Category Archives: My Boys

MUMMY! MUMMY! MUMMMMMEEEEEEYYYY!!!

Before I had kids I imagined talking to them would be one of the best things about being a parent – Oh the hours I would while away with my children laughing, answering questions and eventually putting the world to rights together – It would be the very basis of the close bond we would form.

When I saw other parents out and about doing stuff like this, it would make me feel so sad…

I would almost want to run over and rescue that poor child from it’s bitch of a mother…

shutup4

I would never tell my kids to shut up – NO WAY!

In my ‘Imagining what it would be like to have kids utopia’ we would lie about on top of beautiful sun drenched hills and chat ALL day about EVERYTHING! #blessed

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Katie

February 12, 2016

Happy three my guy!

I write this drinking wine to toast the eve of your birth (or just because actually I like wine and drink it most nights) surveying the mountain of plastic crap I am putting off wrapping. You need none of it but you’ll love all of it – and we really, really need a bigger house.

And so you go from toddler to little boy. You’ve shot up this year, your chubby cheeks have narrowed out, personality is appearing by the bucket load and words keep tumbling from your mouth with increasing complexity – and immaturity.

Everything is ‘poo’ including me, you have taken to calling me ‘Mummy poo’ which is err… endearing?! One of your favourite things to do is to take a song and change one of the words in it to fecal matter…

‘Let it poooo, let it poooooooo, can’t hold it back anymooooore!’

I shouldn’t laugh but it’s hard not to when you get it so right. I also shouldn’t laugh when you parp whilst sitting on my lap and say ‘Mummy I did a fart on you!’ and giggle. This is life with a house full of boys and I love it.

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The Eight Steps Of A Faultless Bedtime Routine

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When I first became a mum I did what many a new mum does, I bought and devoured a whole heap of baby books looking for THE answers.

I didn’t want my kid up until midnight every night so nailing a bedtime routine was the priority. I was a massive subscriber to it, I purchased a multitude of ‘That’s not my avocado’ type books, handed over 30 quid for Ewan the sodding dream sheep with his lulling womb noises and spent years investing into the promise of Johnson’s Baby Bedtime Bath like a total numpty.

bedtime

It’s three times the price of anything else because it’s ‘clinically proven’ to help babies sleep better! How do they know? Did they also test the babies with a cheap Aldi version and then interview them the next day?

interview

Anyway I’m digressing. The point of this post was to share how I have perfected bedtime now I am an experienced *ahem* parent with over 5 years on the job. This is our foolproof routine: –

1, TV and milk – At about 6pm we begin winding down, the process starts with an argument over whether we should watch Power Rangers or Peppa Pig, follows with an argument that the milk should be milkshake and not just milk and ends in a WWF style wrestling match in which one child lies on the sofa while the other child jumps from the coffee table and lands on top of them. it’s approx a 50:50 laughter to tears ratio which sets things off beautifully.

2, A lovely bath – next up we go though a two stage #FML objection to bath time.

bath

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Doing Time At Soft Play

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If you were to ask my opinions on soft play I’m not quite sure what they would be – I neither love it or completely hate it. Like most activities aimed at young kids it simply helps fill up the day until you get to ~~gin time~~ the bedtime hour.

We go to soft play for a number of reasons:-

1. It’s raining
2. They are destroying the house
3. I want a latte
4. They have chicken nuggets and I can’t be bothered to make dinner
5. I fancy a bit of adult conversation (even if it’s just saying thanks to the guy who puts the shoes in boxes)
6. The boys have got dirty stinking colds and it only seems fair to share their snot back into the germ pool that has cost us £400 in pointless nursery fees so far this year
7. It makes happy go on their faces
8. All of the above

We have a few soft play options near us, The nicer posher ones that cost about £50 to get in. And the one round the corner which is a bit old, a bit dirty and a bit violent. I usually go with the latter, cos that’s just how we roll.

I’ve observed over the years that there are two types of parents at soft play:-

Category 1, The parents of older kids who read Grazia, look at their phones, drink steaming hot coffee and deserve to die.

falling

hitting

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I Have Boysy Boys – Should I Be Ashamed?

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I have two boys and do you know what – they are ‘boysy’ boys. I’m not saying that because I think it’s right or cool. I’m saying that because it’s just the way it is.

They like climbing, smashing, grabbing, wrestling, jumping, shouting and consistently talking about poo, just like some girls and just like a lot of other boys. It’s not something I have encouraged, in fact I have always supplied them with a wide range of toys, but the dolls buggy we bought is used as a battering ram and if I were to ask them to make me some dinner at their toy kitchen I would most likely receive a wooden carrot in my eye socket. Ouch.

I remember vividly the day I took my eldest to a small zoo when he was 3 years old, as an animal lover I had hoped he would share in my passion but as we moved from enclosure to enclosure he was largely disinterested, until suddenly full of excitement I saw him run towards a fence and press his face up right against the bars. What incredible animal could have finally captured his attention I wondered?! digers

The mechanical, non alive ones, building a new enclosure for real animals that he would consider pointless… because they don’t have wheels. There is not much more that I can do now except hold my hands up and say…

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Today You Are Five!

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Dearest boy, today you are half a decade old and it’s scaring me a bit. If I click my fingers will you turn 10? You see the older you get the more time seems to fly.

But as much as I sometimes wish that I could slow life down, everyday I enjoy getting to know you more and more. This year has been about big changes and big milestones, starting school, riding a bike, falling in love! You’ve done so well for one so small but there are elements of sadness about it too, suddenly everything you once loved being declared babyish. All around us are scattered and broken remnants or your past obsessions…

Age 1. Me
Age 2. Fireman Sam
Age 3. Postman pat
Age 4. Lightning McQueen
Age 5. Darth Vader

I’ve been ditched for the dark side already!

At five you like – Saying everything is ‘Epic’, talking in an American accent, making guns, swords and weapons out of anything vaguely stick shaped, climbing, jumping, shouting, performing your fighting moves to anyone who will agree to watch, space, castles, learning about your body, talking about poo, building crazy stuff out of lego, cheese sandwiches, your top bunk, hot chocolate with squirty cream, being chased, Power Rangers and chicken korma or ‘Mummy’s curry’ as you like to call it.

You really don’t like – having to go home from anywhere, getting dressed, learning phonics, rain, spiders, tidying up, sitting still, vegetables, going to bed, clothes shopping, anything being thrown away (even a broken toaster), the sea when it’s really rough, the dark, bad dreams and your brother smashing up your lego.

You are a rough and tumble boy, there is no denying it, but you have a very sensitive side too. When you go shopping with your daddy you love picking a bunch of flowers to give me when you come home (he is teaching you well). You tell me how lovely I look in a certain dress or how beautiful I am, and I feel it too because yours is one of the only opinions that matter now.

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A Little Love Story.

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If you were expecting this post to be about what a nightmare our holiday was (me too!) then you are going to be disappointed because guess what? It was amazing! The boys were in their element being outdoors and in the water all day, and happy children (and cheeky daytime cocktails) make for happy parents.

The aeroplane bits were another matter but I’ll save writing about that until I am slightly less traumatised.

For now I want to talk about something nice – you see under the Majorcan sun my biggest boy had his heart stolen, by a GIRL! She was a lovely, chatty Scottish girl with long blonde hair and they met one afternoon in the pool. He was immediately taken by the fact she was significantly older than him and could swim without armbands. Total catch right?

swimming

I worry that her parents might be concerned that my very lifelike portrayal of her may reveal her identity so let’s not name her specifically, from here on in I’ll refer to her as ‘Not Lucy’.

Now Not Lucy turned out to be 6 years old but she wasn’t put off by F being a paltry 4, like he would have been if it was the other way around. 50% more life experience is a big deal in kid world!

Anyway long story short, despite the age gap, they got on well and the next day he was eager to see her again. But something happened which I hadn’t really witnessed before – a level of shy had kicked in.

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A Billion Reasons Why I Hate The School Run

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Although there are many good things about school, including the main benefit of free childcare, there are also some negatives… basically having to be there every day. On time. Not in your pyjamas.

I am pretty lucky in our household really though, J gets the kids up and does their breakfast so I can get washed and ready in peace. Being A LADY it does obviously take me more time to, you know, style my hair, apply make up, select a stylish yet practical outfit and generally look like I have my sh*t together.

Don’t hate me though – my littlest is often awake at a time starting with 5 and I am the one who can’t get back to sleep for being kicked in the head repeatedly.

7:50 AM.

ready

8:07 AM.

beans

8:12 AM.

It’s not all plain sailing though, I am responsible for the duh duh duh SCHOOL RUN and to be honest I’m not a fan. In the before school times I used to enjoy our lazy mornings pootling about in our pants before deciding what to do for the day. Now that we all have to wear actual clothes things seem to have gone down hill.

8:17 AM.

dressed

And whilst we are distracted with the task in hand the toddler always seems to be doing something incredibly, incredibly annoying.

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A Big Boys Room

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My biggest boy has had the same bedroom since he was 18 months old and according to him it was ‘just not cool any more Mummy!’

He was right and I was worried that when friends come over they would diss him and trash his rep at school. Also I thought YAY project! And then got to work researching kids room decor on Pinterest (yep I know I wrote a post slagging it off a while ago but like Lily Allen I reserve the right to change my mind, and it’s worth noting that a lot of what I say is bollocks anyway).

You could easily loose days of your life on pinterest researching a bedroom your kid has absolutely no interest in. But as I was swooning over all the monochrome chic a nagging voice in my head said perhaps he should have a degree of involvement. So I asked him what he thought a cool bedroom would involve…

‘BATMAN of course!’

Doh.

Before I became a parent, or more specifically before I became a parent to an actual child rather than just a baby you could do whatever the hell you liked with, I used to look at other kids with all their character branded garb and just be like URGH, yuk. Why would you dress your kids like that and not in breton stripes, cool cords and converse?!

In short I was probably the type of annoying person that I would now like to punch in the face. With a brick.

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The Chickenpox Diaries – Part Deux

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Day 1

I was just starting to feel like, hey it’s been a couple of weeks now so surely we’ve escaped the eldest getting it?

But then, hang on what’s that small red bump? Oh dammit.

Day 2

F seems totally fine so I carry on with my plans of heading out to see friends.

I drink tequila, do ‘sexy dancing’ and turn up home in the early hours stinking of Burger King. I wonder at what age it will be achievable for me to have a civilised night out? It’s certainly not 35…

Day 3

It’s Mother’s Day. I’m hungover and would have appreciated a lie in but instead small people come in to prise my eyes open with their fingers.

They have made sweet cards for me but let’s face it they don’t really get the whole point of this do they? Everyone could do with a refresher on the T’s & C’s to be honest. Perhaps re-branding it to ‘Keep The Kids Out Of My F*cking Face Day’ would help a bit?

Later we decamp to my Nana and Pop’s house, a magical place where all illnesses and behavioural issues magically (yet temporarily) disappear.

We get home and have time for a quick game of ‘death-copter’ before bed. I won’t go into the specifics as it’s rather harrowing but let’s just say it’s not one of my favourites.

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