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SuperKids

 

If kids had superpowers, what would they be? Invisibility? Flight? Super strength? These would be the obvious assumptions; however, these are no ordinary superheroes.

Let me introduce you to the SuperKids.

Wonder Whinge

Wonder Whinge1As soon as she wakes up the primary noise she will expel is whinge. Whether she’s moaning about the fact she doesn’t want the blue top on as it doesn’t go with her knickers, or because you gave her a banana with the tiniest mark on it, she will whinge and whine until the cows come home. The noise itself can turn any relatively calm parent into a stressed short tempered individual. Whinge is the kryptonite to most parents.

DangerBoy

Dangerboy1

There’s no height too high for DangerBoy. He has zero fear and no matter how many times he’s told something is dangerous, he’ll continue. A regular visitor to the local A&E department and on first name terms with the doctors and nurses. His parents are quite sure they have a mark against their name. Injuries are merely war wounds and he will proudly show off these to any passer-by. DangerBoy is averse to the words ‘Be careful’.

SuperFuss

Superfuss

If it’s green SuperFuss wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole, however chips, sweets, and chocolate seem to go down well. She can sit at a table for hours if tested and is a seasoned pro at stand offs with anyone trying to get her to consume something she doesn’t want to. Occasionally she’ll decide she wants to eat something she refused to eat the previous day. This is what is known as a mind fuss.

Captain Poopy Pants

Captain PoopyPants1Don’t let his age, height, or small stature fool you, Captain Poopy Pants could put a wild brown bear to shame. He can produce vast amounts of the ‘brown stuff’ and will always catch you when you least expect it. His favourite time to declare ‘he’s got to go’ is usually just as his mum or dad are about to step out of the door when they’re already late or in a queue with a full shopping trolley. Captain Poopy Pants can ward any enemy off with his pungent aroma. Most certainly a carbon copy of his father, Daddy Poopy Pants.

Mega No

Mega No1It doesn’t matter what you ask of Mega No, her response will always be no. Would you like to help me put away all the toys you erratically exploded around the room? “NO!” Do you like green? “No! Would you like fish fingers and beans for tea? “No!” How about I give you a million pounds? “No!” There is literally no pleasing Mega No. Even when she knows she should probably say yes, her stubborn powers prevent her. The only way to catch her out is to start a question with “You wouldn’t mind if…” and end it with “…would you?”

King Question

King Question1There is no question King Question won’t ask. He will ask you “Why?” at least 500 times a day. His parents always vowed they’d never utter the words “Just because” or “That’s just how it is” but they’ve finally been broken and now consider Google a good friend. King Question has a knack of knowing exactly when to ask an awkward question, particularly in the public domain. Questions such as ‘Why is that man so big / in a wheelchair / wearing that / ugly’ can often leave his parents in a stuttering wreck whilst they attempt to respond most appropriate and politically correct way.

Move over Batman, the SuperKids are in town!

Do you have a SuperKid in your family?

Gem x

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A Mother’s Love is Never Ending

Mother, Mum, Mummy, Mom, Mommy, Ma, Mamma, Mammy, Momma. Whilst it sounds like I’m trying to do my best impression of Stewie Griffin from Family Guy, I’m simply just listing the many alternative names for the main woman in your life, or by the name you are possibly so regularly referred to as (and believe me it’s used to the max at times).

So what do we define as a mother? Someone who loves you and brings you up with affection and care from day dot, a person who has unconditional love for her child, a woman who will nurture and provide for her young? All of these are what you’d expect to be true, however some people out there may have a different view based on personal experience.

Sadly there are a number of babies born into a world without a loving family, which absolutely breaks my heart and I’m sure yours too. But luckily there are many amazing people out there, who whilst they might not have been through pregnancy, physical pain, or gas and air, they have given these children what they needed the most…love.

There are mums out there who beat themselves up on a regular basis for not being that ‘perfect’ Instagram mum they see feeding their child organic chicken and quinoa salad and a full boob of fresh breastmilk; for the fact they just shouted at their child for jumping on the sofa for the fiftieth time; or because they turned their back for a second and ended up in A&E. The term for this is mum guilt. Believe me I know. Regardless of these occasional mum guilt moments, they have given their children what they needed the most…love.

For the mums who sadly didn’t have enough chance or time with their babies/children, they have given and will continue to give them what they needed the most…love.

It matters not if they have or haven’t the same blood running through their veins, if they’re on Earth or in the clouds, a mother’s love is never ending.

Gem x

 

 

 

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Tot Trumps

The title may have led you to believe this is about little people parps; well you can take a sigh of relief as this is not the case (in all honesty I’m not really convinced that would make a great read anyway).

So what do I mean by Tot Trumps? Well you may be familiar with Top Trumps, if not I shall let Wikipedia give you a quick brief;

“Top Trumps is a card game published in 1968. Each card contains a list of numerical data, and the aim of the game is to compare these values to try to trump and win an opponent’s card”Source, Wikipedia

Tot Trumps is exactly the same the only difference is that it relates to all things baby, toddlers, mums and dads.

Baby Vs Toddler Trumps

speed-of-eating-60amount-of-poo-produced-75whinge-level-30questions-asked-0

Speed of eating – Baby 60 / Toddler 20

Once babies have got the gist of the wonder that is food there’s no stopping them, they can’t ram the stuff in quick enough. Granted some of the food doesn’t actually go in their mouths, but they’re trying their best to try all of those new textures and flavours. In stark contrast a toddler, a now esteemed pro, well ish, at food can give a tortoise a run for their money at taking forever to eat their chuffing food. Never before have the words ‘Eat your food’ need to be repeated on such an epic scale, and usually on a morning when you’re rushing to get ready for work.

Poo produced – Baby 75 / Toddler 65

It’s a well known fact that babies and toddlers can produce a fair bit of poo. How such small individuals can produce a dump the abominable snowman would be proud of, I’ll never know. But babies definitely win this round hands down. Their actual amount of bum nuggets may be lesser than that of a toddler, but the impact and explosion factor more than make up for it. When you physically have to cut a baby grow off your tiny child because they’ve formed a blast which could put Hiroshima to shame, the poo to child size ratio definitely outweighs that of a toddlers. When you’ve changed nine nappies before you’ve even stepped out of the door, you know they’re in with a good chance of winning the ‘Shit Machine of the Year Award’.

Whinge level – Baby 30 / Toddler 85

Babies haven’t really mastered the art of whinge, they generally cry more than whinge, but once they hit toddler/threenager age the whinge level is turned to full pelt, and boy do we know about it. What does whinge sound like? Think of Janice from Friends laugh, then times it by 20 and repeat at least 30 times a day. Now that’s annoying, painfully annoying. “I don’t want to eat off that plaaaaaaaaaaatttttttttteeeeeeee, it’s pink, waaaaahhhhhhhhh”; “It’s raining!!Waaaaaaaahhhhhhh!”; “I don’t want a baaaaaaaaaaatttthhhhhh!”; “I don’t want to wear those shooooooeeeeeeessssss!”. If the government bottled enough whinge they could have a serious defence weapon on their hands, parents all around the country would be raking it in. In reality whinge has no effective use other than being seriously fudging annoying.

Questions asked – Baby 0 / Toddler 99

Once again toddlers win this hands down. When they’re not asking a question they are thinking about their next question. If they are unable to think of anymore (as rare as a lunar eclipse) they turn to the trusty filler phrase we all know too well – “Mummmmyyyyy?” / “Daddddddyyyy?” Once those words leave their mouths we know in t-minus 3 seconds there’s going to be a “Can I have a biscuit?”, “Why do cows moo?”, “Can a cat and a dog have babies together?”, “Why is grass green?. We feel the panic, the pressure not to give them a bullshit answer and definitely not the “Just because…” answer (although after the 100th, ok then 50th question of the day this is a completely acceptable response). Google has possibly made most of its earnings based on panicked parents around the world. This is further proven by the fact if you type ‘Why’ in the search box; the first question to come up is ‘Why is the sky blue?’ now that has quizzed and unsure parent written all over it.

Mummy Vs Daddy Trumps

Copy of Speed of eating 60Amount of poo produced 75Whinge level 30Questions asked 0.png

Time to self – Mummy 20 / Daddy 60

What is this time to self thing? It sounds delightful. Once children arrive on the scene time to oneself is, well…limited.  A once very private visit to the porcelain throne is now a social gathering where the kids continuously fetch their detached toy car wheels, dried up Playdoh and usually the loudest VTech toy they can muster for your viewing ‘pleasure’; A hot cup of tea once leisurely sipped whilst relaxing on the sofa watching back to back episodes of ‘Masterchef’ is soon replaced by lukewarm tea drunk in between changing nappies, picking up toys, and watching ‘I Can Cook’. Its official the ‘time to self’ moments for a mummy are not exactly relaxing. During the very the rare moment when the kids nap (after a well deserved fist pump) do mums relax? Nope they do jobs, think washing the car, cleaning the house, painting, jet washing the patio, making the tea, scraping crusty Weetabix off the floor/chair/table etc. It’s a fact that some of us actually go to work for a break, the chance to drink a hot cup of tea and to have a wee in private, ah bliss. So where does Daddy time to self come into this? Well perhaps I should have called this Trump ‘Time spent on the toilet’ (No pun intended). Somehow Daddy’s toilet time is sacred and long, oh so bloody long. Seriously who takes that long to take a dump? In reality I think probably 30% is pooping time and 70% is faffing on phone time, but who can blame them, we all have to have our little pleasures when we can manage to grab them. It’s a fact, daddies can hands down beat baby and toddler in the pooping stakes.

Showers taken – Mummy 40 / Daddy 70

One of the most frustrating things a mum can experience is when Daddy walks in after a day at work and declares “I’m just off for a shower”, all made worse by the fact that mummy has spent all day at home with the kids and has had zero opportunity to get a clean (making a third day Glastonbury reveller look pristine). Poor mum has been waiting all day for that special Timote moment, yet he waltzes in clearly not picking up on the fact flies are now circling her. All to be made worse by the fact he’s going to spend at least 45 long minutes ‘having a poo’ before his rather lengthy shower *Rolls eyes*

Gym membership usage – Mummy 25 / Daddy 75

Happy Days, Cheeky Monkeys, Rascals just a few names of ‘Gyms’ this mummy has stepped into recently. These gyms don’t harbour the weightlifter’s, protein shake drinkers, and the lycra clad toned crew you’d normally associate with the gym, no these contain tired looking parents watching on whilst their children run around and swing on various items like chimps. The closest thing to exercise is the parent squat, ‘sit down to a drink of tea, stand up to go save child dangling from the top of the climbing frame, sit down to have a sip of tea, stand up to stop child pushing another child on account of them having sharing issues, sit down to have a sip of tea, stand up to retrieve child from the top of the climbing frame due to sudden declaration of needing a wee/poo, sit down to drink cold tea’. The only thing that comes out lighter at the end of the session is a purse. The regular gym usage is probably the reason why daddy Wobbles looks like a model off the front cover of Men’s Health and the regular Play Gym usage (and cake eating) is more than likely the reason mummy Wobbles looks more like a  Teletubby on the front of CBeebies Magazine.

Fun Factor – Mummy 65 / Daddy 85

It’s pretty hard to be fun and enthusiastic when your kids have just emptied their entire box of Paw Patrol jigsaw pieces all over the floor for the third time followed by an epic chalking session on the wall. It can be bloody frustrating and stressful at times so we have to be forgiven for not always wanting to build a giant cushion tower and being jumped on whilst the ‘bad’ guys go “POW POW POW! “. When mums are fun we really bloody are, baking cakes, making dinosaurs out of loo rolls, jumping in puddles, painting, and if we’re feeling really crazy we even let the kids mix the Playdoh. So what gives Daddy the edge? Well for one they’re daft as brushes, but they’re also a bit more inclined to take risks, and let’s face it kids love a bit of danger. The first time I saw my husband fling our little boy up in the air I nearly had a pulmonary, but my little boy couldn’t get enough “More, more!” We could probably all learn something from each other, perhaps us mums should be a little more wild and try not turn into the Riskinator (The risk assessment robot), dads maybe you could just adopt a little bit of Riskinators pre risk and safety analysis?

So there you have it, your introduction to the world of Tot Trumps. The only good thing around these days with the word Trump in.

Gem (aka ColleysWobbles)

This post was originally featured on Meet Other Mum’s #mumtribe

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The Parent Crap

I love my husband dearly, he’s my rock, and all that lovey dovey blurb… but some nights I want nothing more than to roundhouse him to the floor! (Before you start, I don’t condone violence and I would never actually do it, but imagining it in the style of a Peter Griffin/Family Guy cut away clip makes it ok, right?).

Tonight is a prime example. The two children (I’d once lovingly lugged around like an overweight gorilla for 18 long months, propelled into the world in the most undignified and painful way from my noo noo, and sacrificed my once pert boobs to) have told me more than enough times this evening, “No Mummy I don’t want you I want Daddyyyyyyy!!!” accompanied with a scowl the grumpy cat would be proud of.

Granted, it’s not entirely Daddy’s fault he is awesome and very cuddly, but it still doesn’t stop me from wanting to get all Chuck Norris on his ass!

All I wanted was a cuddle, but instead I got a wriggling octopus with a one word Daddy Dictionary. Grrr!

So yes, I’ll put my hands up and admit it. I’m jealous! How does he do it? Am I doing something wrong? Am I too strict? Is it because I’ve gone back to work and they’re mad at me? Is it because they genuinely don’t love me as much? #mumguilt

In all honestly I don’t know why. I am however starting to realise that life as a family isn’t all Von Trap sing-alongs whilst parading through the meadows hand in hand, and I’d question anyone who said otherwise.

The faultless pictures you see on Instagram aren’t real. Mr and Mrs Perfect’s model family photo frolicking in a strawberry field was probably taken on their twenty second attempt on account of joyful Johnny shoving strawberries up his nose and sweet Susie flashing her knickers for the thirtieth time.

Before we had the boys I remember saying to people “We never argue, we get on so well, we’re best mates, blah blah blah“. Post kids, were still best mates, but argue? We do now. I’m not talking the dramatic Eastenders throwing plates at the wall “Ger art of ma pub!” type arguing, but we do have our disagreements and fall outs like most people. Why? Here’s a bit of parental maths:

cook-offAnother thing that adds to the ‘parent crap’ is the resentment. I never thought I’d resent their Daddy for going to work, but I remember thinking he was staying late at work to check out the hot toned girls who actually had time for the gym (unlike his baby bellied wife). I thought it was his way to avoid the crazy bedtime routine, but in actual reality he was working his backside off to pay bills and keep his job.

On the flip side he resented me for staying at home with his two little boys having all of that time to make memories whilst he was at work. A vicious cycle. The only way to avoid it crumbling is to tell yourself your both in it together. You’re a team. A family team.

So whether my little snot rockets are Daddy’s boys or Mummy’s boys it doesn’t matter, we’re a team, a unit, and they will have our undying love until the day we are no more.

(Seriously though kids, you best start giving me more cuddles or Daddy’s never going to get another cup of tea).

Gem x

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Champagne Super No Way


We’ve had this very posh plonk for nearly a year so it seemed wrong not to drink it on a night away from parental duties. 
Will it be drunk on a yacht whilst bikini clad babes and six pack toned hunks parade their assets whilst listening to the latest funky house beats from a French DJ spotting a man bun and ray bans? 

No, it will be drunk lukewarm from plastic wine glasses in a standard double hotel room (bought through Groupon of course, we’re not made of money you know) whilst watching the Chase and Pointless. Why I hear you ask? Because that’s how we roll, it’s time to wind down, and quite honestly we’ve forgotten what it’s like not to be asked for cheese and juice every two minutes.

Gone are the days of bikini clad yacht posing (although if I’m honest I’ve never done it, the closest I ever got was having a cup of tea on the ferry to Bruges). This is reality, and I’m good with that. 

Cheers everyone! 

Gem x

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Beauty in to Beast

Like many little girls, Belle was always the Disney princess I aspired to be. Beautiful, intelligent, thoughtful, and kind. Let’s not forget that amazing dress and the fact she got her Prince Charming in the end (Well after a miraculous shave and a crash diet).

So did I turn out to be the beautiful, intelligent, thoughtful and kind Belle? In a word… no, although I’d like to think I’ve mastered the thoughtful and kind element. The other two aspects are very much debatable.

I didn’t get the big swishy dress, but one thing I did manage to do was bag my very own Beast Prince Charming, and I’m happy to report he has much less fur and less bitey teeth. He’s pretty crap at timekeeping and I’m relatively sure he has a mild to medium form of narcolepsy, but all of that aside he’s definitely a keeper.

Life is good, but bloody hell it’s hard and certainly not the fairytale I dreamt of as a young girl. That said I can’t help but wonder what Belle would have been like after she had been married to the Beast for five years with two little mini Beasts in tow.

img_0538
Disposing of poopy nappies was not the fairytale Disney princess life Belle expected
So in true Disney style below is my interpretation (with a bit of a Yorkshire twang) of Belle’s song with a more realistic angle. Feel free to sing along.

Belle:

Little house, in a quiet village

Every day like the one before

Little house full of whingey people

Waking up to say…

Little Beasts:

Mummy

Daddy

Mummy

Daddy

Mummy

Belle:

There goes the toddler waking up, like always

The same old whines and moans to yell

Every morning just the same

At 6am mini beasts came

To see a poor tired parents frown

Beast:

Good morning Belle

Belle:

Good morning Daddy, er I mean Beast

Beast:

Where are you off to?

Belle:

Aldi, I need to pick up some strong coffee, nappies, wipes, milk and bread.

Beast:

That’s nice. Can you get me some sandwich meats for lunch? LITTLE BEAST!! Stop poking me in the head

Townsfolk:

Look, there she goes

The lass is strange, no question

Dazed and distracted, can’t you tell?

Man:

Never part of any crowd

Woman:

Cause her head’s up on some cloud

No denying she’s a mummy now, that Belle

Man 1:

Ey up!

Woman 1:

Good day!

Man 1:

How is your family?

Woman 2:

Ey up!

Man 2:

Good day

Woman 2:

How is your wife?

Woman 3:

I need….a Greggs

Man 3:

That’s too expensive! *What Greggs?!

Belle:

There must be more than this abysmal* life!

*Ok so abysmal is a tad extreme but I was struggling to find something to rhyme

Man at the Library:

Ah, Belle

Belle:

Good morning. I’ve come to return the kids book I borrowed

Man at the Library:

Finished already?

Belle:

Yes I’ve read it to them at least a hundred times and they still aren’t bored yet. Please tell me you’ve got something else?

Man at the Library:

Not since yesterday

Belle:

That’s alright. Ok then we’ll borrow this one (After an argument with toddler over said book as it’s not the right colour or size)

Man at the Library:

That one? But you’ve read it twice!

Belle:

What Charlie Cooks Favourite Book? Yes it’s my favourite, I like doing all the voices; my pirate and knight are especially impressive.

Man at the Library:

Well if you like it all that much, it’s yours

Belle:

Really? What actually free? What’s the catch? I mean do you need my email address or something so you can constantly spam me?

Man at the Library:

No catch, I insist!

Belle:

Nice one, ta very muchly!

Townsfolk:

Look, there she goes, that lass is super human

I wonder if she’s feeling well

Men:

She seems a little snappy

Women:

Because her nose is in a nappy

Townsfolk:

She needs to be an octopus that Belle

Belle:

Ewwww…isn’t this disgusting?

It’s my least best part of being mummy

Here’s where I see the bogies

Crusting on my newly washed leggings

On both my knees!

Woman:

Now it’s a wonder why her name means “beauty”

Her looks are fuelled on Zinfandel

Shopkeeper:

But behind that zombie plod

I’m afraid she feels a fraud

Very distant from the rest of us

Group of mums:

She’s struggling like the rest of us

Yes, normal like the rest of us is Belle

The next part is traditionally sung by Gaston and Lefou, but for the purposes of this it shall be sang by the beast and Trevor (yes I totally made that up) his best friend. 

Trevor:

Wow you look knackered Beast. Are you tired?

Beast:

I know, yes I’m exhausted. I’m always working, the kids are non-stop and Belle does not stop nagging at me

Trevor:

Oh dear, it doesn’t sound like the fairytale it used to be

Beast:

I know I still really love her but she just seems to have lost her mojo

Trevor:

Does she not still have that flouncy gold dress?

Beast:

No she mostly lives in snot and food stained clothes and never wears matching bra and knickers.

Trevor:

But she was…

Beast:

The most beautiful girl in town? She was but now she has more hair on her legs than I ever did

Trevor:

That bad huh?

Beast:

Yes well since she had the kids I’ve been put to the bottom of the pile

Trevor:

Go on then tell me about it

Beast:

Right from the moment when the kids were born

The trouser kisses were just shelved

Although I must agree

She makes a nice hot tea

So I need to re-woo and de-hairy Belle

Group of mums:

Look Beast it’s hard to be a mummy

Hey Beast it’s hard to be a wife

Give her a chance, she feels like screaming

It’s not the perfect mummy kind of life!

Man 1:

Ey up

Beast:

My bad!

Man 2:

Good day

Man 3:

By heck!

Matron:

She’s shoving cake in

Woman 1:

You need some wipes!

Man 4:

Some nappies…

Woman 2:

…Two packs!

Man 4:

…Four pound..

Woman 1:

It’s real life

Beast:

There’s too much poo!!

Woman 2:

My head…

Man 5:

Those kids…..

Woman 2:

They’re cute

Man 5:

…They smell of hamsters

Belle:

There must be more than this abysmal* life!

*Once again, a bit harsh, and purely for rhyming slackness

Beast:

I’m so proud to call lovely Belle my wife! (Even if she does look a bit of a bugger and nags a lot)

Belle:

Life as a mum can be a little stressful

Often a challenge not to yell

I used to be quite slim

Pass the tonic and the gin

It’s super being a mummy

Bar the wobbly wibbly tummy

Yes I do love being a mummy…..it’s just swell! (Well most of the time)

And they all lived happishley ever after.

The End
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10 Things I Hate* About Two

*Hate’s a very strong word, I much prefer ‘dislike’ or ‘don’t really enjoy’, but let’s face it they wouldn’t have the same ring would they?

This is in no way related to Heath Ledger or Julia Stiles, no this is my honest take on why having two children can be, well shall we say – challenging. I often look back to when I had the one and there’s no doubt about it, it was hard, bloody hard, but if I really think about it I had so much more opportunity to nap and watch This Morning than I do now. Oh how I miss you Phil and Holly.

So here are the 10 things I ‘don’t really enjoy’ about having two little people.

1. It’s about as rare as an eclipse when both children have a nap at the same time. The only way it’s possible (or at least in my experience) is to drive around in the car playing Classic FM like a 95 year old lady called Doris on her way to the local garden centre. Believe me it works.

The difficulty then is managing to get them both successfully out of the car and transferred into their beds. It almost always ends with one of them waking up, so the feet up – cup of coffee in hand – Come Dine with Me afternoon session I had ambitiously planned is swiftly cancelled. Don’t get me wrong I absolutely love playing and chasing around after my boys but just 30 mins peace without having to answer one hundred and one questions would be lovely. In reality what do I do when the ‘rare eclipse’ strikes? I clean and tidy.

2. Multi-tasking like you’ve never multi-tasked before. It’s a skill we have to adopt because we have no other choice. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve been in a situation where one hand is wiping a poopy bum and the other’s preventing the toddler from doing his best impression of Eddie the Eagle. Parents have to have reflexes like a cat. I’ve never felt more like a ninja in my life. 3. My toddler hasn’t quite grasped the fact his younger brother isn’t a toy. There have been a few occasions where I’ve caught him riding his brother like a sad donkey on the beach. The words ‘gentle‘, ‘careful‘ or the phrase ‘get off your brother‘ have never been used as much.  4. Two lots of I nappies (granted not all of you will have this issue, some of you sensibly waited). I remember one particular morning changing six nappies after only been up for an hour. How is it possible for such small people to produce so much poo? Nowadays my toddler is toilet trained so this thankfully is no longer an issue. Just the one set of nappies to deal with, phew!

However, this has now brought around a new ‘challenge’. My son always chooses incredibly inconvenient times to do a ‘poo dance’ and announce loudly for all to hear “I need a poo!” mainly when I’ve either got his baby brother fast asleep in my arms (after a long time of him fighting sleep), or when we’re out and we’ve just conveniently sat down with lunch, only to have to awkwardly abandon it and single handedly juggle belongings, a baby, and a wincing toddler to a tiny loo. Let’s face it the poo was never going to be a good thing was it? 5. One of the hardest challenges for a parent is to get through the day without getting some form of food or bodily function smeared on their clothing. As the ‘owner’ of two boys, this tends to involve a lot snot, where the chuff does it all come from? If snot could be mined they could make a base at our house, and I would be one rich lady.

With two boys in tow I have double the smearage occurrence and quadruple the amount of household washing to deal with. I love spending my days filling the washer and drier (said no mum ever!). Although it has to be said I’ve become more accustomed (doesn’t have any other option so has just accepted) having that extra accessory of banana smear, or snot splatter. Who knows it could catch on. I’ll wait for your call Vivienne. 6. The noise, oh god the noise. The decibel level has certainly escalated since we first moved into our new house. At that time we had a relatively quite one and a half year old and I was seven months pregnant (yes I know we didn’t mess about, and yes moving when heavily pregnant was not the most exhilarating moment of my life, it was flaming stressful). So I imagine our neighbour thought we were a nice quiet little family to live next door to. Wrong!

The first noise worthy experience he had to endure was listening to me whining and mooing like a cow at 4am as the contractions were kicking in – one hospital trip later and BOOM! Welcome to Noisetown.

My youngest was a pretty chilled baby and sound sleeper, however the standard loud hungry baby cries he did at all hours of the night/morning weren’t the most enjoyable. If the mother and father of the child struggle to cope with the noise then I can’t imagine the neighbour was loving it much either.

Next on the noise counter was my fast growing toddler who mastered the fine (but not very likeable) art of winging. Again if even the mother of the child can’t appreciate their own flesh and bloods constant “I don’t wannnntttt thaaaaaattttt!“, “I wannnntttt thaaaaaattttt!“, “Noooooooooooooo“, “Whaaaaaaaaaaaa!“, then my poor bugger of a neighbour certainly isn’t going to either. To compliment the winging there’s also the occasional (OK then, daily) case of ‘parent losing their shit’ noise.

But those still aren’t the worst of the noises he has to endure. No, the worse noise can usually be heard around 7:20pm – 7:30pm, and comes from the mouth of the lesser spotted singing mum, also known as me attempting to sing Feed the Birds to the boys. (Less Mary Poppins more Makeit Stoppins). So I’m sorry neighbour, I’d love to tell you it’s going to quieten down, but the reality is soon there will be two wingers once my little one enters the twonager/threenager zone. I’ve heard Boots sell some pretty good earplugs, you may want to invest.

7. Both of my son’s have an obsession with hiding things. If I could compare them to an animal they would be squirrels. Squirrels hide nuts, well my children hide just about anything they can get their hands on. On occasion the selected object in question has rather inconveniently been my keys, and always on a day when I’m in a rush to get out of the house. When my eldest was about twenty months old I caught him looking rather sheepish whilst standing near my relatively expensive speakers. Having remembered music was starting to sound a bit tinny, I put two and two together and decided to get my Mrs Marple head on. After shining a torch in the back of the speaker I discovered a plethora of items, I’m talking pens, golf balls, small knick knacks, toys, cars, a stylus, you name it, it was in there. After a lot of vigorous shaking and probing with some BBQ tongs the little hoarders stash had been retrieved. The speakers have never fully recovered, but they’re now out of reach from the ‘little squirrels’.

My ‘little squirrels’ secret hiding place

 

The plethora of stashed items found in the speaker

 

8. I am a nag nag. A double nag. One of my most used words is “No”, along with the phrases, “Please don’t do that”, “Get off that”, “Can you stop doing that please?”. This is one of the parts of motherhood I really don’t enjoy, in fact I’d go as far to say I actually hate it. I really didn’t want to be a naggy mum but when one of your children is constantly pressing the sky record button (we have a lot of random Part Rec programmes in our planner), whilst the other decides it’s a good idea to smudge his bananarey hands all over the sofa, then Mrs Naggy McNaggyson from Nagthorpe has to make an appearance.  In the past I’ve read a few articles about alternative ways to say no, but when your kid’s about to jump off the top of the slide head first “Please could you refrain from jumping off the top of the slide darling” just doesn’t cut the mustard, because ultimately the kids probably already committed to it, then cue a mammoth wait in A&E and a potential mark on the social services risk register. However nagging does have it’s uses, let’s face it if there was no such thing as nagging then there would be a lot of unpaid bills, and half done jobs (not a dig to you hubby obviously😂).

9. You have to choose. I don’t mean as to which child is your favourite (that varies on behaviour obviously), I mean there are situations where you have to balance out their needs and make an on the spot decision. I’d liken it to a game of Top Trumps. For this example I shall rename it ‘Tot Trumps’. ‘Toddler doing poo dance’ vs ‘Baby touching TV remote’. Now let’s see the stats:

Toddler Doing Poo Dance

  • Risk Factor: 95
  • Danger Level: 95
  • Speed: 70
  • Whinge Volume: 85

Baby Touching TV Remote

  • Risk Factor: 60
  • Danger Level: 20
  • Speed: 80
  • Whinge Volume: 65

The toddlers needs win on this occasion. Deleting an unwanted programme on the Sky planner not a problem, having to scrape poo off the living room floor? I’ll pass thanks.  10. When we just had the one baby waking up in the night, the hubby and I were a little more inclined to leave him for a bit to ‘cry it out’, or at least do that thing most couples do and have a ‘stand off’ (or should that be ‘lay off’) and wait for the other to make the move. Nowadays as soon as a hint of a decent cry emerges we’re quicker than Mo Farah after eating a bowl full of Quorn to react and ensure their cries don’t wake the other. After all what’s worse than a child waking up at 2am the night before you’re up early for work? Two children awake at 2am the night before you’re up early for work. So there you have it, those are my 10 Things I ‘Hate’ About Two, but it’s not all Tot Trumps, squirrels and noise. The tight Yorkshire lass in me is incredibly happy that we saved a flipping fortune on clothes and toys etc. Even though I know the pain of a second child all too well (having to endure the bobbly unfashionable hand me downs, getting the second hand bike, etc.) I’m now the sensible(ish) parent trying to be careful with money, so I’m pleased the clothes we bought and gratefully received for my first born have been used again and they’ve both got their wear out of them.

Ultimately the best thing about having two children is that my son has now got a buddy to share his childhood with. He has a friend, a best mate, a Robin to his Batman, an Ant to his Dec, and vice versa. Watching them play together is a wonderful thing, it makes me go all mushy (when they’re not having the “I was playing with that”, “Mummy, he took it off me” sharing issues).

We’ve made two beautiful boys and we couldn’t be prouder, even though our house permanently smells like farts.

Love you boys X

There is no Buddy like a Brother
Rhyming with Wine
Rhyming with Wine
Cuddle Fairy
Petite Pudding
ethannevelyn
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