Category Archives: My Boys

Hurrah for the sun

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Sometimes i wonder if perhaps my blog focuses too much on the down sides of parenthood, that i talk too much about the frustrating aspects of my children. But then i think ‘hey they provide the material, if they want to be painted in a more positive light then perhaps they should stop being such little @#*&!’s.’

I jest of course (a bit) and there are days when i really don’t have a jot to complain about. The suns recent show stopping performances have been leaving everybody in a very bright mood. For us its a chance to have a perfect kind of day.

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A mosey along down to the seaside.

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The perils of a chatty kid

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F will pretty much talk to anyone wherever we go. I like this. it’s nice and for the most part it’s very well received. Builders, postmen or the local crazy cat lady all seem happy to be interrupted to discuss what they are doing any why; For the bus stop drunk, it’s a rare chance to converse with someone on the same level. Everyone’s a winner.

If unfriendliness is whats wrong with modern day society then i often think i could take a leaf out of his book myself, but then perhaps telling window cleaners you admire their big ladders might not be as well received from someone in their mid thirties; Or i guess, too well received, depending on how you look it.

Exchanges i am not quite so keen on are the ‘do you have a beard?’ interrogations aimed directly at women in small, inescapable places (train carriages are a particular hot spot). It would not be half as bad if they actually did and i could convince myself that his frankness was for want of the greater good. But In most cases they don’t even have a hint of peach fuzz, so what do you do? Arguing against it just draws the conversation out making things even more awkward. I’m sure he has caused at least half a dozen young women to run home and scrutinize every inch of their lower face in the mirror before stalking Groupon for electrolysis deals, just to make sure.

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One

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To my dearest littlest,

I feel much more emotional writing this on the evening of your birthday than i thought i would, which to be fair could be down to the bubbles we had at 4.43pm. You are now a whole year old and lay sound asleep upstairs, tired from your crazy day of trying to eat wrapping paper, gazing at fishes and thumping cake.

The big shiny balloon tied to the wheel of your new fire engine has been the star or the show, as we knew it would, which is to the great delight of your big brother who claimed said fire engine as his own, as we knew he would.

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Expensive Looking Arms

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Of late we have had quite a bad run of luck in our household which has included a car crash that was not my fault probably my fault, the boiler packing in and the cat starting to randomly shit behind the TV (again).

On top of this the Gro Clock that i used to worship at the alter of, seems to have malfunctioned. The sun now winks at me mockingly each bedtime as if to say ‘lol – you’ll be lucky!’ and the moon needs that smug, self-satisfied smirk wiping right off his stupid round face.

Too tired to do much else we permit the older one into bed with us as long as he abides by the rules of no whinging for milk, kicking, or conversing until 6am. Of course he oscillates wildly between each, often breaching all three simultaneously.

The conversation is always the most difficult to block out as he seems to store up incredibly curious quips to tempt me from my slumber. On Saturday in particular, he had a proper gem:-

[To set the scene – It’s too early in the morning, the boy has been in our bed irritating me for some time. His father sleeps, largely oblivious, as per fricking usual]

‘Mummy your arms are………….so………..expensive looking’

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Babies don’t keep

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Song for a Fifth Child
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Mother, oh mother, come shake out your cloth!
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking!

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Mummy Bricks

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It’s a thankless task at the best of times, motherhood.

From the day your child is born you feed, rock and change, feed, rock, and change on repeat only to be met with escalating cries and projectile bodily fluids.

Then they grow, start to move, and you take on the role of FUN POLICE; thwarting their efforts to repeatedly thwack the TV, reprogram the washing machine and/or pluck the cat.

You throw craft projects, trips to the park and ice-cream at them and still, they are not happy. Nothing is ever good/long/plentiful enough.

Words start to tumble from their lips and inform you that the home cooked meal you spent an hour preparing is ‘Yukky’, the birthday present carefully chosen by a loving relative is ‘RUBBISH!’ and your new hair cut makes you look like a ‘Poo head’.

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Baby S’s birth story.

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I’ve written Little F’s birth story and have been meaning to do the same for my youngest boy for a fair while. No more delays, here it is!

On the 11th February 2013 in the late evening i started getting some braxton hicks, I’d had heaps in this pregnancy in comparison to the grand total of zero i got with F, so i didn’t think much of it and i was able to sleep just fine.

On the morning of the 12th J had to be up in London for a meeting and i had a hair appointment. The BH were continuing but for some inane reason i still didn’t think it was the real thing (exactly what i said last time, when i was also wrong). I convinced J it was fine to go and that he would be back in plenty of time regardless, so off he trundled to the station.

Meanwhile i focused on the more important matter of getting get my roots done, yep i may have been in early labour but when the hell else was i going to be able to get them done if not then? Plus if I was going to look tired, and make up free in birth photos the least i wanted was one tone hair.

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shortly before bump became baby

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‘I will never leave you’

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Me and F had a conversation the other day, I’m not quite sure how it started but we were talking about families…

‘When you grow up you might want to get married like mummy and daddy.’

‘What? What’s married?’

‘It’s when you find a best friend and you want to live with them and be with them forever.’

*Long pause as TINY MIND IS BLOWN, followed by scared look*

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