Five things mummies can do to appear to "have it all under control"

1. Install low energy lightbulbs in your house and invest in some 'light diffusing' blinds. The house may be a tip but if you can't see it properly it doesn't count.

2. Only invite friends over for supper or evening hot chocolates. See above.

(Alternatively get a cleaner and never speak of it so to appease the guilt of not being able to do it all yourself)

3 Fake tan. Not only will you look like a sundrenched Goddess, your skintone will match the circles under your eyes.

4. Pray for alopecia from the neck downwards.

5. When the school decides to run a bake sale save a bit of time by popping to your local supermarket (preferably after 10pm when you don't run the risk of bumping into teacher/parent situation) and purchasing fairy cakes. By taking them out of their cases and adding icing sugar/cherries and/or a light dusting of decoration you are able to pass them off as all your own work. So long as you don't answer 'Yes' when asked if you made them yourself its a mere technicality. Just smile.

Puppy love...

For those of you who don't know...we have a pup. A now nine week old Labradoodle....and boy do I have my work cut out. Don't get me wrong, she's adorable and already part of the family but Lord can she poo. And wee. And chew. Its like having twins...the pooing, the weeing and the chewing always seems to start at the same time. Does that make me sound mentally unstable? That I think my dog and daughter are conspiring against me in a poo off, challanging me to choose which one I should clean up first? This week has mainly seen me knackered, smelling of a heady combination of Dettol and baby wipes. Stairgates have been installed, yet I am currently unable to tell you which one is to keep dog in or children out or vice versa. I came downstairs this morning to find my flip flop in a very sorry state, rather more flop than flip. The pooch had chewed right through the toe post. More fool me leaving my shoes laying around, only it then occured to me I hadn't - the dog had up ended the shoe basket and taken her pick. Lewis adores the pup...until she begins to play and nibbles on his bottom as he runs past. Darcie has had her nose well and truly put out of joint as she is no longer the baby and as I shut the stairgate on the kitchen door at lunchtime with the dog on one side and us on the other Darcie looks over and gives a triumpantly smug smile and a 'ha!' at the prospect of having five minutes without the dog attempting to lick her face off. Despite the fact that the poor puppy (she's called Lexie by the way) has been wrenched from her mummy and siblings she has settled into the madhouse relatively well......with the exception of having a bit of a reaction to her jabs, spending five hours at the vets having blood work and rehydration treatment she's just happy as Larry now. As is our vet whom I'm sure will look forward to seeing her again, especially if he gets another £200 every time she turns up.
In reality we're all waiting for the day we can take her out into the big wide world for walks. I love having her cuddle up on my lap in the evenings . I fully intend to make the most of it, as like the children she won't be a little for long and with the size the vet reckons she'll grow to it won't be physically possible for her to get on my lap. I have also just noticed that Cath Kidston do a lovely range of doggie bits and bobs.............

Milestones and Meltdowns...

This week has seen two monumental milestones which have quite literally sent me into meltdown...

Now my Darcie has never been a petite baby. Even when pregnant and having growth scans to check that she was developing correctly (my son was only 3lb when born) she was off the chart. At 33 weeks pregnant I was measuring 49 weeks pregnant. How is that even possible?? Anyway, she didn’t come out at the 13lbs that my 'expert' consultant predicted she would be - she was a respectable 7lb12oz  but soon set about making 13lb her target weight as soon as possible. From the off she was a guzzler, I felt like having Dairy Crest emblazoned across my boobies and nothing changed when we started weaning. She’s currently just less than eight months and I still enjoy the look on people’s faces when they ask her age and you can tell they’re clearly shocked. ‘Oh’ they say ‘she’s going to be a big girl isn’t she?’ Her dad is 6’3’’ and I’m nearly 5’9’’...we were never going to have a wee tiddler of a babe. In fact I'm seriously considering changing her name to Miranda...you know the comedienne on BBC 2? I have visions of Darcie being her double. 

Well, we took one look at her sumo-sized body  in her baby car seat and decided enough was enough. Getting her into the seat was like juggling clouds and once she was in the car her knees were practically resting on her chin (s). So off to a well known and reputable car seat selling shop we went.

The man was very helpful and very nice and very lovely... even if a little garlicky. In his defence he apologised as he'd had garlic bread with his lunch....great luncheon choice when dealing with the general public. Well he took one look at gigantor baby and didn’t feel the need to weigh her as she was clearly big enough. We sat her in a number of seats before we decided on a particular one. When I say ‘we’ decided it was more her deciding really as she whooped for glee when sat in a particular one! Out to the car we went for the ‘tutorial’ on putting the seat in carefully and correctly. It was at this point I felt the tears starting to threaten to spill. Again. This situation could be particularly embarrassing due to a) being in a public place b) there was no real reason to cry and c) I didn’t want lovely, kind car seat man to think he’d done something terribly wrong (apart from smoother me in garlic fumes) but the truth had smacked me in the face as I realised my baby was ‘growing up’ and there was nothing I could do about it. She was no longer little. I’d dealt with the other things up until now but this was public confirmation that before long she’d be a real life walking talking little girl. I cried all the way home until the OH threatened to call my Mother.

When I woke up on Sunday morning and Darcie gave me her wide eyed grin I spotted it.  Sitting there.  Mocking me. After the car seat mental breakdown yet another reminder that time was flying. Sitting right there in her pink little gums...... a gleaming white peg of a tooth.

Mother Nature really is a cow sometimes, she could've at least made it a month between baby growing events.

                                                                                                                                 

This week has been an emotional one. Sadly Lynn, one of my dance friends from years ago passed away. Well more of a had her life whipped out from beneath her than a gentle passing but the sad news is she has gone. It was a shock to everyone concerned, she was the bubbliest, loudest, life-loving woman you could've imagined with an absolutely filthy laugh, a wicked sense of humour, a young family and everything to live for. As I stood in the church at her funeral and saw just how many people had turned out to pay their respects and say goodbye I couldn't help feeling proud that I'd known her and shared some good times. It struck me that pretty much every single memory I had of her involved laughing about something and usually discussing boobs - my lack of, her not so! As the music started up and I watched her coffin make its way into the church I began to well up. Now one thing reader....I don't 'do' crying. It's not because I think it's weak, childish or meaningless. It's because I'm about as deep as a puddle and I look reeeeaaaally really ugly when I cry. I'm talking red nose, red lips, puffy eyes, snot...the works. It's enough to make someone cry. So I looked around me in order to distract myself, trying to find something to stop the salty pools threatening to spill. It was at that point that I saw it. Or rather them. I knew straight away that even in the afterlife she'd clearly retained her sense of humour as next to me on the shelf was a book about an African family. The picture on the front cover? Naked lady, almost parading her boobs in a mocking fashion. I looked up. Ceiling moulding? Lady with massive boobs. I looked down. Reading material? Virginal lady perhaps but also the proud owner of a majestic heaving bussom. Now you may think this highly innapropriate but believe me, had Lynn been there by this point she'd have already been out for a ciggie and chatted up the vicar....

I made it through the service until her beautiful and brave girls made their speeches about their mummy, at which point I swear I heard my heart crack. Having two young children and seeing just how unpredictable life can be I promised myself there and then that I'd live every day to the full. You hear and read  people moaning and complaining about things that are easily rectified, making something out of nothing and not seeing the bigger picture. I was standing in front of the bigger picture and it made me want to seize the day and let everyone I care about know just how much they mean to me.

We made our way outside and the sun (which had previously been hiding behind the clouds) had decided to make a massive appearance and beam down on the entire congregation. As I watched the family drive away with my heartfelt sympathy I counted my blessings and promised myself I'd give the kids (and my long suffering other half) an extra big cuddle as soon as I got home as you can never be certain when life as you know it will be no more.

Run Forrest, Run......

So the other day my son comes home from school, mega excited. He announces that it’s Sports Day on Wednesday and he just couldn’t wait as it was soooooo exciting.

I think back to my Sports Days at school, back to the days when I could run more than seven steps without having to hold my boobs in place and I to when I actually enjoyed exercise. I have fond memories being quite athletic (lanky legs and there being more fat on a spare rib than I) and the thrill of overtaking someone, going all out and being rewarded with a medal at the end of it. I used to come home with a load round my neck, proud for having legged it and having really pushed myself to achieve something.

I looked at my little man, very petite and not the fastest at running and felt very proud that he was still excited about participating. Off he went upstairs to dig out his ‘sports gear’ which he ensured me would help him win all the races. Bless him. When he came down stairs he looked like an evacuee. I pointed out that Bermuda shorts and a tank top weren’t exactly sports wear and that we needed to re-evaluate the get up pronto. We settled on his outfit and off he went to bed full of high hopes and relay dreams.

The morning dawned and at 6.07am he tiptoed (like an elephant) into my room to ‘just to check mummy hadn’t overslept and missed any races’.  He insisted on a ‘runners’ breakfast (don’t ask me what it consisted of but the kitchen looked like we’d been burgled once he’d finished) and set off to school.

I arrived at Sports Day to find him frantically waving, excitedly pointing out he was on the Red Team and that was the greatest colour ever! There was eight different ‘races’ set up around the field, whereby the kids had to move from one to the next in order. There were beanbags on heads, hurdles and hoops and my personal favourite ‘The Welly Wanging’...

Off they set, over the hurdles, through hoops, running like their life depended on it, to the finish line. Cue eager faces, panting and cheering and the winner (by a mile I have to add, we should’ve gone to his house for power breakfast) happily smiling....only for every child to be given a sticker and told ‘Well Done, EVERYONE'S A WINNER!’......................................Errrrr, let me stop you right there. No. Everyone isn’t the winner. Some people are losers (fact) and they didn’t win, because they didn’t come first!! Now I’m all for equality and what not but it bothers me that the competitive element has been completely obliterated from Sports Days the country over. Even my son, who came fourth announced that he wasn’t the winner, funnily enough – because he didn’t win. In a maths test, are we going to start giving the children marking 3/20 and ‘A’ along with the children marking 20/20....because ‘everyone’s a winner!!’ ? - I think not. Some children just aren’t academic and sports are where they shine – why take that away from them?  The children’s reactions speak for themselves though, as after every event they’d automatically rank where they’d come, who’d ran the fastest and who’d jumped the highest. Lewis was overjoyed when after actively ‘not winning’ he wanged his welly the furthest. Bless him. He even asked if welly throwing was in the Olympics and if so could he train to compete?

I told him it was and we’d get practicing that very weekend.

So if anyone has some spare wellies just laying around (preferably Hunter or Joules ones, size five) could we borrow them for *ahem* some hardcore training?

I can’t believe I used the word ‘mega’.

Things I have pondered upon today..

I'll keep this one short and sweet....

Why do I continue to spend vast amounts of money on miracle creams that promise me "a youthful complexion" or that "dark circles will be banished". Take my new 'Radiance Balm'. Unless the latest definition of radiant is 'looking like shiny dog turd' then I want my money back.

Why when walking in the countryside you see a million and one signs reminding us to pick up our dog poo and dispose of it in the correct bin, but what about the horse poo?? Bigger, smellier and stickier, I appreciate it would be difficult to pick a dollop of horse waste with a poobag but Poo is Poo. Horse poop scoops would possibly need to be carried in a trailer or strapped to the riders back but fair's fair!

Why when driving in the countryside down small winding lanes that have just about enough room to squeeze one car down do I always meet the 4x4 off road driver who refuses to take their car off-road ? Isn't that a passing bay you've just passed? Sorry. My mistake. I'll just pull my 2x2 onto the mud and attempt to drive off when you've gone shall I? Oh I did a wheel spin did I? Yes, I wasn't trying to be cool. My car is shite and won't drive through fields as funnily enough it belongs on a road.

The HMRC 'Help'line. Pah. They're being ironic, right?

It's a Dogs Life..

The Seventh Day has become something of an event in our house. It’s the one day in the manic existence of Monday through Saturday that we actually take the time to take half an hour, sit down as a family and discuss anything that has arisen in the week or anything that may be up and coming. These chats consist of opinions and views from me, my dearly beloved and my son nicknamed Boo; I call it Family Meeting Time - the Other Half (Shaun) refers to it as Numb Bum Hour. Our usual topics are pocket money, chores that need doing, whether my son should be allowed to go and call for his friend alone, reminders about not filling pockets with stones, remembering to flush the loo and more recently.....Pets. 

I love the idea of having a dog. I’ve repeatedly “suggested”( albeit half heartedly) to Shaun that a furry canine friend would complete our home. He says he’d rather have another baby. I have a vision of long walks in the countryside with the most gorgeous well behaved dog, happy children, people stopping to admire just how great and wholesome we all are...he pointed out that in reality we’d end up a soggy bunch of grumpy people, wet through and muddy, buggy wrecked (I daren’t even tell him how much the buggy cost, to get it caked in mud would be a crime against four wheeled baby carrying contraptions) with the dog either tying us up in the lead or running off into the distance. When my idyllic bubble is burst- I’ll admit it. I’m a fair weather outdoorsy type. Quite literally. I might look the part – tweed jacket and my funky wellies but I have to say that the thought of any outdoor activity minus the twenty eight degree sun is about as appealing as pulling my toenails off in a random fashion. Yet for some unknown reason I continued to raise the subject of having a pooch. I think Shaun saw his opportunity to somewhat dissuade me when he discovered a friend of mine had recently returned to work full time and had been leaving her dog (a rather bouncy Labradoodle) home alone. After a little chat he decided after the recent spell of nice weather, we could be proactive (not to mention helpful) and test just how much fun it could be having a dog by offering to take pooch out for the afternoon.....Big Mistake. After twenty minutes I’d lost the dog twice after he refused to obey any commands, I’d got a piece of bark in my eye and sworn enough times to make a trooper blush. Then the ultimate insult came from Mother Nature.  I’d obviously peed her off along with the dog as the weather suddenly went from twenty six (and a half) degrees with sunshine to rival the Costa Del Sol to black clouds, pelting rain with a bit of thunder to boot. As I ran for the car, with Shaun, babypie and doggy McBouncybum in tow I happened to glance back over my shoulder and catch the look on my ‘darling’ boyfriends face. Triumphant wasn’t the word to describe it. I think on the long soggy haul up the hill he knew the subject of having a pup was well and truly closed. I reeeaaallllllyyyy hate it when he’s right.

I wonder how he’d feel about hamsters?

Whistle while you work..

I've spent my weekend with Snow White's dwarves, plaited around thirty two french plaits, watched my son finally accomplish riding his bike, scraped the contents of my daughters exploding nappy off a trolley and had a heart attack when I went swimming and forgot to take my watch off. The fact that I've since learnt the watch is waterproof is irrelevant, I nearly died.

Saturday: My son was involved in the performance of 'Disney Dazzle', a stage show extravaganza whereby the students from the local Musical Theatre group performed (you've guessed it!) songs from Disney. Cue me plaiting hair like my life depended on it (not his but the girls in the show) and attempting to keep what seemed to be the population of a small all signing all dancing country under control.  He was cast as a dwarf (not so cool by his standards) and spent the duration of Heigh Ho completely hamming his part up in a comedic fashion, pulling his beard everywhich way and generally prancing across the stage. For the whole school number he was Robin Hood (cool) which he managed to get through without drawing too much attention to himself until the final bit where he thought that jazz hands were appropriate. Everyone else had their hands by their side.

Sunday: The babys bottom exploded in a rather grand fashion halfway round Tesco. As I lifted her into the car I was confronted by a rather nasty sight. The nappy had failed to contain last nights dinner and there was poo ev-er-y-wh-ere. 'Wipes!' I choked, rummaging around in my large bag to locate them...'Oh bollocks' I stated  (much to the dismay of an elderly couple who had  previously been gooing and gurgling over my now poo soaked babba and commending me on having such a well behaved little one) I was down to one wipe. One wipe! 'What kind of an idiot leaves one wipe in the packet?' I moaned, until I remembered that idiot was me and I'd forgotten to stock up on wipes the past week, despite having been shopping four times. So now I was faced with a quandry...do I wipe the seat of the trolley OR my daughters hand, covered in poo, moving at an alarming rate towards her mouth? I did what any self respecting mother would do. I panicked. Then I improvised. My poobaby was wiped, wrapped in a muslin and bundled into her seat.

The trolley was wiped down with a t shirt found in the boot. I don't know whos t shirt it is, so I apologise now should anyone have left it with me for 'safe-keeping'.


Last weekend jet setting off to Marbella - this weekend? Life. And I wouldn't change it for a thing.

Just a bird. No bees.....

A bird pooed on my sister. Not a little neat streak of inoffensive white poo but full on smelly sloppy poo, all over her head and weirdly her hand too. Now just for the record this seagull has had it in for us since we arrived at our hotel. Every morning I see him staring at my through the window with his beady little eyes. He then watches us have breakfast and had the audacity to sit at the side of the pool as we swim. It's like he is mocking us, he has a bit of a cock sure swagger about him that I just don't like, and I think he knows it. Today at around half three I noticed him in the palm tree next to our sunbeds. He had a few of his mates over and they insisted on making a racket-clearly attention seeking. My friend pointed out he was hovering a bit near to the beds, I agreed he was mugging us off as I'd made it quite clear I didn't like him hanging around. He did a few swoops of the area and at that point decided to open his squawky little bowels and deposit last nights tea on to my poor unsuspecting sister. Through the tears of laughter I managed to reassure her that I'm sure he was aiming for me, as Sam shrieked (loud enough to wake the dead) 'Smell it, smell it, smell my finger it smells of fish!!!' This drew a fair bit of attention from the sunworshipers around the pool as I tried to point out a bird had pooed. Turns out the lady across the way had too felt something warm and wet on her back and had assumed it was my over zealous suntan lotion application, until she smelt the stench of rotten fish. 'Oh well' she cheerily said 'Its lucky!' Lucky? Really? Rather than holding out for lady luck to fix a lottery win I'd suggest a trip to the shower. And quickly!

The Birds and the Bees....

Today I took my little girl for a spot of lunch with one of my oldest friends. Oldest as in I've known her forever, not like she's eighty or something. We decided to go to a local garden centre which has a lovely restaurant attached, serving local produce and yummy cheeses. I think the loveliness of this eaterie was somewhat lost on D as she slept through it entirely! Anyway I was actually ten minutes early ( unheard of on planet Kate) so I grabbed a table and took some time to do a spot of people watching. My attention was taken by a little girl of about four who kept smiling at us then hiding behind a rather large napkin. 'Look' she said to her mummy as she pointed at my daughter 'a baby'. She proceeded to coo over and stroke D's face for a few seconds before turning to her mum in a very matter of fact way and asked 'Where do babies come from?!' I was instantly propelled back in time to when my son (nearly eight) asked me the exact same question. He'd come out of school one day laughing his head off with his little mate, looking like he was dying to say something. He waited until we were home before announcing 'James said he came out of his mummy's front bum - how ridiculous is that??!!' It was only when he realised I wasn't agreeing with that fact that he began asking questions, somewhat panicked. 'Mummy' he began 'Pllleeeaasseee tell me that's not true? Please tell me I didn't come out of yours, please mum??' I thought I may aswell get it out the way so I explained that's how most babies enter the world, however I'd had an emergency c section with him so he'd come out via the more 'scenic' route. The look of relief on his face was clear, then the question 'Id been dreading....'But how did I get in there?' I decided then was a good a time as any to have 'the chat' and spoke about a special Mummy garden, which needed a special seed from a Daddy so with love and the right care the seed could grow into a baby. I stupidly even secretly commended myself for how creatively I'd handled 'the chat' and how grown up my little man was. It wasn't until a few months later (me heavily pregnant) sitting in the same garden centre restaurant with my Mum that my son decided to share his infinite wisdom. 'Nanny' he declared 'I know how the baby got into Mummy's tummy!' My poor unsuspecting mum smiled and answered 'Do you?' He smiled as he proudly announced 'Yes Nanny. Mummy swallowed Shaun's nuts!' I nearly snorted tea out of my nose. My mum burst into a fit of shocked giggles. I think the seed conversation was totally lost on him.
So today, as I sat with my friend at lunch, all I could do was smile at the lady at the table and give her the 'mothers unite' sympathy face, knowing that in another few years I'd have to have the conversation all over again with my daughter. I've got a while to prepare, this time I think I'll leave the creative garden/seed/nuts element out and stick to the facts!

We're all going on a summer holiday...

This weekend I shall be committing one of the most massive mummy sins known to humankind. I am going away....Without The Kids. *gasp*
I am away to Marbella with my sister and friend, for four (blissful) days in the sun. Not the greatest choice of destination for my self esteem six months post baby, given that most of the women there are glamourpuss model types, with concave stomachs, thick glossy hair and pneumatic breasts. I'm still battling with the stubborn remainder of my gigantic baby bump, hair that looks like a stray sparrow has taken up residence on my head and boobs that may well have DairyCrest emblazoned across them with a tendency to spontaneously spring a leak. Glamourous huh? I remember the days when a girlie weekend away needed a bikini, toothbrush and slinky dresses....this one needs a breast pump, factor 30 (minimum) and extra cover travel insurance 'just in case'. I've had my clothes sorted for a week already and if I'm completely honest I'm a little excited at the prospect of wearing something without a trail if baby sick across my shoulder or a glob of snot on my chest. The next on my list of holiday 'must haves' are books. Plural. The only thing I've read recently was 'Easy Weaning' and my phone bill-neither of which were particularly pleasant, so have stocked up on chick lit and crime thrillers and I can't wait to get stuck in. For the OH and kids I've cooked enough meals to last until 2025, sorted out the kids outfits (the OH always manages to make the baby look like a refugee with choice of outfit combos) and left a list as long as my leg hair...that reminds me to book a wax appointment! I'll miss the school runs, bedtime stories and singing silly songs and I have visions of them wailing for me (cue feelings of mummy guilt-the worst kind) and I am wondering how they'll cope without me. Funnily enough I'm also I'm thinking how I'll cope without them, their laughs, smiles and cuddles. It's only four days I tell myself, I'll have my books, my not so slinky dresses and maybe even treat myself to a cheeky sangria whilst I'm there. I'm hoping maybe one eve I can go completely wild and stay up til 4am through choice and not because the baby decides it's playtime! With less four days until take off I suppose locating my passport would be a good idea.......

Mummy knows best?

My mum asked me about 'this blogging thing' that I like to do....I explained to her what a blog is and how people the world over can read all about my little life. 'What's with the title then?' she asked. 'Babies, boobs and (smelly) bottoms?' I told her I write about my kiddlewinks, will discuss boobs and general other body changes once pregnancy has taken its toll and ponder how such a small and pretty baby can make such a vile smell....turns out she just wanted to clarify that I wouldn't just talk about wanting a boob job and going to the loo.
Bless her.

Welcome to life as I know it....

I'm Kate, a twenty something mummy living in leafy surburbia. I say twenty something when in reality its nearer the big three (uh) oh mark. I am the proud owner of a couple of rugrats, a long suffering other half and a people carrier. I love the kids and boyfriend...don't have quite so much affection for the wagon.
I'm currently on Maternity Leave and mostly enjoying the ups and downs of being a 'Stay at Home Mum'. Hats off to all those SAHMs out there, its hard work. I will be returning to work.....at some point. I think I realised that it might be a good thing to go back (part time) when I greeted my friend in a tone usually reserved for excitable two year olds, set fire to the microwave by putting a solitary sweet potato in to cook for fifty five minutes and couldn't work out why my daughters car seat wouldn't lock into the base.....I had her upside down!
Hopefully writing this blog will get the brain ticking and entertain you along the way!

Kate x