It’s bloody hard apologising isn’t it? If you’re anything like me, that word can sometimes stick in your throat like a coconut swallowed whole. Sometimes, the very act of saying it makes me want to dry heave because it admits vulnerability, it admits flaws and that’s not something I’m historically very good at. I don’t think it comes naturally to any of us and yet we all, at some point or another, will lose our shit, we will behave badly, we will lash out – it’s human, it’s inevitable. As parents, sometimes that crappy outburst will be directed towards our kids (who isn’t a bit of a dick when they’re sleep deprived?) and that’s ok. What’s not ok is avoiding what I call ‘the repair’; you can’t forget to say sorry to your kids. Continue reading
You may or may not have noticed that I came under fire this week for leaving my 2 year old and 4 year old in the car for 5 minutes while I ran into the supermarket to pick up some water. It would have been 4 minutes and 15 seconds if I hadn’t stopped to eat a bag of Malteser’s first. I was hungry and frankly, I didn’t want to share them. It was only a small bag after all. The majority of responses were supportive and took it in the manner in which it was intended: humorously. On the flip side, there were a number of people who thought I was ‘abhorrent’, a ‘bitch of a mother’ and one even reported my post and said she’d called social services. Continue reading
Wake up to the dulcet sounds of the youngest one screaming for ‘milky’. I have two options:
a) get up, get milk, heat milk, give milk and resume sleep
b) ignore her and hope she’s tired enough to give in before she wakes her sister up
There is of course secret option C: kick Jimmy and tell him it’s his turn because I’ve already been up with her twice. That’s not true but he sleeps so deeply he’ll never know.
I go with option A. Path of least resistance and all that… Continue reading
Thanks to my eldest daughter, I’ve become very acquainted with The Greatest Showman. It’s a great film – it shits all over Frozen – but after 1,438 times of seeing it, it could be declared the best film of all time in any universe by the film gods and you’d still spoon your eyeballs out to stop yourself having to sit through it one more time. The fact that my daughter has ruined it for me aside, it did make me realise one important thing. Continue reading
Recently, in the New York Times, Diksha Basu, commented that motherhood was in need of a rebrand saying that the trend, led by social media, was to sell motherhood to the masses as the ultimate sacrifice. “It’s no wonder that most of my friends have chosen not to have children and women are embracing the term “child-free” as if they are free of an illness,” Basu writes. “We already don’t get paid maternity leave, and child care and health care are expensive, there’s little state help, and now we’re telling each other that motherhood is pretty awful anyway?” Continue reading
Just a list of a few things I hope I can impart to my daughters…. Continue reading
As many of you who follow me on Instagram will know, last weekend I encountered some of the basest, most disgusting behaviour from another human being. A trip to Billie’s Saturday morning football class is one that will go down in the annals of Sims’ history for all the wrong reasons. But, almost a week on, I’m starting to realise there’s something good, no great, to come out of it too. Continue reading
There’s nothing more terrifying that having your own worst traits staring back at you through the words, actions, facial expressions of your children. It’s inevitable, but that doesn’t make the punch in the emotional gut any less painful. It’s even harder to take when someone else has to point out that maybe, just maybe, your daughter’s behaviour is a reaction to your own crappy ways of dealing with things. Ouch. Continue reading
I don’t know if you know or not, but my husband is away a lot. I try not to shout about it too much….yeah right. I’m always banging on about being a bloody ‘tour widow’ and left alone with two small children and a job and blah blah blah. I’m not one for keeping my whingeing to myself. A misery shared on social media is a misery made bearable in my book. Right or wrong, oftentimes Instagram saves my sanity. Continue reading
Drag way back to reality after lovely dream about one of the Ryans. Can’t remember which one. Not 100% sure I could tell them apart. Either way, it doesn’t matter. It was lovely. Remember why I’m not dreaming anymore – smallest child mewling. Boobs leaking. Check clock. I’ve had 32 minutes sleep.