Mumsy.

It takes a lot to get me raging these days unless you're my husband and you are incapable of doing the fucking washing up, that leaves me ready to lose my shit big time. But yesterday I read something about being 'mumsy' that had me scoffing in disbelief. Apparently, if we read household product reviews that makes us 'mumsy', whatever that means.

Or ten when you read crap that sets you off...

As a mum, I thought being mumsy meant being a mum. Looking after your children, limiting the amount of time your head is up your own fucking backside. My underwear being 'extremely comfortable' doesn't make me mumsy. Who even wears uncomfortable underwear these days unless you're a stripper or a massive dickhead. Comfortable can equal sexy too. Having conversations about steam mops isn't mumsy either. So some of us take pride in a clean house, SO WHAT?

Mumsy is also not the same as being a bore. We take pride in our children, we like to talk about them. What's the point in having kids if we aren't allowed to talk about them? If you'd rather talk about the new hipster joint that's just opened down the road then fine, but that doesn't make you cool. Just like us talking about household appliances doesn't mean we are bores.

Since when was it ok to slag other mums off for things that take interest in? Knitting, crocheting... I've heard people get called grannyish for doing it. It's a fucking skill and one I wish I had! Some may not think it's cool but it's not mumsy. Popping to your local deli in Hackney isn't mumsy. It's also not cool, IT'S A THING THAT YOU DO.

I googled the word 'mumsy'....

Giving an impression of dull domesticity; dowdy or unfashionable.

Bahaha! What a crock of shit, who writes this crap? There is absolutely nothing dull about me cleaning my house, I crank up the music and shake my butt while dusting to Beyonce. And isn't dowdy a word that died in the early 1900's? As for unfashionable... nobody has the right to label anyone unfashionable, just because you like your black dungarees, doesn't mean everyone else who has a vagina and a baby does too. I think it's time we redefined the word...

Mumsy: Being a mum. Regardless of your opinions of household appliances or what Grazia are saying you should be wearing.

What this labelling does is make mums who like to use Pinterest or sing along to Frozen songs in their head feel like shit. We are all different and we are all mums. Let's stop bashing each other (I'm actually fucking repeating myself for the god knows what time this year) and just get on with our own lives. We are all cool because we are all doing the hardest job in the world, so let's just leave it at that.

Mummy takes a time out.

We don't use the naughty step or time out in this house. That's not to say we haven't tried it, it just didn't work for us. But I'll tell you who it does work for... me.

Today I called in sick. I work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and every single day of the year. Like all mums. I haven't taken a sick day in the almost four years I've worked for my daughter and I haven't taken annual leave either, that's not to say I haven't wanted to. Often.

When you're running on not a lot of sleep, sleep that might seem to your partner as long 11-7(ish) when in actual fact is pretty much nothing when it's disturbed the whole time (the sleep I get), you slowly (dripping tap slowly) start to lose your mind. And when you start to lose your mind at one of the most depressing times of the year, you're heading for a meltdown. Three year old style.

Last night was hard, I was tired(!) and she spent the night coughing and snotting everywhere. At twenty to three she woke up and so we went and ran the shower for a while to help clear her nose. And then she didn't want to go back to sleep because according to her, it was morning. So the whining (her) and shouting (me) continued until five twenty when she decided that actually, she was tired. Until six thirty when my husband took her downstairs. I slept on and off until half eight and then decided that I was going to follow through with my 4am threats to him, I was having a day off.

I got up, showered and dressed and went out wearing pink lipstick because last week I wore it and had a really good day (I'd like to think it was the lipstick that did that). Not bothered that Tuesday's are busy and important in his world because My world was about to explode. I could sit here and write a 3000 word essay on how he simply cannot begin to understand just how I feel but a friend pointed out I couldn't possibly understand how hard it is for him either. She has a point.

What I did this morning was remove myself from a situation I could feel turning unsavoury. It could've gone two ways: I was either going to pack a bag and leave or a have a really messy meltdown that wouldn't have been that nice to watch. I'm glad I took some time out, I went shopping and met a friend and laughed and forgot about the shitstorm that was heading my way. Then I felt relief. Because we are all going through this, together. Every other mother has felt this way at some point. It's part of being a parent.

And then I got home after four hours and that horrible knot in the bottom of my stomach came back. The dread of getting through another night without drowning myself in a bath of vodka. So I gritted my teeth, locked myself in the bathroom for half an hour and cried until I didn't want to scream anymore and now it's time to carry on as usual. Dinner, bath, bed. Because tomorrow is another day.

Except tomorrow I'll be wearing a new pink lipstick.

School.

MEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRR (that's supposed to resemble a foghorn) IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT, IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT... you have two weeks left to submit your child's school application.

Fuck. How did we get here?

Before I even needed to think about schools for my daughter, I said to my husband "I won't be one of these psycho mums who moves house just to get into the best school, I won't frantically read through ofsted reports everyday in the run up to the deadline, I won't turn crazy... I won't" PAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I got crazy.

There are two schools I'd be happy for her to go to. And another that I would love for her to go to. One of these we haven't viewed and I KNOW, you're all like WHAT THE FUCK?! I know. Thing is, we don't live anywhere near these schools and because I've been changing my mind every twelve seconds about when we are going move to the area the schools are in, I've kinda messed up and left us zero time to view the one we haven't seen yet. It's not the end of the world, I know. It's a great school (according to their website) and I got a good feeling from their website and I KNOW that's not the same as us viewing it and getting the same feeling but like I said, I messed up.

Anyway... I said I wouldn't get crazy. Every time I try to talk to my husband about it, he glazes over which is a great help. I think he's tired of neurotic mum who is now obsessed by this whole process (I've even read up about the role of parent governors, brainstormed ideas for the PTA fundraising events and planned what talks I'll do in the school... see... CUCKOO). I've befriended (kind of) the head of one school and can see us sitting down for coffee in her office and her asking me to come in and teach art. So basically I work there now. In my head.

It isn't just me, is it? Oh god, it is.

I want to be relaxed about the whole thing but I just have the most awful memories of school. I hated it. And I really don't want that for her. I'm sure it won't be the same (providing we get one of our three choices, which I'm pretty sure we will... OH GOD DID I JINX IT?), it's just hard. Nursery turned out to be such a traumatic time for her (she's still getting over it) and it's scarred me.

But there are always cash bribes, right?!

Cuckoo, cuckoo.

MAD LIFE

MAD LIFE sounds about right for 'Mum & Dad life', also an events and communication company set up by megababe mums Kirsti and Emi. They bring all the good shizz to the table for busy parents in the form of events, campaigns and digital communications.

They've also just made their first short film about becoming a parent, but an honest version. No rose-tinting, no bullshit. Because this is what these ladies are about.

WHAT ARE YOUR THREE WORDS????

For more information about MAD LIFE and to find out about any upcoming events go check them out here.

It's not a competition you jealous, bitter bitches.

It's a shame I have to write about this. Again. But it's really starting to piss me off. Again. Women are the biggest fucking bitches, evil and spiteful and vile. And I will hold my hands up... I used to bitch like the rest of them but since having Lil I've found myself bitching less and less. I don't want my daughter growing up thinking it's ok to slag other people off. I don't judge, I can honestly say that with my hand on my heart, at least 99% of the time anyway. I'm only human.

Just recently, I've noticed just how fucking awful women are. Those with kids and those without, oh yeah.... being a massive bitch doesn't stop once you squeeze a baby out of your vagina / have a child pulled from your abdomen / sign the adoption papers and finally, after a long wait, are blessed with your angel. OH NO. And those without kids don't stop bitching about those with kids either. And they hate, they are jealous and they are BITTER. WE ARE ALL FUCKING BITTER.

I mean, what's the point? We should just shut up and live our lives, whether it's the life we want or not. Only we can change things if we are unhappy but being bitter and slagging people off for the lives they have isn't very nice. SHAME ON US / YOU / THEM. And anyway, it's NOT a competition.

I have started writing a mental list (yeah that's right, a fucking list) of people I really don't want in my life anymore. I don't want them and their toxic bullshit invading my happy (most of the time), positive space. I don't like being made to feel like an idiot for the decisions I make, regardless or whether they are right or wrong. THIS IS MY LIFE / YOUR LIFE / THEIR LIFE, let me / you / them get on with it and everyone else can just do one.

Remember The Sisterhood? Remember that? Oh, you do! Remember GIRL POWER? How about us vaginas all support each others decisions / life choices and be happy for each other, no?

Let's try it.

This post was sponsored by a recent hormonal surge resulting in quite a large period of rage. Normal service will be resumed... sometime in the future.

The coolest

I continue to maintain that everyone is cool, no matter what shape or size, likes or dislikes, whether you work or don't, have kids or not, wear designer or buy from charity shops. Each and every one of us is cool. Whatever your quirks or sense of humour, we're all cool. 

Top of my cool list, though, is my daughter. I'm not sure if it's down to me or she just manifests this shit all by herself but people tell me she's cool, they very rarely call me cool. 

Take Saturday, for instance. She got invited to and attended the Mr Men Little Miss x House of Holland launch in Liberty. And she met Henry Holland, you know... Of 'DO ME DAILY CHRISTOPHER BAILEY' slogan fame (he's known for other cool stuff too). She got her hair and nails done, as well as a little miss tattoo (fake, haters, FAKE) and then went and bagged herself a shitload of goodies. SHE'S THREE AND A HALF for christ sake. I am jealous of my own child.

Lusting after this bomber

Her clothes are cool, her toys are cool and her mates are cool and her attitude.... Well it's a mix of garbage truck and... Cool. 'Mum can we sack off nursery this week and go to London instead' those were actual words that came out of her actual mouth. I don't even know who she is anymore. I feel like I'm not worthy of the child I tried and failed to birth out of my vagina. She's just too damn cool for me.

But she's not alone. Turns out her generation are all like this. Her mate R has got shit hot style, she totally out outfitted me at a recent party and shrugged the whole thing off. SHE'S NOT EVEN FOUR. And then there's B, so much sass with the best dressing up box and she just pushes the trolley around the supermarket filling it up with shit she wants. SHE KNOWS what she wants. How do these tiny little people know what they want? I don't even know what I want.

But the whole time my child is outwitting me, out dressing me and filling her calendar with social events, she still thinks I'm cool.

So the moral of this story is, you might think so and so is cool, but I bet they think you're cooler.

You can see the new HOH Mr Quiffy collection here.

When you lose your shit

It doesn't happen often but last night I lost my shit. One of those days where everyone was moaning and being negative and I had a kid off sick from nursery and a fuzzy head still lingering from that full moon x eclipse x mercury retrograde AGAIN. I was hungry and tired and blah.

WAAAAAAH MY NAIL POLISH HAS COME OFF FIX IT NOW RIGHT NOW MUMMY, FIX IT RIGHT NOW. That was the final straw and I screamed back. These fucking kids now just which button to push when spirits are down and everything is getting on your wick. And then they make you feel even worse because you lose it and they go all sad eyes as though you're the wicked witch who stole Christmas and birthdays and sucked the joy out of everything else when really, the reality is, they've just sucked the life out of you that day.

And the guilt you feel after... why don't they feel that guilt after being horrible little shits all day? It sent me into a boiling hot shower to cry and let the snot run down my face just like it did hers before (although she didn't have a boiling hot shower).

The guilt is still there. I tried to eat it (in the form of a takeaway and biscuits) but that didn't work. I couldn't online shop it away either so I did what I do best when I (rarely) lose my shit, buy her a giant chocolate muffin and cover her in kisses. 'I'm sorry I was mean to you yesterday at bathtime, I'll try really hard never to be mean to you again' (let's be realistic here). 'I'm sorry I screamed Mummy, I was just so upset that my nail varnish had come off.' Maybe you should get gel nails next time babes? (I JEST)

And then all was right with the world again, except now I'm 3lbs heavier.

Fuck the system.

I'm really annoyed at her nursery because yesterday, when I picked her up, she was in a right state. She had dark circles around her eyes (that she didn't go to nursery with), a red puffy face and was scream crying. Her 'key worker' or whatever they call themselves didn't know I was walking up the stairs and was shouting at her to calm down. When the woman saw me she smiled and said she'd been ok on and off all morning. I sent her in with a cold because you're allowed to do that and if you weren't then she'd never be in nursery because every single week she has something wrong with her. I know that's the way it is, that it's germ ridden and that she'll get everything under the sun. That doesn't make it any less frustrating. And if your kid isn't like my kid then lucky you.

Anyway, she was a mess. I was annoyed they never called to have me come pick her up because it was very obvious she was a mess (which she wasn't when I dropped her off, she cried but that's normal for her... what can I say, I'm clearly way more fun than that place). I never took her in today because I didn't want to, I want her to be better and healthy ready for next week when she picks something else up from all the other snotbag kids. So I called the office and was told, abruptly, ok that's fine thanks for calling bye. Whatever.

And this afternoon I was thinking about whether or not I was going to send her tomorrow. And I'm not. She's still snotty and battling a viral infection (which is acceptable to send them in with OF COURSE) but she's happy enough, being at home with me. Learning and crafting and having quiet time. She could go in, she'd kick and scream because that's what some kids do, I did it and so did her dad, but fuck nursery this week. I'm still really fucking pissed off and I'm going to raise this with them next week when I don't want to knock their heads off.

I hate her nursery, less than any others in the area but still I hate it. I hate that she'll be getting homework next year when she starts school (something I'll be challenging her headteacher about), that she'll have to wear uniform and that slowly she'll be turned into a little robot. I hate it all and it makes me sad, makes me want to rebel and go against the norm, homeschool her and teach her all the things they don't get taught by the system.

Having a child is one of the best things in the world (alongside sleeping and eating) but slowly, as time flies by, they become yours less and less and I'm not ok with that. So I'm going to get away with rebelling as much as I can in the meantime, while she's still all mine.