Silent Sunday

I'm a mother now, don't you know...?

I’ve been struggling to find the time to post this past week or so, mainly because I’ve had Little T’s birthday coming up which required me to pay some attention to my child and do the necessary preparations like buy presents, make party food, bribe him into going to bed when he’s over-excited, wrap presents and drink wine.  All of this has got me thinking about the things that I do now that I’m a mum, that I didn’t do before  - when life was a little simpler and the only nose I had to wipe was my own.  This is my non-exhaustive list that demonstrates the thing I do now, now that I’m a Mum:

 1.       Microwave my tea:  Before I was a Mum, I used to be able to drink a whole cup, all in one go, while it was still hot.  How could I have ever taken that luxury for granted?  Childless people have no idea how precious it is to sit down and drink a hot beverage undisturbed.  Microwaving my tea has become second nature now, and I even do it in other people’s houses.  It has its advantages – with the rising price of groceries, I’m saving on teabags by not having to make another cup once my first has cooled down. 

2.       Do the housework hungover:  Before I was a Mum, I never did anything when I was hungover.  I would just lie on the sofa all day and maybe move the upper-half of my body to reach for the phone to order a takeaway.  Then I became a mother and was gifted with this amazing ability to still be able to look after a child and tidy the house after 3 bottles of wine and four hours sleep. 

3.       Tell people I’m convinced Iggle Piggle and Upsy Daisy are having a secret love affair: Come on, have you seen those two?  There’s definitely something going on! Plus, the narrator says things like “Upsy Daisy, are you going to dance for Iggle Piggle?” And there was an episode where she’d only let Iggle Piggle in her bed.  It’s disgusting! Before I was a mum, I could make intellectual comments about grown-up television like...Eastenders.  Now, all I can comment on are fictitious characters who fly about in blimp-things that make fart noises. 

4.       Go to bed early:  It’s a sad fact that I’m normally in bed by 10pm.  Little T has always been an early riser – 7am is a luxurious lie-in.  By 10pm, I’m knackered and unable to string a coherent sentence together, or lift my wine glass to my lips.

5.       Have a serious conversation with another mother about children’s toilet habits:  As a mother, I feel it is my duty to listen to another mum when she is concerned about the colour or consistency of her childs poo.  Before I was a Mum, I probably would have thought the whole idea of discussing such a thing was awful.  Now I don’t bat an eyelid and helpfully offer suggestions like “have you tried orange juice?” “Did they eat lots of fruit yesterday?” and “maybe you should ask the doctor to change their antibiotics.”

6.       Say “For goodness sake” instead of “For fuck sake”:  Unless I’m driving.  Then it sometimes slips out without me realising.  Or unless I’m in work.  There’s no children there.

7.       Phone NHS direct:  0845 4647.  I was invited to their Christmas party last year as a thank you for keeping them in business.  When he was a baby, Little T only had to sneeze and I’d be running around the room shouting “He’s ill! Do you think he needs a doctor?”  I once phoned them because Little T had red poo.  NHS direct asked me what he had eaten the day before and it struck me that he’d had red jelly at a party.  The woman on the phone felt it was safe for me to cancel the ambulance. 

8.       Use having a child as the perfect excuse for everything:  When the annoying sales people phone me or knock the door “Sorry, I’m just putting my child to bed” (they don’t even mention that it’s 3pm in the afternoon.)   When my house is a mess “Sorry, he dragged his toys out.” When I’m late for something, “Sorry, I had to get him ready.” When I forget to do something for someone “Sorry, he’s been playing up.”  Nobody questions it!  And it sounds so much better than “I couldn’t be arsed to clean up before you got here,” or “I decided to have another cup of tea before I left the house.”

 There’s more than this, I’m sure of it, but sorry I can't continue, I’ve got to, um, get him in the bath....

I might flip this one on my next post and write about the things I don’t do anymore now that I’m a mum.  I reckon that list will be a hell of a lot longer than this one! 

How do you solve a problem like...

Birthdays?  The ones that small children have.? Small children who are so over-excited that their inability to contain their excitement spills over into rude, annoying and naughty behaviour?  So rude and annoying, that even the Nuns won’t take them in?

Someone please tell me, because I honestly think I have found my first grey hair. 

It is Little T’s 5^th birthday on Wednesday and we had his party to celebrate on Saturday.  I kid you not, I have never, ever known my child to be as naughty as he has been over the past few days.  Simple tasks have turned into torturous showdowns, the smallest request has been met with strops that would put even the most contentious teenager to shame.  And in spite of this, I still had to give him a nice, happy birthday party and I am still yet to give him a nice, happy birthday.

I don’t want to!  As awful as it sounds, I really don’t want to shower gifts and affection on a person who this morning told me to “Make my breakfast NOW!” and followed up my request to ask nicely with “Do it now, or I’ll kick your butt”

WTF?  Did I just hear right?  You, still not yet five years old, are telling me – Your Mother – that you’re going to kick my butt?  Clearly, there’s a thing or two they’re not teaching you in school, so let me educate you my precious:

·         The laws of physics will not physically allow you to kick my butt.  You are less than 3 foot tall, as opposed to my mighty 5 feet and 4 inches.  You cannot physically kick your feet high enough to kick my butt.

·         If you can defy the laws of physics in a similar way that you defy me, and you do indeed manage to “kick my butt” remember that Mummy has the receipts for all of your birthday presents – good boys get nice things, naughty ones get nothing.

·         If I discover the source of the phrase ”Kick your butt” you will not be able to a) play with them anymore, or b) watch it anymore.

This example of rude behaviour doesn’t even touch the surface.  I won’t even go into some of the other horrific traits he’s been displaying for fear of somebody saying “I blame the parents.”  For approximately the last four days, he has displayed the most obnoxious, disobedient and hair-raising behaviour I have witnessed in him.  I even spoke to my mother about it, which is something I rarely do as I’m not the sort to admit that I’m lacking in parental ability. But on this occasion, I’m afraid to say I feel like I have slightly lost control. 

Trying to reason why my son has turned from a loving, affectionate and relatively well-mannered child into the spawn of Satan, I can only conclude that he doesn’t yet have the ability to channel his birthday excitement positively.  I really can’t admit that overnight he has undergone a behaviour transplant that means he will continue to act this way until he is about twenty-five.  I can’t believe that, I just can’t.  That scares me.  More than spiders do.  My only saving grace is that if I’m right, and this lapse in acceptable behaviour is down to his impending day of celebration, then by Thursday I should have my happy child back, and not be left with one whose head can turn 360 degrees.  Until then, I think I can only ride the storm and intermittently check for numbers that may appear on the back of his neck. 

Is that a 6 I see?...

10 lies I tell my child...(that I think are OK!)

"The ice-cream van plays music when it’s run out of ice-cream"

I live in a street that still has an ice-cream van that visits.  I was amazed when we moved in, I thought ice-cream vans stopped doing the rounds years ago, but not in my street.  Come shine or peeing down rain, along it comes playing “just one Cornetto.” Little T gets all excited until I remind him:  “They only play the music to let us know they’ve run out!  Never mind, maybe next time.”

"If you play with your winkie too much it might fall off"

It must be a little boy thing I’m sure, but he never leaves it alone!  In the queue in Adsa, in the library, sitting on the floor watching TV, sitting at the dinner table eating mashed potato – I dread to think what he’s like in school!  We also went through the phase where he wanted to show off his winkie, but thankfully, we’re past that now.  However, when we’re out and about I will often whisper sternly “If you don’t leave your winkie alone, it might fall off!” Although it’s probably evident by now that I’m lying – if it were true he would have most definitely lost it by now, the amount he plays with it. And OK, perhaps this one could be a little bit worrying for him, but I'm pretty confident that he's not disturbed by it, seeing as he still plays with it constantly.

"If you pick your nose in public, your finger might get stuck up there forever"

 I always carry tissues around as he’s started picking his nose.  It’s lovely, especially when a little old lady starts talking to him, telling him what a handsome boy he is, or how good he’s being and he replies by giving them the middle finger up the nose.  Charming.

"Father Christmas does exist"

I’m sorry, but this is a lie every parent should tell – he does exist, HE DOES!  And I will do everything in my power to keep little T believing it for as long as I can – its part of the magic of Christmas.  I will be devastated when he discovers the truth.

"Superman eats broccoli" (and carrots, parsnips, butternut squash etc...)

If he’s still at the stage where he believes that Superman is real, then he can believe that Superman also eats his greens.  The only time this can go wrong is when he informs me that he no longer wants to be superman, he wants to be batman instead. 

"I’m 21"

Now, I don’t see any harm in this one at all.  Little T has this thing where he likes to ask me and his Dad how old we are.  Big T is honest and he tells him he’s 34.  Big T isn’t as sharp as I am – as a result I have de-aged myself by ten years and therefore I can fool myself into thinking it’s OK to still wear bodycon dresses and leopard-print bows in my hair.

"Daddy said No"

Why should I always be the bad one?!  Big T works long hours, weekends and funny shifts so normally it’s me that get’s asked for toys, magazines, sweets etc.  I think it’s only fair that Daddy gets half the blame when the bottom lip jets out and starts to quiver.  Recently this has been used whenever he asks for a baby brother or sister.  Although in this instance, I’m telling the truth. 

 "Yes, I heard what you said"

  Used when I didn’t hear what he has said, but he won’t be quiet until I say that I did.

"All the dentist wants to do is look at your teeth."

I omit the part where they get a big drill out, squirt water down his throat and suck it all up with a tiny suction pipe. 

"If you don't tidy up your toys, I’ll hoover them up"

  Surely, at some point soon, he’ll realise that it would be impossible for a Dyson to suck up a Smoby workbench? But until then, I can guarantee you, you’ll never see a child clear away his mess so quickly. 

So there you have it – the little white lies I tell my child, whilst at the same time telling him that it’s wrong to tell fibs and he should always tell Mummy the truth.  And if you think these are bad, you should hear the ones I say to Big T...!

Titleless post...

Today was my first day back in work after a week off with Little T.  I am tired, hungry, have spotty lights in front of my eyes from reading too many emails and cramp in my toes from wearing my power-trip five-inch heels.  I am also slightly concerned that after being home for a week, I seemed to have forgotten what my job was, and how I was supposed to do it.  

So I’m afraid this is all you’re getting today;  A feeble attempt at not neglecting my blog whilst it’s still in its infancy.  I cannot think of anything remotely interesting or witty to say so it would be unfair to subject you to any more than a few apologetic sentences, and would ask that you come back tomorrow when I’m fully fed, rested and have more to offer. 

Poor Big T.  His luck’s certainly out tonight....

How and when do you find the time to...Meme

Saturdays are always busy in my house and last week I stressed about finding the time to post.  This week, I was tagged in a meme by the lovely All in One Mum so I thought “brilliant!  I don’t have to think about what I’m going to blog about, I can whip this one out nice and quick because all I have to do is answer a few questions, click publish and I’m done – result!  WRONG!  I’ve taken more time pondering over my answers in this meme than I do thinking of, and writing an original post.  Lesson – next time, leave meme’s until I have the time to sit down and do them properly.  But anyway, it’s done now and here it is.  I’ll be tagging a few lovely ladies in at the end, so for the purposes of passing it forward, please read through the rules below and set aside at least an hour to complete(if you’re as slow thinking as I am)

Here are the rules:
1. Please post the rules (Visions of Fight Club are popping into my mind...)
2. When answering the questions, give as much information as possible. It's all about the finer details people!!
3. Leave a comment on Sex, drugs, rocker...and stroller,baby. This is so we can keep track of the Meme and take a polite nose into everyone else's lives! Mwhaha!
4. Tag 3 or more people and link to them on your blog.

How and when do you find the time to....

...do your laundry?

Me and Big T are actually very good at keeping on top of the Laundry – we shove clothes in the machine when they’re dirty and put the machine on when it’s full.  Any overspill goes into the laundry basket which them immediately gets emptied into the washing machine when a freshly washed load is out.  Good, eh?  Drying the damn things can be a pain though in our good ol’ fashioned British weather – we don’t own a tumble dryer so it’s either on the line or over the radiators.  Rainy days in the summer are fun when our house can easily be mistaken for a sauna.

...write a blog post?

I’m still trying to figure this one out.  My blog is still a newborn baby - 2 weeks old in fact – and I’m really surprised at how bloody time-consuming it can be – it’s not so much writing the actual post – it’s the thinking of what to write, the social networking that seems to be essential to blogging, the obsession over stats (although I suspect that novelty wears off) and the daggers I get from Big T when I say “I need to write something for my blog...”  I’ve started a “blog book” which is a tiny little notebook that fits into my handbag so I can jot things down when I get a lightbulb moment and then try to write the post in the early evening when Little T is watching some TV after dinner.  After I’ve bathed him and locked him in the cupboard put him into bed, I then proof read, edit and publish.  If he’s been a little sod difficult, and won’t go to bed, then I just click publish and wait for someone to tell me I’ve spelt something wrong. 

...look after yourself i.e. wash your hair, paint your nails, take a bubble bath etc.

I am very, very fussy about hair washing and freak out if my hair hasn’t been washed for more than 48 hours.  I shower every morning after I’ve kicked some arse with some exercise DVD (don’t be fooled, I’m going on holiday in five weeks and desperately want my stomach to stop resembling a deflated balloon) so my hair is washed most days, and straightened every day without fail.  As you can imagine, over-frequent washing and daily straightening has left my hair looking like shite so the other thing I’m slightly freakish about is really good shampoo and conditioner and Big T would choke on his own saliva if he knew how much I spent on those two products. Sunday night is pamper night and that’s when I have a hot soak in the bath, paint my nails, pluck my eyebrows and epilate. 

...spend time with your other half?

This is a tricky one – we both work full time, and Big T works shifts which includes weekends and evenings so we actually get very little time together.  When we are together we’re usually so tired that we grunt and make hand gestures to communicate. 

...do fun stuff with your LO?

Oh God, why is it that all the things Little T finds fun, I don’t?  I don’t like playing Ben 10.  I don’t like playing Transformers.  When he starts a sentence with the words “mummy, shall we play...” I break out in a sweat and start shaking uncontrollably, because once he gets you playing with him, he WILL NOT let you leave – I swear, he is a reincarnated prison guard from Alcatraz and if you move an inch away from the “play zone” he’s at your ankles like a shot quizzing you; “where do you think you’re going mummy?  You’re meant to be playing.  Go back in the room and finish playing.”  But it never ends.  The playing never, ever ends. 

On a serious note, every weekend we go out somewhere like the play centre, or swimming (which I also hate) the park if it’s dry.  I do crafty stuff with him too most weekends,  and we have lots of fun at bath time too playing games or writing down a story that he makes and recites to me – actually, that makes me his bloody PA.  Scrap prison guard at Alcatraz, he must have been the freaking WARDEN!

...spend time with your family?

I usually see my parents for a couple of hours on the weekend and my sister, niece and nephew one evening during the week.  Going to my parents usually has an ulterior motive and I often plan to go there after work too as I know Mum will feed me and Little T which means I don’t have to cook, or wash dishes. 

...socialise with friends?

This is infrequent.  I try and see friends in person maybe once a month, but often it’s longer.  I am also absolutely shit when it comes to texting back so I’m quite surprised that my friends are still my friends.  I think they must think I’m rich.  They’re wrong. 

...prepare an evening meal juggling a baby/toddler bedtime routine?
If I’m feeling organised I can peel veg and let them soak til I come home then cook up meat/fish with veg when I get in form work.  Or I might get the slow cooker out and just cook something whilst I’m at work.  If I’m less organised then its pizza and garlic bread or fishfingers and chips.  Don’t act like you’ve never done it!

...deep clean your house?

**Stares at the question puzzled**  Is this a trick?  Is this meme designed to make me look like the crappest housewife and mother ever? First I shame myself admitting I cook fishfingers and chips and now you ask me about cleaning! How can I answer this when my favourite quote is “my idea of housework is sweeping the room with a glance.”  And presumably, a “deep clean” means cleaning the places that people can’t see like under the fridge and behind the TV unit – if people can’t see it, what’s the point in bloody cleaning it?!

...do the food shopping?
Saturday mornings, first thing, in Aldi for my fruit, veg and storecupboard stuff like tins, pasta etc.  Then over to Asda for anything branded, like washing powder.  I’m a total washing powder snob and will only buy Ariel because it makes the clothes smell so nice.  Food shopping with Little T is a horrific experience so I either drop him to my mums for an hour so I can shop in peace, or take 2 diazepam before we set out if I have to take him with me.  That way, I don’t mind so much when he rams the end of the trolley into unsuspecting innocent people, or puts chocolate up his jumper then screams when I take it out.

...do bulk ironing?

Mwahaha, I have a secret weapon here:  It’s called a well-trained husband.  And no, you’re not having him!

Done! Now to share the love!

I am now going to tag the following fabulous ladies into this:  Please take a look at their scrumptious blogs and agree me with that they’re wonderful.  If you do, you can lend my hubby to do your ironing for 1 hour. 

Lynn Cuthbert - Baby Steps (@Marylinn1982)

Sonya Cisco - The ramblings of a formerly rock 'N' roll mum (@sonyacisco)

Kate Williams - Craftsonsea (@craftsonsea)

And I need to get me some more twitter friends so I'm not tagging the same poor people over and over again!

Why every mother should watch Jeremy Kyle

***WARNING!  THIS POST MAY CAUSE OFFENCE IF YOU HAVE EVER APPEARED ON JEREMY KYLE.  OR HAVE A FAMILY MEMBER/CLOSE FRIEND WHO HAS***

 I have discovered a powerful new tool in making myself feel good.  It doesn’t involve spending hours preening in front of the mirror, or spending a fortune on the latest anti-ageing products.  You can do it sat on your bum while your drinking tea and eating marmite on toast.  It’s called the Jeremy Kyle Show. 

I’ve had the last week off work to spend time with Little T while he’s on his Easter hols, and today I sat down and watched Jeremy Kyle.  Of course, I’ve seen Jeremy before but it’s rarely on in our house because we work full-time and we tend to watch other things.  But after today, I have come to the conclusion that every mother needs to watch a bit of Jeremy now and again – after an hour of this fascinating insight into our lovely society, I felt absolutely amazing about myself!  And here’s why:

Most of the women on there are a mess:  I was sat there in my PJ’s, no make-up on and sporting the worst spot I’ve had for ages, yet compared to these treasures on my screen, I looked bloody fantastic. 

Apologies if these women are reading this, but sweetie, you could make more of an effort...you're on TV!

I know who the father of my child is:  I don’t envy the woman who has to take three different men onto a national TV show to get a DNA test, only to discover that none of them is the Dad. 

It reminds me to make that dentist appointment:  I like to show teeth when I smile thank you, and I like them to be white. 

Ever heard of colgate? 

It teaches me about fashion:  White leggings and a vest top that has “bitch” written in diamante is not a good look.  Especially if you’re seven months pregnant.

It is an educations tool for my child:  While he’s still young...“That’s why it’s important to wash your hair darling.”  “ That’s why it’s important to brush your teeth.”   And for when he’s in his stroppy late teens... “That’s why condoms are essential – no glove, no love”

It makes me really appreciate my husband:  Mine doesn’t take crack or heroin, steal from my mother or shag my best friend. 

Aww, see - he loves me! And not a syringe in sight!

It makes me realise my own intelligence:  If my husband did do any of the above, I certainly wouldn’t need a lie detector to confirm it for me.  Never underestimate a woman’s ability to find stuff out!  Plus, I know that the word “think” starts with the letters th, and not f.

I feel more confident about how old I look:  “I’m only 33 Jeremy, I don’t need to be tied down.”  What?  You’re only 33?! Two years older than me! No way!  Either you’ve had a hard life or I should be getting I.D’d when I buy alcohol...

And she's only 25!

I now know how much fake tan is too much:  I’ve actually never had a spray tan, but am contemplating getting one before I go on my hols as I am a tad on the pale side.  Thanks to this lady, I’ll know when to stop...

No comment needed..,

It reinforces that actually, I’m a pretty good mum: I don’t bring strange men back to the house, share vodka with my pre-teen child or get them shoplifting in Spar for said vodka.  I don’t leave him on his own at home while I go out clubbing wearing my diamante “bitch” t-shirt.  I might not be perfect, but watching some of the mothers on Jeremy Kyle makes me feel like making my own “most wonderful mum in the world” certificate and framing it to display on the living room wall. 

So, there you have it.  It might not be everybody’s choice of viewing, but if you ever have a day where you feel a bit crappy or hopeless, just tune into Jeremy Kyle – I can guarantee you’ll have a spring in your step by the time the hours up and you’ll realise how fantastically amazing you really are!

My first meme! Take me to your happy place...

Right, it has been suggested that I turn yesterdays post into a meme – now being new to this blogging lark, I have only come across this term in reading other blogs and thought it would be a long way off before I had to worry about doing something similar in my own.  Now I’m the kind of person who turns a suggestion into a challenge so I’ve spent some time looking at other people’s memes and trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do, as now I will make damn sure that yesterdays post turns into today’s meme. 

I think, I think that this is what I’m supposed to do....

 Happy Places Meme

Think of five places that you consider to be “Happy Places” – the idea is that they are places where you can shut the door on the chaos that motherhood brings and just be you for a little while – no distractions.

Tell us why these are your happy places

Once you’ve finished, please link your post back to my blog and pass the link forward for others to do. 

I’m going to start by tagging in:

@SonyaCisco

@MummyandMonkey (who told me how to do a meme – thank you!)

@craftsonsea

@AlisonDuveen

Clicking on the links above should take you to these lovely ladies lovely blogs - that's if I've done it properly!  Do have a look :)

 OK, I think that’s it...not entirely sure but I’m sure you’re all a forgiving lot if I’ve got it wrong.  And I’ll look forward to hearing about everyone’s happy places...

Come with me to my happy place...

We should all have at least one – a “Happy Place.” I’m not talking about that fantasy land that we wander off to after a few glasses of wine where we believe that redecorating the house at 11pm is a good idea – I’m talking about actual physical places where we can feel relaxed, content, happy and ourselves – not (insert name) the Mum, or (insert name) the wife, but (insert name) the person who actually has interests and ambitions beyond motherhood. 

A recent twitter conversation I had got me thinking about Happy Places, so I really do need to thank All in One Mum ( http://all-in-onemum.blogspot.com )  for inspiring me to write this post after she told me that one of her Happy Places was Hobbycraft (which I love to wander around too, but rarely find the time to create anything wonderful out of the supplies I’ve bought from there)

So, I’ve been thinking about my happy places and why they make me feel all smiley and why I seem to be a nicer person when I’m there.  I’ve omitted the obvious choices like “the gutter after a night out at the pub” and “the wine aisle in Asda” because I thought they’d be too obvious to include on the list. Here goes:

A bookshop:  Any one will do.  And not because I’m a total bookworm, or even that cultured.  I just really like bookshops.  I rarely buy (I usually buy books from charity shops – doing my good deed and saving cash at the same time) but I could wander around them all day, and I love to watch and see what other people are interested in.  You can learn a lot about people in a bookshop by the types of books they pick up!

On a swing:  The kind you find in a park! Swinging on a swing really takes me back to my childhood, and simple days.  I love the feeling of being high up in the air, and I can be forgiven for not noticing when Little T has fallen off the climbing frame and another mother nurses his injury – can’t I?

By the ocean:  The Sea is majorly therapeutic.  We’re off on a cruise in a few weeks and I can’t wait to sit on deck and just watch the ocean go by. 

My living room, after 8pm:  Little T has gone to bed, the toys are away and I can watch MY TV!  I am no longer subjected to Ben 10, Team Umizoomi or Ben and bloody Holly.  I can read a book without tiny grubby fingers pulling it away and asking me where the pictures are (Honest – I can read books that are all words!) I can lie on the sofa for more than five minutes without being asked for a drink/apple/yoghurt etc.  I can answer the phone without being asked “who is it?  Can I speak to them?” (No! And why would you want to speak with the monotonous bloke trying to get me to reclaim my PPI anyway?) After 8pm, my living room is bliss. 

My Mum and dad’s Garden.  It’s so much nicer than mine, which has no greenery as both me and Big T neglect anything with shoots and leaves until it has shot and left.  M&D’s garden has lovely flowers, grass and a water feature.  The closest I have come to gardening was a feeble attempt at planting tomatoes in one of Little T’s old toy boxes last year, and then being too scared to pick any because there were spider webs on them. 

My hairdressers.  I used to find the hairdressers a chore, where I’d spend 3 hours in a chair while some sullen woman bleached my hair into oblivion despite being told I wanted the sunkissed look. Then, I found my current one where the staff are chatty and they have cats wandering around the salon which sit on your lap while you get your foils done.  Going there means approximately 3 hours of child-free bliss where I can actually have a conversation with another adult that is uninterrupted.  Plus, I no longer leave with hair that resembles straw that has fought with a bottle of domestos.  (Not mentioning any overpriced, chain salons here!)

Lush:  Mentioned in a previous post, I am a lushaholic and I can easily spend over an hour in this shop pleading with the sales assistants to manhandle me into buying something so I can claim self-defence when I get home and Big T see’s the receipt.

Of course, there are plenty of “Happy places” I have that I share with Big T and Little T, but I think it’s important to have some that’s just for me too – that way, when I’ve had the kind of day that makes me feel like reaching for the valium and a bottle of vodka, I know that there’s always a Happy Place nearby that will encourage me to leave the valium and vodka for a day that’s even worse. 

Eat yourself young...?

In the five years since Little T graced us with his presence, I feel like I have aged fifteen.  That, coupled with the fact that I am now in my (whispers whilst looking around) thirties means that I am very, very conscious that I am not as pert, perky or glowy as I used to be.  In fact, I think I was twenty-four when Big T informed me that I was “past my prime” (and I still married him!  And he’s not even rich!) So I am very gullible and easily sucked in by any product that promises to “reverse” or “halt” the aging process. 

I religiously moisturise every morning after slapping on a bit of perfect and protect, but I’m still aware that the crow’s feet seem to be wearing bigger shoes lately.  So I was quite intrigued to discover that there are anti-aging foods.  Got to be worth a go, eh?  So, I’ve compiled a little list of the foods that scientist-type people claim will make me look eighteen again.  (Actually, I’ve probably read a bit too much into that, I’m just wishing they would make me look eighteen again.)

Potatoes:  Yes, their full of carbs, no, apparently they don’t count towards one of your five-a-day but any potato-lover out there will shout “hooray” now that there is a benefit to eating them.  Potatoes are full of hyaluronan - this is a fluid that cushions major organs like the heart and skin.  You can find hyaluronan in collagen and elastin and apparently, it’s essential for a youthful complexion!  Yay!

Salmon:  Unfortunately for me, I don’t like salmon.  For those of you who do though, salmon is packed with omega 3 and “healthy fats” that all help to keep your skin nourished and a portion provides you with your full RDA of vitamin D which keeps your skin lovely and clear. 

Kale:  I have to admit, I don’t know what Kale is (not much of an experimenter with foods.)  BUT, I’m damn well going to get some the next time I go to Asda now that I know it reduces the risk of wrinkles by protecting you from the damage the sun causes to your skin.  It also helps against skin disorders and contains tons of beta-carotene and a massive 192% of your RDA of Vitamin A.  Show some love for Kale people!

Lentils:  Really good for the skin and anti-aging because it’s jam-packed with protein which is essential for preventing saggy skin.  Also really good for your digestive system and if that’s working properly then your skin will glow! Happy days!

Cinnamon:  Reduces fatigue and boosts cognitive function.  Enough said.  Every mother needs cinnamon.  Bring on the cinnamon!

Watermelon:  Rich in beta-carotene and lycopene which will help to protect your skin and repair any damaged cells.  Not too shabby at all.

Avocado:  High in vitamin E, avocados will help to keep your skin and hair shiny and glowing.  And I’m sure I read somewhere that they’re an aphrodisiac too?  Now that gives me an idea for another post....

Berries:  Particularly dark ones apparently like blueberries and blackberries are packed full of anti-oxidants that help keep your skin looking gorgeous. 

So, there you have it – unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything to suggest that chocolate, wine and jelly babies will help you to look younger, but I’m more than happy to act as a guinea pig to try and find out until science proves it’s a no-goer.  I couldn’t actually find anything that said, categorically, that they don’t make you look younger so I continue to live in hope.  You’re welcome to join me in my scientific research should you so wish!

A pampering Easter treat for mama...

My name is Jenna and I’m a Lushaholic

I say this with a straight face and an unhealthy bank balance.  I cannot go within a twenty-metre radius of any Lush shop without its addictive aroma gripping me around the neck and pulling me towards the doors.  I spend a ridiculous amount of money on the magical lotions and potions that adorn the shelves inside and then cry all the way home after spending fifteen quid on a bottle of shampoo.  Although once or twice, I’ve bought something that doesn't  do what it say's on the tin for me, I still go back for more because the products that do what they say on the tin are worth every single bloody penny.  I have even contemplated getting a Saturday job there because one sales assistant let slip that she gets 50% discount. 

Whenever an “occasion” arises, Lush always creates something wonderful to mark the event and give us Lushaholics something else to spend money on, and Easter is no egg-ception (geddit? Oh Lord, I am wasted in my day job) This Easter, Lush have brought us an egg-ceptional treat (Ok, that’s enough now...)

For those who don’t like chocolate, are avoiding chocolate or fancy something to go alongside their chocolate this Easter, pop along to your local Lush store to discover these Easter treats – Easters as good a celebration as any for us mums to get a little bit of pampering!

The immaculate eggception:  3 bath bombs in one!  These egg-shaped fizzy delights, available in yellow or pink, break in half to present a cutie little bunny or chick.  Each half plus the bunny or chick can be used in a separate bath giving you three opportunities to lie undisturbed in lush heaven and emerge smelling like the scrummiest mummy there ever was.  £7.00 each

The Carrot:  One of Lush’s amazing bubble bars – you can get 6 baths out of this one.  Bubble bars are one of my favourite Lush bathtime treats – you honestly get the most amazing bubbly baths and the water feels softer for them. Personally, I’d take a bubble bar over a bath bomb any day of the week because with a bomb you don’t get the bubbles.  £4.95 each

Fluffy Egg: A sweet (as in candy)smelling bath bomb that is also egg-shaped like the Immaculate eggception, but doesn’t have anything cute inside it.  £2.95 each

Chick knot wrap:  Cute little napkin-things that you can wrap your bath bombs in to make them extra-Eastery.  A nice touch but I’d rather have another bath  bomb or something for the price.  £2.95 each

Hoppy Easter:  An Easter gift consisting of a bunny knot-wrap with a Fluffy egg bath bomb and a carrot bubble bar inside.  Rather cute, don't you think? £10.95

Of course, these are wonderful Easter alternatives for the kids too, particularly if you want to give them something that won’t make their teeth fall out.  I often buy bath bombs for Little T because when he has one, I have no arguments about him getting in the bath. Small price to pay for not having to prise him from the top of the curtains when he hears that his bath is ready.  These ones though will be Mama’s treat for Easter, and I can’t wait until Sunday night when he goes to bed and I can simmer away in my newest lovely from Lush. 

Note:  I am not endorsed or sponsored by Lush in any way.  I simply am that sad, and I love Lush that much that I have dedicated a whole post on my blog to them, with absolutely no reward or incentive. 

"But it's still morning!"

I have a new pet-peeve: British summer time. 

Last year, when Little T was three-nearly-four, he was so knackered after a full day in nursery that he was fast asleep by 7pm.  However, now that he is four-nearly-five, he has come the conclusion that the time of day is solely determined by how light it is outside, and is refusing to go to bed until the “sky is black”. 

 WHEN AM I SUPPOSED TO START DRINKING MY WINE?!

 Tonight, after reading not one, not two, but three bloody bedtime stories, I brought him back downstairs (Julia Donaldson, now your magic is no longer working, you’re no longer welcome in this house!)  His response to my giving in was “See Mummy, I said you were wrong.  I told you its still morning.”  (Queue lots of gritted teeth and tongue biting)

Now I am contemplating how to manage the next 6 months of light nights – particularly the ones where it stays light until 10pm-ish - and how to regain the only bit of me-time that I had.  So far I have come up with the following options, and have given a reason why each one is unviable:

·         Paint an image depicting the night sky on his bedroom window (I’m not a very good artist)

·         Ignore the fact he’s still awake, crack open the wine anyway and wait for social services to knock the door (I might not hear the door after a few glasses)

·         Lay a path of smarties from the living room to his bedroom, lie in wait and lock the door once he’s inside (Big T always delays the DIY.  It will be winter, and dark, by the time he gets the lock on the door)

·         Send him to the neighbours until he falls asleep (he might find his way back home)

 Before any do-gooders start stressing and picking up the phone to dial Childline (0800 1111) I AM JOKING!  I’m not perfect, but I’m not yet at the stage where I’ll lock my child in his bedroom while I get pissed downstairs.  And the neighbours, as lovely as they are, received a visit from the police at 6am last week and I think they had most of their furniture seized, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of Little T spending the evening sat on the floor with no TV to watch. 

So, I have decided that since Little T now considers 8pm to be weetabix time, I may as well include him in the things that I used to enjoy doing on my own – I wonder how long it might take me to teach him how to paint my nails, pluck my eyebrows and use an epilator?  Maybe as long as it’ll take me to convince Big T that if Little T does help me with these things, he won’t turn out gay...