Lunch is a Battlefield...

Remember the old classic, Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benatar? Quite aptly it came on the radio the other day just as Holly and I were having a battle involving the throwing of sandwiches and a general refusal to eat anything other than raisins. So in my muddled brain, I am almost sure the lyrics had become "Lunch is a Battlefield".  With that in mind, I have dreamed up my version of the song for your amusement. If you too have an unruly, non eating, high chair jumping out of, flood throwing mini monster in your house, feel free to embrace it as your war cry or battle anthem or perhaps to gain a steady rhythm when your toddler has finally broken your will and you are rocking back and forth in a corner...


You are young, breadstick to breadstick we stand
My promises, your raisin demands
Lunch is a battlefield

Woah...you are strong. I hope this phase doesn't last long
Searching the food cupboards for so long, both of us knowing,
Lunch is a battlefield...

Your throwing your lunch, you're only wanting to play
Why do you drive mummy mad?
It would help me to know
Is my cooking at fault or the best lunch you've had?
Believe me , believe me I can't tell you why
But I hate that you're fussy, and have no appetite.


You are young, breadstick to breadstick we stand
My promises, your raisin demands
Lunch is a battlefield...


Woah...you are strong. I hope this phase doesn't last long
Searching the food cupboards for so long, both of us knowing,
Lunch is a battlefield...

I'm losing control
Will you turn lunch away only you can decide
And before this gets old, will it be still be the same
There's no way this will die
But if it goes longer, I could lose control
When your will surrenders, lunch will be cold


You are young, breadstick to breadstick we stand
My promises, your raisin demands
Lunch is a battlefield...

Woah...you are strong. I hope this phase doesn't last long
Searching the food cupboards for so long, both of us knowing,
Lunch is a battlefield... 





For anyone looking for the original song, here you go! Enjoy!

Goodbye

Tall and dark. Quite literally larger than life. In so many ways.
Deep, throaty, booming laugh. Delightfully and unmistakably you.


Quick of wit, and sharp as a tack.
The king of jokes, the maker of smiles at the drop of a hat.


The broadest of shoulders, yet the most delicate of hands.
Fingers long, almost elegant.
The keeper of  hidden talents.

The organ player who never blew his own trumpet.
The model maker who quietly honed his craft.
Though loud as a fog horn, never arrogant or brash.

A childhood peppered with memories of you, though visits were few and far between.
Sun dappled, full of toys and wonder. Days out never to be forgotten.


A big man, who made a big impression.


I'd give anything to hear your laugh again.

Confession Time....

I have a deep, dark secret. It's a secret I have been harbouring for some time now.

I fear that in revealing this secret, I maybe come an outcast. Shunned. Ridiculed and thrown to the lions.

You see I'm different. There is one aspect of motherhood which just doesn't appeal to me in the slightest. That I have no interest in whatsoever.

Prams. Buggies. Strollers.

Yup. I have said it. I am a mum, and I am most certainly NOT a pram-o-holic.

I do not lust after a Phil & Ted what-ever-you-call-it or the latest Bugaboo thingummy-bob. In fact in a quiz of pram brands I'd come bottom of the class.

I just don't get it. A pram to me is a piece of equipment. My interest in it goes as far as this -can it transport a small person from A to B in relative comfort, dryness and without freezing to death. I care not for innovative design. I don't really care if it's multi directional, 360 degree swivel seating. I don't really mind if it is in this seasons most fashionable colours. I don't care if it has shiny wheels, a pedometer and a cup holder for my latte (or frappe).


The fact that I feel this way gets to me. What's wrong with me. Shouldn't I be lusting after the latest perambulatory device like everyone else? Cooing over pram press releases on twitter?

I know quite a few mummies who have gone through at least 2-3 prams/buggies for ONE child. I've asked if it was because the previous pram wasn't suitable or practical enough. Most of the time the answer is no. They were merely seduced by the enigmatic curves and devilishly decadent design of the latest model on the market.  Maybe I'm more head than heart about it though. Maybe that is my problem. If I even toy with the idea of a new pram, all I can think of is that I'd have to learn how to work the damn thing! Learn how it folds, learn how to recline the seat, how to put on the rain cover. All those horribly mundane and eye wateringly annoying aspects of new pram ownership.

I wish someone could explain to me, the joy of prams. I really do. I don't want anyone to think I am having a pop at all the pram junkies out there. I just don't understand.  This is the first time I have admitted it though. When other pram savvy parents tell me all about their new kit I nod along enthusiastically trying to understand their immense joy. I fake it. I just don't have the heart to be a killjoy and say what I'm really thinking. Which is this...

"BUT IT'S ONLY A PRAM."

Am I the only one who feels this way? I don't think I have ever met another mum who will admit to it. Are you out there? Someone? Anyone?

That's my dirty little secret.  So where does that leave me? I feel like I'm standing awkwardly, alone in the corner of the playground. The weird one who doesn't like prams. I really hope this isn't like primary school, were I was shunned for not liking New Kids On The Block....

Attack of the smug married couples...

For the record, I have nothing against marriage. I'd like for David and I to get married at some point. Preferably when it won't cause family arguments, unnecessary stress and cost a bajillion £'s.  Ok, I know it doesn't have to cost a lot of money really, but whatever money it does cost us, I can't help but think of better ways to spend that money. I have nothing against married couples in general either. There are however a certain type of married couple I do take issue with. I like to call them the "SMUG marrieds".

This particular breed really make me all kinds of batshit mental. I know this is a bit of a generalisation, but newly married couples are usually the worst. For some inexplicable reason they think that being married for 6 months or even a year or two suddenly makes them fucking relationship experts. As if their relationship is more secure, more loving and just a million miles better than any of those poor unfortunate unwed people like myself & my partner.

I cannot begin to explain my blood vessel busting fury when a "smug married" attempts to give me a relationship pep talk. I have been with my partner for 11 years. Most of these smug marrieds TOTAL relationship time is generally less than 5 years - including their marriage.

I think in order to illustrate fully the extent of this eye ball poppingly irritating smugness I'll have to give you some examples.

Being introduced to a couple of smug marrieds for the first time

"Hi, I'm Bob. This is my wife Linda."


Then Linda says (grinning uncontrollably and simultaneously waving her ring finger at me as if I asked to see it - I DIDN'T),

"We just got married in July. I can't believe we've been married 6 MONTHS* already!!!"

*The capitals here indicate where Linda raised her voice to about 10 million decibels, just to make sure me and everyone else in the entire universe heard her.

After giving us a minute to offer our enthusiastic congratulations while they bask in their smugness & grin inanely, she then asks,

"So how long have you two been together?"

I tell her 11 years.

"Oh my goodness! That is AMAZING! Did you do something fabulous on your wedding anniversary."

I then explain that we are not in fact married. A looong moment of silence. Linda and Bob cast each other a knowing, pitying look. Turning back towards us with saddened expressions and a concerned tilt of the head Linda says,

"Ohhhh...well...Not that you NEED to be married these days of course. I mean, don't you want to get married though? I just feel it has taken our relationship to a whole new level. It has REALLY changed our relationship in so may ways."

Bob watches on, nodding diplomatically along with his wife's helpful little pep talk. As is my way, I smile politely as I manoeuvre myself and David away from these wretched idiots. As we walk away I see them watching us with that pitying yet smug half smile, then turn to each other once more with that knowing look. I'm fairly certain the palms of my hands are bleeding from all the fist clenching I was doing during that conversation.

So there you have it, it nearly always runs along similar lines. Some are more smug, more pitying, or maybe just bemused by us. God forbid you get stuck with a group of smug marrieds. Then you are really in for a treat. They pick at you like vultures picking at an animal carcass. Then you have the joy of not only listening to multiple pep talks, and the questions about why you aren't married. You get the little digs, the pokes. That hit you squarely between the ribs.

"Ohhh you'll KNOW all about it when you're married..."

We get this one A LOT! Know what exactly? Is it some kind of exclusive club? Is there a secret handshake? A loyalty card? An executive lounge? Do we get a free unicorn? What exactly will I know about my OH or relationships after marriage that I didn't find out by being in a committed relationship for 11 years? Is it some kind of fast track pass like at theme parks? Does it automatically make a shorter relationship more valid or real than a longer one? Simply by the exchanging of rings? What is this, a fucking fairy story?

"Now we are married Bob helps with all the housework!" *proudface*

What? Are you serious? You had to put a ring on his finger to make your partner pull his weight? I'm sorry, we've always had a relationship of equals without the aid of a piece of paper and a slap up meal for 500 after the fact.

I could go on, but I am sure by now you get the picture. Please don't get me wrong. I do not begrudge these people their happiness, or their pride. Being a newlywed is most likey a very exciting thing, to be enjoyed and savoured. If they are happy, then I am happy for them. There is absolutely nothing wrong in declaring your love for another human being. It is a wonderful idea. That said however, just because a couple have not done the same, it does not make their relationship any less secure, special or valid than anyone else's. Neither does having a longer relationship than someone else. I may have mentioned my 11 year relationship here, but I certainly wouldn't use my relationship status to belittle other couples who hadn't been together for as long.

So if you are married, I wish you a long, happy and healthy relationship. And if you are not married, I wish you a long, happy and healthy relationship! Just keep your bloody smug comments to yourself! OKAY?!?

Making a boob of it!

I have boobs. I have very large boobs. I am not going to lie, in my youth I might have used those boobs to my advantage. They always came in handy when it came to getting served more quickly in a busy bar. Terrible, I know.  They are however, my boobs. To use as I wish.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm no supporter of page 3. I'd happily see that scrapped, but that isn't what I want to talk about right now.

I have an issue though. Not with my boobs, just other people's attitude towards them. I'm not even talking about men.  Of course me and my friends and family do occassionally joke happily about my humongous chest. That doesn't bother me.  These people know me, we have a history. They know what my boundaries are.

My issue is with people I don't really know, feeling that it is acceptable to make comments about the size of my breasts. It isn't as if I walk about with them hanging out and even if I did, that is my choice.  I've had people I barely know, I've just been introduced to trying to start up a conversation with me by mentioning my breasts!

"Wow, would you look at the size of your boobs. God, they are so big!"

"God, would you look at the size of those!"

"You have massive boobs!"

It is always something along those lines and usually accompanied by a grin or a snigger. I hate it. Now if I had a really large head, or was hugely obese, I am betting that no one would think it was so acceptable to say that directly to me?  So what makes my breasts an acceptable target for comment? God forbid I was to meet another woman with small breasts and comment on the size of her bust. Could you imagine it?

"God, you have the smallest breasts I've ever seen, wow!" 

What a rotten thing to say, and clearly unacceptable. So what makes it ok for people to comment on big boobs but not small ones? 

Now I'm pretty laid back about the attention I get for having big boobs. I've never known anything different. I wouldn't mind if people had a genuine question about my boobs either, like where I buy bras, or do they cause me back pain etc. I just think commenting on their size just for the sake of it is insulting and unnecessary. Like somehow I have gone my whole life not noticing how big they are!

So strangers, take heed. Just because my boobs are very visible doesn't make them fair game. So think before you speak, don't make a boob of yourself  by commenting. Or I might just have to smother you to death in my more than ample boobage...

Learning to drive

For many years now I have procrastinated and been in downright avoidance of doing something I feel is quite important - learning to drive!  I suppose that isn't completely true though.  I can actually drive, a bit. I've had quite a few driving lessons and was actually not bad at it really.  I didn't find it particularly difficult to pick up, which really surprised me. David has also taken me driving in a dual control hire car on a few occasions (it was far less pricey than putting me on the Car Insurance as a learner driver) and even he says I'm quite good!  So really I  have no excuse at all.  I could honestly have passed my test years ago.  I really should bite the bullet and get a few more lessons to freshen me up and just go for it, but I'm terrified and that is what has been holding me back.


Not of actually driving, but the driving test!  Give me a written exam any day, I have no fear of those at all.  I don't know why, but practical exams scare me.  A lot.  I was the same at uni.  I had to treat patients in front of multiple examiners, then present my patient giving a case history, discuss treatment plans and answer questions about anatomy, physiology, medicine etc.  I would physically shake the whole way through.  Being observed in such a way was awful.  The thing is, I always passed these exams.  It didn't make me forget my training or make me so flustered I couldn't complete my exam. I can do it, it is just so daunting. If I had to describe it in a word, it would be - traumatic.  I would often be sick before and after these exams.  Just the thought of the driving test makes me have that exact same feeling of dread.  Is it some kind of phobia perhaps?  I really couldn't say.  One thing I do know is that I am determined to get over it.  I plan to begin lessons again soon (once we have better weather).  Having this fear is so irrational, it is only a couple of hours of my life and the silly test will be over.  Simple as that.  It will be worth every minute of fear and dread to be able to drive, and the freedom that will give to me and my child.  I just need to focus on that.  Does anyone else have the same fear as I do?  If, so, what did you do to combat it?  Any tips would be greatly appreciated!


Wish me luck!

Honesty...Should I stay or should I go now?

So I've spent this last month debating continuing my blog or not.  I had decided to have a break from blogging in January anyway, but when I stopped blogging it set me to thinking about whether it was really worth carrying it on.

As it happens, I'm still undecided.  I think for now I'll keep the blog running but only until I make a definite decision. I think I need to reassess my reasons for blogging.

I have been feeling generally disheartened by my continually plummeting Tots100 score despite the fact that my stats are improving so much.  I know that the Tots rankings aren't based on that, but I feel as if all my work on the blog isn't worth it.  I'm all for promoting my blog, and I do so on Twitter but it seems that every week there is some other new thing I need to be doing to promote my blog.  I honestly feel that it takes away from the time it takes to write content.  I know many people manage it all effortlessly but I feel like Twitter is enough for me. Twitter is such a wide audience and with RT's and FF's you can end up with a huge audience.  I simply don't have time for Technorati, Klout and G+!

Being honest, besides that, I was feeling a little left out too.  Everyone is so excited to go to Britmums and I know I won't be going.  Twitter is full of the excited chatter of who was going to meet up, share rooms etc.  I felt like I was the kid at school who never got to go on the school trip.  Other bloggers would be meeting and forming bonds and I would be missing out.

I shouldn't complain. I know that.  It isn't that I can't afford to go, I just took the decision not to. The cost of return travel from Scotland, accommodation, the ticket and any other expenses by the time I got home would probably exceed £250 (that is a conservative estimate). I am certain I would have had a great time if I decided to go, but I can think of so many other things I could spend that money on.  For my daughter, for me, for our family. I would honestly feel very selfish and guilty spending that money on myself.  That's just me I suppose. 

For now though, I need to give myself a good talking to. Try and get out of this blogging funk I'm in. I've made my decision and I'm sticking to it. I'm sure everyone going to Britmums will have a fab time, and will have a great experience with so much to blog about. I look forward to reading all about it!

P.S -

Sorry about the self pitying drivel. I just needed to get it off my chest. Clearly I am an ass-basket of epic proportions.