Tomorrow is never promised...

My posts are usually light hearted, tongue in cheek, and in a “laugh at my own jokes” way, humorous… Whilst I whine about my so-called-life, really I love it and wouldn’t change it for the world…  My babies may be rascals, but they’re my rascals and without their boundary pushing, patience testing antics, my life would be peaceful but rather dull.

Today my post is different, one of a sadder content. With a heavy heart, it’s taken me a week to write, often as my fingertips have brushed the keys on my laptop, my eyes have stung with unwelcome tears that have threatened to fall. Tears that I feel I don’t deserve to cry.

Last weekend, St Georges Day, my eldest niece lost one of her very dearest friends. She’s 19. So was he.

I can’t help by feel I didn’t know George well enough to warrant my tears. But my tears are for him, forever 19 years old. For his parents losing a child with so much life left to live. For his brother losing a sibling and best friend. For his long term girlfriend, dealing with something she never thought she’d have to. For his friends who have lost a brother. And for my Chloe… My heart aches for the pain she is going through, this out of body feeling that is so foreign to her.  Self-confessed, she’s in denial; a bubble. Until he is laid to rest it won’t really seem real. Her heart is breaking and in turn it’s heart breaking to have to stand back and watch without being able to take any of the pain away.

My niece has lived a fortunate life, where in the 19 years she’s been on this earth she’s never loved and lost.

This boy that she had grown up with, schooled with, walked to and from school with, had grown up to be a fine young man. He was a credit to his parents. Which I told his mum just this morning.

Despite going their separate ways after leaving school, Chloe still saw George regularly, last year when I was pregnant, Chloe (unplanned) took Olly to one of their catch ups. Not many teenage boys would be so accommodating to have a 3 year old tear away gate crash their plans. But he was, he welcomed my loveable rogue, took him to his favourite pub with a soft play, gave him the time of day and treated him to his dinner. Olly came home utterly impressed with a new favourite friend!

Regardless of how a life is lost, no parent should ever have to see their child go before them. It’s not the way it’s supposed to be. That’s not how the circle of life is supposed to work.

This past week I have seen nothing but love and appreciation for this young man. And at time when they should, old friends, even former teachers have reunited to reminisce about growing up and the good times. His family have been very brave at a time when you can’t imagine what they must be going through…  Life can be cruel. So, so cruel.

I have been reminded that life is short; Tomorrow is never promised. Do things that scare you, tell those important that you love them and live each day as if it was your last…

 May you rest in peace St George of Derby xoxo

The self combusting bean bag chair

This week has been no different to the last few in our household, as the football season draws close to an end, the past 7 days has seen the hubster in Ireland, Portugal and Brighton. With a parents evening squeezed in between. 

Parenting 2 children under 5, working part time, as well as running a cheerleading academy and keeping the dog alive has its challenges, especially when one is on their own.  This week I have cussed silently under my breath on more occasions than I can count, considered changing my name from momma, mummy, muuuuuuuum and all the above by deed poll, sat silently rocking on the landing wrapped up in a Good Dinosaur duvet but alas, I’ve made it another week!

One more home game next Saturday followed by semi-final play offs and I have my husband back for a few weeks! I am excited.

I sometimes think my children secretly hate me and are conspiring to cause me a break down with the help of the dog. Nancy has turned in to danger baby, any dangerous activity; she gravitates towards it quicker than a fly around freshly dropped shit. Her current favourite is climbing. Followed by gripping on by her baby finger, with just a random noise to make you panic she may be up to something she shouldn’t. She’s also started answering back, in a fashion. All this is cheered on by her non-idyllic role model big brother!

These offspring’s of mine don’t go without. They’re quite fortunate, have toys to play with and a flaming playroom for the good Lords sake. But everything has to be dragged in to the sitting room. And when I say everything, I mean things that either take up the whole room, like a play tent (trying watching TV from behind that!), making a cushion mountain with the scatter back cushions off the sofa or playing with the dog lead. Yes, hours of fun comes from the extractable dog lead. I put in hard to reach places or hide it but the boy ALWAYS finds it. For those of you who didn’t know, it also makes an excellent zip line for Power Rangers, Avengers and Fireman (thank you Fisher Price Imaginext) All you have to do is attach one part to the window handle and the other the fire place grate. Super fun for Olly whilst being a death trap for everyone else in the house.

Today is bank holiday Monday and it’s peeing it down where we are. So far today I have had a cheerleading rehearsal followed by a quick visit to my sisters then an afternoon at home. Olly is an outdoor boy so this weather causes him to go stir crazy. With the boredom comes mischief, you can hear his brain churning as he’s thinking what he can do. 

Whilst Nancy had an unheard of power nap on the sofa, the bear and I sat and did his handwriting practice for school. Those bloody S’s just don’t want to go the right way!! He then proceeded to colour in the work sheet. Once the madam had woken she was ready for a late lunch, leaving the boy in the lounge colouring and watching his programmes, all seemed to be as it should in a normal household. Except my household ISN’T a normal household.

15 minutes of being in the kitchen and in comes Olly. There will be only 2 reasons for this visit; hunger or something has happened that was absolutely in no way at all his fault.

On this occasion it was the latter.  

“Mummy that green seat that’s Nancy’s has popped” – green beanbag chair. Yes, the same as a bean bag. Yes, those really annoying, supper static little white balls. “But don’t worry, there’s only a few on the floor, and a few on the sofa, oh and a few on the window sill”

As I make my way in to the sitting room with Nancy in arms there is what can only be described as 568983746 billion white static balls all over the floor, sofa and window sill. FML.

As if he is reading my mind or more so my facial expressions “I was just using it to wipe out my dinosaurs”

Happy Bank Holiday everyone. If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be sat on my landing, wrapped in a Good Dinosaur duvet rocking back and forth!

‘Til next time xoxo

Hello... It's me.. No not Adele!

And I'm back.  It's been a while. 6 months in fact; half a year...

We often refer to the growing of our babies, reflecting and reminiscing on old pictures, looking at our former "skinnier" selves as "ooohhhh where does the time go"

I'll tell you where the time goes, it goes on rushing round like a blue arsed fly. Returning to work, doing the school runs, childcare drop offs, walking the dog, food shopping, trying to grab a shower which is now considered a luxury. Brushing my hair is a thing of the past, but I always make time to wipe my bum!!

Too much? Sorry! I'm a momma to a 4 year old, poo and toilet humour are our thing! I always worry he'll repeat our secret affectionate "love you, you big fat poo" line in front of the wrong people. So far we're safe.

So yeah, I'm back. I thought it time to start writing again as I'm sure I'm about to fall victim of many Facebook culls through my bitching and moaning about life and parenthood!

You see, my husband works long hours, his team are in the premiership football promotion chase. The games are coming fast and furious and as much as I want them to reach promotion (COYR) it means the season potentially drags on for an extra 4 weeks. As a result of this, there are many away games and many days/evenings of being on my own with little adult company.  Our munchkins, as delightful and loved as they are, will press our buttons from time to time. So a desperation Facebook post, seeking comfort in someone else going through what I am, becomes an unintentional regular occurrence... Hangs head in shame; WHO AM I?

Solution? Start writing again! Make the time! Clear my chest through blogging, if anyone reads it; great, if anyone can relate to it; wonderful, if anyone can share their experiences; brilliant!! Mothers unite, WE ARE NOT ALONE!!

At 13 months, Nancy has spent 4-5 months sleep regressing.  We have been working sleeping full nights in her own cot in her own room. My little noodles was a fabulous sleeper from a young age, liked her own cot too!  However...

A trip to Dubai + a hating of the travel cot X a bad bout of Croup = the worse sleep regression in the regression of sleep history. WAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

And unintentionally we find co-sleeping a thing. Something I never judged people for, but didn't really want to do myself (I like my own space)
 
As if on cue (the hubs had a long distant away game this weekend) Friday night Noo Noo wakes in the night heaving. She's carrying phlegm on her chest and was bringing it up throughout the night.  She won't settle so I bring her in to my bed. There's only me and the dog in the king-size any way, so plenty of room.  About an hour later I hear the pitter patter of tiny feet on the landing, in comes Olly.  He can't sleep, he needs mummy snuggles. So now there's Momma, Olly, Nancy and Molly all packed in. Momma (me) the biggest, of course has the littlest room. About an hour after that, Nancy wakes, it's about 4am now. She's wide awake. I'm been smacked in the face, head stood on, ear screamed down, eyes poked, head butted... all I'm sure are done with love and affection. Olly manages to sleep through all of it. Either way. Shit nights sleep for me.

Up we get bleary eyed on Saturday at an unearthly hour (screw you light mornings) Nancy has her milk, Olly has his nutella on toast. We are all sat squashed in to the smallest space on our large corner sofa; happens all the time, everyone pile on mummy. And up sits Nancy and her full force projectile vomit. It's like that scene in Problem Child the late 80's/early 90's film, when Junior turns the fair ground ride on full speed (I hope I am remembering the right film!) she covers me, covers the sofa and gets Olly, who's facials quite frankly look like he's stepped in shit.  Utterly unimpressed.

I sometimes wonder how I've survived almost 5 years of motherhood. Sick? Makes me heave. Shit? Can't stand the smell of it. Blood & guts? I end up in a heap. Yet I find myself now running towards sick with hands cupped, telling little people "bums up" whilst I check their bums are turd free and will affectionately wipe away tears, snot and blood whilst reassuring my most precious possession's that they WILL be OK.

Nancy picked up throughout the day, we even managed a quick nip to Asda for essentials. But round 2 struck at bed time. The range on this little ladies sick is something else. The sofa (which coincidently I told hubs I hated and wanted a new one only on Thursday) which had been sponged down, febreeze'd and cushions flipped. Now took a second thrashing, as did I. But it didn't stop there, it continued on to the rug. Thankfully the parentals were visiting so getting cleaned up was a little easier.  The house however stinks of sick. I have all my plug ins on full. Windows have been open but that god awful smell just won't piss off!

Saturday night, return of the hubs, 3 points too! Kids are in bed and he has a 10K on Sunday morning. We head to bed praying for a restful night. 2am... in comes a restless Nancy, stays awake for one and a half hours. 3am... In comes a poorly Olly, 3:10am... exits a husband who needs to sleep for his race. Deja Vu of Friday night...

Sunday morning, up yours light mornings, UP YOURS (flipping the bird to the bright sky) 6:30am... Momma, Daddy and Nancy all up.  6:50am... Olly is up. 7am.. Olly projectile vomit, luckily on the bay window sill not the vile sofa, which can't possibly handle any more chunder.  7:15am... bye hubs, happy running!

11:50am... Hubs returns; 10K in 36 minutes and 27 seconds, I just wish he could move his arse that quick when I ask him to do something!!!

Olly has retired to his bedroom with his sick bowl, water, rich tea biscuits and plain hula hoops to watch The Good Dinosaur and Andy's Dinosaur Adventures. He has taken the ipad with him for good measure so he can watch Walking with Dinosaurs on Netflix simultaneously (do you see the theme) Steve has taken the much better princess for a stroll round the Castle with Molly, his Mum and Stepdad.

And me? I managed a bath, a real life bath, with actual bubbles.  Not mine though, good old Mateys, stolen from Olly! I even managed to stay in until I had prune like fingers and toes! I now sit, with my wet hair in a turban on Ollys bedroom floor, with my towel wrapped round me, pins and needles in my legs, completing this post. And do you know what? I almost feel like I've had a bout of therapy...

Writing is clearly good for my soul, it's also given what friends I have left on facebook a break from my bitching!  I hope not to leave it so long next time xxx