Not a cool mum, just a regular mum

A week ago I wrote a poem to my not so little girl. Tonight she is having a sleepover, they have made a music video and I was invited to watch, it was hilarious and once again reminded me how grown up she is becoming. I popped my head around the door a few moments ago and excitedly announced ‘chubby bunnies?’ While holding aloft two bags of marshmallows. They put down their iPads (big girl h doesn’t have one) and eagerly accepted the challenge…. I was not invited to take part, I was, however, offered the second bag and, cheeks full of fluff, returned slowly, dejectedly,downstairs to Scott. 

  
He is making a pirate sail in the kitchen for Roos party…. Turning away from the poster paint he asks me ‘are you going to take up some rice crispy squares?’ with a grin…. I had to blog about this. Rice crispy squares of course symbolise that I’m in ‘Molly Weasley’ territory, which, for my younger two is pretty cool….. But I guess its decidedly uncool to a tween… I’m not saying I want to be Mrs George (see mean girls) but I did think I would be a ‘hip’ mum….. My sister pointed out to me earlier that that will never happen, no matter how many shapes I throw, no matter how many times I recite all the lyrics to Little Mix’s Black Magic, or learn all the ‘in phrases’ or make silly jokes…. I will always be a regular mum… Unimmune to the eye roll…. Forever an embarrassment. 

  
But I’m a young mum….. Or I was…. I’m not 30 yet, I’m down with the lingo…. In with the kids…. I have a crush on Harry styles too (it’s the hair). Woe is me!!!!
I want to offer some words of wisdom to mums everywhere at the start of their journey…. Don’t say no….. If your little girl asks to paint a picture with you! Do it! Washing can wait, that news article can be saved, that job, is just that, a job! …. Build that tower…. Read that second story…. Hold their hand a while longer…..One day, you’ll find your presence isn’t requested so much…. They will always need you, but those constant invitations to join their little world will be more selective. As they grow and mature….. They need space to find who they are….. Mum may not be the biggest influence in their life…. Friends take your place and it’s bloody scary. 

  
Big girl H has some lovely ‘BFF’s’ and I’m proud that she has a solid friendship group, unfickle, sensible and polite….. It makes letting go a bit easier. If you had told me when I held that little baby in my arms at 19, that the letting go process began at 10, I would have laughed. I would have thought…. Don’t make them grow up too quickly….pop songs, iPads, Harry frikkin styles! No way! I won’t let her! But how could I know then what I now realise…. She’s growing at her rate, the rate of all tween girls around the country…. 10 isn’t the new 13…. It’s just the start of the next chapter…. Where one day, she won’t turn to me first…. 

  
But for now, every-time she calls for me, every time she asks for my advice or shares her racing thoughts with me, I will listen…. I will savour….Unless she’s telling me again how much she loves emojis….. I won’t tell her I love them too, because then she’ll think I’m trying to ‘be cool’ and I’ll never be invited to play chubby bunnies. 

Ten signs you’re a blogger

I’ve been reading some lovely posts from established bloggers on their 10 signs. Although I’ve been blogging for three years, I’m only now beginning to link in with the parent blogging community, therefore I’m not in humble brag territory just yet, no PR companies begging for collaboration…. . Just the odd acne treatment… And no regular linkups being hosted…. Although I’d love to host one one day… Therefore my ten signs are more for the writers out there trying to blog their way to fame…. I see myself as the Bridget Jones of the blogging world… Not the famous diary bit… But the big Spanx bit, the glamour fails and the constant use of ……… (Mainly because I ramble and am got great at punctuation)
Any who here are my 10 signs

1. When buying (charity scouting) for children’s clothes, I look for items that would look good on Instagram…. I’m talking bright yellows and orange… I don’t care how cute that jumper is, if it’s beige it’s a no no

2. Despite appreciating what a huge decision having another child is, more than once you have thought ‘wouldn’t it be great for my WordPress stats’ 

3. Those lovely crafts and designs you did with your children during the day?….. Yeh, you might have remade one for your blog images…. 

4. You have more draft posts in your iPad notes than you’ve had hot cups of tea….. 

5. Rather than saying ‘are you going to call your mum/sister/friend’ after an argument, your other half says ‘suppose your gonna blog about it now’

6. When talking to someone, you’re never quite sure if you should reuse you antidote of an event… Because you’re never quite sure if they’ve read the blog version or not  

7. A parenting debate appears on Twitter, rather than reading and moving on you wonder if you should blog your stance….. A Lot…. Then it dies down and you regret missing out on that # 

8. Your personal social media is neglected in favour of your blog page…… It’s ok aunt Julie…. If you want to know how the grand nephews and nieces are getting on pop over to ‘slummy mummy’ on Facebook and give us a like

9. You have called your children by their blog nicknames more than once. Sorry H, little Roo and Nerg…. At least mummy got you the right way around for once

10. You are crazily proud of your little corner of the net, you drop your url into most conversations and even have that little link on your CV… Just I case prospective employers want to read about Dawsons creek and nappy disasters 

Our Easter Tree

Yes, Easter is early this year…. Too early… I’m hardly over Christmas and with big girl Hs birthday sleepover and a pirate party to plan…. Easter is just too much… There’s only so many crafts a girl (ahem woman) can cope with. But, I refuse to be defeated!!! We all know I love a special occasion and, in between paper plate port holes and sleepover goodie bags…. The Macdonald clan have (with the help of our mothers help) made a perfect Easter centre piece… I even cleared out some storage baskets (there are shampoo and soap containers all over the bathroom floor now) to make the children an obligatory nest each…. After all, the Easter bunny needs somewhere to stash their goodies for Easter Day….. Even if the chocolate has a slight Lush scent 

I may have got a bit carried away at the Range (I love that place so much)…. But when everything you need come in at under £25 how could I refuse a trip? ….. With two toddlers…. Yeh, I bribed with chocolate! But that’s what Easter’s about right? Chocolate… Oh and Jesus rising again… I wonder if Jesus liked chocolate? I’m sure he would LOVE Range…. If I died for everyone’s sins I’d def rise again to visit that place…. Maybe without two toddlers though… 

   

 
   

  

I might or might not have stopped off at the most amazing sweet shop on the way home to get some Easter fudge… 

   
  
    
    

 

Sunday walks 3

   
    
    
    
   

First Time Mum: A Poem

I’ve made mistakes with you, my number one
My first time girlie,
My first experience of mummy guilt
A first time parent
So young
But you were younger.
I needed you…. But not as much as you needed me
I loved you first
I love you now
My girl with wit 
My girl with a temper and a smile
My girl who’s taught me more about motherhood
Than anyone else ever has
Or will

Was I too strict or not enough 
Did I appreciate everything?
Remember everything?
I’m scared I’ve forgotten too much…
But your intellect and empathy surpass my mistakes
In your eyes I see myself 
When I was young
But you’re not me
You’re confident
And funny
And intense
And creative 
You’re the best you I know
And you fill me with pride
But also regret… 
That I didn’t savour enough

You read all day 
Not to escape (I hope)
But to learn more
To travel to far off lands 
That I couldn’t provide

Now life is settled
Finally
Your journey and mine intertwined
Can you just be a child a bit longer
Because I’ve stopped trying to build your future without you
And I want to live those years again
Now that 
I’m here
Nowhere else
I want to photograph every moment
And keep it forever
Because I feel like the ‘mummy’ days are gone for good

I’m not sure I’m ready to be ‘mum’ yet
Can I be mummy a bit longer?
Can we talk about fairies and magic?
Not boys and selfies
Can you wear party dresses again?
Be excited by balloons?
Not make up 
And sleepovers
Because I’ve not been ‘mum’ before
And I don’t know what she does
And I want on get it right
And perfect
This time
Because you deserve it
And a decade has gone in hours

But if I get it wrong
If I make mistakes
When I make mistakes
Know this
At ten
You’re still my first baby
Always my first baby
And now….
I’m a first time mum!! 

  

  

    

I don’t wanna… Grow up

 

Someone found my blog by searching for ‘Dawsons Creek’. I’m feeling proud, many of you will find this a bit strange, what sort of (not quite) 30 year old mother would have the entire box set on DVD? Surely she should have grown out of her Peter Pan complex, like Spielberg, long ago… I mean Katie Holmes isn’t the too tall girl from the other side of the creek anymore, she’s the woman who married Mr Cruise, divorced Mr Cruise, stayed silent in labour and takes her mini-me shopping right? She grew up… why haven’t i? But it’s not just floppy haired Dawson that graces my screen… It’s Buffy too. In fact, despite having a child and a home I wrote an entire dissertation on said slayer…. Perhaps its nostalgia, I’m not sure. But I thought I’d share with you some little confessions…. Things that I do that make me wonder if I’ll ever grow up… So often I have to remind myself I’m an adult…. I certainly don’t feel my age…   

  
I still buy pick a mix

Yep that right, I get all excited when I see the stand, (white mice are my favs). On more than one occasion hubby and I have indulged in this treat…. Pretending it’s for the children, when really we stash it away and bring it out in the evening when the coast is clear…. We have to have one each, he’s into the whole gummy chews and I can’t be dealing with them.

I get excited for the postman

I know as a grown up, we are meant to dread the arrival of post, it signifies bills, but why is it I sometimes find myself planning my day around posties arrival? I know, for example, that he’s a bit later on a Monday, so I hold off the weekly shop until he’s arrived. Even if I’m not expecting some three-click late night Amazon purchase, I get that little thrill when I see his little red van pull up on our road. The children have picked up on this; the morning delivery is a cause for much excitement in our house… Although prying the water bill out of a toddlers vic-like grasp is a small reminder that I have real responsibilities….. Don’t get me started on the ice cream van!

I feel sorry for inanimate objects 

The thought of a teddy bear alone brings me to tears… No really. Big girl H has gone away on a school trip this week, and had to leave her beloved giant polar bear at home. I tucked him up in her bed this evening and I know it’s the perfect opportunity to give him a wash, but I feel kind of bad that he will have to go through that. We have a giant tub of plushies in the playroom and, each evening I carefully place any stragglers back inside, I’d never just chuck… Because that would be disrespectful…. And don’t get me started on when we have to have a clear out…. Those worn old bears have such pleading looks when faced with a bin liner.

I can’t make small talk

Sure, I can comment on the weather, but that’s really where it ends…. I’m not being rude… And although people must think I have a bladder issue (aside from the old pelvic floor) because I’m a self confessed loo-nipper, it’s really just that I can’t converse with strangers. I tend to mumble or say something which on later reflection was probably really lame or plain cringy…I’ve also perfected the art of using my baby as a shield…. You talk to me, I smile, pull a silly face at my child or start jigging him up and down… despite him not crying and looking at me like I’ve gone mad….. Once I got hiccups mid-conversation at a library mothers groups…. I never returned.

I bite my nails

Yes, I know it’s gross, I’m well aware it’s prob a sign of some deep-seated nervous disorder,,,, yet, the fact remains, in the evening, when all is calm, I’ve been known to trim them down. Pre the boys I used to have acrylic… But I’m slummy now, who has time for that shit? I mean, they would prob get chipped in a ‘calm down chair, I don’t want to, you’re so unfair kinda battle’ 

I use emojis all the time

Maybe it’s an inability to express myself…. But I love those little pictures…. More than a (not quite) 30 year old should…. I guess they’re there to ensure the recipient understands the intention and emotion behind your written words…. And I guess my love for them prob signifies that I’m too ambiguous…. Or rather sarcastic!…. Also, the fact I use them so much, proves that I spend far too much time online… In fairness, I talk to my sister every day….. Throughout the day…. Of course we don’t pick up the phone for a natter…. That’s far too grown up…. We also send each other selfies, which I guess if we were cool, would be done over snapchat… 

I never write addresses down

I have several address books but that doesn’t stop me contacting people several times throughout the year for their location. If I remember birthday, or Xmas cards it’s never a surprise for the recipient because they’ve invariably had a message a few days before with an embarrassed and crazy face emoji asking them once again to tell me where they live.

  
Please tell me I’m not alone, I guess I thought that by the time I was 30 (still not quite there) I would have my shit together and be a proper grown up… I guess I’ll carry on biting my nails and pick a mix while watching Dawson’s of an evening, while chatting to my sister in pictures and avoiding new people…. Except the postman.

 

Sunday Walks 2

Sunday Walks 1

I’ve decided to record our Sunday escapades in their very own tag, and maybe a whole heading of their own once the new site is up and running. Im not a photographer but im snap happy and I love taking the camera along to record our family tradition. So, for each outing Im going to post a gallery of images as a memory. It also saves me writing a whole post each time, inverably we are late, take a picnic, push through a few tantrums and have a wonderful day. take that as a given and enjoy..

 

 

Three’s a crowd

It’s twenty to twelve, I’m in kitchen making an after lunch cupa…. Lunch was early today… Partly because the children were up at 6am singing twinkle twinkle, partly because they were getting grumpy and food is a go to parenting tool, and thirdly, because when I was at work this morning my husband went Tesco and brought back doughnuts …. I grabbed one while at the laptop and then another for a mid morning snack… Then I figured if anyone else was to get a look in I would need to dish them up pronto…. So lunch was served at exactly 11.15… Followed by doughnuts. 

I escape to the kitchen a couple of times a day, we have a stairgate to protect me… Oh I mean the children… And, from my vantage point of the granite worktop I can drink my tea in peace while keeping an eye on proceedings. The boys seem to be playing happily together, (H is at school) I assure you this will not last, when I say playing, I mean Roo is doing a puzzle and nerg is chewing it… Which is fine (I’ve Googled long term effects of cardboard consumption) until the piece in question is needed……

It’s got my thinking about raising boys… With two only 21 months apart the ‘idea’ was that they would. Be best friends… I’m not sure how it’s working out. Roo did not a knowledge Nergs existence for a good six months… Except if there was a boob/play clash in his schedule. In fact his first full sentence was ‘no Nerg, boob gone’ which was significant enough to birth Ernest’s nickname… Over the last three months however, the two seem to be acting more like brothers, sometimes a team, sometimes a ninja and his smaller shadow and, more often than not, a rough and tumble pairing… The justification? Nerg is a train… Which he seems to enjoy for the first few mins… Until the train hits rougher tracks. If the train is headed towards the tunnel I know it’s time to step in…. I wasn’t prepared for this? I knew boys played rough and tumble games, but I kinda thought I would be raising two gentle sensitive boys…. without testosterone surges (someone told me there is one at the age of three) and no competitive streak of any kind… I’m not sure what to do?? I’ve suddenly hit that point in motherhood where I’m questioning gender neutral parenting… Nature Venus nurture etc etc… A whole new game… How much do I manage or control? how much to accept as normal?… I just didn’t ask myself these questions with big girl H. 

     

 The older two children get on better than I would have thought, despite the 7 year age gap. In general H leads the escapades unless reminded by either parent to allow her brother an opportunity to be less subservient. Sometimes I wonder if Roo will develop a stutter with all the attempts to contribute… But then his struggle pales slightly in comparison to NErgs, who, when allowed to join in rather than follow aimlessly, is afforded a more important role….. such as the fire in fireman Sam. 

   
But big girl’s love for her brothers is so patient and kind. She sacrifices a lot to keep them happy, she returned from a book exchange yesterday only to present her brothers with a book each, having handed in her own. She sometimes mothers them, but I suspect we are a little responsible for that, occasionally asking her to keep an eye…while nipping up stairs or to the loo… Or to eat a secret doughnut in the kitchen. Her and Roo love watching Topsy and Tim together, it might be about twins, but they like to hug and sing along to the opening credits… I’m very proud! They seem to share inside jokes and while the occasional niggle culminates in some under… er…foot battles,their relationship is beautiful… I can only hope Nerg finds his place soon, one beyond the train and the fire…. 

  
I noticed, over half term, that big girl H spent more time in her room having quiet time, I joined her for some Lego…we built a school! and she enjoys crafting at her desk, away from the boys grabby but well intended interference. I suspect the boys relationship will grow stronger as the years go on but perhaps this is just the normal struggle of having three children, will one always be left out? 

  
My tea is cold, I broke up a puzzle fight…. Roo escaped into the kitchen and ran around singing in triumph before being manhandled (gently) towards the gate… Nerg has eaten another piece of jigsaw… He’ll be pooing a postman pat montage any day now!! We are off to play mums and dads, at Roos insistence… This will provide me some psychological insight into our parenting…. Nerg is dancing to the singing potty…. 

No Mother’s Day

It’s all over my social media news feed…. Blogs leading up to Mother’s Day with gift ideas and wish lists… I have to say, I found myself confused this week when reading some gift idea posts from other bloggers… I was thinking, surely your other half or children get your presents cards and various treats for you… It’s just struck me… Some of you have mums too. Mums who you want to share your day with, mums who are now grandparents… Why had it not occurred to me before? 

There are also those inspiration quotes and images, a reminder that for some, their mother is no longer around, the day will be marked with a sadness. This isn’t me either.

There’s a breed of child missing, or rather, a mum missing… The absent mum. It’s not the mum you had and lost, it’s not the mum who is now grandma… It’s the parent who didn’t parent, 

If this is you I have a simple task, make yourself a card and when enjoying your breakfast in bed, lovingly prepared by your children and other half… Open and read it… This is the card you didn’t get to send, the card your inner child needs to see opened… When you see it, remember the mother you wish you had, the hugs you deserve and the love you have to give… And then, offer that to your OWN children… BE your own MUM