Proud to be a stay at home mum

I love these women.

And I love this woman.

On BBC Breakfast news this morning was a feature about the cost of childcare. How women are forced to stay at home more and more with the children because childcare costs have risen 6% in a year. Carina White said that she had toyed with the idea of staying at home with the children but wanted to work to “teach her children better” (by going to work). Nooooooooo! Carina! What you have just done is reinforce an opinion that staying at home with your children is second best!

It struck a nerve with me (you may be able to tell) because for weeks I have been trying to think about how to write this entry and how to do it fairly. Part of me even feels nervous about posting it because I know people are going to get all weird about it. But I have not heard anyone else voice this, and I want to because it has been bubbling under my skin. Because a few weeks ago I came face to face with this opinion that staying at home with the children is “second best” to working as a woman. And it riled me. I had this weird lunch with a bunch of women who I knew from work, all with kids, most with full time jobs, some with part time jobs. And me. With “no job”. Which was very much the vibe I got.

*holds hands up in a defensive position*

Now, I want to get one thing clear. Crystal clear. I think women who work and have a family are bloody awesome. My friend ran me through her normal working day. Wake up, kids up, breakfast, dressed, drop husband at train station, drop child at childminder, get to work (always late), work through lunch, leave work, pick up child (always late), pick up husband, home, bath kids, bed, collapse on sofa, get up off sofa, eat, lay out everyones clothes for next day, sleep. These women are keeping us chica’s in the workforce, paving the way for our daughters to keep trudging up that ladder until they can press their faces against the glass ceiling and then bash their heads against it and make little tiny cracks in it for THEIR daughters to make even bigger cracks in it. Maximum respect *ethnic finger respect sign* (I am not cool enough to actually know one of these btw). However….maximum respect is deserved of us mothers decide to stay at home with the children.

After my lunch out, I came home feeling pretty turd. And I know none of them meant to make me feel that way. But, I thought to myself, if they think all I do is sit around drinking coffee all day, well, what the hell hope do I have convincing anyone else I don’t do that? I don’t have any family nearby to help with wrap around childcare. I wouldn’t be able to get a job on the salary I was on before kids so we couldn’t afford childcare. Even if I wanted to – I couldn’t afford to work. But, the point is I don’t want to leave the house every morning and entrust my childrens care to someone else – I want to be their carer and mother them all day long and be their primary influence. For me, I want to be part of every single moment I can of them growing up. This is my choice. And I think I do it pretty well.

Of course the media is always going to express polar opinons. Like today – You can work and struggle with childcare costs. Or you could give up your job, and live in poverty and scrounge off the country. Whoa whoa whoa. We struggle, but we dont live in poverty or scrounge on benefits. We make it work because we have to. I dislike greatly being tarred with the “sponging” brush. I am pretty sure the washing machine is about to break down. This month we needed to tax, insure and MOT the car. The children have an inability to turn off anything that has batteries in it (right now I am looking at 2 torches left on and I am torn between turning them off because we are broke and cant afford new batteries or leaving the torches on to teach the kids a lesson about how toys DIE). I get excited when the children open gifts which are clothes that wont fit, or toys they already have because it means I can return them and get something else they DO need (free shopping.  Or like legal shoplifting). Our shower only works intermittently. The shower door is proper F**ked and is just 2 precarious glass panels which flap about. The bathroom window leaked in the storms. My straighteners are making this weird buzzing sound – yet I still use them because vanity over rides safety. I had my first hair cut in a year a few weeks ago. Alex threw my laptop on the floor at Christmas and it broke (weird that). I didn’t win the Who Wants to be a Millionaire viewers question, even though I suffered Chris Tarrants stupid jokes and patronising arse-ness for NOTHING GOD DAMMIT!

But as a stay at home mum I don’t get any benefits and certainly don’t sponge off the state as seems to be suggested of stay at home mums. I don’t get any financial reward whatsoever. Next year when David Cameron’s ridiculously bad maths comes round to bite me in the ass and he cuts my child benefit we will feel that incredibly (how did someone with such bad financial understanding and ability to add ever become Prime Minister?!).

But I dont mind because staying at home is a choice I made for me and my family. And luckily, our children don’t seem driven by material things (which helps). For Christmas all Ed wanted was a “Peppa pig whistle and a tootle flute”. It cost £3. Standing in the queue waiting for father Christmas at his grotto a mother dressed in a suit in front of me turned around and said to Ed;

“oooh and what do YOU want for Christmas?”.

Ed said “Peppa pig whistle and a tootle flute” (which had cost me £3 and was already wrapped up waiting for Christmas day).

“Oh, erm, lovely” she said.

“And how about your little one?” I said, nodding towards her 3 year old.

She looked at me and said “Erm. A nintendo DS”.

Some of you wont like what I have written here. But, gals, women, ladies, if we can’t show the respect and support for each others decisions, how do we expect Politicians and the media and the work force to not beat us down for our choices? I just found it really sad. I don’t sit around drinking coffee all day. Just understands what works for some, doesn’t work for others. Be proud of each other for their reasons to work, or stay at home and never assume to second guess someone elses choices.

February 27, 2012. Tags: , , , . Uncategorized. 4 comments.

Brrrring Brrring bring me a decent phone. Please?!

My name’s Hannah. And I am a mobilephone-rage-aholic.

I have, shall we say, a violent history with my latest mobile phone. I threw it in pure, calculated rage and it hit the wall (I maintain, Officer, I was aiming for the sofa, but my aim was off) and of course, it died.  I had to sift through bits of old biscuit and near empty packets of dried out baby wipes in the toy box until I found the archaic nokia we let the boys play with. No, we dont donate our phones to African’s. And it turned up trumps. It was sticky and smelled like feet but it worked. For 3 months. Then that died too, but it was old and had been abused by the children for years so hats off to the little fella. On the off chance I tried the new old phone and I imagined it did this *shrugged at me, called me a few swear words and said “ok i will decide to work again, but just until the contract runs out. I want a phone case, I will turn off whever and whyever I want if I need a rest and you keep those kids away from me”. I agreed to the terms and conditions.

It has a week left to play with me like a cat does with a mouse and then the contract is over.

Todays blog is about phones.

Husband has a half day holiday today so meant I could look for a phone online without hassel from the kids whose only ideas are that it should be “blue”. Alex’s opinion carries no weight whatsoever – he was talking to my Nectar club card today having a good old pretend chat with Grandad.

I can not tell you enough how MUCH I DESPISE searching for new phones. I hope the capital letters will go some way towards expressing it.

I spent more time searching online out of curiosity for the phone I had in 2000 than looking for my new one. Can’t find it. It looked like this.

I don’t remember it looking so cartoon-house-like. But, to be fair that is probably a reflection on my artistic skills and not the phone company. I think it even had a little aerial.

I wasn’t allowed to use it though. It was for emergencies at University. If I used it I got told off. By my mum. I was only allowed to call or be called after 6pm from landline or to a landline.

I get so confused looking for phones – why are the offers all defaulting to a 24month contract?! I don’t want that – I want 18 months. I don’t know if I have to pay for internet access or not. What is an App? (I honestly don’t know – I know to some people that is like saying “where do babies come from?”). What does an android mean and why would I want one?! Why should I choose a HTC over a Nokia Lumus (can’t even be bothered to check my spelling online)?! It got too much and I wanted to have a little cry. I don’t handle stress well. I can cope with wolf spiders, strange noises at night downstairs and discovering what they are (picture frames falling off walls invariably) and hospital stays with children. I can’t handle finding a new phone. Or maths.

So I pottered round the kitchen for a bit…noticed that the left over mexian bean soup in the sink looked like vomit.

I played with the children even though they were playing quite happily with their dad. It all went tits up with this comment from an angry Edward “NO MUMMY! The big green crocodile doesn’t want to be snapped by another crocodile. you are the FISH. THE FISH!! *humphs and stomps off muttering* Green crocodile with the big long teeth is off to fight the big fat bear. OK?!”. I felt like I was drunk. I could start drinking…that would distract me from the phones.

I found it very interesting when husband rubbed the teaspoon on his back after making a cup of tea “check this out, Han. I am utilising the heat” and we discussed uses of other kitchen utensils and how we could save money on utility bills with them.

I made a big huge fuss of exiling the bull dog clip Alex caught his hand in from the house. “WHO would bring such a weapon in to an environment full of children?!” (me). I put it in the bin, in a tesco bag and then even took the bin out. To the big dustbin in the garden. Ie, not throwing the bin bag out the back door where it ususally lands with a farty puff of air on the back step.

I was internet banking when I overhead this;

Ed – “daddy I have two balls you have no balls”. This threw me. We had discussed vasectomies recently but not castration. Until I heard a football, or two in fact, being kicked round the kitchen. I went in to play some football (even though normally I operate a “No balls in the house” policy).

I never clean my car. Ever. It smells like dried mud and here are the contents..sweet wrappers (some intact, some just those annoying corner bits that get ripped off), 6 childrens books, one baby shoe, the bobble off a bobble hat, Michael McIntyre’s biography, one mitten, a child’s monkey hat (doesn’t fit either child and hasn’t since last winter), some children’s artwork (bad mummy), a bank statement, carrier bags, a plastic jug, the lid off a diet coke bottle and 3 lolly sticks.

I went to one of these

Even though I knew that it was 3pm and school kicking out time so we would hit traffic. I didn’t even mind getting stuck behind 3 other cars waiting for the carwash. One even broke down a little bit and there was an extra delay. Didn’t mind.

Went here

Didn’t need to. Items on my shopping list (written out in my best handwriting and in detail) were a bottle of water for Colin (the fish – needs cleaning out) and some stamps.

Didn’t mind when I got stuck behind one of these

This blog entry is a cry for help. Don’t let me suffer anymore. Please help me find the right phone for me. What I want is…touchy bits that whizz around the screen, 300+ minutes of calls, unlimited texts, access to internet and whatever how much mb’s I need (to get facebook, twitter and wordpress), camera and ability to store photos. Think of the little ginger girl who had the ancient nokia and help…

February 24, 2012. Tags: , , , , . Uncategorized. 2 comments.

Ginger rocks

Ginger boys rock. I am the proud mother of two ginger boys, and am a ginger lady myself. *rock horns*.

Recently I read this in an article and it made me laugh out loud. In shock.

Sperm bank turns away ginger sperm

Quote – “There isn’t the demand in most of the world”. How dreadfully sad. But more of that in a moment. Lets focus on the humour first – I love that it sells like “hot cakes” in Ireland. “ooooh we lurv a bitta rud spurm hure!”. I imagine a family of Irish people sat around – the young woman proudly tells the matriarch and patriarch they are to expect a new grandchild. “OH SEAMUS! Oh sweet Mahry mudda a Gad what wudderschful news! *clasps hands* Is a gaynjah? Dad ya choose the gaynjah spurm?”.

But women not having a preference for red headed men? That can not be true! Lets take a moment to appreciate the red headed men among us;

Eric Stotlz.

I was always going to marry him. Whether he liked it or not.

 Ahhhh Robert Redford. Even now when he is older than Jesus and bald like an egg, he still chooses to be a ginger by wearing a (piss poor) ginger wig. He waves the ginger flag with gusto.

Others would be Rupert Grint, William H Macy, Scott Grimes, Simon Pegg…the list goes on.

Some people only marry and procreate with other ginger people and live together in a little community. I imagine they have old Smash Hits photographs of Mick Hucknall on their mud hut walls.

Pro’s and con’s.


  • if the men listed above were living in that community I would be there like a shot.
  • It’s nice to be part of a group. And in a place where even “carriers” can be accepted.
  • your brother wont tell you that you are the only ginger one in the family and so must be adopted. Git.


  • A community of red heads? All arguing and being firey and get riled up? No thank you. Brunette husband is very much needed in our house to be the voice of reason and calm everyone (myself included) down. It is a complete cliche but very true. He is the calming plinky plonky music and trickling mellow water to our firey hell and damnation screaming fits of rage.
  • You couldn’t do as I used to to in primary school, when I used to tell boys my hair was made of gold and if they married me they would be rich forver. Suckas!! In the ginger community that wouldn’t cut the mustard with Eric or Scott – they have their own headful of riches. Dammit!
  • Old Smash Hits posters of Mick Hucknull on the wall *shudders and throws up in to the bin*

Now I know it wont always be a bed of roses for my boys growing up. Like me, I am sure at some point they will be bullied but I hope to God it doesn’t go to the point of being spat at like I was (seriously). But, kids are horrible to each other. Fact. They will seek and find something to bully anyone about. Chubby, spotty, wrong trainers, ginger…

My boys will come home one day and someone will have said something about ginger hair and everything else that goes with it. Do the collars match the cuffs? Ooooh feeling a bit hot headed are we? And I hope they do this. I hope they smack them in the face and ask how their red head is now? No, I don’t. I will be teaching them to raise their big ginger heads up high and proud and be happy with their ginger selves.

February 22, 2012. Tags: , , , , , , , . Uncategorized. 10 comments.

Mother. Tired. Bruised by baby. Father. Tired. Aching body.

I am so tired I am mostly going to communicate in pictures. Like a monkey. Or someone found living wild in a forest for 20 years. Or the makers of The Artist.

This is how I slept last night and the night before. (I am the big one. The baby is the splat in the middle)

Until I had a panic and thought to do this in case the baby fell out of bed.


Because of this

Where was my husband you may ask?

Here he is.

Lying cold and shivering on the floor in Edward’s bedroom.


Because of this.

and this

Tonight husband and I are doing this

February 17, 2012. Uncategorized. 6 comments.

Butternut Squash and things to help NotSquashNuts

Cooking with kids is brilliant for learning and for bonding. Plus, when it is snowing or it is half term or you are too broke to afford a trip to a PlayGym, it is an awesome cheap activity. Not just cakes and biscuits but dinners too. Personally, the run up to dinner in my house is when I eye up the left over Baileys from Christmas – it is a stressful and tense time of the day. Everyone is hungry and shouty, and under my feet. By getting the kids involved in helping with dinner, it means less screaming (from me) because they are focussed on doing an acitivity before tea. And Tesco Real Food are also doing these amazingly easy savoury dinner recipes which are EASY. Do you understand what I am saying? They are EASY.

Husband and I feel strongly about giving the kids good fuel. Yes they eat biscuits and cakes, but all in moderation. Even the grandparents are hopping on the bandwagon. Although I did walk into the kitchen the other day to find my mum, who was baking with the boys, giving Alex a bowl of icing sugar. To eat. To. Eat. “Oh! It’s just a bit of sugary dust, Hannah”.

I have a wheat intollerance so we tend to cook food from scratch as much as we can. But this isn’t always possible – in our world, in anyones world – people work, kid’s get poorly, La Senza does an excellent bra sale so you are late getting indoors and don’t always get a chance to whip something up from scratch (but your boobs feel supported and amazing in this unsexy but practical sale number you found at the back of the rail… and you made a brilliant joke, albeit to yourself, in the shop “Nice rack” *snigger*).

Sometimes, you just can’t be arsed.

So when Tesco Real Food got in touch I wanted to pick one recipe which isn’t 100% from scratch, so if you are in a rush you can get a little bit of a help and a cheat. And this one is packed full of veggies. Last week Edward adored, loved and simply couldn’t get enough of carrots. This week, hates them. Refuses to eat them because we used one for the Snowmans nose when it snowed at the weekend. “I CAN’T EAT HIS NOSE, MUMMY!” he shrieks, running away from me, clutching his own face. Apparently you need to try a food ten times or something before you are “allowed” to say if the children actually genuinely like it or not. Whatever. I just want them to eat as much fruit and veg as possible. So, sometimes, I lie to my children and force feed them veggies without them realising. I don’t care if this is morally wrong. At this age I care more about their skin and bones and inner bits. I hide the nutrients in dinners. Tescos Real Food veggie curry does just that, if you want it to  – healthy veggies, a splash of learning and fun (how twee), but with a dash of cheat (a sauce).

Veggie Curry – Tesco Real Food

Ed got right involved. We have had many a chat about how KatieIcancook is WRONG. You do not use scissors for cooking. Using scissors and food is what drunk people do at the end of a night out when they are desperately trying to get into their kebab and all they can find are scissors. For the love of cooking! You need a knife.

This is a blunt knife (mum please don’t panic). But does the job. And look at the concentration on his face! He probably mashed all the juicey goodness out of that pepper with his attempts, but at least he did it, with a knife and not a pair of plastic lollipop sticks hinged together.

If I am honest, because this one didn’t involve chocolate Alex couldn’t really give two sh*ts about cooking. What he did like, was getting some of his fathers clean undercrackers from the laundry room and running round with them on his head.

You can used reduced salt stock, and the salt in the jar of sauce isn’t high either, plus everything is freezable so you can freeze for another day. Easily would I get 3 meals a piece at least out of this for both boys. Ergo 6 servings+nice and cheap+nice and healthy veg = happy mum and happy kids. The boys really loved this and it was a real shame because I accidently *cough* served up too much for them so I licked the bowl. Ed told me this was ok because I was “cleaning it”. Do feel free to come round anytime for tea.

Check out Tesco Real Food cooking ideas for all sorts of other ideas. And not just for the kids but grown ups can eat them too.

February 15, 2012. Tags: , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Cooking and baking and memory making

It is Valentines day. Always seeming to tie in to half term, this is a double whammy of brilliance. There is no school traffic on the road in the mornings. Husband leaves for work later, gets home earlier. We are in the pub by 5.30. I have hardly any appointments in my diary (I work in education) and my boss tells me we were so quiet I should just go shopping for an hour or so. I am 25 years old, my arse is firm, I have intact stomach muscles and a healthy bank balance.

I am forced awake by little fingers poking me in the eye and a snotty spitty dummy being forced in my mouth. I catch a whiff of wee as a fat nappy full of nightime piddle is placed on my face. *sigh*. I have romantic competition for my husband by 2 family friends who have sent him a Valentines card. They are both very pretty so I don’t hold out much hope for me. My only trump card is that they are 3 and 1.

By 8am I have play doh-ed, I have painted, I have made valetines cards. I am out of ideas. Playschool is shut. Play gyms are jammed pack of other peoples screaming children. I get possessive over my lego house and frustrated by Edwards (unrealistic) insistence it “needs a diggers scoop coming out of the roof mummy!” and I am reminded of when the clocks went back and I was awake at 4.50am and playing Elefun. I swore daylight savings was God’s form of contraception. I swore no more babies. Ironically at the moment Valentines Day is doing much the same thing. Feeling broody? It’ll pass.

But it is VALENTINES DAY! And explaining this to Ed as I opened his curtains went something like this.



“Er… Valentines Day…it means…erm…you know, it means a day full of extra cuddles and loads of cakes and chocolate. Why not.”

When I was a little girl my mum and I always baked together and my memory shelves are packed full of happy moment’s plus I know how to whip up some excellent meals and treats. Those of you who know me, know that the kids and I bake 3 or 4 times a week. Tesco Real Food approached me with some recipes they wanted me to try out with the children and very kindly donated the ingredients too. Lets start with a favourite – CAKES!!!!!!!! Chocolate cakes with spinkles.

Chocolate cupcakes with sprinkles – Tesco Real Food

Just a tip I find helps get Ed involved with the maths and the weighing and the numbers of cooking – I draw a little line on the scales to mark where he needs to get to.

What wasn’t in the plan is Alex getting the pen and drawing on himself.

Another thing you will notice from the photos is I use cheap boring old tupperware bowls to mix and weigh the ingredients. You don’t need an expensive mixing bowl. Just use whatever you have around the house.

The best thing about this recipe is you just throw EVERYTHING in to one bowl. You don’t need to hang around throwing in some flour here, then whisk your eggs seperately. Bish bash bosh, whack it in. 3 year olds don’t have much patience so this is ideal. And it allows time for imagination. Ed mixed the mix with a spoon and made a hole in the centre. “look mummy! The Gruffalo’s cave!”. (I moved the sugar away from him….enough of that for now my lad I think…).

One more thing, passed down through generations…DON’T FORGET TO LICK THE SPOON!!!!!!

(and the bowl).

Ours don’t look quite like the ones on the website…

But who cares?

February 14, 2012. Tags: , , , , , . Uncategorized. 2 comments.

Be kind to yourself

Someone asked me recently if I had any advice (at the ripe old age of 30 and with two kids) for someone who was expecting their first baby.

Friends went through all the pratical stuff – sleep when you can, sleep when baby sleeps, swaddle cloths, blackout blinds, calpol, make loads of meals before you pop and freeze them down. Out of nowhere, was something my mum always told me, but I never really got until that very moment. “Be kind to yourself, Hannah”.

Be kind to myself. What the hell did that mean? Get a cleaner? Go out for a night out with my friends? Make time for a bath? What?

Deep beneath the surface of the overriding and overwhelming love and joy I had about my baby being born, there was this monster eating away at many of my moments of happiness. Whilst I felt this ecstasy about him being in my life, I felt like he deserved better than me. Better than anything I could offer him. I felt like I failed him. Every day. And every moment I heard my mum tell me to be kind to myself I didn’t know what she meant.

My mum kept drumming that phrase into me for 3 years until I finally twigged what she meant. I twigged it at the moment someone asked me to give advice to the new mother. Be kind to yourself means just that. Give yourself a break. Don’t be hard on yourself. You are not perfect. You are not amazing. You may have dreamt of being a mum your whole life and everyone tells you you will be a natural. You are not going to be able to do it all. You are just a person. You can only do your best. Be kind to yourself.

She is a clever lady is my mum.

February 10, 2012. Tags: , , . Stuff which may evoke a snivvle and tear (from the grown ups, not the kids). 1 comment.

Is it all in a name?

When Alex was born, he didn’t have his name yet. We hadn’t definately decided on it. He came out, all serene and mellow. In fact, I was so busy chatting to the aneasthetist that they sort of kept pointing him at me “Hellllooooooooo! Mrs Smith! B.A.B.Y!”. He gave a little squeak, then fell asleep. Through the emotion and drugs my husband and I looked at each other….he must be our “chilled out baby”, we whispered smugly.

Flash forward 18 months.

I’m wrestling Alex into his car seat in Tescos carpark, using my knee to bend him at the waist as I grappled for his seat straps, using my firm/verging-on-shouting voice; “ALEX! PLEASE!”. Up pops a man behind me. “My son is called Alex too. Doesn’t get any better, and he is 12!”, he chuckles grimly. Then a woman from 2 cars down (!) pipes up with; “I have a 20 year old Alex. Doesnt get any better then either!”.

Is it all in a name? Alex does seem to have an edge to him that I am sure the Oscars and the Henry’s of this world don’t have. His name has an “X” in it, for Gods sake. It’s all my fault!!!!!!

Flash forward to being at home.

“ALEX NO! That is naughty! mummy will cry and throw away your dummy!”
Ed; “mummy? why are you crying? And why are you throwing away his dummy?”
Me; *whispers* “I’m not, Ed. I’m fine. But I am trying to teach him a lesson”
Ed to Alex; “mummy is teaching you a lesson Alex. She isn’t crying. And your dummy is in her hand”.

Alex is running round without a nappy on, to get air to his blisters from the pox.
“ALEX! NO! Don’t hit Edward!”. He jumps off the sofa, runs over to his soft toy rabbit and rubs his bum on rabbits face, laughing.

‎7.30am. Alex is in his highchair throwing cheerios around “ALEX! If you do that again mummy will get really cross and take you down!”
Husband saunters in to kitchen, in best Will Smith voice “Mama will take you doaaaawn!”.
Alex laughs. This doesn’t help me.

“ARG!!!! ALEX!”, I hear from downstairs. Up the stairs stomps an angry husband who thrusts a trainer in my face, covered in sick. “Look what he did! He got it out the cupboard, threw up on it, then he just ran off laughing”.

In just one hour at the Sure Start Centre we go to Alex managed to…shove an orange felt tip up his nose and got an orange nostril, and interestingly, orange snot. He stole £4 from the entrance fee box. And he managed to twiddle the strings on the singing ladies guitar without her realizing until she went to play and it sounded cack. Tellingly, she looked straight at Alex and said, albeit in a nice way “what have YOU done?”.

We have a double buggy, a tandum one. We were out shopping and Smudge said to me “watch this” as Alex (sitting in the backseat of it) pulled on Ed’s hair then kept hitting him round the back of the neck. “Stop it, Alex!” said Smudge. Alex, without so much as a blink in our direction, stopped mid-smack and turned it into a loving stroke of Edwards hair. Husband turns to me and nods at Alex’s little smack-and-strke routine – “He has been doing that for five minutes”.

He broke my laptop. A week before christmas. No, not a cleverly devised “oh deary me” plan by husband to surprise me with a new one.  Santa almost didn’t come for Alex that year. Well, maybe he would come for him, with a sack, and put him in it and take him back to the north pole. I resisted that request in my own Santas letter.

I wasn’t happy. But I was, if im honest, and in retrospect and yadda yadda yadda im the grown up *blows raspberry and flicks the laptop screen the bird* I was angry at myself. Vomit. Actually, inititally I was angry at Alex. But I was angry at myself for being so bloody stupid and balancing it on the sofa. And for not backing up. So, I am taking this as a lesson learnt. Or learned. Which one is it? Whatevs. I got the lesson. Well, I didn’t really because my new laptop is 6 weeks old and im already breaking my oath and using it balanced on my lap on the sofa. Its warmer in here. Since we had to pay for a new laptop we cant afford heating the whole house. Alex is in the (freezing cold) kitchen eating dried bread.

Alex Alex Alex. If we tell Ed not to do something, he’ll listen. We congratulated ourselves on our brilliant parenting skills and obvious well behaved genetic make up.  I was confused when I walked into the kitchen last weekend, Ed took one look at me, lept off his toy digger and raced in to the playroom and started beating the crap out of his work bench with his toy hammer. I raised an eyebrow at my husband, who replied with “I told him he couldn’t bang until you got up”. Ok then. At least he listens. Ed appears to understand discipline or the need for it…or the brilliance and power that comes from replicating it. He told me off for  “breaking the downstairs loo door” (a crime I deny) and I got sent to the laundry room to “sit and think about what I had done”. The lovely, peaceful laundry room, where no one bothered me for five minutes. And when I shouted out through the door “CAN I HAVE A GLASS OF WINE PLEASE?!”, got one sent in by the prison guard Ed. Result.

I need to try and focus on getting Alex to do things without their needing to be some violence beforehand. I ask Alex for a kiss and he throws a toy car at my head. Then gives me a kiss and says “ahhhh”. I hope I never have to ask him for any money in case he has listened to Ed’s latest obsession about “burning the house down” and tries to fraudulently obtain our house insurance.

Alex is simply gorgeous. He is very cute, loves the ladies, loves a flirt and will make me a Nanny by the time I am 45. I feel it in my bones. Has anyone ever read “Edwardo – The horriblest boy in the world?”. Well, it is sort of like that. I need to remember Edwardo. Everyone tells Edwardo he is naughty but actually, by praising Alex, I mean, Edwardo, he changes his behaviour and becomes a good boy.

So, I don’t think it is all in a name. I think it is all in “the age” and how we have forgotton about the tantrums and tears with our “spirited child” as we called Ed when he was doing pretty much exactly the same thing 2 years ago. Tantrums and paddy whacks and early-to-beds (me, as well as him). Edward is 3 and Alex is 18 months – of COURSE I am going to compare their behaviour and of COURSE I am wrong to do it. I can not expect a 18month old to behave in the same way as a 3 year old.

I do still think, however, Alex will make me a Nanny by the time I am 45. He is just too cute.

February 6, 2012. Tags: , , , . Uncategorized. 3 comments.

Kiss my bottom!

Sir Paul McCartney has released an album called “Kisses on the bottom”.

Look at his face!!!! Look at it!

It’s like he went out and bought some flowers and out shot his head from the side “I smell a bottom! I NEED TO KISS A BOTTOM!”

I know I am a mum now because this is a true mothers day gift and I want it. But not for the music.

Do feel free to add your own humouress music album titles. Lets tittle at the titles.

February 3, 2012. Tags: , , , . Uncategorized. 1 comment.