress.

More and more, it feels like I'm never going to get there.

My son didn't sleep for 5 years and I know how it ends

I have one of those kids.

The one that never sleeps.

I speak now from the other side (barely).

My sweet sleep-stealer

I am there.

It does exist: The Elusive Other Side.

I have spent HOURS on the fucking floor, at the end of beds, hovering at the doorway, waiting for the child to SLEEP.

I have read books on repeat, ad infinitum, hoping for that elusive moment where he is finally asleep...

Courtesy of www.crappypictures.com

I have tried sleep training, sleep cry-ing-it-out, sleep being-especially-nice and being entirely firm and shouting and crying and being so nice it hurts.
 Bribery, sticker charts, happy words, angry words, empathy.

I have been through the works.

I have had doctors, health visitors, friends, family, neighbours' opinions, hearing tests, sensitivity tests, blood tests...

Sometimes they Just. Don't. Fucking. Sleep.

I am speaking completely as a soldier from the other side of the war: in all honesty there is no secret 'thing', no tricks, no manipulation.

I'm so sorry.

The only bloody thing that has worked in the end, in the long run, at the end of the day, is TIME.

I've had all the books, the parenting manuals.

The bloody hypnotising rabbit.



I tried night lights and splitting the boys up and bunk beds and separate beds.

We had the family bed (my poor back), the floor bed (don't ask!) the sleepovers, the late nights, the early nights and the fairy lights.

Audio books. Done.

Sitting outside the door. Tick.

End of the bed.  Oh the endless hours.

Being a total bitch and telling him he HAS to go to sleep because we can't keep doing this, okay? You are a big boy now, you have to be able to go to sleep on your own...please...mummy has lots and lots to do and I'm just here, you can still see me, you can still hear me...while he sobs and pleads and begs and it all ends in tears from both of us...

Years.

Not days.

Not hours.

Not months.

Years.

Somehow...inexplicably...probably after one of those very very rare nights of sleep when Ethan was 4 years old and we had maybe had a holiday and some food and were genereally totally caught off guard, we decided a third child would be a magical addition to our brood.

Somehow.

Don't you judge me - being a parent is filled with the complete absurdity of spending a lot of time in absolute despair while also spending a lot of time in complete love and adoration for what you have made.

We had our third baby.

And LUCKILY, very very luckily, he is a dream to put to bed (much like the first).

Magically, Ethan has settled.

We have still had our problems.

It's not been perfect or smooth-sailing or completely a black-and-white progression, but somehow...it's good now (fingers crossed, touch wood etc etc)

He goes to bed alone.

In his own space,

He stays there all night.

Very occasionally. he gets into our bed and sleeps with us, but it's really not often (my back is a lot happier.)

Someone advised that I should write a piece to tell you all my secret of getting my son to sleep: I have no secrets.

There are no tricks.

He decided he was going to stay in his bed.

Some nights he still asks for s, but it's not half as bad as it was.


I know you came here on the promise that I was going to help you to get your kid to sleep.

I think what I really want to tell you is trope-y as fuck and a bit shit.

It will pass.

Your baby will stop being a baby.

He (or she) will consider himself (or herself) big enough to do it him (or her) self and they will do it.

And gradually, oh so slowly and surely, it will dissipate.

Suddenly it will be something that you used to do.

In the meantime, I suggest you do what you need to do.

I have regrets, sure , we all do as parents.

I DO NOT regret:

Putting him into nursery to get a break.

Buying more wine/beer to 'treat' myself after a particularly difficult session of getting him to sleep.

Trying absolutely everything with gusto.

Tapping out and letting my husband/mum/whoever else do it (so they can also realise I'm not making this shit up).

I DO regret:

The crying it out - it was fairly obvious he was never going to go to sleep this way and it made bedtime an absolutely awful process for both of us.

Not just letting him sleep in our bed when he requested it; there's an innate thing in a child to be nurtured - I don't know whose agenda I was playing to when I denied him that nurturing.

Not just going with my instincts and making a family bed. Or feeling judged for my feelings.   I was never FOR co-sleeping, but it sure as hell would have made or lives a helluva lot more easier if I'd simply just went with my gut feeling and let him go in the bed with us, if that was what it took to get a good night's sleep.

I'm sorry I have no magic cure.

I absolutley know what you were hoping for.

All I can say is, I have made it.

I am there.

There is an end.  It will come.

Hold on.  Be kind to yourself.  Be kind to your kid.

It will pass.

Halfords Camping Guide: Inspiration and Tenting Fun

The sun is shining (for once) and admittedly, on days like these, we basically live in our garden.

Everything is done outside - the kids love it and go to bed at the end of the day filthy, but happy.

(They do shower.  Sometimes.  Under duress.)

As the school term draws to an end, our thoughts turn to summer holidays and time spent together, making new memories and having new experiences. We love trying new things.  My boys are full of adventure and I'm a bit of a ring-leader when it comes to wrangling up the gang and making them do new things.  After all, life's too short to sit on the shore!

Some of our fondest memories have been spent at seaside resorts, like Blackpool, but we have also spent a lot of time exploring the great outdoors and finding out what our country has to offer.

There's tons to do - beit theme parks, city breaks or a country escape, we really are spoilt for choice!

We live in Scotland, so it's not difficult to find some real beauty on your doorstep, or step into the wilderness and get away from it all.

Even camping in your own back garden can be exciting for the kids!

Being centrally located on a small island means we are also never too far from the sea, the hills, the countryside or the city.

A holiday or a getaway needn't be expensive either; Camping out under the stars in your very own tented hideaway can make for the perfect cost-effective and bespoke solution to enjoying the great outdoors - all you have to hope for is good weather!

Check out Halford's new Camping Guide for a huge host of ideas on where to go, what to take and how to keep the kids safe.
They also provide a brilliant tent guide to help you to choose the perfect tent to help make your experience as comfortable and accommodating as possible.
Available in PDF downloadable or paper format, the Ultimate Camping Guide UK 16 is the perfect companion for all of your summer camping needs.  It even has a great guide to Glamping, for those of us who like a bit more glam in our camping!

The boys have tried out camping a couple of times, most memorably last year in our new garden.  Granted, it wasn't far away, but when you are 4 and 6 years old, it's pretty cool; especially when there's a thunderstorm!

Luckily, I got to stay inside with my two month-old baby while the boys weathered the storm (ha ha ha!  Cheating - but I don't care!)

Dave was determined, after all the time and effort he had put into setting up the comfortable 4-man tent that they were going to spend the night in it (as were the boys!)

Dave also took the opportunity to have a few beers with our neighbour.

Needless to say, he awoke, hungover, beside Ethan, who turned to him at about 6am and said, "Dad!  Why do people do this?"

Needless to say, all is forgotten and they are keen to try again this year (tonight actually - as I write, they are filling the tent with all of the duvets and blankets from the house. There's no hiding for me tonight - nooo!)

I'm going to get wrapped up and have some fun (hopefully) while reading my camping guide to get some inspiration on where to go next!

Happy Camping!

Pushing The Blame Around

I put my hands up.

I am one of 'those' mothers.  I'm one of those parents who absolutely does not have their eye on the ball 100% of the time.

Hell, I'm lackadaisical when we are out sometimes.  SOMETIMES we are on a day out, and the sun is shining and my husband is there too and we are having a great day and I relax a bit.  Weird!

And, unbelievably I know, I am never able to watch all of my children all of the time, because guess what?

I have three kids and one set of eyes.

I have been the mother whose kid is doing something batshit beyond-the-realms-of-normality crazy.

My spidey-sense can only go so far.

Granted, I haven't found them in an animal enclosure (yet) but in all honesty, that could have been my kid in there.

If you have ever been in charge of a 4 year old who is intent on doing something, you will know.

4 year olds have no sense of 'just wait a minute' or consequence.

I am astonished at the sheer vitriol pounded out over the internet towards the mother of that child.

From parents too!

Horrified, even.

I am an animal lover beyond belief.  I am so saddened that Harambe was shot; he didn't stand a chance.

I cannot even begin to think of the mind who would wish a 4 year old boy be sacrificed in front of a crowd of onlookers in a zoo.

What an awful, horrifying situation.

We all look to blame when something like this happens.

Blame the mother, blame the zoo, blame the child...

Can there be total blame here?

Sure, the mother should have been watching her child, but in all honesty, complete and total honesty, if you have a 4 year old, can you honestly say you have never ever taken your eyes off the ball in what should be a safe place?

Never looked down to a crying baby only for your toddler to start heading towards the road?

Never looked away for a second in the supermarket?

Kids are fast. Kids are super crazy fast.  And sneaky.

The zoo should definitely have made their enclosure completely child-proof.  Heck, it begs belief that a 4 year old could manage to breach the walls and get in somehow.  A 4 year old! They are good at climbing, but not that good.  I'm sure we will learn how he managed to get in, but come on, it really shouldn't have been that easy to get into.  And I'm very sure that the keepers and everyone at the zoo will be beyond devastated that their mistake has led to the death of a much-loved and endangered animal in such a way.

It's so easy to be judgmental.

Like most things though, you cannot judge unless you have been there.

Granted, some people are idiots.  Some people do do some really stupid things.

A 4 year old kid though?

Come on.

RIP Harambe.

source:Getty  Images

What Happened When I Spoke To My Kids About Refugees

I watched BBC2's programme last night on the IPlayer, where Stacey Dooley (who I really like) was documenting the journey and the experience of unaccompanied migrant children.

Usually I don't get to watch much television, but when I do, I like to watch documentaries.  I also don't usually get to watch much tv around the kids, but I'm finding more and more, that when I do, they also like to watch with me.

Last night was no different.

Ethan slipped onto my knee and under my blanket and we watched together in our comfort and safety, with full bellies after our evening meal, just before I got him ready for his warm bed.

This was not lost on my five year old son.  Not at all.

Some might argue that the content of the documentary is too much for a child.
Some might say that there is no need to burden them with the world's problems at such a young age.

It wasn't a graphic documentary. Situations were described, but there was no blood, no dead bodies.  Just some normal people, normal families, with normal, upset, tired, hungry and scared children who had made some really epic journeys in order to flee their war-torn countries.

Inevitably, I had to answer a lot of questions.

• What are they all doing?
• Why are they not at home?
• Where are all their things?
• Why is the daddy crying?
• Have they not got a pram?
• Why don't they have enough food to eat?
• Where will they sleep?

I answered each question as well as I could.  I tried to taper it all down to the appropriate age level.  I tried to be quite matter of fact.

I always feel it is important to let children know what is going on in our world.

I need my kids to know that we are lucky, us here in our nice house, eating food we like and going to school.

I need my kids to know and to appreciate that we might not always have everything we want, that sometimes the things we like or want or even need are not always there for us, but that indeed, we need to share, and see the positives and try harder sometimes.  

I need my kids to see the unfairness meted out to others and to feel empathy too; I need my kids to have that balance in their lives.

I would really like my kids to be helpers.  I don't mean the kind of people who give up their lives solely for others (only if they really want to), but the kind of people who think of others.  Who maybe pop some food in the trolley for the foodbank when they shop, or donate old clothes to charity, or put bird feeders in the garden in winter.

I guess I want my kids to have some kind of social conscience.

What happened when I spoke to my kids about the refugees?

We talked about how unfair their situation was.  How awful it was that babies and sick people had to sleep on the streets.  We talked about war and how scary it must be to live in a country at war.  We also talked about how nice our own home was.  How lucky we were.  How nice it might be to take some of our old toys and donate them so that the migrant children might have something to play with.

Essentially, nothing happened.

No bogeymen came in the night and stole their innocence.

There have been no nightmares. No stupid questions.

There was some empathy, a bit of understanding, and a realisation on my part that when explained in the right way, we can take the scary things, the strange things, the unjust and unfair things and speak to our kids about them in a way they understand without destroying their innocence.

Ethan: "Mum, I think we should definitely make friends with them when they get here.  They need a friend."

See.

If a 5 year old gets it, why are some adults having a hard time?

Now if we can just bottle that up and spread it around a bit, the world would be a better place. 

Taking A Break

I have three kids.

I work with kids.

And books.  Thankfully, I have a nice bookish buffer between me and other people's kids at work, but more often than not, my job involves placating, entertaining and listening to small children.

Life's always a laugh with these crackers!

I love it - I really do.

I work in a children's library and I get a real kick out of helping them fire up their imaginations using the written word.

It's a real privilege.

Today, however, I was sent to cover a different department (which is usual for my work - sometimes we are short-staffed and we are expected to cover areas which need to be covered.  It's nice to get a wee change); one which is just for the adults.

When you've spent the last goodness-knows-how-long being at the beck and call of small children and their endless crazy demands and challenges and hilarious musings, it was a bit difficult to get myself in the mindset of not speaking to kids.

It was kind of nice.

I got myself a cup of tea in my travel mug.

I found myself glancing over adult fiction and non-fiction.  It's been a wee while since I properly had the head-space to do this and it was a weird sensation.  Usually I'm looking for ways to entertain, things which sound funny or look funny in the eyes of a child, but today it was all for me.

I read a newspaper at break time.

I spoke to adults about things which weren't about parenting, or housekeeping or what my baby's poo looked like and it was pretty cool.

I could actually feel a different part of my brain being used, and for a second, I kind of remembered who I was.

After my four hours, I went down to my locker and put on my coat.  I brushed my hair in the mirror and actually felt the rumbling in my tummy signalling that yet again I had missed lunch.

This time, I resolved to do something about it, rather than the usual of just pushing through and ignoring it.

While walking up the road to my car, I switched back to 'Mum' mode.  Switched back on to 'must collect the baby and get the other two from school and plan what to have for tea' mode. Felt the rumbling in my tummy again and tried to forget about it. Felt myself slipping back into responsibility, like putting on an old, worn-out coat with holes in the elbows.

But - for four hours today, I relaxed.

It gave me space to think. To be.

I think I forget to do that sometimes.

That's the thing about having kids; it's relentless.  You never stop.  And although most of the time it's fun and full of laughter and madness and crazy stuff that you'd never even thought about doing - it's tough going.

Like anything, sometimes you just need a break.

Reminder to self: Always try to do something different.  My initial reaction to going somewhere else today was 'oh no!', but actually, it was great.  It's okay to break out of the mold. It's okay to have some down time.

Calling All Funny Parenting Posts and Stories! (linky link ups wanted)

Parenting is a challenge at the best of times.

What you think is a nice morning of feeding the ducks can turn into something completely different.

You have to have a sense of humour - whether it's a three year old having a melt-down because his sandwich was cut the wrong way or a baby spewing all over your head, the key thing to remember is: It might not be funny now, but it will be funny someday.

I swear that's all that gets me through sometimes (especially when I've sat in a pee covered toilet seat or realising the school secretary of the massive school knows both mine and my child's name because we've been to the office so many times handing in his lunch/schoolbag/coat. Again.)


There are no massive rules here, but I simply ask that the post is funny and it involves parenting in some way.

It is not compulsory, but it would be courteous to:

1. Visit another person's link (or two if you can)
2. Leave a comment to say hello and what you found funny on their post

An InLinkz Link-up