Barry Poppins

Barry Poppins

I abandoned my children for five straight days and nights last week.

I didn't fly off to Jamaica to lie on a sunbed sucking up Pina Coladas with a straw whilst poisoning my pure brain cells reading about the latest x-rated shenanigans of Christian Grey and his leather whip. 

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Why Big Macs Make Me A Better Parent.

Why Big Macs Make Me A Better Parent.

It was my birthday this week. Sigh. 

This morning I glanced in the mirror and noticed yet another roll of skin had descended over the top of my Primark full briefs- the flimsy elastic had given up the fight and had surrendered and drowned under an avalanche of flab...a 'flabalanche' if you will. I also noticed that despite my son being three years old, I was still wearing my maternity leggings. Shameful I know.

 

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The Nightmare Before Christmas.

The Nightmare Before Christmas.

I love Christmas. It is the season to be merry (mullered) and the season of goodwill towards all men (especially Hugh Jackman and all possible look-a- likes) and it's the time where one has great joy in giving gifts (and receiving...let's be honest, we all love a cracking present).

As much as I love the day itself, the build up is always a bit of a nightmare.

Here's what haunts me, the nightmares before Christmas:

PANTOMONIUM*.

*This is a cross between Pantomime and Pandemonium....Just in case it isn't clear.
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Jingle Balls.

Jingle Balls.

This post is a few days late as I have been juggling a lot of balls this week.Literally.

I have had balls flying at me from every angle and I have been knocking some out of the way with my metaphorical bat but sadly have tripped on others

Here's my list of Ball aches:

JINGLE BALLS.

We put the Christmas tree up on Sunday morning before I headed out to work

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I'm Every Woman

I'm Every Woman

It's Monday morning. It's 8.49 AM.

Here is what I have done so far today:

Lifted two whingeing small humans from their beds.

Made their beds.

Peeled a flattened poo off a tiny bum.

Gagged a little.

Wiped an explosive shower of urine from the toilet seat lid.

Explained to a 4 yr old where to aim his 'hose' before 'Watering the flowers'. A daily ritual.

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The diet starts Monday.

The diet starts Monday.

Monday's woman is fair of face and starts the week with a plan,

She decides that she wants to cut down on cake to be the best woman she can,

She loads up on seeds, skimmed milk and fruit with a 30g bowl of Bran Flakes,

And feels really great that she's doing so well...not a thought of crisps, pies or cakes.

 

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And the award goes to...

And the award goes to...

Being a wife and a mother can be a totally thankless calling.

Cooking, cleaning, scraping shit off the laminate flooring, wiping snot and dribble from chins, ordering groceries, wiping urine from the toilet seat, folding pants,enduring soft play, spending your beer money on Matchbox cars and Ipad apps, feasting on Fishfingers and Smiley Faces,hiding vegetables in the chocolate cake, going to bed at midnight and getting up at 5am, having to wear clothes that are always soiled in chocolate, snot, dribble or a combo of the three.

It’s hard.

And other than the occasional bunch of flowers (usually with twenty percent off as they’re already half dead), or a trip to Pizza Express on a Wednesday coupon day, my man rarely makes a gesture of thanks.

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