I’ve decided that this will be my last post at Scribbling Mum. I’ve probably been mulling this over for a while now,feeling that there’s change on the way,but since the reaction to my last post ‘Were you ever a baby bore?’it kind of made up my mind. You can’t see the post anymore as I decided to remove it,not because I don’t stand by what I wrote but because I wanted to stop the discussion and not have a sick churning feeling when a comment pinged in my email box that needed approving. We all know that once content is out on the internet you lose any control and I have no desire to perpetuate any feelings. Continue reading Over and out –my last post 
I’ve always thought of peer pressure as a negative thing,making someone do something they don’t want to do. Like smoke a fag. ‘Your Mum will never know because these Consulate taste and smell of mint. It’s proper genius.’ Or try booze. ‘K cider is the best. You can use it as a candle stick afterwards and the white wax dripping down the black bottle looks ‘mazin.’ Or nick something. *cough* No comment available. But over the last couple of weeks I’ve witnessed peer pressure being a positive influence on both of my girls. I do know that they would’ve got there in their own sweet time,but seeing their friends do something they can’t has certainly pushed them on. Continue reading #Live in the now dude 
Before Miss L started nursery if you’d told me that there would be a graduation ceremony at the end of term I’d have thought it was nonsense. As with so many things when it comes to raising my children,unless I did it when I was growing up I’m a little sceptical. But as we gathered in the school hall and the line of four and five year olds trooped out pushing,shoving and picking pants from bums. I was sold. The curtains were drawn and a montage of photos were shown on the big screen up on the stage. ‘Let Them Be Little’ by Billy Dean boomed out. Have you heard that song? Sweet Jayzuz,don’t click on the link if you’re having a bad day. I could see my pregnant friend down the front row start to weep. I say pregnant like that’s some excuse but I’m pretty sure she would have been weeping without the extra hormones. Continue reading Let them be little 
‘I’ll give you a lift back to the office in my car if you like.’ Why did I say that? Why did I not sneak away and pretend that I hadn’t driven? Why must I try to be helpful? The offer was made to my boss. A career woman with no kids,immaculate Armani business suit,sleek black bullet proof suitcase in tow. The instant the words were out of my mouth I regretted it. My car is a shit tip. As I walked through the car park I wanted to streak ahead to hoover and wave a magic tree about but I don’t keep a hoover or anything fresh in my car so I was left to nervously keep pace with her and another colleague who’d tagged along for the free ride. Continue reading My car,my filth 
As I drove to work the other day listening to Radio Two… *Sorry,what are you laughing at? You got a problem with that? Blame angry,rude Chris Moyles with his self obsessed verbal diarrhoea. And the reality is that I’m now the target demographic and correct social whatever for Chris Evan’s Breakfast Show. I love Moira Stewart’s voice too.* …and I started listening to all of the song titles that I was shouty-singing along to. Song titles are pretty good at summing things up,painting a picture,presenting a snapshot. Ooh,what a good post for a new meme. So I’m It. I start. And here are mine. Continue reading Song titles to live your life by 
1. Leave ten minutes earlier. Do not push your luck and stay for that last cup of coffee at your friend’s house whilst the children are still playing so well together. It won’t last. They’re all a little past it,a little on the edge. Leave now,leave now. Ten minutes is the difference between leaving with a smile and a wave or leaving with one child restrained forcibly under your arm and the other being dragged along the ground. Ten minutes is the difference between the children getting in and clunk-clicking the car seats themselves and or having to use your elbows and possibly your knees. Ten minutes is the difference between their quiet tears about leaving such fun and your frustrated tears about NOT LEAVING TEN MINUTES AGO. Continue reading Five things I must start remembering 
Fear. I think I’m probably frightened of lots of things. The dark. Heights. Some dolls and all clowns. Flying. I didn’t used to be frightened of flying,I’d just eat sleep and watch films,but the older I get the more frightened I’m becoming. Or maybe it’s since having children. The first flight that I took after having Miss L I had a panic,a vision that the plane would fall from the sky and this little 10 month old wouldn’t know me. She wouldn’t know what I wanted for her,what I dreamed for her,what I had planned to teach her. I spent the whole flight writing her a letter. I wrote of all of the things that I wished for her. What I would want her to try,to experience,to learn. How she must always think how others feel,to treat others as she would want to be treated,to embrace people’s differences. To always try. To always take a chance. Continue reading Courage 
This last month has been a month of firsts and questionable milestones. 1. Miss L told me she *spit loudly in angry screaming voice* ‘hated’me. Some may say that I’m lucky to only be hearing it now at 5 years and 2 months old. I could see her searching her brain,‘what is the worst word ever?’ Obviously it was said in the heat of the tantrum but it still brought a tear to my eye not least because it made me imagine how many times she would doubtless say this to me over the next 10-12 years. Someone invent a spray to stop them growing up please. 2. Little P had nits which I wrote about here. Let’s not dwell on it but needless to say I’m now well versed on hair conditioner,the magical nitty gritty comb,tea-tree shampoo and other mother’s reactions to the very word nit. I know I know,they only like clean hair. But you know what,I don’t care,they’re still icky and make me itch. 3. Miss L got her first ever Rainbows badge. It was for the Royal Wedding. (Will that be worth something one day on eBay I wonder?) On the car journey home she announced to her friend’s mum that whilst her mummy could sew she always put them in a pile first and didn’t sew them for ages. It’s true. My unbeaten record is 11 months for a button on a pair of Little P’s jeans,The Boy only threw them out last week as they don’t fit her anymore. We’ve also made our annual holiday trip to stay with my out laws in Norn Ireland. As parents we aren’t really needed other than to enforce discipline now and again so it affords us a pretty unique opportunity to just watch them without the daily drudge and clock watching. I’m normally so busy trying to do something at the same time that I don’t suppose I notice the small things,their mannerisms and most interestingly their own relationship and how they’re starting to really enjoy each other as sisters. Continue reading #Live in the now dude 
Dear Jeans Store Shop Assistant, Thank you for today. Shopping for jeans is normally my most hated and dreaded task. Does my bum look big in these? Why,yes. Yes,it does. Next pair. I repeat this process until I’ve tried on all the pairs in the shop or I’m crying,whichever happens first. I normally leave the shop having spent way too much money on a pair that in two weeks time I know will be too baggy,having been overly cautious on the size front. In many of the shops before I found you I was faced with size 24 waist at the front of every rail. Size. 24. Waist. In grown women’s shops now,not the junior section. I was starting to feel somewhat gigantor. But,no,you were a wise woman. No size 24 waist yourself,you said all the right things,skillfully asked me questions and chose me two perfect pairs to try on. You weren’t sick in your mouth when I turned around and showed you my bum that’d been squished into the pair of skinny jeans. You offered me style advice about what to wear with them,heels and a crochet top maybe or a bright top and flats? I love that you innocently assumed I even had such choices in my wardrobe. Bless you for that. Yours most gratefully, Scribbling Mum. Continue reading Dear so and so…. 
Accordingly to a recent study the average person spends more time each day looking at their computer,television or mobile phone than they do sleeping. A grand total of 11 hours 48 minutes of screen time every day. 42% of those surveyed said the first thing they do when they wake up in the morning is check their phone. And 37% say it’s the last thing they do at night. Is that shocking? Sad? Either way I’m not surprised and I am without a doubt one of those people. Over the last 12 months I’ve developed a bit of an addiction. Take right now for example. We’re staying at my in laws and I decided when I woke up this morning,opened my eyes and checked my phone,that I would turn my phone off for the whole day. Not just on silent,off. But I’ve been twitchy all day. Like I was missing something. All the while thinking there’s something that I should be checking. Would that editor email back on a Saturday? What about those MAD press releases that I emailed out last night? When did that all important competition close again? Being able to check emails on your phone can feel like a mixed blessing for someone like me who is so easily distracted. I broke my self imposed ban after an impressive six hours,turned it on for a sneaky check and then put it back off again as I felt a bit guilty. It’s been a gentle creep. I started by experimenting with Facebook dope and before long I was shooting up Twitter crack. Continue reading I’m addicted. There,I’ve said it. | |
