Does anyone else sometimes feel like there was a whole memo on adulting that went round at some point which entirely passed them by?
I mean, I am An Actual Proper Grown Up. I have two children. I have a husband. I have a house, and a job, and a car, and Real Life Responsibilities.
And yet I wake up pretty much every morning convinced that someone is going to see through the façade and call me on it. “Responsible adult?! You?! HA!” And, they would be right. Continue reading
The Mum had gone out
And she’d had lots of rum.
She’d drunk rum all the night,
It had been so much fun. Continue reading
So, I occasionally go running.
I should probably at this point clarify two parts of that sentence. When I say “occasionally”, what I mean is “once a week, unless I can come up with a legitimate and convincing rationale as to why I shouldn’t, which I am remarkably good at, in which case it’s more likely to be once a month at best”. And when I say “running”, I more mean “flailing”. “Flailing while moving forward at a speed slightly slower than an octagenarian with lower limb impairment could manage” would be probably a pretty much spot on description of how I run, actually. Continue reading
Me, on a Bank Holiday roadtrip with my children:
“Can we play car games Mummy?”
“Of course we can. What would you like to play?”
“Must you torture me like this?” Continue reading
It’s an interesting thing, isn’t it? We are privileged enough to live in the 21st century. We have every mod con at our disposal. Cars can drive themselves. Weird disembodied voices called Alexa and Siri can attend to our every need. You can buy boiled eggs WHICH ARE ALREADY PEELED, for goodness sake. Truly, we live in a time of wonder.
And yet. And yet. Despite all of this…
I am getting really rather irritated by tampons at the moment.
(Not literally. This isn’t another Flaps of Flame post, before you all panic.)
‘Twas late Sunday teatime, and all through the house
Every creature was stirring, from children to spouse.
There were books to be read, there was homework to do,
There was tea to be made, there was hair to shampoo. Continue reading
“Jamie, Mum wants us to go upstairs and start getting ready for bed. She says we need to do it quickly.”
“Hahahahahahaha. Mum is hilarious.”
All of the men that I’ve ever lived with – that’s my dad, my husband, and more recently, my son – have all passed comment at some point during our cohabitation on the amount of time women need to spend in the bathroom in order to get ready. Or, perhaps more to the point, the proportion more time that women seem to need to spend in the bathroom getting ready versus men.
I am starting to think I might just not be cut out for baths.
So, obviously we had the whole, never to be forgotten (and seen by 30 million people – FML) Original Source debacle. Which, as many of you have kindly contacted me to point out, appears to have been plagiarised by some random person. Still, as the gutter press prove day in day out, original content is sorely overrated 😉