Mummy's Rant

We live in a bizarre part of Kent. An Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty and close to a very special ancient woodland, our village in the North Downs experiences extreme weather, even when the rest of Kent is relatively unscathed by environmental factors. Today, we're snowed in. I know the rest of Kent has suffered as a result of the Beast from the East - I've seen the social media posts: excited children with questionably formed snow-things; travel chaos and stories of hours stranded on M-x (a little highway algebra reference there); and parents suffering from a potent cocktail of cabin fever and anxiety that there's more on the way and they'll have the kids again tomorrow - but ours bought vodka and solyanka, and has settled down to watch the Bolshoi dance Swan Lake. It's here for a while. For our village, it's less "how will I get to work" and more "how will I get off the drive?" Even if we do get out via the every-which-way-is-treache

When I was a little girl, monsters lived under my bed. Until my parents bought me a bedside lamp, getting into bed after turning off the big light necessitated a running leap from a distance so they couldn't catch me (the monsters, not my parents). And hopefully my landing with force on the mattress would concuss them. When I was a bit older, I determined that monsters were a figment of my imagination. I'd been promoted to a double divan and there was no room for them underneath. Now I'm considerably older, I realise monsters do exist. Take eBay. The eBay monster is a split personality. It has a friendly face and enticing nature, but bites twice. Once infected, nothing will rid you of the craving. It preyed on me when I was a new-mum for the second time. First time, I'd kept everything, like an extended memory box, excepting those items stained with the mysterious orange baby mark, which nothing removes. Just as well I did hoard, when baby number two also turne

Mornings seem to follow a pattern at the weekends. Inevitably the children wake up first. Then for my husband and I, it's a slow and painful regaining of consciousness that reaches its zenith as the girls have their first set-to of the day. They love each other, there's no doubt about it. But they seem intent on fighting too. I've come to the conclusion that there are three possible reasons for their combative nature early doors. 1) Hangriness - they're not them til they've eaten. If I don't catch it right, my sleep-scented, cuddly monkeys flip straight into diva mode, with killer breath to boot. 2) Hormones - reasonably, it's pushing it a little for mini-me, but micro-me? She's four! 3) Hellhounds - the anxiety of every parent - have I raised monsters? Once we've managed to shake off the zombie impressions we have to negotiate the menu choice. Neither wants the same as the other, and my husband's Saturday motto "who wants eggs&q

Expectant-parents of child-making age and parents of all ages will be familiar with the concept of advice and anecdotes from well-meaning friends, family and complete strangers. Conversations will vary depending on your circle, but most will generally cover the following: "duration and drama of personal labour" competition - this will either scare the crap out of you or lull you into a false sense of security - labour hurts, quite a bloody bit. "where I had my baby" assessment - a class-distinguishing exercise, which will never be trumped having met a debutante with a media following, who announced her elective was performed at the Lindo Wing. The good news is that this is only an occasional test - most likely first experienced in the playground. "how to make you think you broke your baby" - an open mike session, which will hoodwink you into thinking that a newborn really does have the capacity to sleep like a log for a whole night and breast feeding

I'm don't think I'm a food snob. I salute which? for their article ( here ) entitled The best and worst supermarkets of 2018 . I'm a little thrown, as it's only February, but OK, how d o budget-friendly discounters compare with heavyweight brands? A survey of 6,800 members of the public in October 2017 rated Aldi, M&S and Lidl as the top three of the nation's favourite supermarkets, with Aldi knocking Waitrose off the top after a reign of three years. Not bad. For years, we shopped on-line. We used to do the big shop with Tesco when we lived in our old home, and then Sainsbury's when we moved to the forever house (it felt like our new neighbourhood expected that). We did a fair bit at M&S (still do - always M&S date-night food) and would supplement with trips to somewhere convenient when the need arose. Then it was Christmas 2016. I love Christmas, even more since we had a family. We have two December birthdays, then our wedding anniver

One thing that really peeves me is the car park criminal. You'll know them, we've all seen them - they help themselves to parent parking spaces WHEN THEY DON'T HAVE CHILDREN WITH THEM. There are two main personalities - the brazen, and the discreet. The brazen will pull in, hop out and walk with confidence. You will be aware of them because they leave in their wake silently enraged people with kids who watch their progress into the store with slightly slack jaws and quickened pulse. Then you have the discreet, who will leave someone in the car, usually with the radio on and the window down a crack, and oftentimes with the engine still purring, suggesting the theft of the parking bay is only temporary.  Please, feel free. On behalf of those of us with kids in the car, I can say with complete irony that we are happy to hang around waiting for the one parent-friendly concession we are entitled to, to become available. Don't trouble yourselves. I'm British

Things have changed since last year. I took the bold decision to stop being a slave to the mind numbing commute to the job of my dreams, mostly because it had become the job of my nightmares. I remember fighting for my right to be a working mum after the babies were born, against opposition from some more traditional (read Victorian) family members. The result was I won, but only with a comprehensive and complicated care regime in place. And still the expectation to be a mum/wife/housekeeper when I wasn't working. The mornings were the worst - I love my sleep. After years of sleeping with one ear open for the mini-mes, I rarely feel rested. I'm a monster, dragging myself around and barely coherent until I'm on my second cup of tea. Great role model, right? The greatest liberation about working was the opportunity to have a wee in peace. Here I'm subjected to invasions of privacy so intense, I now leave the door open so I can be consulted at any point. It's a l

Hello world. Or more likely hello one person who has accidentally stumbled across this blog. *wave* You deserve an introduction - there's me, my husband and two minis in this house. No pets, unless you count the bag-for-life monster that lurks under the stairs. I'm a writer for a living. It wasn't always that way, but I reached the wrong side of 40 and decided that the best way to embrace my middle age was to do something I love every day. So I produce copy for a living and in my spare time, let off steam here. What's posted here is my opinion only. References to specific people, places and things are neither necessarily fact nor endorsement. And there is likely to be a bit of swearing along the way. Thanks for reading x