Growing

Today marks 10 years since my first blog post! Back then, I was in a dead-end job with nothing better to do than share my thoughts about being pregnant with a handful of friends who loyally read this. Since then, my followership has dramatically increased to tens of readers, although the number of posts has fallen sharply with each child’s arrival and new job (FYI I’m on my second kid and fourth job). This blog is now as tired as I am- snoozing for long periods before spluttering into existence just to remind everyone I’m still alive.    

In these 10 years I’ve grown emotionally as a parent as well as physically. The kids are growing upwards but I seem to be growing outwards, particularly as a milestone birthday looms nearer. The strange thing is that I seem to be eating half what I used to, but getting twice as big. In the evenings, my bulging pot belly is a lot like Lebu – squishy, not as small as before, stubborn and refuses to budge.

Growing older means you end up obsessing over your health a lot more. You have stiff joints, hear sad news about family / friends in hospital with increasing frequency, and can’t get off the sofa without groaning. It’s all doom and even Coke Zero is deadly (I’ve never touched the stuff, go full fat or don’t bother is my motto).

Where once I had thought peri-menopause was a Nandos condiment, I am now having unappetizing conversations around its symptoms. Girl chat is all about which collagen supplements to take, whether Brazilian bum cream works and how to get rid of bloating. It’s all downhill from here- just a hop, skip and jump away from a hip replacement and dementia. 

So I’ve joined a gym for the first time in 10 years and actually managing to go 2-3 times a week. I swim on Sunday mornings when Mishty has his lesson and try to catch a spin class mid-week. To motivate you, there is a huge screen that shows your avatar in a virtual race with all the other riders. I have managed to improve my position to second (from last) since joining.  My bike says that I burn about 150-175 calories per session yet the leaderboard that pops up at the end shows that Bike Number 15 has burned over 500 calories and the majority of people are burning somewhere between 250-450 cals. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?? Admittedly, I am not one of those people who push so hard that sweat drips from every orifice but this is because I want to be able to walk afterwards so I can do the school run. My fitness level is still quite poor but slowly I’m getting a 2 pack. The top two abdominal muscles above the flabby four are definitely firm, it’s just the muffin top hiding the rest.     

I’m trying to be more active and replacing going “out out” with actual hobbies such as painting (which I’m trying and failing to turn into a side hustle as everything ends up looking like GCSE art), blogging (lets face it, this is on its knees), gardening (where I spend tons of money just to watch beautiful things wither and die) and the odd bike ride where I go round the block with Mishty twice and then call it a day.

I’m also keeping a food diary to see if I can work out any food intolerances I might have. It’s useful to spot trends, check my fruit/veg intake and see if my occasional “fat day” is actually more than occasional so I can make changes to my diet, for example, I could switch my morning coffee to green tea and lose up to 85% of the joy I have in life.

So far it’s just made me very aware of what I eat. On Friday I was very aware of the 5 Maryland chocolate chip cookies and Dairylea triangle I lovingly crammed into my mouth as a late night snack. And at the cinema, I was also very aware of the entire bucket of sweet popcorn I finished before the film had started. It’s just another bloody thing to feel guilty about (although I did eat a kiwi to make myself feel better about breaking my self-imposed non tightly regulated no eating after 7pm rule.)

Speaking of guilty, I feel like I’m failing at this parenting gig a lot of the time, but most notably with the kids diet. I grew up with not much sugar in my diet, and Hubby grew up with not much fat in his but we both had fresh, home cooked meals with lots of Bengali veg. Together, we have managed to ensure the kids have grown up with a diet high in sugar, salt, fat and processed food. The best meals I make are pies and puddings. I worry they will make poor life choices as adults, become obese, get diabetes which is the gateway disease to other illnesses, blame me in therapy and refuse to look after me in my old age. God, I wish they’d eat more vegetables.

But they seem healthy for now. So whether it’s me, the kids or this blog, we’re all growing up, growing old, growing outwards and hopefully, still growing strong.   

“Why are you so moody?”

I’ve been swearing a lot this week. So much so, that even I had to check my menstrual calendar to see whether there was a hormonal reason behind me dropping the C bomb 4 times in under a minute. Turns out that’s next week so I guess that’ll be a seamless transition.

Then Hubby asked me why I was being so moody.

[N.B. Him asking me this did not help make me less moody.]

A few reasons popped to mind.

Maybe it’s four years of sleep-deprivation taking its toll. Lebu keeps coming into our bed at 2am, sleeping squarely in the middle and then shifting position so that at least one of his limbs is gently poking me. Last night I was up from 2-4am playing musical beds. I’ve tried taking him back to his room, hanging off the edge of the single bed until sure he’s asleep, only to have him come back less than 20 mins later. I’ve tried co-sleeping with a pillow separating us and it starts off fine but then I get the restless stirring from 5.30am followed by aggressive hand grabbing to stroke my little finger as his comforter until he properly wakes up. It’s not great and there’s no end in sight because he is stubborn and wants to sleep with us. Forever.

Then there was the buildup of used nappies next to the bin rather than inside it. Hubby and I waited it out to see who would cave in first and clear it. I cracked after 6 days so he won. I’m pretty sure he could have gone up to ten because he is an animal.

There’s also the fact that Mishty has morphed into a teenage arsehole. There’s only so many times you can blame the behaviour on tiredness and hunger. If I ask him to help with laundry he will whine “why do I have to do everything?!” Seriously!? Uff. I’d love it if Mishty was a nice big brother – you know someone who says “good job” when they are shown a Lego model that looks nothing like the ship it’s meant to be, instead of mocking it; someone who smiles and nods at the utter gibberish story their little brother just made up instead of telling them it’s dumb; or someone who doesn’t mind letting him win occasionally because it’s not a fair race anyway when there’s a large age gap. But he isn’t. And the constant snatching, mocking, and uncalled for rudeness is really grating.

This is where family members will pipe up and say that, often, Lebu is asking for it and we are just harsh on Mishty. It is true, Lebu is just as annoying. If you don’t speak to him the right way, he will shoot death rays from his eyes and turn into a ball of fury hurtling towards you like a meteor on an unwelcome collision course. This morning I was in the loo when he needed to go and he was so annoyed that when I came out he yelled “I HATE YOU MUMMY, GO AWAAAAAAAAY!! I’M GOING TO WEE ON YOU” and proceeded to take aim before I frogmarched him to the loo and left him. I told him I was considering giving up our Fridays together and enrolling him to nursery for another day. This made him cry even more and wail for Daddy. Oh please, Daddy doesn’t love you enough to go part time!  

I’m also not feeling 100%. A few days ago I had a virus which has left my stomach in a state of flux where it thinks it’s fine but then isn’t and now I’m having to drink sodding oat milk in my coffee and convince myself it tastes almost the same as milk but it doesn’t, it’s bitter and strained like me right now.  

Then there’s Zelda.

The Legend of Zelda is a video game that Mishty and Hubby are addicted to. On the positive, it is good for father/son bonding. On the flip side, questions about what Mishty’d like for lunch are answered with a mumbled “yeh sure” and then suddenly at lunch he’s crying for Supernoodles instead of the pizza that I thought we had agreed on. All hope of helping with chores are crushed. Bedtimes are delayed because they are both overly optimistic about how long the daily night routine takes. I’m a planner by profession – I know how to do time management and when a 9 year old thinks he can do it better than me it doesn’t bode well. We’re just left with tiredness from a late night, annoyance at me being right and NO ONE LEARNING FROM THIS MISTAKE THE NEXT NIGHT.

My neck hurts.

I’m tired.

I feel ignored.

If I ask nicely no one responds or even moves, I’m completely invisible. If I ask loudly they’ll respond long enough to say I’m shouting at them. If I tell them what to do, they say I nag. If I don’t tell them what to do, they either don’t do it or do it badly. Is it too much to just want to make the most of the time we have together? I just want a conversation, but Hubby told me I was “too detailed” because I used more than one sentence to reply. I want to play together with all the stuff they already have instead of screens being the default. I want them to do things properly – clean their teeth for 2mins, put it back in the holder, stop sucking their thumb, stop biting their nails, scrub properly in the shower, eat more fruit and vegetables, tidy up, put their plate away, do their corrections, practice the guitar, reading out loud, Arabic… I just want the basics to be right so they can properly take care of themselves when they are older, is that really too much?  

So yes I’m uptight and I’ve been moody. I know I need to stop being a control freak and chill out but for now, everyone can just f*** right off with their daily gratitude journals, parenting books and mindfulness and if I wanna f***ing swear about how much of  c***y w*ankstain of an ar**ewipe they are being, I will alright?!

The Mediocre Mum

There are some mums who will diligently read all the parenting books and strive to do their best for their child. They usually ask themselves daily, “am I doing the best for my child’s development?” These are the Marvellous Mums. 

Then there are other mothers who will diligently scroll through every Kardashian Insta post and strive to do their best to not accidentally kill their child. They usually ask themselves daily, “what the f*** am I doing with my life?” These are the Mediocre Mums (my tribe).

My old boss was a Marvellous Mum. Once I walked into a conversation where she was explaining authoritatively that children had to be intellectually two academic years ahead in order to have any chance at getting into a good grammar school, thereby crushing any hopes I had for Mishty. She would spend an hour minimum with her two daughters each evening helping with their homework and piano practice. She booked theatre and shows in January for Christmas to get the best deals. She would bake 60 cupcakes for Valentine’s Day for all the kids in each daughter’s class. Her kids did five extra-curricular activities each, like rock climbing and paddleboarding. They even ate vegetables without needing them to be smothered in cheese/butter. And she would make them a HOT packed lunch each day after going to the gym at 6am.  

Those kids definitely struck the parenting jackpot there. The Marvellous Mums make Mediocre Mums like me feel exhausted just listening to their life and squirm with inadequacy. I mean I probably could do just as much as they do, I just can’t be arsed. In the evening, once the kids are asleep, I could tackle the life admin but I’d rather watch Sort Your Life Out on BBC iPlayer and feel better about the state of my house by seeing other people live in houses way more messed up than mine. 

It sometimes inspires me to declutter. Lebu loves junk modelling and will come home from nursery with a new piece every day and individually, it looks creative, but collectively, they truly look shit. These find their way into recycling along with anything else I consider pointless. Then a week later Mishty will ask me where the form is to draw a Christmas card that’ll get printed and Lebu is asking me where his toilet roll jet pack is and why the plastic bottle from his rocket is in the recycling. There’s only one answer for this. Daddy did it.   

I don’t feel bad about blaming things on Hubby. He isn’t on the class WhatsApp group and therefore blissfully goes to bed without having to think about The List for tomorrow.  He is winning at life, so he can take the hit.  

The List, for those blissfully unaware, is the one you make when you lie in bed and think about what you have to do tomorrow and it will nearly always involves laundry, having to buy a present, paying a random bill that isn’t a direct debit, having to fix something, buying household crap like mould remover or electric toothbrush heads, making something because you offered to out of politeness and now you can’t get out of it, and returning online shopping. Juggling work, housework, schoolwork is just plain hard work and it sucks because it is relentless and if not tackled, the list and the mess all pile up and then you end up on TV crying tears of joy because Stacey Solomon just upcycled your IKEA chest of drawers and separated all your pasta shapes into jars. 

You have to be on it when your kids start school. Otherwise, your kid will miss out, and then you’ll get demoted from Mediocre Mum to Messed Up Mum. For example, once I didn’t send the reply slip for Grandparents Day in time because we had no printer, so after getting both grandparents and child excited about the event, no one could go. The result was that I’d let Mishty down, I’d let my parents down, and most importantly, we bought a printer.  

Meanwhile the effort required with keeping on top of the barrage of messages from school, nursery and class WhatsApp groups makes my mediocrity more obvious. It feels like I’ve had more communication from them in the last two days than Hubby and I have done in the last 2 months. And I still can’t get the day for PE right. On a typical day my phone will have blown up with messages like: 

• PLEASE volunteer to accompany the kids on their swimming trip because they won’t be able to go if there aren’t enough and it’ll be such a shame because they are sooooo looking forward to it, please, please, please..! [is this a swimming trip or a guilt trip?]
• PLEASE buy tickets to see the circus and raise money for the school because it’ll be totes amazeballs and it’s all for a good cause! [will they ever stop asking me for money?]
• PLEASE buy tickets to a concert to raise money for a music youth team because the Tories have fucked everyone over and they need help to survive [skip, if it’s not 90s hip hop legends I’m not interested]
• Don’t forget the doughnut sale after school to raise money for charity [VERY IMPORTANT! Must remember this or Mishty will turn into a complete arse if he misses out on sugar]
• Does anyone want a pair of size 2 shoes? [I wonder if this makes a passable birthday present?]
• Reminder there’ll be a first aid course organized for parents in the evening [I can watch Grey’s Anatomy, it’ll be the same thing, right?]
• Sam has lost his fleece [I wonder if Mishty has taken it…? But then where is Mishty’s? Keep shtum…]
• Reminder to submit art work for a competition [feel smug, have done this already as Mishty bugged me every day for the last two weeks!]
• Reminder there’s forest school this week [OK, but when is PE?]
• Reminder there’s no guitar lesson this week [why am I still paying for these useless lessons?!]
• Olivia wants to know if anyone is going to any holiday clubs next week [Avoid those dates as Mishty doesn’t like her kid] 
• Is it PE tomorrow? [10 messages later and I still don’t know]

It feels like a lot. Adulting requires energy and time, and kids drain you of both. The reality of juggling everything means that your Marvellous Mum mates will skank you in order to clean the toilet or to ferry their kids to the next activity. Mediocre Mums on the other hand have already lowered their standards and would rather close the bathroom door and skank the guitar lesson to make the lunch date (we keep it real and don’t hold out any hope that they’re gonna be the next Ed Sheeran). While Marvellous Mums strive for maximum efficiency and plan ahead, Mediocre Mums will fly by the seat of their elasticated control pants, with tools like Amazon Prime and recycling unopened gifts to combat World Book Days and last minute socials. But whether your ethos is to do your best or do the bare minimum, we mums all pretty much want the same thing- for our efforts to be enough to ensure that our kids end up happy, able to spell and not a total dickhead. Here’s hoping!

Rage Roulette

“He’s a bit of a handful, isn’t he?” my friend remarked as we both watched Lebu scream hysterically at the other kids, demanding they go back the 100 yards where they had initially raced from to our picnic spot. Being a full five years younger than them it was no surprise to anyone except Lebu that he couldn’t keep up. He was in full Donald Trump mode, unable to accept defeat and arguing pointlessly for a rematch. “It’s because he’s hungry” I explained as he proceeded to ignore Hubby’s attempts at consolation by thumping him hard in the leg. Ironically, we were at a local food festival where he had refused nearly everything apart from a packet of crisps and a pain au chocolat (eating only the chocolate and none of the bread). In a surprisingly skillful move, Hubby managed to dodge a blow and simultaneously shove a banana into Lebu’s mouth mid-cry, and as the food made his way down, the rage subsided.

This was nothing compared to the time we flew back from our first post-Covid holiday in Egypt and I switched the iPad off mid-episode of Octonauts as the plane landed. This was a very bad move. I forgot to warn him so it came as a surprise (and not the good Kinder egg kind of surprise) and the timing coincided with naptime. His reaction was to refuse to get off the plane. This wouldn’t have been so bad except we had less than 1.5hrs to make our connecting flight and multiple security checks to get through. Hubby carried him in an armlock, Mishty and I stumbled behind loaded down with hand luggage and neck pillows, and Lebu thrashed wildly, yanking my earring out in the process. We marched towards the transfer, a cacophony of cries, shouts, pleas, threats with Lebu running back every time we put him down without a second glance. We were that family. At one point he sat on the floor and angrily threw his shoe at us – a risky move given we were in a Middle Eastern county. We were all fed up so we called his bluff and walked off. Mishty looked alarmed and even he tried in vain to encourage Lebu to come. People stared in amusement. Airport guards looked at the scene and tutted at him. But all to no avail, it was a meltdown of epic proportion, a full half hour of hysteria and the most stressful connection ever. Hubby had to carry him the whole way and then he conked out as soon as we got on the plane. Travelling was definitely a lot more fun without kids.

I’ve lost count the number of times where I’ve had to apologetically explain Lebu’s random rages on tiredness/ illness/ hunger/ a combination of the three. That plus his penchant for being “particular” mean that the sliver of time where he is none of those and also awake is a bit like when Santa comes down the chimney – a magical time where there’s usually no one else around to see it to believe it.

Of course, there are times where the only reason for the tantrum is purely because Lebu hasn’t got his way. Like the time we were at a toddler birthday party – being around small children always puts me on edge – and I heard my friend urgently beckon me over to stop Lebu from bullying her older child. Heart sinking, I walked over to see Lebu squaring up, fearless and threatening to punch the five year old in the face over a ball, aged three. Cringing and wishing this was someone else’s problem, I plucked him out of there and tried to talk to him separately about being kind. He struggled from my grasp, took offence to the message, repeatedly screamed “GO AWAY!” as well as “SHUT UP! STUUUUPID!” at the top of his lungs and slapped me hard. Apart from that I felt the chat went well.

Sometimes it’s just about being included. We visited a friend we hadn’t seen in years, and the husband offered to play a game of chess with Mishty. While this was a lovely idea, I had a feeling it might not go down well with Lebu. Predictably, he was not content with just watching so he decided to take play too. This did not go down well with Mishty, whose pieces were now being moved at random and with a sibling fight brewing the chess board was swiftly put away. At some point their toddler decided to join in the fun and bop Lebu on the head playfully with a toy. Lebu did not take kindly to this and within seconds Baby Fight Club was born and we were pulling them off each other. So much for a quiet lunch.   

Is it ever possible to relax when socializing with friends if there are children around? I’m on tenterhooks wondering if they will break something or hurt themselves, each other or someone else. Mainly because it will mean that I’ll have to do some parenting. In public. Which is embarrassing because even if people politely look away, you still feel judged and exposed for the mediocre mum that you are. I once had a 7 year old look particularly unimpressed because he felt my attempts at telling off 2 year old Lebu for squashing a bug in front of him was lacking. I didn’t tell him that if Hubby were there he probably would have screamed like a girl and squashed it first.

Can I just fast forward to the part where I can chat indoors sipping coffee, leave the kids to roam free and then we all go home after having a jolly good time like they do in Enid Blyton books? None of her stories involved kids nagging their parents for the phone because they were bored; they were too busy scoffing homemade lemonade and cold ham while rambling across moors following shady people in isolated parts of the country. Whereas my reality is having to intervene as a referee to stop Lebu scratching Mishty’s eyes out over plastic tat, repeatedly saying catchphrases like “tissue not t-shirt!” to stop him wiping his face on his clothes, and apologizing profusely for incorrectly cutting up a hash brown because somehow this has ruined his life. This, my friends, is living life on the edge… (of a nervous breakdown!)

If Covid was the weather…

Happy New year to you

It’s 2022, woohoo!

Omicron is out to get you

So better take three vaccines, not two!

As we stumble bleary-eyed into 2022, overloaded with Christmas fat and Covid fatigue, I thought I’d reflect on the year gone by. Then after half a second I realised everyone on my FB feed had already done that and who wants to follow everyone else? Oh wait, maybe this is why I only have 15 followers on my Insta…

At least Christmas wasn’t cancelled. No, instead it had a rather ominous thundercloud hovering above it, threatening an imminent downpour just to keep you on your toes as you chanced whether to make any plans. Maybe it’s because I’m British I think of Covid in terms of the weather. I reckon if we talked about it the way we do about the weather, the conversation would go a little like this:

Person A: Bloody hell, it’s cold outside. I went out this morning to do the school run and nearly froze my tits off. The weather forecast looks really bleak and gloomy this week. They say there’s a southeasterly wind bringing a massive thundercloud towards us. I’m not going out in case I get wet.

Person B: I know, terrible isn’t it? Well, there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing. I always take an umbrella everywhere I go now. I also got this funky new waterproof raincoat that recently came out on the market. Some people told me not to get it because they’d never heard of the material and thought it would make them itch and then they tried to ban it because they didn’t believe it was ethical or something, but I don’t care about that because the colour really suits me. In fact, I got the same one in another colour a few months later. I follow this fashion expert who recently recommended these rather stylish wellies to accentuate the coat and you know, everyone over thirty-five is wearing them so I don’t think I’ll get wet.

Person A: You can still get wet even if you’ve got a raincoat, umbrella and wellies.

Person B: Yeh but even if I get wet, at least I’m not gonna get completely soaked.

Person C: I don’t wanna wear all that. I’m just gonna go out in just my T-shirt and shorts.

Person A: But you’ll get soaked, maybe get pneumonia even! At least take an umbrella!

Person C: Are you forcing me to use an umbrella? It’s my right to choose so I’ll take my chances because I’ve never got caught in the rain before and I’m really careful about where I go. I’m pretty sure you’re all overreacting anyway and it’s just a teeny cloud in the sky. I checked the weather by reading my tea leaves and I don’t believe there’s actually any rain.

Person A: What if you catch a cold and spread it to others?

Person C: You can’t catch a cold from the rain. And what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!

Person B: Or just mutates and tries again.

Person A: I think it’s better to wait until the cloud goes away.

Person B: It’s winter! The cloud won’t go away for months! We need to live our lives… just cautiously as my mate Saj says. I think I’ll go into the office at 4am, the chance of getting wet is lower then.

Person A: I got wet in the rain last month, proper drenched. Felt like shit. But that cloud over there, I think that’s a different type of rain, looks a bit lighter but covering a larger part of the country. Heard it’s from winds blown all the way from South Africa.

Person C: South Africa, WTF?! We need to take back control. We’re British and that means we want our British rain only, like the one we had from Kent. That was proper rain, not some milder South African version that just takes spreads everywhere!

Person A: My mate’s a repairman. He’s had tons of people go to him to fix the water damage from the rain last year and is knackered. It’s been quite extensive and sometimes, the damage is irreversible, which is upsetting for all. He reckons there’ll be a lot more jobs popping up over the next few weeks but he’s so short-staffed he’ll have to turn them away or quit his job from burnout. It’s all people who didn’t have any insurance being affected the most by the rain – their electrics are completely messed up.

Person B: Serves them right then.

Person C: I think your mate is exaggerating about the water damage. The real damage is people suffocating and getting rashes from the raincoats and Burberry trying to cover it up, because for the first time in years people are actually buying their clothes and now they think they can take over the world with their beige check print without anyone finding out. I’m not a stupid follower. See I only wear wool that has been freshly shorn off a sheep so I know exactly what I’m putting on my body.

Person B: Person C, you smell like lamb and not the tasty kind. Every time you open your mouth one of your brain cells dies. I hope you get wet in the rain and the damage is irreversible. Happy new year dickhead. I’m off for a walk before the rain starts.

Never Have I Ever

I was doing an impression of a breast pump machine the other day to a friend at work when I spotted a new person’s ears prick up, and a look of recognition haunt their eyes. My mummy-dar is finely tuned (more so than my gaydar) so I strolled over and we ended up bonding over the ridiculous demands of our similarly aged toddlers in a parenting edition of Never Have I Ever. It went a little like this…

Never have I ever…

…Wiped my child’s poo off something that wasn’t their butt

Lebu’s most memorable poo story (there’s obviously more than one) was the time when he came upstairs while I was having a lie in. He decided to take his trousers off to get comfortable and climbed into bed with me. As we snuggled, I caught a whiff of something stinky so I told him to go downstairs to his daddy for a nappy change. He dutifully complied. I got up soon after and spotted a brown smear on the bedsheet. Then I spotted another on top of the duvet. And another. There was a trail of shit smears like Hansel and Gretel came to my house and ran out of breadcrumbs, all down the stairs where he had slid down on his bottom and it had leaked out of the side of his nappy. Trying not to gag while wiping your child’s shit off the floor is the epitome of parenthood.

…Had to fish something out from the toilet

Lebu is an opportunist. The moments when I’m distracted present opportunities to grab, throw and thrash just for fun.  So far he has smashed a vase, thrown an entire bucket of water at me in the bath, rolled off a watermelon (splat), thrown his fork dangerously at me, lobbed my phone multiple times, pushed over the highchair, chucked a conker at the TV, plopped the nailcutter and a handful of alphabet letters in the toilet, ripped off letters on the door and thrown them down the stairs along with teddies, shoes, a banana, Lego and anything else he can get his hands on. Except a ball.

…Had food applied as a face cream

Yogurt (also interchangeable with Weetabix). I can see those who know where this is heading wincing already. I gave Lebu a yogurt and a spoon and left him for a minute to get a glass of water. I came back to find him using the wrong end of the spoon to eat the yogurt. No big deal. Then the spoon disappeared and he started pawing the yogurt out of its pot and licking his hand like Winnie the Pooh with a tub of honey. Not ideal. Then he concluded that it was best worn as a face cream / hair gel and proceeded to wipe it over his face and into his hair. Empowered by the new look, he banged the table and belted out random words like “LION!” before laughing hysterically. He wasn’t laughing when I was shampooing his hair that night.  

…Been headbutted in the nose

Toddlers can get triggered and lash out unexpectedly. Once on the school run, a fellow mum walked by and cooed “Hello angel!” He instantly thumped her in the leg. She was very sweet about it and tried to win him over. I knew this was a futile exercise, he has rage issues. I repeated the mantra that hitting was not kind. He responded “she is naughty!” and I had to restrain him from hitting again. He’s like this. One minute he’ll be happily playing by himself and then the next I’m prising his lethal fingers out of Mishty’s eyes. Hysteria is the worst – that’s when he’ll fling himself backwards without a care where he lands, whether it’s is the floor or my nose. Real pain is being unexpectedly headbutted in the nose so hard that I’m seeing stars (not the glow in the dark ones on the ceiling), tears welling up while wondering if my nose is fractured.

…Dragged a screaming child off the floor in a public place

Lebu has a habit of lying down on the floor randomly. Sometimes for fun. Sometimes out of stubbornness. I took him to Sainsburys once, thinking we’d have a nice time wandering up and down the aisles. First hurdle was trying to get him in the trolley. He refused, kicking his legs so they wouldn’t slide in and we ended up walking. [Pro tip: Do not do this.] Inevitably he ran off and I had to chase after him without mowing someone down with the trolley. After the trolley dash came a power struggle over the type of bread. There was a stand off. Except he was lying down crying for the “red bread”.  I debated whether to leave him there and pretend he wasn’t mine, or whether we really needed to eat this week.

…Had to cater to diva demands   

Lebu is fussy. He is also stubborn. This is not a winning combination. Mealtimes are difficult at the best of times but toddler fussiness is off the scale. He NEEDS his [plate / fork / beaker / random piece of string] and Lord help me if it’s unavailable. Then the scrutiny of the food. A close examination before throwing it on the floor, exclaiming “’sgustin, don’t want it, got fungus!” in the height of dismissal. Slightly darker bits of Rice Krispies, green specks in fishcakes, bubbles in cereal are all pointed out to me with incredulity at expecting him to eat them. Sometimes demands can be confusing like his request for porridge without any liquid. Lebu is also particular about routine – no one is allowed to sit on his chair even if it is empty. Changing my handbag or shoes is also a big deal for him and he can get very distressed if I don’t do as he says. This is because he is a dictator in training.

…Found scribbles and handprints all over the walls      

Body art / wall art, it’s all the same.

Toddlers will trash your house. There are various scribbles around the house that are not immediately noticeable because it’s not at eye level. There are paint stains on the carpet and a mysterious dark green patch behind the sofa cushion. Upstairs there are oily handprints on the walls from running around naked after slathering on too much coconut oil after bathtime (those of you guessing this is Hubby are sadly mistaken). If you’re thinking of redecorating, wait until they’ve moved out.   

…Been in a hurry and heard the dreaded words “Me do it!”

Toddler independence will rear its ginormously awkward head at the exact time you’re running late. Lebu will insist on doing up the coat buttons himself and putting his socks and shoes on, shooing me away if I interrupt. If I help with one sock, he will take it off just to do it himself. I watch the seconds trickle by and frustration mount for both of us. After an age he will finally ask me to help and I launch in but the bloody zip on the hoodie gets stuck, I don’t have time to put the shoes on the right way round and he’s run out without his coat because he doesn’t think 5 degrees is cold. I try to strap him into the buggy but he wants to walk which mean we will get there maybe by sundown the next day. A minor wrestling match follows but he does that thing where his body goes stiff so the straps won’t lock so now he is walking victoriously alongside me as I mutter incoherently about giving him up for adoption. I try a new strategy, appealing to his risk-averse nature by suggesting that crossing the road is safer in the buggy. It works and we zoom down the road. I practically dump him outside nursery and make the train in a sweaty heap.

…Found Lego in my shoe

All parents will experience the searing pain that is stepping on Lego. There is also the mysterious ways that it will inevitably turn up in your shoe. This will be along with missing games counters and other plastic tat that you get in party bags that last a total of 3 minutes before breaking. Nearly all the puzzles/ board games/cards are incomplete or broken. Lebu is nicknamed The Destroyer for this reason. He will happily empty all contents, attempt to smash or chew on them, before depositing them either in my glass of water at dinner or in some secret location that is revealed unexpectedly weeks later when looking for the TV remote.

Don’t underestimate how much Lego can be flung with a spoon

…had to deal will more flip-flopping than a pair of flip flops

Toddlers change their minds a lot. If they are tired, things can deteriorate faster than a Boris Johnson sleazy U-turn. There was the time I gave Lebu a shower and he really didn’t want it because he liked smelling of strawberry yogurt so I hurriedly took him out only for him to cry even more hysterically and try to climb back in to an empty tub. Or the time he was crying for me, then switched allegiance to Hubby, then when he got us both decided to cry for his Nana instead (he is a fickle creature). Or the time he was inconsolable at having his very full nappy changed and desperately fished it out of the bin to put it back on. Or the time he went to a party, hated it, fell asleep on the way back and woke up desperate to go to the party. Party’s over mate.

So if you’re one of those toddler parents who wake up exhausted and wondering whether you’ll make it to the end of the day in one piece or whether the destruction, chaos and literally being shat on will break you, just know that it probably won’t get any easier and I have no words of advice because I’m crap at parenting. Other than that, thanks for reading and have a great day.

Click and Collect Kindness

It had been a long time since I’d been inside a Waitrose. A combination of online deliveries, Sainsburys being closer and Lidl being a whole lot cheaper. But I needed to pick up a John Lewis order (I am obviously too cheap to pay for delivery costs so I chose the Click & Collect option). I figured I had enough time after picking up Lebu from nursery before dinner.

It didn’t get off to a good start when Lebu started getting upset that we were not going to the usual shop across the road and were instead stuck in local rush hour traffic. Once there I grabbed a trolley but Lebu was determined not to get in it. I sighed. I knew there was going to be a riot but I hoped I wouldn’t be long, I just needed to pick up some eggs and bread.

Mishty picked up the handheld scanner and gave it to me to use. These make life easier if you are on your own, or have only one child safely contained in a trolley. TOP TIP ALERT! If you have two children who are able to run off this will actually make life harder, as they will both fight over who gets to scan an avocado that has been chosen purely because it’s on offer.

Lebu does grasp the concept of sharing but this depends on his mood. At 5.30pm after a long day at nursery and with hunger pangs beginning to gnaw in his tummy, his mood for sharing is like the avocado I picked – not ripe. Instead he holds on to the scanner while Mishty tries to grab it. I join in. The scanner gets thrown into the trolley. Mishty being a lot taller, can now reach it and proceeds to smugly scan a loaf of bread. Lebu has a shit fit. I try to soothe this by going down the biscuit aisle. I suggest some Fingers but Mishty wails that I will eat them all in one go (I’ve only done this once) and wants Bourbon biscuits over my preferred chocolate Digestives. In disgust, I take the Fingers and scan them anyway, mentally vowing to eat them all.

We move on but now Lebu is howling unintelligibly. I make out the word “chocat” and try to explain the concept of paying first before opening things. More howls. Fuck it. I rip open the packet with my teeth and give them one each. Mishty is now trying to convince me to buy £12 worth of sushi on the basis that I have a voucher that gives me £4 off if I spend £20. I haggle it down to £6. I go to scan it and realise that Lebu has inadvertently deleted several items off the list and is finding it hysterically funny to throw a mini pizza around. While I put it back Mishty starts complaining that it is definitely his turn to scan and Lebu starts hitting him in response. To avoid him getting a retaliatory thumping from Mishty, I scoop him up and tell Mishty to push the trolley just as a random lady tells them to calm down. I am not entirely clear if she is trying to help or tell them off. Either way, we are well in the danger zone now. Like literally the homeware aisle contains a lot of breakables and Lebu does not like strangers telling him what to do. I hold my breath and wait for it.

“I WAAAAAAAANT MY DADDDDDDDDYYYYYYY!!!”

This is now being screamed at the top of his lungs while I stride towards the self-scan checkout which incidentally, is not quicker as I have to wait for an attendant to scan in the voucher which doesn’t seem to be working. We work out the reason is because Mishty is leaning on the counter which is triggering the weighing function. I spot a security guard in front of us and tell Lebu that the man will arrest him if he doesn’t behave. The guard gamely goes along but Lebu doesn’t buy it and has now moved onto hitting me instead of Mishty as we walk to the collection point. I can hear an attendant vainly telling him “to be a good boy and be nice to your Mummy” and I have to swiftly move him away from a flower pot that he is walking deliberately towards with the air of an impending “grab and smash”. The lady at the counter asks me sympathetically if it’s been a long day. It’s literally only been an hour but I know I look like a frazzled mother who is clearly not in control as my hair is being tugged and there are loud wails of “I WANNNA GO HOOOOOMMME”. I pick up the boxes and turn to leave when she tells me to hold on.

A colleague standing next to her is doing something on the till and I assume she wants me to wait for a collection receipt that is being printed off. But as she hands me this, there is also a big bunch flowers with it. I look at them blankly. I didn’t order them. Did Hubby? No, he never spends more than a fiver and usually gets the half dead ones that are on offer. It must be a mistake. She says that they are for me for being so calm with the kids while they’ve been such a handful. It takes me a second before it dawns on me that they feel sorry for me for having to deal with such feral kids. I look at the beautiful bunch and start blubbering embarrassingly over this unexpected act of kindness. This is the nicest thing that has happened to me in a long time.

After thanking them profusely, I float back to the car on a cloud of good cheer, marveling at the kindness of strangers and thinking… this would never have happened if I’d gone to Lidl!  

Thank you lovely ladies at Waitrose for these beautiful flowers. It was such an unexpected and kind gesture that touched me deeply and made this tired mother’s day!

Lebu’s End of Year Performance Review 2020/21

Name: Lebu

Length of service: 2 years 1 month

Employee status: Permanent

Leadership skills: Lebu’s leadership style can be very demanding, even bossy at times. He expects constant attention and will lie face down on the floor to get it. He is a tough negotiator and won’t take no for an answer. He knows what he wants and will tell you repeatedly that it’s his until he gets it, he gets results.

Teamwork and interpersonal skills: Lebu works well with his co-worker Mishty who is teaching him the engineering techniques of building sofa dens and Lego towers. Lebu is a quick learner and shows his appreciation with generous displays of affection. The team have a lot of fun together but there have been a few disagreements over the allocation of shared resources. Lebu has received a formal warning and has since apologized for his behaviour.

Communication skills: Lebu is making great strides in this area. He is extremely vocal and very chatty. His colleagues find him polite and enjoy listening to him but feel they don’t always get everything he says. Lebu is also learning Bengali as a second language and has already picked up useful phrases like “hagu in passa*”. Lebu can often be found surrounded by books, happily reading by himself. He also shows a keen interest in developing his written communication skills; his line manager has advised him to stick to paper rather than walls or legs for this.

Delivering at pace: Lebu does not respond well to deadlines and will choose to do things in his own time. He will leave things to the last minute and often refuse point blank to do the task which puts immense pressure on his line manager who will have to literally chase him down to complete it. This most often involves putting on trousers. She has put in several complaints, particularly over his inconsideration of others’ work/life balance and repeated attempts to sleep with the boss at 2am.   

Making effective decisions:  Lebu can be difficult to please and has very particular requirements, especially when it comes to cutlery, socks and seating arrangements at the board table. He experiences high levels of distress if his requirements are not met and often changes his mind without telling anyone which can cause confusion and annoyance among the team. As a valued member of staff, the firm try to accommodate his requirements as much as possible to avoid disappointment.

Social Media engagement: Lebu is very proficient in the digital world. He puts in long hours navigating multiple media platforms and hosts a number of daily video conferences. He creates an impressive amount of photo and video content, and enjoys sending motivational messages to remote colleagues. 

Critical thinking: Lebu has an innovative way of thinking. At first glance his space may look like mess but this is all part of the creative process and he is always happy to help tidy up at the end of the day. He is curious and finds a fresh view by taking things apart, sometimes even breaking it to understand its very essence. However, the Finance department do not find that this approach represents good value for money and will be looking to reduce expenditure in this area.

Presentation and appearance: Lebu enjoys the smart casual look, teaming formal shirts with tracker bottoms. However his tendency to take his trousers off at regular intervals is not appropriate, no matter how nice his legs are.   

Training and Development: Lebu is recommended to read the Anti-Bullying, Harassment and Discrimination policy as there have been multiple instances of biting, scratching and pulling hair which will not be tolerated. The occasional grope is acceptable though. Lebu is also recommended to take the Health and Safety training course as his high risk approach to climbing non-secure structures, jumping off high furniture and walking backwards is not in compliance with our policy. We also have noticed that Lebu is not keen to try new things in the culinary arena. We are concerned this may have an impact on Lebu’s future growth and development and hope this will improve as the kitchen staff put in a lot of effort and are getting quite disheartened.

Extra-curricular activities: We recommend Lebu join the cricket team. Last week he showed great aptitude in his overarm bowling when he threw his conker straight at the TV screen. He also shows great aim when throwing food off the table, making sure it lands exactly at the point where the protective mat no longer covers the carpet. There is also a Pop Choir that meets regularly – Lebu is a smooth dancer with an excellent singing voice. He can often be heard singing “Mama I Loooo” by Spice Girls and would be welcome to join.   

Overall Performance: Lebu is an integral and valued member of the team. Despite the pandemic, he has had a great year. He is popular, fun, has a great sense of humour and is always laughing and smiling. He is a charmer and everyone at the firm loves him. We look forward to seeing him grow and learn, and are eager to see what achievements the next year will bring.    

*”Poo in bum”

A Lighter Shade of Blue

Today is Blue Monday, officially the most depressing day of the year. It falls on the third Monday of January when everyone has run out of money, given up on their new year’s resolutions and realized that a whole month of Veganuary will never taste as good as a whole plate of lamb chops.

Right now, after the wankstain of a year that we’ve just had it feels like every Monday is Blue Monday. And every Tuesday. And every Wednesday…

January is when the days are short and gloomy – a bit like me really. Some people are still managing to explore the great outdoors during this lockdown. I am not one of them. Faced with the option of going for a walk in the freezing cold I’d rather sit in the dark with the Christmas lights on (I refuse to take them down and now the batteries are running out).

Happy New Year by the way! Shout out to all those people who just slept right through it because let’s face it, this was the year of not celebrating. TV was dull, although there was a highlights montage of fun things that we used to be able to do just in case we forgot how we used to entertain ourselves. Jools Holland was brandishing his giant stick around to keep people at the appropriate distance. Graham Norton did his usual entertaining and Alicia Keys’ mirror outfit was so loud I couldn’t hear her singing. I didn’t even make it to watch the (not live) fireworks but I did a get a good view of everyone else doing it from my garden. Not quite the same but still very pretty. And very loud.

If you are one of the few who managed to dress up, celebrate with some fancy food and fireworks – well done for making the effort. This includes those of you whose version of making an effort means taking a shower, wearing a fancier pair of PJs and ordering a doner kebab.

Roll on 2021.

Anyone else thinks it feels a lot like 2020 in disguise?

I recently read an article about a joy strategist [lets pause for a moment to reflect on the fact that this is an actual job]. In this day and age, we are all looking for a little joy in our lives. Turns out that some will pay good money to have someone to tell them how to be happy while others will just read about it in a free paper.

Apparently the key to feeling happy is to do one thing every day that brings you joy, taking little moments for yourself during the day from the minute you wake up. This can be a little tricky when you’re burnt out from working full time, homeschooling, and making the twenty seventh snack of the day before its even midday. But it can be as simple as taking a shit in peace, crazy dancing in your living room, or doing some meditative colouring in.

Hobbies will keep you sane in these testing times. I’ve seen people crafting all sorts of things. My hobby is no less labour intensive and I’ll spend hours doing it. Some might call it addiction even, I call it online shopping.   

Hope is another way to keep sane. Although there’s not much around, the vaccine is giving us a bit of a glimmer… and possibly a third nipple.

Holidays are what I like to daydream about when I feel down, picturing going somewhere hot, swimming in the sea and relaxing in the knowledge that someone else will be cleaning and cooking.

Being a list-lover, I’ve decided it’s time to stop making resolutions, and start making plans (without actually booking anything). So here’s my top 5 things that I plan on doing once this is all over:

1. Go anywhere that isn’t a bloody driveway or park to meet people. And no, you can’t come inside my house either because like me, it’s not in a fit state to host people anymore.
2. No more walks. You can take your suggestion of going for a walk for the eleventy hundredth time and shove it up your fanny because I DON’T WANT TO.
3. Stand 2cm away from people just because I can. I might even lick you.  
4. Throw a massive party for all the missed birthdays, anniversaries and celebrations, with no sight of a tribute video of people throwing paper messages to no one other than a camera. Sure we all saved money, time and hassle by stripping it back to the essentials but this time, WE GO LARGE OR… WE GO LARGER!
5. Dressing up, wearing make-up and facial hair removal. [Technically there’s nothing stopping me from doing this right now.]

So on this Blue Monday, I hope I have brought you a teeny spark of joy to help turn the shade of blue you are feeling to a slightly lighter colour. And if not, well, just go to the toilet for some peace and quiet and see if that helps!

I recommend number 7 ;oP

A is for Asymptomatic, B is for Bubble…

Little Lebu is talking now and can say things like “wash hands”, “soap” and “mask”. This is so different to what Mishty was saying at the same age and is obviously a sign of the times. I think if he were learning the alphabet it would go something like this:

A is for

• Asymptomatic
• Anti-vax arseholes
• Alternating feelings between annoyed, anxiety, apathy and anger

B is for     

• Bubble (mine’s definitely burst) 
• Boredom induced baking and binge-eating
• Boris bullshitting briefing the nation

C is for

• Coronabloodyvirus aka Covid-19 aka the one with the continuous cough
• Clap for Carers (anyone else think they’d rather have a pay-rise?)
• Conspiracy theories (Bill Gates isn’t who he seems…)

D is for

• Doorstep drive-by’s
• Death
• Depression, divorce, domestic abuse, denial, despair (D is not a happy letter)

E is for

• Eat out to Help Spread It Out
• Emergency
• Elbow shake (like a milkshake but drier)

F is for

• Furlough – a made up word no one had ever heard of before 2020
• Funerals being live streamed
• Food banks

G is for

• Government contracts and general incompetence
• Great outdoors – gardening like a boss and taking long walks in the park where overexcited dogs try to sniff your crotch
• Getting creative – crochet a blanket anyone?

H is for

• Homeschooling Hell
• Herd immunity
• Hand sanitiser
• Holidays

I is for

• Isolating
• Irritable
• I hate everyone and everything

J is for

• Joe Wicks PE classes that no one actually did, we just watched him squat and admired his living room
• Just Eat (all the time)
• Junk clearout

K is for

• Key workers keeping us going
• Kindness
• Killer bat – next time just leave them in the cave, yeh?

L is for

• Lockdown
• Living in loungewear
• Loneliness

M is for

• Masks – from face shields to silk scarfs, it’s all about covering your nose and not leave it hanging like a bra for your chin
• Marcus Rashford feeding hungry kids (unlike the Government)
• Mental health taking a bashing

N is for

• NHS heroes we salute you!
• Nightingale hospitals
• Netflix – I finished it

O is for

• Online EVERYTHING
• OMG I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!
• Obsessing over the news and shouting at the telly like you’re on Gogglebox.

P is for

• PPE shortages
• Pandemic – not to be confused with Panda-mic
• Positive – a lot of positive tests out there, people be taking their lunch breaks upstairs and BOOM! An actual baby boom.

Q is for

• Quarantine
• Queues round the block to get into the hottest club in town, Sainsburys, free entry before 8am and VIP access for those over 65
• Quizzes – this is what fun has been reduced to

R is for

• Remote working from anywhere – but mainly my bed
• Rules that make no sense
• Relocation, renovation and redecoration

S is for

• Social distancing – if I can punch you in the throat without moving my feet you’re too close
• Stay at home, save lives – beats fighting in a war
• Shielding (the opposite of swording)

T is for

• Track and Trace… nobody because it’s a fecking useless app, should’ve let Google make this!
• Tiers for fears is no longer just an 80s band
• Toilet roll shortage

U is for

• Unemployment rising
• Unsung heroes
• Underwear, what’s that again?

V is for

• Vaccine hope (please God let it work so this can be finally all over!)
• Ventilators
• Virulent strain and vectors of disease are the new nicknames I’ve given to my children

W is for

• Waves of death
• Wearing no make-up because what’s the point anymore?
• Wash hands… and the rest because Lord knows when you last showered

X is for

• Xtremely high numbers of cases around the world
• Xmas is cancelled because Santa isn’t allowed inside your house and Rudolph is showing symptoms and needs to self-isolate
• XXX – admit it, your porn watching has increased

Y is for

• Yet another missed celebration
• Yawn, life is so dull I’m gonna sleep through 2020 and wake up in 2021
• Yikes! Keep that mask on, your facial hair is out of control!

Z is for

• Zoom calls… you’re on mute by the way
• Zero face touching… but a little bit of inappropriate groping is fine.
• Zipping off to Barnard Castle to check if your eyesight is ok