Yet another blogging mummy

I have a friend who has a tricky family dynamic and two very spicy little kids. She said to me once that her nervous system is in crisis almost all the time, and when she said it, I didn't know what she was talking about.  Now, I know. Oh man. Do I know.  It's like you can never relax, never be completely off your guard, you are constantly on edge, having experienced it too many times, you know that chaos, disaster and warfare are always around the corner, holding hands, waiting to pounce.  Yesterday was an example of a terrible, no good, awful, horrible day. Pickle lost her blanket that she calls Duggee, which is her most precious possession. She has had it since she was born. It has almost been lost more times than I can count or want to remember. It was tatty, old, probably crawling with uninvited microscopic guests, (despite me washing it weekly) and ripped in several places. It was almost permanently on her nose and it comforted her more deeply than a best friend or ...

  Today's funny: We were in the car going to the swimming pool, and we were talking about Donald Trump's wife, for some bizarre reason. Pickle said she thought that he was sad and grumpy and angry because something had happened to his wife. She then said "Like in Up! The movie Up! The Grandma dies because she was shotted" I explained to her that she got sick and that's why she died, and then "It seems like Grandmas die before Grampas" I tried to explain that actually statistically, it was the other way around. She got worried "Does that mean that Nonno will die before Granny Bear?" and I said I thought they would both die at the same time, because they love each other so much. Then Pickle said "If they die I will sellotape their eyes open and then put batteries in them so they can sit and watch the TV with me. I will put in GOOD batteries so that when I say 'can i watch my ipad' they will say 'yes of course!!!!' and fightin...

 January, 2026, was the month everything changed. 3 years of very, very trying times with this little one, sleepless nights, screaming fights, terrible stress, guilt, and everything else that comes with parenting spirited and fiesty kids, especially ones with extra challenges, along with, of course, all the magical bits, the exhilaratingly, breathlessly, infinitely joyful bits, and the small amount of peaceful bits, and all of a sudden, click! Things are better.  It was just after she turned 6. Everyone said "when they turn 6, it is so much easier!" and I absolutely did not believe them. Not one of them.  But then, a lot of them with teenagers say "it's no better with teenagers! it's just a lot of different challenges!"  And then there are those wise women who say " my child was a very easy child"  who, I ask, to believe?  TFR x

 It was the end of a hot day. We were all tired and a bit cranky. Emotions were at an all time high and pickle had had a terrible day at school, having been told off a lot for talking and being disrespectful. Her heart was breaking a little. Daddy was making dinner. I was sitting on a rocking chair, one of those that has no hard edges, is shaped a bit like a bean, has no legs, and no matter how hard you try, you cannot hurt yourself, even when you rock so far back that it actually stops, you can't fall off or get hurt. It's almost like some sort of therapy chair. Pickle was sitting at her desk doing whatever it is that she does at her desk. And believe me, it's not the regular stuff you'd expect people do at desks.  For whatever reason, she came over to me and sat on me as I was gently rocking, in a spider formation - facing me with her legs straddling mine. She then tucked her little soft head underneath my chin, my all time favourite position, rested her cheek on my s...

 Our time in Bristol has been, so far, a total whirlwind.  The first night we were in the UK we spent at a friend's house and we drank to his health and to a great many other things besides. The next day was excruciating. But we made it. Stocked up on most of our grocery needs, rolled into our village and then realised we had no key to get into our own house. After some high key panicking and emergency text messages sent around the village, we realised our neighbour had the key and thus we were saved. The first week was a brutal heatwave, and we, like the rest of the country, were unprepared. We spent most of it inside, as it was almost too hot to venture outside our doors, and waded between states of being; pretty miserable, as no one could sleep - a double whammy of jet lag and the heat, grateful, as we slid into our beautifully air conditioned rental car to seek out and buy the last fans and blowup swimming pools available in the whole city, and trying to find excuses to st...

Years ago, when my daughter was about 1, and I was back working at my school, (that eventually kicked me to the curb for having the audacity to have a baby and then ask to work part time, but that is an entirely other story) one of my colleagues, who had a pregnant girlfriend, asked me if I had any advice for having a new baby. At the time I felt totally overwhelmed with the question, as, my god, how much time did he have to listen? I could not possibly condense all of my suggestions and helpful advice into one sentence. For years, I've been thinking about it and wondering what one or two poignant, incredibly helpful things I could have told him, and I really couldn't think of anything.  Firstly, there is so much to say that it's just too overwhelming to hear, let alone to try and articulate.  Secondly, whatever you say, people will forget or not listen to in the first place. But now, now we are six, I have a feeling that the best advice I could give anyone who is raising a...

Last night, as I was lying next to my pickle who was on the precipice of sleep, after playing a card game and having some chats, she sleepily, yet firmly, murmured to me "Mummy. Put your feet down." She likes to have the security of knowing that whoever has the pleasure of being next to her in bed is comfortable, thus making it less likely for them to leap out of bed, leaving her alone, in the foreseeable future. "Pickle" said I, "my feet are down." At this point she sat up, to check that my feet, in fact, were down, whereupon she realised that my duvet was not in the correct position. She moved it slightly to the right, so that my feet were uncovered, and let out a contented sigh. "ahhhh." she intoned, and turned over and went to sleep. That is all.  Thanks for reading x